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NATIONAL SECULAR SOCIETY
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WORK AND PAY.
�M .m tffM .IT H IM W ................
'
�WORK AND PAY:
OR,
PRINCIPLES OF INDUSTRIAL ECONOMY.
IN KING’S COLLEGE, LONDON.
WITH
REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION-
ON COMBINATIONS OF LABOURERS AND CAPITALISTS.
By LEONE LEVI, F.S.A., F.S.S.,
PROFESSOR OF THE PRINCIPLES OF COMMERCE AND COMMERCIAL LAW IN KING S
COLLEGE, LONDON ; DOCTOR OF POLITICAL ECONOMY ; AND OF
LINCOLN’S INN, BARRISTER-AT-LAW.
STRAHAN AND CO., LIMITED,
34, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
1877.
The right of translation is reserved.^
�Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Printers, London & Aylesbury.
�TO
SAMUEL MORLEY, ESQ., M.P.
Dear Sir,—
These lectures are the outcome of the Bristol Meeting
of the British Association, when the report of its Committee on
Combinations of Capitalists and Labourers was read and dis
cussed. And they owe their delivery to your earnest desire to
have the important questions at issue between masters and men
treated in a calm spirit and in an impartial manner. I do not
jay claim to the enunciation of any new theories, or to any
novelty in argument. What I have advanced is nothing more
than what the well-established principles of political economy,
recognised alike in their essentials by British and foreign
economists, have taught us.
Your desire and mine is that the relations between capital and
labour be placed on a sound and equitable basis, and I earnestly
trust that the effort now made to bring the principles of economic
science and the interests and aspirations of the working classes
into direct contact and possible harmony may have a beneficial
influence on the well-being of the people.
Believe me, dear Sir, yours very faithfully,
LEONE LEVI.
5,
Crown Office Row, Temple,
March, 1877.
��CONTENTS
RAGE
LECTURE
I. WORK AND WORKERS............................................................ I
II. THE DIVISION . OF LABOUR AND THE WONDERS OF
MACHINERY............................................................................... 17
III. USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY............................................... 33
IV. THE REWARD OF LABOUR..........................................................49
V. TRADE UNIONS.............................................................................. 67
VI. STRIKES AND LOCKOUTS
.
.
VIII.
.
.
.85
.
.
VII. BUDGETS OF THE WORKINGCLASSES
.96
SAVINGS BANKS AND OTHER INVESTMENTS OF THE
WORKING CLASSES.................................................................. HI
APPENDIX.
(a)
cost of living in 1839, 1849, i859>
1&75 ,
• 129
.
.
. 130
(c) BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES .
.
. 131
(b) wages
in 1839, 1849, 1859, 1873
(D) REPORT OF THE COMMITTEE OF THEBRITISH
ASSOCIATION.................................................................. 137
��I.
WORK AND WORKERS.
If I venture to come before you, in this great centre of labour,
to discuss some of those questions connected with “Work
and Pay ” which so often give occasion to quarrels and diffi
culties, it is in the full consciousness that the proper solution
of economic problems depends not only on the right con
ception of abstract theories and principles, but on their being
regarded side by side with the realities of life. I do not pre
tend to be a philosopher, but I would like to be a practical
economist. If I am able to state to you what I consider the
dictates of economic science on the questions before us, you
may also be able to point out to me how such dictates are found
to work in practical life. In any case, should I be unable to
carry conviction into your mind, should you see reason to object
to any principles I may lay before you, I hope you will not refuse
giving due heed to the lessons and warnings of a science which is
essentially connected with the progress and wealth of the nation.
It is cheering to know that we are all wanted in this wide
world ; that all of us have a purpose to accomplish, and that, if
we have only the will to exercise them, our faculties need not lie
dormant, or languish. To me, and to all of us, constituted as
we are, it is a real pleasure to work. I delight in a tableful of
papers. I do not sympathize with the sentiment, dolce far
niente; I rather believe in the adage, “Amind at rest is a
mind unblest.” With our powers of thought and imaginaI
�2
WORK AND- WORKERS.
tion, and with our capacity of invention, construction, and
intercourse, we must be active in order to be happy. The use
of such expressions as “ condemned to labour,” or the “ task of
labour,” or the calling of labour of any kind “ servile,” whilst
we enjoy full freedom of labour, betokens simple ignorance of its
dignity and utility. Sometimes, indeed, we may be disappointed
at the result of our labour. Occasionally, it may be, thorns
and thistles spring where we expected luxuriant fruitfulness
and beauty. But what then ? The necessity to meet our daily
wants, and even our failure to accomplish the object of our
aspirations, often prove a salutary incentive to strengthen and
refine the powers and faculties with which we are endowed.
One thing is absolutely certain, that without labour nothing is
produced. The sun, water, fire, wind, gravitation, magnetism,
the vital forces of animals, the vegetative forces of the soil, the
duration, resistance, and ductility of metals, whatever active
or inert forces may exist, if left to themselves they will not
exist for us, and will be quite indifferent to our happiness. That
they may serve us, they must be turned to our service; that they
may be able to produce, they must be directed in the work of
production. Though they exist independently of us, as agents
of production, they exist only by human industry.
"... Nature lives by labour ;
Beast, bird, air, fire, the Heavens and rolling world,
All live by action ; nothing lives at rest,
But death and ruin! ” *
We often speak of the working classes as a distinct body
of persons upon whom mainly fall the work and toil of life.
What a blunder ! We are all workers. Every one of us, from
the Queen on the throne to the humblest of her subjects, has a
place to fill and a work to do. Some are labouring in directing
and administering the affairs of the State. They are the
Ministers of State, the Governors of Colonies, the whole Civil
* Dyer.
�WORK AND WORKERS.
Service. Some are engaged in extracting the fruit of the soil,
in appropriating, adapting, converting, shaping matter to our
convenience. They work the land. They are busy with animal
and vegetable substances and minerals. Many are fulfilling
various offices for man—curing diseases, teaching youth, pre
serving peace, defending right, punishing wrong, and in a
thousand ways upholding the great structure of human society.
Some work in the field, some in workshops, some in the
mines, and some on the sea. Some labour with the hand,
some with the head, and some with both. Yes, we are all
workers. Strictly speaking, we may not be all producers of
wealth; all labour being, economically speaking, unproductive
which ends in immediate enjoyment without tending to any
increase of permanent stock, or not having for its result a
material product. Yet we can scarcely say that no labour is
valuable which is not immediately employed in the production
of material riches. The genius which enlightens, the religion
which comforts, the justice which preserves, the sciences and
arts which improve and charm our existence, are indirectly, if
not in a direct manner, as truly productive as commerce, which
affords us the enjoyment of the produce and labour of other
countries; as agriculture, which extracts the fruit special to
each soil; and as manufactures, which transform the raw produce
of different countries into articles adapted to the taste and
wants of the opulent, as well as of the masses of the people.
Few, indeed, who truly fulfil the mission to which they are
called, who labour in the sphere a,nd condition in which they are
placed, and who exercise the faculties and talents with which
they are endowed, can be said to be unproductive in this great
laboratory. The whole nation is practically working together
as a great co-operative society, under the very best division of
labour; all the more perfect since it is natural and spontaneous.
Let us perform our part well, and we need not fear but our
labour will be useful.
Ashamed of working ?—
�4
WORK AND WORKERS.
“ Work, work ! be not afraid,
Look labour boldly in the face;
Take up the hammer or the spade,
And blush not for your humble place.
There’s glory in the shuttle’s song,
There’s triumph in the anvil’s stroke,
There’s merit in the grave and strong,
Who dig the mine or fell the oak.
The wind disturbs the sleeping lake,
And bids it ripple pure and fresh,
It moves the grain boughs till they make
Grand music in their leafy mesh.”
I have often wondered at the power of endurance of the
human frame when engaged in some of the most arduous tasks
of manual labour. It must be hard to be continually lifting
enormous weights, to deal with such substances as iron and
steel, to stand the heat of a fiery furnace, or to work for hours
in the very bowels of the earth. But do not imagine that those
who labour with the head have a much lighter work. The head
ache, the excited nerve, the sleepless eye, of the man of letters
are as irksome and injurious to life as the undue exercise of our
physical energies. An agricultural labourer, working in the
open air with mind and heart perfectly at ease, has a greater
expectancy of life than a solicitor or a physician. The distinc
tion, moreover, between manual and intellectual labour is no
ldnger so marked as it once was. It is ungenerous to assume
that the manual labourer employs no skill, for what labour is
there which does not need skill and judgment ? What are the
wonderful results of machinery, those exquisite examples of
handicraft at our Kensington Museum, but so many monuments
of the talent and dexterity of those who are engaged in socalled manual labour ? Among the labouring classes there is a
wonderful and endless variety of talent and skill. Between the
Michael Angelos employed by a Bond Street goldsmith, and the
common labourer employed in the East and West India Docks,
the gradations are most numerous. We speak of a million of
�WORK AND WORKERS
5
men engaged in agricultural work, of half a million in the
building trade, of a third of a million employed in the textile
manufacture, and of a third more in tailoring and shoemaking.
But really these different descriptions of workmen divide them
selves into as many classes as they have special skill and
capacity. Together, they cultivate during the yea 47,000,000
acres of land, rear 32,000,000 sheep and 10,000,000 cattle, ex
tract some ^65,000,000 worth of minerals, produce goods for
export to the extent of ^200,000,000, and bring into existence
ever so many commodities and utilities needed for the susten
ance, comforts, and luxuries of the inhabitants of all countries.
But to what extent each individual labourer assists in this work
it would be difficult to say. I fear the difference is in many
cases enormous.
It is well indeed to remember what are the conditions for
the efficient discharge of duties in the work of production. To
my mind, first and foremost amongst such conditions is energy,
or the possession of a good strong will to work ; for with in
dolence and carelessness no work is done, no wealth is pro
duced. There must be steady and persevering labour, and an
energetic and willing mind to overcome the difficulties which
Nature presents. An impulsive and transient effort is not
sufficient. How far it is true that six Englishmen can do as
much work as eight Belgians or Frenchmen, I do not know;
but to be able to do a certain amount of work, and to give
oneself in earnest to do it, are two distinct things. There is
such a thing, let it be remembered, as idling away our time
whilst we profess to work, as laying 500 bricks in a day when
1000 might easily be laid, as giving five blows to strike a tree-nail
when three ought to be sufficient. A day’s work means a day
of continuous, energetic work—a day in which as much work
is done as can possibly be done, a day in which our powers
and talents are employed in full active service, when the work
is gone through thoroughly, speedily, earnestly. To pretend to
�6
WORK AND WORKERS.
be working when you are wasting your time in idle talk, is to
defraud your master of the value of your service. To make a
show of work is a very different thing from doing real work.
Then there is another consideration. How many days in the
year do you work ? An Irishman’s year used to be 200 days,
instead of at least 300 ; for he had 52 Sundays, 52 market-days,
a fair in each month, half a day a week for a funeral, and some
13 days in the year as saints’-days and birthdays. What a
waste ! “ Alas for that workman who takes all the Mondays
for pastime and idleness, who keeps fairs and wakes, or who
deliberately neglects the work which a bountiful Providence
set before him ! Miserable is he who slumbers on in idleness.
Miserable the workman who sleeps before the hour of his rest,
or who sits down in the shadow whilst his brethren work in
the sun.” * There is enough of forced idleness and slack time
in every occupation, without aggravating the evil by wilful
neglect. “To live really,” said Mr. Smiles, “is to act energeti
cally. Life is a battle to be fought valiantly. Inspired by high
and honourable resolve, a man must stand to his post, and die
there, if need be. Like the old Danish hero, his determination
should be to dare nobly, to will strongly, and never falter in the
path of duty.”
" Let us go forth, and resolutely dare
With sweat of brow to toil our little day;
And if a tear fall on the task of care,
Brush it not by 1”
The national characteristics of each country are sure to be
reflected in the work performed by its people. Her Majesty’s
Secretaries of Legation reported of the French that there is
much instability in their manner of work; that the workmen are
most competent when it suits their fancy to display their skill, but
that, as a rule, they do not work steadily. Of the Germans, that
their work is well performed, but that their chief fault is slowness
and indifference as to time in completing their task. Thequality
* Tynman.
�WORK AND WORKERS.
1
of the work in Italy is not to be despised, but the workmen
require a great amount of watching, their conscience not being
at all sensitive. Of the Swiss, they say that, as a rule, they are
competent for their work, and that they do take an interest in
it. The work of the Dutch is sound and good, but it has not
the polish and finish of the English. The Russians, the Secretary
of Legation reports, seem utterly indifferent as to the quality
of their labour. They take no pride in their work, and require
the most constant supervision. The Turks perform their work
roughly, rudely, and incompletely. The Argentines turn out a
rough and unfinished work. And our friends in the United
States have many short cuts for arriving at what may not be
quite equal to the article turned out in the English workshop.
Rare are the instances where absolute praise is awarded for
energy, where it can be said with truth that the labourers do
really take a pride in their work, and throw their character
into it. What reports are the Secretaries of Foreign Legations
in England sending out to their Governments as regards work
in this country? Is there good foundation for the complaint of
the deterioration of work in many branches of British labour ?
Nearly one hundred years ago, a German writer described the
Englishman as the best workman in the world ; for he worked
so as to satisfy his own mind, and always gave his work that
degree of perfection which he had learnt to appreciate and
attain. As the Frenchman sought to enhance the value of his
manufactures by all kinds of external ornament, so the English
man sought to give his productions in exactitude, usefulness,
and durability a less fleeting worth. Has this important encomium
been forfeited? I do not think so, whatever may be said to the
contrary. As a matter of fact it is seen in the cotton industry
that an English labourer is able to superintend 74 spindles,
whilst a German can at most [superintend 35, a Russian 28,
and a Frenchman 14. Physically and intellectually, the British
workman is better than he ever was. I doubt, indeed, if he has
�8
AND WORKERS.
a rival in his capacity for continuous exertion ; and if there be
reason to lament his disposition to obey with perfect discipline
the mandates of such associations as undertake to protect his
rights, we should not forget that it is that same disposition that
best fits the British workman for taking his place in the modern
organization of labour, where every human hand has work
assigned, the value of which depends on the relation it bears toa great whole.
I am persuaded, however, that the exercise of energy in work
depends in a great measure on the possession of strength and
health ; for it is impossible to work well unless we are in health
and comfort. The body must be in full vigour, the vital energies'
must be elastic and fresh, the mental faculties must be quick
and active, ere we can give ourselves to patient and persevering
labour. Viewed in this aspect, every measure of sanitary reform
has a direct economic value. How can you expect hard-working-
men and women where the very air is tainted by the most noxious
gases ? Liverpool, Manchester, and Salford, said Dr. Farr, are
at the head of a mournful cohort of unhealthy districts which
call aloud for healers. It is not the water, nor the food,
nor the absence of food, nor the clothing that produce the
mischief, but it is the heedless admixture of tallow-chandlery
and slaughter-houses, and the vitiated atmosphere from the
black outpourings from innumerable chimneys, that make the
Manchester artisan pale, sallow, and unhealthy, and that make his
children grow pale, thin, and listless. Many of our workmen,
moreover, have to meet dangers peculiar to their occupations..
They are liable to suffer from exposure to dust and other foreign
substances, from exposure to noxious gases and heated and im
pure air, from mechanical concussions, from peculiar postures of
body, and from excessive exertion. In the manufacture of artificial
flowers or wall-paper with emerald-green, the workers are in
danger of slow poisoning from arsenic. A dozen leaves from
a lady’s head-dress were found to contain ten grains of white
�WORK AND WORKERS.
9
arsenic. Those who have to do with phosphorous are exposed
to its fumes, which produce jaw disease and bronchitic affections.
The workers in lead are exposed to lead-poisoning, and those
who work with mercury to mercurial poisoning ; whilst builders,,
miners, fishermen, and seamen are in special danger of sudden
death from falls, explosions, or storms. Domestic servants,
always at home, comparatively at ease as respects the necessaries
of life, may be supposed to have a good expectancy of life ; yet
carpenters and even metal-workers have better prospects of great
age than they.
But, as I have just hinted, quite apart from dangers of this
nature, other risks follow many of our workmen in their homes.
Born, many of them, in the midst of comparative privations,
living often in low, dingy, uncomfortable houses, how hard it
is for them to maintain anything like freshness and vivacity.
The rents of houses are certainly dear, and they often absorb a
good portion of their weekly wages. Yet I apprehend that a
comparatively high house-rent might be really a good investment,
should it prevent, as it is sure to do, the slow deterioration of
health, the lowered vitality of enjoyment, and the long series of
evils arising from overcrowding. Room to breathe is wanted
everywhere. Much good will, I hope, result from the recent
Act for facilitating the improvement of the dwellings of the
working classes ; and good work is done in London by such
associations as the Metropolitan Association for Improving
the Dwellings of the Industrious Classes, the Improved Indus
trial Dwellings Company, and many other kindred societies.
But all such efforts need the co-operation of the labouringclasses themselves. How much an individual is justified in
spending in house-rent it is difficult to say, circumstances
varying so much. Ten per cent, of the income is, I believe,
generally devoted to house-rent by the middle classes, whether
by paying that proportion for a whole house, or by paying more
and recovering a portion by sub-letting. But ten per cent, of
�IO
AND WORKERS.
the working Oman’s wages, viz., three or four shillings a week
on an income of thirty shillings to forty shillings, is hardly
enough for sufficient accommodation for even a moderate
family. Supposing, therefore, that twelve per cent, be required,
or even fifteen per cent., better far to economise in other
items of expenditure than to live in a house smaller than we
require. In the economic management of a limited income
the first thought should be an airy, wholesome, cheerful
house—a real home for every inmate of the household.
Need I say that there may be a house without a home?
A house where father, mother, and children, some even of
tender age, are absent from six in the morning to six or seven
at night, can scarcely be called a home. Where mothers
cease to nurse their children, and leave them to the tender
mercies of servants, or deposit them at the Creches, there must
of necessity be a frightful mortality of children, a grievous de
generation of the race, and a total absence of moral education.
And when, late in the evening, father, mother, and children
meet together, more as strangers than as members of a common
household, often in the only room they possess, empty and
cheerless, what comfort can they expect ? Alas ! cleanliness in
such a case is out of the question. The fire is out; the food is
not ready; the children’s clothing falls into rags ; and, worse
than all, father and brothers, disgusted, take refuge at the
nearest public-house. I know nothing more essential, both in
a social and economic aspect, than a happy home. “ Home 1
If any of you working men have not got a home yet, resolve,
and tell your wife of your good resolution, to get, to make it at
almost any sacrifice. She will aid it all she can. Her step will
be lighter and her hand will be busier all day, expecting the
comfortable evening at home when you return. Household
affairs will have been well attended to. A place for everything,
and everything in its place, will, like some good genius, have
made even an humble home the scene of neatness, arrange-
�WORK AND WORKERS.
ii
ment, and taste. The table will be ready at the fireside ; the
loaf will be one of that order which says, by its appearance, You
may cut and come again. The cups and saucers will be waiting
for supplies. The kettle will be singing; and the children,
happy with fresh air and exercise, will be smiling in their glad
anticipation of that evening meal when father is at home, and
of the pleasant reading afterwards.” *
In matters of food and drink, I imagine, the British labourer
is better off than the labourers of any other country. Meat is
indeed dear, yet not dearer than in New York or Paris ; whilst
bread is decidedly cheaper, vegetables are abundant, and fish
plentiful. And the people are doing full justice to such bounties.
What a change in the quantities of foreign commodities con
sumed during the last thirty years 1 In 1844, there were ijj lbs.
of tea per head consumed in the United Kingdom; in 1875,
4'44 lbs. In 1844, f lb. of foreign butter ; in 1875, 4’92 lbs. In
1844, scarcely anything of foreign bacon and hams was con
sumed; in 1875, 8-26 lbs. per head. And, whilst the home pro
duction of wheat and flour is as large as ever, the consumption
of wheat and flour of foreign countries increased from iyjlbs., in
1844, to 197 lbs. per head in 1875. How many who are now able
to eat wheaten bread, were thirty years ago content with rye
bread ! and how many who never saw butcher meat from
week to week, now enjoy it every day I Surely we may rejoice
that by a wise legislation the door has been opened for the
importation of the necessaries of life from every part of the
globe ; and that, as a result of the same and of other favourable
circumstances, whereas the number of paupers, including indoor
and outdoor, in 1849 was in the proportion of 573 per cent, of the
population, in 1875 it was only 3’11 per cent. These are facts of
unmistakable importance as regards the well-being of the people.
An important element in the maintenance of health is cer
tainly the duration of labour; but how many hours a day a
* Helps.
�12
WORK AND WORKERS.
workman may safely work in any industry without injury to
his health must depend not only on the age and constitution of
the worker, but on the kind of labour and the spirit with which
the work is performed. I cannot say that, personally, I have
much sympathy with any excessive indulgence for rest; for I
am myself a great worker, having been often at my work sixteen
or eighteen hours a day-—not occasionally, but for weeks to
gether ; nor do I feel the slightest inconvenience from it. Yet
it must be allowed that labour saved is not lost; and that unless
we husband our strength, we stand a good risk of losing it
altogether. I fully approve, therefore, of the legislation respect
ing labour in factories, which limits the number of hours of
work to women and children. But let us not carry the matter
too far. Remember, that even an hour a day extended over say
5,000,000 workpeople, working 300 days in the year, means a
loss of 150,000,000 days a year. Doubtless such loss may be
recovered by increased energy on the part of the workers, and
by the introduction of improved ’machinery. As a matter of
fact, at no time has England produced more than at present,
notwithstanding the extension of the factory laws, and the widely
diffused adoption of shorter hours. But is that a reason why
we should indulge in idleness, beyond what is requisite for
health and moderate enjoyment ?
Hitherto I have dwelt on energy, physical strength, and
health. It is necessary that I should add education as one of
the very first conditions for the efficient discharge of duties
in the work of production. Never was the saying, “ Knowledge
is power,” more truly applicable than at present. Compare the
value of skilled and unskilled labour. The demand for com
paratively unskilled labour may be as great as ever, but the
reward of skilled labour is certainly much greater. It is no new
discovery, though it has, of late, acquired greater prominence,
that in the work of production to sturdy will, patient endurance,
and strong hands, we must add some knowledge of science, a
�WORK AND WORKERS.
13
cultivated mind, and a refined taste. Education and science
must no longer remain the ornament and luxury of the few—
they must become the necessary endowment of the many, if we
will succeed in the great arena of industrial competition.
To what but to science does England owe her great achieve
ments ? Mechanical and chemical science have revolutionized
the productive power of the country. It was but yesterday,
comparatively, that in the coal beneath our feet we found a
primary source of colour which makes England almost inde
pendent of the most costly dyewoods hitherto consumed in’the
ornamentation of the textile fabrics. Yet, with all our dis
coveries, and all our advantages, here we are but little in
advance of other countries, and our only hope of maintaining
our position depends on the success which we may yet attain
in fathoming the inexhaustible secrets of Nature, on the increase
in the number of patient yet ardent votaries of science, and
still more, on the diffusion of education and scientific knowledge,
among the great body of labourers. With the progress of
civilization and refinement all over the world, it is no longer
sufficient now to be able to produce what is cheap and
plentiful, or objects adapted to the common wants of the
masses. If England is to keep her place as the greatest manu
facturing country in the world, we must endeavour, by the
cultivation of the science of the perception of beauty, and by
paying proper attention to the fine arts, to produce articles
suitable to every state of civilization.
Much has been said, of late, on technical education, by
which we understand the teaching of those sciences which
are useful in industrial pursuits. Is it not a sound principle
that the designer should know something of drawing, the
dyer something of chemistry, the miner of geology and
mineralogy? The chairmaker, the tailor, the bootmaker, the
hatter, the coachmaker, and even the pastrycook, all requiresome knowledge of form.
All honour then to the London
�14
WORK AND WORKERS.
School Board for introducing drawing m their scheme of
Elementary Education.
How few, indeed, are at all ac
quainted with the scientific principles of their labour. An
order comes for cloth of a particular shade of colour. How
few can tell, beforehand, precisely, what manipulation will
give it to a nicety ! And if there be one in an establishment
endowed with such knowledge, probably because he stumbled
into it, he is deemed the possessor of a great mystery.
But
why should it be so ? Science need neither be a mystery nor a
monopoly. Its pages are open to all, and let us not think that
its meaning is hid or incomprehensible to the common under
standing With the simplicity of language ordinarily used, and
the constant appeal to real facts by visible demonstrations and
illustrations, the acquisition of scientific knowledge has been
rendered wonderfully easy.
Apart- from intellectual powers, however, I own great par
tiality for the moral. It seems to me that we must elevate, not
the mind only, but the taste and affections of the people, if we
wish to realize true progress. With such huge conglomerations
of people as we have in this metropolis and in our manufactur
ing towns, quite away from the beauties of nature, we do need
museums and galleries to educate the sense of the beautiful.
What a power on our imagination have the common prints
and representations which adorn our walls! What an effect the
ornaments which cover our mantelpieces ! Nor should we
forget that more important even than the cultivation of the
taste and the affections is the possession of good morals and
simple piety. To secure a good reward, the labourer must not
only have a good physical frame, and a proper aptitude for
labour, but those qualities which create confidence and animate
trust. Unless a labourer is worthy of confidence, it is impos
sible that he can be regularly employed. And what is; it that
. creates confidence? Sober and steady conduct, truthfulness
and purity of character, conscientiousness and strict regar
�WORK AND WORKERS.
i5
to duty ; in short, an abiding sense of the responsibility of
our calling.
The requisites of production, John Stuart Mill said, are
two—labour and appropriate natural objects. Certain lands
are more favoured than others in natural productiveness. The
climate has great influence in promoting vegetation, and in
making the people hearty and robust. Numerous external in
fluences, physical, economical, political, and social, determine
more or less the success of labour. Taking it all in all, England
is highly favoured as a field of human labour. Geographically,
she is splendidly situated, on all sides open to communica
tion with all the world.
Her climate is most temperate.
Coal and iron are sources of immense wealth. Her manufac
turing industry is wonderfully developed. The commercial
spirit of her people quite boundless. Her political organization,
based on personal freedom to move, to speak, to meet, well nigh
perfect. Her economical policy is immensely superior to that
of almost any other nation. Can we wonder that her people
are tranquil, that the Queen reigns supreme in the heart of the
nation, and that wealth is increasing at an enormous ratio ?
Where can you find a better field of labour than in
England ? Go to France, and you have no freedom of action
and a constant dread of revolution. Go to Russia, and you
meet despotism all rampant. Go to the United States, and you
find that better wages are scarcely equivalent to the higher cost
of living. Go to any of the British Colonies, and you must be
prepared to work harder far than you are doing in this country,
and to bid adieu to every association and to all the pleasures of
civilized life.
Nowhere, indeed, is labour more appreciated,
nay, I might say more ennobled, than in this country, and no
where is an ampler field afforded for its application.
But if labour is honoured, is the labourer receiving due con
sideration? Are his trials and difficulties taken into account?
Are his wants as a man and a citizen properly recognised ?
�AND WORKERS.
Alas ! I fear not. On the contrary, there is far too ready a
disposition to regard the labourers as a class as ignorant,
wasteful, drunken, idle, and criminal. But where is the evi
dence for such a charge ? In the number signing the marriage
register with marks there is a vast improvement. The Savingsbanks and Building Societies testify that the labouring classes
have saved large sums in recent years. The yearly amount
of production in the kingdom tells us that they have not been
altogether idle ; and if they drink more, or it may be are more
amenable to its consequences than they formerly were, probably
through better police administration, of crime, especially of the
heavier character, they are certainly less guilty. They might
be better, and so we all should be. But let us not indulge in
sweeping condemnations of whole classes of the people. They
are not true, and their effect is most injurious.
In the new organization of labour incident to production on
a large scale, there is abundant scope for the display, by both
masters and men, of those qualities which are essential for the
maintenance of peace and concord. Let the master recognise,
fully and unreservedly, the free position of the workman, and
his absolute right to improve his condition. Let him see that
labour be carried on under conditions, as favourable as possible,
to the preservation of human health and vigour. Let him pro
mote, as far as in him lies, provident habits and intellectual
improvement among his labourers. Let him manifest a per
sonal sympathetic interest in their behalf. Let the master
do all this, and we shall also witness among workmen an in
creasing earnestness and energy in the execution of their work,
a greater interest in the success of production, and a better
disposition to apply all their forces, physical, intellectual, and
moral, towards the surmounting of those obstacles which hinder
and retard the economic progress of the nation.
�II.
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND THE WONDERS OF
MACHINERY.
Within this century, within the recollection of many living
among us, one of the greatest of economic revolutions has taken
place, the consequence of which has far exceeded any human
expectation. It is the substitute of collective for individual
labour, of factory for home industry, and of mechanical for
human labour.
Time was when the weaver was both the-:
capitalist and the labourer ; when the linen weaver cultivated
the flax, heckled it, spun it into yarn, wove it, and sold the web
at the linen market. There was no division of labour in those
days. The producer gloried in his independence. He was his.
own master. He did all the work himself. But production
proceeded slowly in that fashion. And so the capitalist came
to the rescue by supplying the weaver with the material, and
paying him a given sum on the delivery of a given quantity ot
finished cloth. As yet, the loom belonged to the weaver; and if
he had no loom of his own, he worked at a loom belonging to<
some other weaver, in which case he was the journeyman, and
the weaver at whose loom he worked was the master weaver.
But, in time, the loom itself was supplied by the capitalist or
manufacturer; and then the journeyman, free from the master
weaver, came into direct relation with the manufacturer. This
is the system of home industry which existed in this country
2
�i8
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND
for a considerable time, certainly till as late as the end of the
last century. And this is the system which obtains to a con
siderable extent in Russia at the present time. Employed in
the actual work of agriculture only a portion of the year, the
Russian farmer spends the remainder in weaving and bleaching.
The home system of industry has been passing away so
rapidly from this country that we are apt to connect all manu
facture with x the machinery and steam power in use in the
Lancashire cotton industry. But it is not so. And I venture
to say that by far the largest amount of production in the north
of Europe, in Asia, and Africa, and largely in America also,
consists of home-made goods, which, though dearer in price,
are in the end cheaper far than the trashy prints, and some
of the highly-sized calicoes and other inferior descriptions of
Manchester goods. The battle of the hand-loom against the
power-loom, of home industry against factory labour, is not yet
quite ended, for in not a few industries, especially in Nottingham
and Leicester, hand-loom weavers are numerous. But of the
final issue of the conflict who can doubt ? In truth, young men
o not take to the old and almost effete system. What remains
of it is carried on by old people, and for those descriptions of
labour only where the hand can work with more dexterity than
the machine itself. But how soon is machinery overtaking
every obstacle 1 And what a change has taken place in the
divorcement of manufacture from agriculture, in the creation
of great cities of labour, in the mode of producing on a
large scale, in the division of labour, and the introduction
of machinery!
From the moment the manufacturing system acquired a
sufficient importance to stand by itself, from the moment the
requirements of manufacture necessitated concurrence and co
operation in the various pursuits necessary for the same, the
manufacturers were compelled to emigrate from the farm
house and the sequestered village, and to constitute themselves
�THE WONDERS OF MACHINERY.
into distinct communities. Both industries are indeed inter
dependent. Agriculture gains from the existence of a thriving
manufacturing industry, and is the better for its products.
Manufactures depend upon a prosperous agriculture for a sufciency of food and provision. But the two industries are not
■capable of being prosecuted in like manner. Agriculture does
not admit of the same concentration of labour, of the same
■division of employment, and of the same constancy of labour.
Even steam-power can only be employed in agriculture under
less advantageous circumstances than in manufactures. The
experience of every nation abundantly proves that the more
absolute is the separation between the two industries, the better
■each may be developed in its own manner and fashion. Would,
indeed, that the agricultural could copy a little more from the
manufacturing industry than it appears to be doing ! How
much it has to learn in dealing with diversities of soil, in the
reclamation of waste lands, in the introduction of machines and
implements of husbandry, in the use of manure, and above all
in the economy of labour and the application of scientific prin
ciples in the management of farms ! Some writers used to
•distinguish agriculture from industry, the one being intent
upon the extraction of produce from the soil, the other upon the
shaping, converting, or manufacturing what nature supplies.
But it is not so. Agriculture and manufactures are both indus
tries requiring alike labour, skill, capital. In England, the
divorce is indeed complete ; but they had better look keenly to
one another, and each draw from the other the lessons which it
needs.
Look at Lancashire, the first county which inaugurated the
great change. See how coal and iron have superseded turf
and corn. Behold those illumined factories, with more (windows
than in Italian palaces, and smoking chimneys taller than
Egyptian obelisks. Everywhere you find monuments of in
domitable energy. All you see indicates the march of modern
�20
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND
progress. Enter for a moment one of those numerous factories,,
behold the ranks of thousands of operatives all steadily working,
behold how every minute of time, every yard of space, every
practised eye, every dexterous finger, every active mind, is at
high-pressure service. There are no lumber attics nor lumber
cellars ; everything seems cut out for the work, and the work for
it. And what can be more wonderful than those factories far
the manufacture of machines ? Listen to the deafening din.
What power has mind over matter ! What metamorphoses can
human industry perform ! One hundred years ago, Manchester
had only 1,600 inhabitants. Now, with Salford, she has 500,000..
Three hundred years ago, Liverpool was only a fishing hamlet,,
with 138 inhabitants ; now she has 527>°°°. Whilst Westmore
land, a purely agricultural county, has 771 acres to one person,
Lancashire has only 0-43 acres to one person. In 1861, the town
population of England was in the proportion of twenty-four per
cent, of the whole. In 1871, her town population had increased
to such an extent that it constituted fifty-six per cent, of the
whole. The very meaning of the word town has changed.
Whilst in olden times it meant a tract of land enjoyed by a
community, though there might not be a single house in it; in
modern times it has come to signify a place with a multitude of
houses, built side by side, and standing in streets, rows, or
lanes, all as like one another as possible,— the very personation,
of the Coketown of the inimitable Dickens.
Shall we lament the change from the primitive industrial
organization of former days to the complex, and, in many ways,,
the artificial combination of the present time? Is England
the better or the worse for the change? Have the working
classes been injured or benefited by it ? Could we return to the
agricultural system if we would ? And would we return to it if
we could ? Compare the state of England a hundred years ago
and now, by any test you please, socially, politically, and morally,
in education, wealth, power, population, agriculture, and mann-
�THE WONDERS OF MACHINERY.
21
factures. Nothing has been stationary. On every side we note
change, progress, improvement.
There are evils connected
with the agglomeration of many people within fixed boundaries,
for where ignorance, vice, crime, exists, oh how contagious it be
comes ! And yet, if you compare the moral condition of the
agricultural and manufacturing districts, you will find that the
latter are by no means inferior to the former, for if there is
an army of evil-doers in our great cities, there are also many
regiments of those who do well. Call the present organization
of labour artificial, capitalistic, or by any title you please, yet
the fact remains that not only is it the inevitable result of
science, civilization, and economic progress, and therefore it
is of no use whatever grumbling about it, but it is on the whole
beneficial to the well-being of the people, an element of strength
and power to the nation at large.
Steam, whose power dwarfs the fabled feats of Grecian
prodigy, has not only torn asunder the manufacturing from
the agricultural industry, but has centred industrial labour
within large buildings and great factories. When human force
was the only motive power, work could as advantageously be
performed in the solitary chamber as in great centres of popu
lation ; but when a force greater than human was discovered,
which far exceeded the energies of any single individual, which
needed no rest, which could be transported anywhere, and
which could be regulated at discretion,—isolated working gave
place to factory labour, and production on a small scale was
immediately superseded by production on a large scale. Of
course, factory labour has its own evils,—but what human
system is free from them ? With a motive power at hand
capable of continuing without intermission, the temptation was
too strong to use human labour as unsparingly. The compara
tively light labour required to assist the machinery, prompted
the employment of women and children; and their strength, by
too long hours of employment, was taxed beyond measure. And
�22
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND
so the Legislature had to interfere, in the way of fixing the
number of hours that women and children should be allowed to
work, of taking care that the education of such children shall
not be altogether neglected, of compelling proper precautionsagainst accidents from machinery, of providing for the health
of the workers, and of securing by the right of inspection
scrupulous compliance with the prescribed regulations. And
thankful we may be that the provisions of such laws have been
extended and strengthened, for we do need the protection of
the law against abuse of power, whether by masters or by men.
Apart, however, from such abuses which the law has set itself
to rectify, there is a great principle involved in the present
system of producing on a large scale of very wide reach and
application. Do we not see large farms, large shops, large jointstock companies, and large enterprises, fast superseding small
farms, small shops, small partnerships, and small enterprises ?'
And why? Simply because the expense of management and
the labour of administration do not increase in proportion to the
extension of the undertaking; because expensive machinery may
be more advantageously employed; and because greater economy
of power and administration is thereby obtained. In a largefactory, moreover, the master can exercise more supeiwision of
labour, can have more command over the detail of the work.
And the result is more production, more wealth. The more
united the forces, the greater the momentum.
And what shall I say of the division of labour, which produc
tion on a large scale permits ? Adam Smith has well noted the
increase of dexterity in every particular workman, the saving of
time spent in passing from one species of work to another, and
the happy contrivances for facilitating and abridging laboui
which such division of labour suggests and permits. Nothing, in
deed, is more natural, and yet nothing is more wonderful in the
present organization of labour, than the symmetry of its appor
tionment, the careful regard to the adaptation of the work to the
�THE WONDERS OF MACHINERY.
23
worker. But little consideration suffices to convince us that
the surest way to acquire a thorough knowledge of anything is
to concentrate our thoughts, and to devote our energies almost
exclusively upon the one thing before us. No science could be
cultivated with any hope of success, were it not that special
men give themselves to the innumerable researches which are
required for their development. The physician, the chemist,,
the botanist, the mineralogist, the astronomer, each takes upon,
himself the study of special phenomena in nature. Sir David.
Brewster made optics his special study; Professor Owen devoted
himself to fossils; Professor Liebig to organic chemistry
Professor Tyndal to light; Professor Huxley to physiology..
Mr. Glaisher made his experiments on balloon ascents; Dr.
Carpenter made observations on oceanic circulation. The
principle of the division of labour with a view to the greater
concentration of mental energies is of wide application, and,,
wherever applied, it of necessity leads to the greater efficiency
and economy of labour. How natural the division of labour
between agriculture, manufacture, and commerce ! How conso
nant with the laws of nature the preference given in different
countries to special industries 1 What is international commerce
but the result of an extended division of labour ? Of course the
division of labour is limited by the power of exchange. One
may confine himself to one specific branch of industry which
may satisfy one kind of wants only, provided on the one hand
he can find purchasers enough of that commodity as to render
it worth his while producing nothing else, and provided also
there are others ready to satisfy all the other wants. An ex
tended division of labour demands a large and varied con
sumption. In little villages where the consumption of groceries
is limited, the grocer is also the haberdasher, the stationer, the
innkeeper. In London we have shops for certain specific classes
of articles, and no more. But wherever the division of labour
can be advantageously adopted, it is certain to be attended with
�24
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND
advantage, at least in an economic aspect. And yet, that too
has its evil, for it has certainly a tendency to concentrate the
mind too consecutively to one operation, and it may have the
effect of weakening a man’s power, and make him become a
mere machine. What fertility of invention, what independence
of thought can you expect from a man who is required to do
but one thing—say, to watch a pair of wheels, or to walk three
steps forward and three steps backwards—throughout his life
time? He will doubtless do that work more perfectly, more
quickly, more economically, but the monotony and the same
ness of the operation, and the want of excitement attending it,
are sure to take away any spirit he might have.
Alas 1 nothing pleases us. Undivided work is very unpro
ductive, too divided work is prejudicial to the human under
standing. I am not ignorant of, and we cannot ignore or deny,
the evils of the present organization of industry; but is it of
any use to complain of them ? Let us the rather strive to
neutralize what is prejudicial, and set into motion remedies and
influences which shall bring good out of evil. Let the church
and the school be active in their work of moral and intellectual
instruction. Let science and philanthropy devise good work
able plans for the well-being of the masses of people huddled
together in places unfit for human habitation. And if the
family circle has still to be broken by the employment of
women and children in factories, let us at least do our utmost
to check vice, waste, luxury, extravagance, betting, gambling,
drunkenness, and the license and wretchedness which meet us
on every side—the result, to a large extent, of a vicious social
system.
If it is to Watt and his wonderful engine that we owe the
use of the new motive power, steam, it is to Arkwright, Har
greaves, Crompton, and many more illustrious inventors and
discoverers, that we owe our machines and instruments for regu
lating the action of force. There is an intimate relation between
�THE WONDERS OF MACHINERY.
25
the division of labour and machinery. If, on the one hand, it is
the steam engine and machinery that have rendered division
of labour possible, it is to the division of labour that we owe
the large increase of machinery, The change wrought by
machinery is something wonderful, A woman habituated to
knit can make 80 stitches a minute. By the use of the circular
loom, she can now make 480,000 stitches a minute, showing
an increase of 6,000 times the quantity. To make by hand
all the yarn spun in England in one year, by the use of the
self-acting mule, carrying 1,000 spindles, viz., 1,000 threads
at the time, we would require 100,000,000 of men. I have just
spoken of knitting; but see what is done by the sewing machine.
To make a shirt by the hand it takes at least fourteen hours ; by
the machine, less than two hours. A pair of trousers cannot
be done by the hand in less than five hours; by the machine
it may be done in one. A woman’s chemise, which by the
hand would take ten hours and a half, may be completed by
the machine—ay, ornamented—in one hour. This is indeed
the era of machines. We have the calculating machine and
the electric machine. Hats are made by machinery, and so
are opera-glasses. There is a machine to mould the mortar,
a machine to make cigarettes, and a machine to make neck
cravats. There are machines for measuring the wind, the
evaporation, and the rain; machines for measuring the in
tensity and velocity of light; an instrument for measuring the
interval between the appearance of the flash and the arrival
of the sound; an instrument for measuring the pressure of the
atmosphere, and an instrument for measuring the ten-thousandth
part of an inch.
The machine is simple when it transmits
force in a direct manner; it is composite when it is composed
of so many organs all combined and acting together in the
transmission of force. But whether simple or complex, in
whatever form or description, as a machine, an instrument,
or a tool, their uniform tendency has been to take from the
�26
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND
human hand some of the most drudgery work, to produce
largely, to bring within the reach of the lowest classes many
articles which were once rarities and luxuries. Machinery
has lightened human labour of the most irksome tasks, and
opened up to man the widest field for the exercise of his in
tellectual faculties. At one time it was muscular force that
performed most of our work. Now, it is art, it is design, it
is intellect. It is labour just the same, it is true, but it is
nobler, higher, and more befitting our place and destinies.,
more in keeping with our aspirations and ambition. Only
let workmen have sufficient dexterity in passing from one
kind of labour to another, and the introduction of machinery
is certain to prove a blessing, not a curse. But, alas ! it is that
capacity that is sometimes wanting.
Time was when inventions were the products of simple
vagaries, or freaks of the imagination, of ignorant pretenders or
mere charlatans. How to make a wheel turn by itself, and to
get at perpetual motion ; how to clean and keep bright the skin
and flesh so as to preserve it in its perfect state ; how to make
upon the Thames a floating garden of pleasure, with trees,,
flowers, and fountains, and all in the midst of the stream
where it is most rapid;—these were secrets and inventions of
former days which contributed but little to the well-being of
the people. Happily, the inventions, machines, and instru
ments of the present day are of a more utilitarian and sober
caste, and they have immensely augmented, not only the
wealth, but the comfort and the intelligence of the whole
nation—ay, of the whole world. And who are the inventors ?
In many cases our working men themselves, and, strange
to say, those very men who have to perform daily the same
monotonous work, to repeat over and over again the operation
of the same single member of a complicated whole. Yes,
our working men, our artizans, are often able to suggest im
provements in manufacture, and short cuts in workmanship,
�THE WONDERS OF MACHINERY.
27
which economise labour, and are of immense value to the pro
ducers. Would that they were justly rewarded! A working man
who has brain enough to invent a new article, or to use a new
process, has a full right to the fruits of his labour, and to be
rewarded for the product of his brain ; and I am glad to know
that sometimes, though not always, they do get the benefit of
their inventions, either in an increased salary, or in a portion of
the profits. Do not imagine, however, that the profits of an
invention can go to any considerable extent into the pockets of the
inventor, for the success of the invention depends often less on
the fact of the invention itself, than on the appliances, energy,
and capital employed in carrying it into practice. I should be
glad if the cost of a patent were greatly reduced, in order to
enable our working men to patent inventions for themselves even
before they communicate them to their own employers ; but oh
how often the most sanguine hopes are placed on worthless inven
tions, how soon they are superseded, how often they prove more
costly than they are worth ! On the whole, the profession of an
inventor is a profitless one, and it is this among other things
that has more than once suggested the expediency of abolish
ing the Patent Laws altogether.
That machinery has immensely benefited production, and
that it has placed a new engine of success in the hands of the
producer, is beyond doubt, for though still depending upon
labour, the machine enables the producer to spare a great
number of labourers, whilst it immensely economises the cost of
production. Once let him have a machine that will do the work
of a thousand men, with only ten persons attending to it, and he
is in a position to distance far any other manufacturer who
wholly depends on human labour. How often indeed a persist
ence on the part of the labourer in asking higher wages than
the business could afford, or demands of conditions of labour
incompatible with its success, or the refusal to perform certain
acts, or to allow other labourers to be introduced for their
�28
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND
performance, have driven our manufacturers to introduce
machinery !
But how has machinery affected the working classes? An
inventor once proposed to Colbert, the great minister of Louis
XIV. of France, a machine which would do the work of ten
men. “ I am anxious,” said the minister, “ that men should be
able to live honestly by their work, and you propose to me to
take the work out of their hands. Take the invention, if you
please, somewhere else.” Statesmen are often as ignorant of
economic questions as the least among us, and just as when
railways were projected all manner of apprehensions were enter
tained lest horses, cattle, and carriages should cease to be
required, so when machines were introduced into any branch
of industry, the first thought was, Well, labourers will no longer
be wanted in it. But has it been so ? Calculate the number
employed in the occupation of transport and conveyance before
and since the adoption of the railway system,—the number
employed in the cotton manufacture, or any other textile
industry, before and since the introduction of machinery,—the
number employed in printing, copying, and publishing, before
and since the invention of the printing machine. The first
introduction of machinery may indeed displace and diminish
for a while the employment of labour, may perchance take
labour out of the hands of persons otherwise not able to take
another employment, and create the need of another class of
labourers altogether; but if it has taken labour from ten
persons, it has provided labour for a thousand. How does it
work? A yard of calico made by hand costs two shillings,
made by machinery it may cost fourpence. At two shillings a
yard, few buy it ; at fourpence a yard, multitudes are glad to
avail themselves of it. Cheapness promotes consumption : the
article which hitherto was used by the higher classes only, is
now to be seen in the hand of the labouring classes as well.
As’the demand increases, so production increases, and to such
�THE WONDERS OF MACHINERY.
■29
an extent, that although the number of labourers now employed
in the production of calico may be immensely less in proportion
to a given quantity of calico, the total number required for
the millions of yards now used greatly exceeds the number
engaged when the whole work was performed without any
aid of machinery.
And so as regards wages. Doubtless
a manufacturer who has to pay for the use of an invention and
for the cost and maintenance of the machinery, and who needs
only a few labourers able to perform some mechanical act,
might be tempted to take advantage of his position and to
offer less wages. But if the cost of production and the mainte
nance of the machinery are more than replaced by the profits
arising from increasing production, will not a large portion of
those profits, in one way or another, fall on the labouring classes ?
And if to wrork the machinery, in the production of immensely
larger quantities, the manufacturer requires more labourers than
ever he did in the palmy days of hand labour, where will be his
greater independence ? No, no ! Machinery may have decreased,
in some cases, the rates of wages, but it has in all cases increased
the total earnings of the labouring classes. It may have taken
labour out of some, impoverished a few, done injury here and
there, but it has given more labour to the community at large,
and has added immensely to the resources of the artisans
and labouring classes all the world over. M. Bastiat, in his.
excellent work on “ What is Seen and What is not Seen in.
Political Economy,” illustrated.the operation of machinery on
human labour in his usual spirited manner. “Jacque Bonhomme,” he said, “ had two francs, which he was in the habit of
paying to two workmen whom he employed. Suddenly, how
ever, having found out the means of abridging the work by
half, he discharged one workman, and so saved one franc.
Upon this, the ignorant is ready to exclaim, 1 See how misery
follows civilization! See how fatal is freedom to equality 1
The human mind has made a conquest, and immediately a
�3o *
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR AND
workman, falls into pauperism. Even if Jacque Bonhomme
should continue to employ the two workmen, he will only give
them half a franc each, for they will compete one with another,
and they will offer their labour for half the money.’ But it is
not so, since both the premises and the conclusions are false.
Behind the half of this phenomenon which is seen, there is
another half which is not seen ; for what does Jacque Bonhomme
do with the other franc, which he saved ? He employs it in
another work, and whilst the same work is done for one franc
by one workman which formerly required two to do it, extra
work is done with the other franc, which employs the other also.
The two workmen are as much employed as ever, but double
work is done, and so the invention has procured a gratuitous
benefit.”
The introduction of machinery should never be used as a
threat against the demands of labourers. It is mean to i esort to
such an expedient in order to frighten the labourers to acquiesce
in the conditions offered. But remember, machinery is of great
utility to production, and manufacturers may be compelled to
introduce it for the salvation, possibly, of the whole industry.
See what is taking place now in the watch manufacture of
Switzerland. Hitherto watchmaking at Geneva has been almost
entirely a hand-work industry.
But Switzerland stands in
danger of losing the industry altogether, since Germany and
America have learnt to make watches and clocks by machinery.
There is a certain protection, after all, against the sudden intro
duction of machinery in the fact that it is very costly, that it
requires great capital, that manufacturers are very unwilling to
alter their usual course of business, and that, in reality, in some
industries the hand has some advantage over the machine,
though machinery is now becoming so perfect and automatic
that it is impossible to say what it cannot accomplish. It
has been complained that the use of machinery often leads to
over-production, and to gluts of merchandize, which redounds
�THE WONDERS OF MACHINERY.
31
against the well-being of the masses especially by alternations of
great activity and great depression. But a large production of
articles of general use is always attended by increasing cheap
ness, and increasing cheapness most assuredly leads to an
enlarged demand, which soon absorbs any surplus production.
Machine and tool making has become' an important industry.
In x851 it employed in England and Wales 48,000 persons ; in
1861, 117,000; and in 1871, 175,000. In 1851 our exports of
steam engines, and other kinds, amounted to ,£1,168,000; in
I^75> to £4,213,000. We export engines and machinery to
every part of the world. Any one is now at liberty to order from
the British workshop the most complex and the finest piece of
machinery that can possibly be invented. It may be said, What
folly it is to injure ourselves by enabling foreign manufacturers
to obtain an advantage which is exclusively our owp ! True,
England has superior facilities for the manufacture of machinery
in her abundance of coal and iron, but the power of inventive
ness is not confined within the British shores. In 1824, the
Americans were considered as thirty years behind England, and
France was the only country which could be said to rival
England in the making of machinery. Since then, however,
and for many years past, foreign countries have made won
derful progress. As well attempt to shut up all the avenues
of science and knowledge as to secrete from public gaze the
discoveries and inventions which benefit industry and manu
facture.
It is well to realize that many of the primary conditions
necessary to the development of manufacturing industry are
no longer exclusively enjoyed by any country, and it would be
folly for the British manufacturer to remain content and tran
quil, as if he needed to dread no competition, and as if he
could be sure to continue to enjoy the practical monopoly of
the markets of the world.. Greater command over capital,
the possession of mineral resources almost boundless in extent
�32
THE DIVISION OF LABOUR, ETC.
and productiveness, greater commercial sagacity and power of
enterprise, have hitherto kept and may yet keep Britain on a
position of eminence above all her competitors; but in every
one of these elements, France, Germany, Switzerland, and the
United States are striving to advance; and with the most
powerful machinery within the reach of every one, who can
say how soon, from eager competitors, they may become for
midable rivals? It would be a great mistake indeed on the
part of our manufacturers^ to imagine that their only hope to
preserve their supremacy rests in their being able to keep the
wages of labour low. I have no faith in any plan which
begins by starving the labourer. The essentials of real pro
gress must ever consist in increasing power of production, in
greater adaptiveness of our manufactures to the wants of the
masses of the people at home and abroad, and in greater
skill and advancement in the arts and sciences. Emulate
other nations in their efforts to combine beauty with usefulness,
elegance with solidity. Let nothing discourage the investment
of capital in industry. Furbish your intellect to achieve greater
wonders than were ever yet imagined. Let Capital and Labour
march hand in hand, and England need not fear being out
done, however keen the contest, however close the issue.
�III.
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
On the sea-coast of Sicily there was once a wild, lawless,
gigantic race, who, with one eye in the middle of their forehead,
but with strong hands, were constantly employed in forging
thunderbolts for Jupiter. And in this island of Britain, there
are many sons of the sturdy Saxon race who, with two eyes
and both wide open, are constantly forging capital, not for
Jupiter, but for the whole world. A disposition to labour, to
save, and to accumulate ; a growing conviction that wealth is
power, whatever knowledge may be; a keen relish of the
comforts of life, which wealth to a large extent provides ; a
decided aptitude for commerce, industry, and enterprise ; con
fidence in the public institutions of the country; and a firm
reliance on the impartial administration of justice,—these, to
gether with those wonderful inventions and discoveries which
have so enlarged the range and utility of human labour, have
rendered Britain the great storehouse of capital, and at this
moment borrowers from every nation are for ever coming to
this modern Egypt, to buy capital of the living J osephs,—the
Bank of England, the Rothschilds, the Barings, and many
others who keep the keys of the coveted granary. An enviable
position this for England to occupy. The taunt of contempt
once expressed by the title La Nation Boutiquiere (the shop
keeping nation), only betokens the sentiment of jealousy which
3
�34
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
♦
France once felt for this new power in the hands of England.
But if England has got riches, it is because she has been
industrious. If the broad acres of old England have become
more luxurious and productive, if her mineral stores have become
a source of perennial wealth, if her cities are full of people, and
her manufacturing industry has become the wonder of all nations,
it is simply because English labour and English perseverance
have combated valorously with the obstacles presented by
nature. What is the ocean to the daring British manner?
Boldly to the depths of the earth the British miner will
venture, fearing nothing. Nature’s inexhaustible riches and
powers have all along animated the British discoverer to make
unknown sacrifices. And so the British have thriven.
We might suppose that by this time every country would
have become rich. With an old civilization, an immense
population, untold resources, and varied opportunities, what
is it that hindered the accumulation of wealth, and kept
nearly every state in a condition of poverty? Alas! the
work of destruction has been even more effective than the
work of production. The warlike policy of the Roman Empire
was not favourable to the production of wealth. . In the
Middle Ages, whatever was achieved by the thriving cities was
more than destroyed by the injurious influence of feudalism and
barbarism.
Insecurity of person and property discouraged
accumulation. Monopoly diverted the streams of wealth into
narrow channels. Vicious fiscal systems often corroded the
very sources of wealth. The Thirty Years’ War, the Seven
Years’ War, and the French War, brought desolation into every
home, and destroyed, not only all that had theretofore been
produced, but even the produce of years to come, Can we
wonder that under such circumstances but little or nothing
was accumulated ? Cast a glance beyond Europe. In Asia
there has been much hoarding of wealth, but no accumulation
and no workable capital. India has been rather the absorbent
�USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
35
than the producer of capital. Africa is as yet destitute both
of wealth and capital. And America, the land of promise for
capital, is still, comparatively speaking, a new country, where
the means of investment are always greater than the available
resources for the same. There is no end of openings all over
the world for the disposal of British capital; and for the interest
of the great mass of our population we may well desire that,
whatever the competition, British industry and commerce may
ever prove the safest and the most advantageous investment of
British capital.
Does it seem an easy thing to you to accumulate capital?
Look around. See the vast numbers of persons who find it hard
enough to get their daily bread, and to make the two ends meet.
See the vast numbers earning a good income, yet spending it as
fast as it comes, and never thinking of saving a farthing, far less
of accumulating any capital. Think of the numbers who strive
hard to save, but who, after succeeding for a time, are compelled
to give up the attempt from sickness, misfortune, or losses.
Think of the vicissitudes of trade, changes of fashion, and new
inventions which from time to time disconcert the best conceived
plan. What violent efforts, and what sudden collapses, what
heaving and subsiding, what flow and ebb of fortune, do we wit
ness ! How many try, how few succeed ! It is easy compara
tively to accumulate after a good foundation has been laid ;
but how hard it is to lay that foundation. What judgment,
what decision of will, what disposition to economise, there must
exist to have the slightest chance of success. Doubtless the
present division of property is not all that could be wished.
The laws of primogeniture and entail favour the accumulation
of wealth, at least in land, in comparatively few hands.
Those rich enough to pay income tax on any amount of
profits of trade and industry are only about 16 for every
1000 of the population of Great Britain, and of these much
less than one in 1,000 (0'65) pay on incomes amounting to
�36
USE OF CAPITAL iN INDUSTRY.
^1,000, and upward, per annum. Yet the number of capitalists
might be immensely greater were there more thrift, more com
mon prudence, and more practical wisdom among the people.
I do not speak of the working classes only, but of the middle
and higher classes quite as much, or more. Would that they
had the wisdom to lay by something for a rainy day when they
have a chance of doing so ! Would that they used and not
abused the means which Providence places within their reach !
Realize, I pray you, what capital really is, and what a useful
commodity it is to every nation. Generally speaking, capital
is that portion of an individual’s or of a nation’s wealth which
is applied to reproduction. All property becomes capital so
soon as it, or the value received from it, is set apart for pro
ductive employment. By dint of industry, a shilling to-day,
a pound to-morrow, you gather ^ioo. You resolve to have
a home of your own, and to employ ^25 in furnishing
it, and with the ^75 remaining you determine to set up
a shop. You have got, indeed, ZIO° of your own, but only
^75 of capital.
Just as wealth, in its economic mean
ing, consists of all those things, and those things only,
which are transferable, limited in supply, and directly or
indirectly productive of value, so capital, which is part of that
wealth, must bear the same characteristic. There are many
things most valuable in themselves, which are not, in their strict
economic sense, capital. Capital does not include the instru
ments furnished by nature, without our aid. The water of the
sea, the air we breathe, are not capital, unless, indeed, by labour
we enclose a portion of the sea, or introduce the air into a
building. Capital consists of those things which are created,
and which were previously accumulated by man. To be capital,
moreover, the possession must be a material object, and capable
of transfer. The skill of an artist, the genius of a composer, the
wisdom of a statesman, the talent of a man of letters, the health
and strength of a labourer, are doubtless so many valuable
�USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
37
endowments to their respective possessors, but they are not of.
a material character, and cannot be transferred. If English
statesmen could transfer a little of their wisdom to the French ;
if British labourers could endow their confreres in France with
a little of their strength and steadiness of purpose; if French
artizans could pass over to British artizans part of their fertility
of invention, and their quickness of perception, what a market
there would be for them all! But these personal endowments
cannot be sold or bought, and, therefore, they do not corrie
within the meaning of the word capital.
I do not know what we should do without capital.
The
riches of nature are profusely scattered, some on the surface
and some on the very bowels of the earth; and human labour is
required to make them subservient to the many uses for which
they are adapted.
Few things are the spontaneous, unaided
gifts of nature, requiring no exertion for their production.
Nature offers its powers and its products.
Industry and
labour discover their latent utility, and surmount the diffi
culties of obtaining such products, and of giving them their
requisite modification.
‘' I know a bank whereon the wild thyme blows,
Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows ;
Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine,
With sweet musk-roses, and white eglantine.” *
Yet who is ignorant of the wonders of gardening ? What
triumphs of skill do we see in a streak, a tint, a shade
secured by the morning care, the evening caution, and the
vigilance of days bestowed by the diligent horticulturist.
Even labour, however, cannot always act singly. It needs
the aid of tools, implements, and machines. There are in the
United Kingdom immense tracts of cultivable land. Will it
do simply to employ any number of men or women to till, to
plough, to sow, to reap? No. The farmer must erect the
* Shakspeare.
�38
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
steadings. He must clear and drain. He must eradicate noxious
weeds, must make the road, the bank, the fence, the bridge.
He must purchase guano or some other fertilizer. He must have
a sufficient number of live stock. He must have the grubber, the
roller, the harrow, the rake, the reaping machine, the thrashing
machine ; ay, even the steam plough, and the steam engine, if
he can afford it. How can these be obtained, unless there be
something left of previous accumulation whereby to get them ?
Now that something is—Capital. The labourers in the act of
producing must be fed and clothed.
From whom can they
expect their sustenance but from the capitalist ? The very first
use of capital, therefore, is to provide such commodities as are
employed in producing wealth and in supplying the fund neces
sary for supporting labour.
Capital is used in all manner of ways for purposes of repro
duction. We often see our manufacturers intentionally destroy
ing it, in order to obtain the effects which are the direct
consequences of its destruction ; as, for example, they consume
coal in the furnace that they may produce iron. They are
content to see capital used up little by little as in machinery,
or consent to vary its very kind by manufacturing, or shaping
it in new forms, as in the case of cotton, wool, or other raw
material.
Subject certain quantities of cotton and wool to
certain processes ; destroy, in fact, their identity, and you obtain
in their stead shirts, drawers, gloves, shawls, stockings, hose.
Subject wool and woollen yarn to other processes, and you have
Brussels carpets, tapestry, velvets, felt, blankets, beaveis,
flannel, coverlets, etc. Capital is given away in wages as
reward for labour. It is employed in providing, extracting,
or producing materials, as in agriculture, mining, fisheries,
manufactures. It is invested in roads, railways, shipping. But
in whatever way it is employed, capital is the spring, the mover
of labour, and scarcely any work can be accomplished without
t. The greater, indeed, the amount of capital accumulated, the
�USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
39
larger the amount of work executed. What egregious folly it is
to call capital the natural foe of labour, and the capitalist the
jealous rival of labour. Instead of being an incubus on the
energies of the labourer, or the weight that crushes him down,
capital is the very prop and stay of labour, it is the indispensable
means of all employment, and of all reward of labour.
But there is a difference in the method of employing capital.
On a closer examination of what is required for production, in
the very instances already given, you will find that part of the
capital is employed in works of a permanent character, and part
for temporary and fluctuating purposes. If you wish to establish
a cotton mill, you must needs build the factory and purchase the
machinery ; if you will construct iron works, you must have the
furnaces ; if you will give yourself to agriculture, you must im
prove the land. Now capital so employed cannot be withdrawn
at pleasure. It is for all practical purposes sunk; and all you
may derive from it is a yearly rent or interest. This is techni
cally called fixed capital. But to work the factory, to produce
iron, to cultivate grain or fruit, you must get the raw material,
pay wages, buy the seed, and provide for the thousand require
ments of the business. And this is circulating or floating capital.
The fixed capital of the hunter consists of his gun and dog;
the floating, of powder and shot. The boat and net are the
fixed capital of the fisherman; any food in the boat is the float
ing. The warehouse is the fixed capital of the trader, and so
are his weights or machines ; his stock in trade and effects are
his floating capital. There is this further difference between
fixed and circulating capital, that whilst the fixed always re
mains, the circulating is always spent. You buy land for a
railway, that land remains. You pay money in wages, it goes.
Do not imagine, however, that what is termed fixed capital is
absolutely fixed or indestructible, or that what is termed float
ing is really lost. In truth, the fixed capital, unless renewed,
is in time completely lost. The floating, though temporarily
�40
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
departing, always returns. That the whole floating capital em
ployed, together with a certain amount of profits, shall return,
is the whole aim of the capitalist. Alas if it does not return !
And remember, too, that as all fixed capital must come originally
from the operation of circulating capital, and must be fed by it,
—no factory, no machine being obtainable except by first pro
viding, and afterwards sustaining, labour,—so no fixed capital
can, by any possible means, give a revenue except by the use
of circulating capital; for what is the use of building the factory,
or purchasing a piece of land, unless you are able and prepared
to manufacture cotton or woollen, or to cultivate the ground ?
At home and abroad, wherever this wonderful element, capital,
is distributed, it is employed as floating and as fixed in certain
proportions, not always precisely the same, but still pretty well
balanced. In truth, it is quite a misadventure when either form
takes an undue share of public attention. Suppose, for instance
the construction of public works should require the conversion
of any considerable part of floating into fixed capital, and what
follows ? There will be much less left for the general wants of
trade and ordinary purposes of manufacture, and serious incon
venience may ensue from it.
I wish I could give you some idea of the extraordinary sums
of capital required to carry on the industries of this country.
There are in the United Kingdom some 47,000,000 acres of
land under cultivation, on which farmers sometimes invest
y^'io or ^15 per acre. Allow ^5 10s. per acre on the average,
and you have ^258,000,000 required for agriculture. We have
a large number of industries whose very existence depends
on the constant flow of capital. Some ^80,000,000 sterling
are required for the cotton manufacture; some ^40,000,000
for the woollen; some ^30,000,000 for the iron industry ;
some £70,000,000 for our mercantile marine. Just imagine the
amount required to carry on the foreign trade of the country
--those distant trades, especially, with Australia, India, China,
�USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
4i
and Japan, which do not allow of quick returns. As many
as ^600,000,000 of capital are invested in our railways, and
I cannot tell you how much has been invested by British
capitalists in public undertakings for water, gas, and docks, in
banking and insurance, and in a hundred other objects at home
and abroad. Yes, abroad also ; for immense sums of capital
are constantly going out from Britain to every part of the
world, to fructify the soil of native industry, to fill waste places,
and to construct great public works. And what a drain is
caused by foreign loans, that new, and in many respects novel,
species of gambling of the present day. Scarcely a year passes
but we have princes and potentates, wealthy states and puny
republics, knocking at the door of the British Stock Exchange
for a new loan. At this moment, a large portion of the debt of
most states in the world, probably ^300,000,000, and more, is
due to British capitalists. This is the way in which capital
is employed. It will not do to keep capital idle, for idleness is
sure to bring about its own punishment. Take it into your head
that you will not work, and of course you get no wages. That
is your well-deserved punishment.
Let capital be kept idle,
and it will bring no interest. That is its punishment. It would
be interesting to know in what proportion capital is employed
respectively in British industry, commerce, and shipping, and
foreign enterprises and loans. I wTill not venture on bold esti
mates, but what is it that determines what specific investment
shall be preferred? Nothing else than what offers the best ad
vantage. It is the same with large as with small transactions.
A fourth or a half per annum per cent, will turn the scale,
whether I will buy American or British funded securities. One
or two per cent, will determine whether agriculture or manufac
tures shall be preferred. It is wonderful what a little difference
often turns the scale, But, mind you, it makes all the differ
ence to those who are to participate in the benefit arising from
the employment of capital, how capital is eventually invested.
�42
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
There is a great difference, for instance, in the various
proportions in which capital is distributed among the several
agents of production even as between different industries. It
has been calculated in France, that for every hundred francs
produced, fifteen go in labour, fifty-five in materials, and the
remainder in the maintenance of fixed capital, fuel, adminis
tration, and profits. According to the census of the United
States for 1870, out of $100 produced, eighteen go in labour,
fifty-six in raw materials, and the rest in interest and ad
ministration.
What are the proportions in England it is
difficult to say, but all industries are not alike. In industries
where the material is of no great value, the proportion
falling on labour for wages may even exceed the proportion
required for the material. But there are industries of just
the reverse character, where the value of the material far
exceeds every other element in the cost of production. In
the production of flour, which is only a process in the further
utilization of wheat, in calico-printing, bleaching, and dyeing,
in the reduction of gold and silver, in the refining of sugar,
the proportion of the produce falling on wages is comparatively
small, in some cases four, six, and eight per cent., and no more.
In the production of hardwares, glass wares, furniture, cotton
goods, bricks, and ship-building, the proportion of the product
falling on labour ranges from twenty to thirty per cent. I have
often been struck at the incongruity exhibited by a man constantly
touching gold and silver, silk or woollen, of the finest description,
yet he himself poor and half-starving. Walk to Spitalfields,
and see the poor silk weaver: he is manufacturing some magni
ficent velvet, or some splendid moire antique; he must be a
‘trusty man, for he is trusted with the material in his own home ;
he must have considerable knowledge of his work, and he must
be at great expense in the maintenance of the loom, and even in
house rent, for he must have as much space and light as he can.
Ask what are his wages, and he will tell you that he has the
�USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
43
poorest wages, often not better than a common labourer can
earn. Go to a cotton factory, and you see men and women
apparently simply watching a machine, or performing some
mechanical act, now taking a lump of cotton from one place
to another, and again replacing a single thread on the spindle.
Ask what is their earning, and you will find that they get
handsome wages.
Why this difference ? In the one case
the raw material is very dear, and takes away considerable
part of the produce; in the other it is very cheap, and
leaves a good share to be divided among the workers. The
dearer the raw material, whether ordinarily or exceptionally, the
worse for the labourer and the manufacturer, for often in the
difficulty of obtaining the full price the only alternative left is
to work at reduced wages and profits. Happily, in England,
the great bulk of our manufactures are the products of raw
materials of comparatively little value. Whilst France is the
home of the silk manufacture, England is the seat of the cotton
and iron industries. It will not do, however, to say we should
pick and choose the industries which give the best return to
labour. Whatever is most beneficial to capital must also be
equally beneficial to labour, and you may be sure of this, that
the watchful eye of the capitalist will ever be on the outlook
to make a good selection for his investments.
It is difficult to say what we should most dread, either an
unlimited growth of capital, or any sudden stoppage of accumu
lation ; for an unlimited growth would inevitably be followed by
a diminution of profit, and a consequent discouragement of
industry; and a diminution of capital would have results still
more disastrous. As yet, we are -thankful to say, there is no
danger either of the one or of the other. Capital is growing in
England at an enormous ratio. But the demand for capital both
at home and abroad is greater than ever. Nor is it a bad thing,
after all, that some of our surplus should find its way abroad.
John Stuart Mill attributed to the perpetual overflow of capital
�44
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
to colonies or to foreign countries, to seek higher profits than
can be obtained at home, the principal cause by which the
decline of profits in England has been arrested. This, he said,
has a twofold operation. “ In the first place, it does what a fire,
or an inundation, or a commercial crisis, would have done ;—it
carries off a part of the increase of capital from which the
reduction of profits proceeds. Secondly, the capital so carried
off is not lost, but is chiefly employed either in founding colonies,
which become large exporters of cheap agricultural produce, or
in extending, and perhaps improving, the agriculture of older
communities. It is to the emigration of English capital, that we
have chiefly to look for keeping up a supply of cheap food and
cheap materials of clothing, proportioned to the increase of our
population : thus enabling an increasing capital to find employ
ment in the country, without reduction of profits, in producing
manufactured articles with which to pay for this supply of raw
produce. Thus, the exportation of capital is an agent of great
efficacy in extending the field of employment for that which
remains ; and it may be said truly, that up to a certain point,
the more capital we send away the more we shall possess and
be able to retain at home.” Fear not, indeed, the exportation
of capital, so long as it goes to fertilize the land, to create
new means of transport, to animate industry, and to strengthen
and invigorate labour in America, India, Australia, or any part
of the world. But fear such exportation when it goes to act as
the sinews of war, when it is to be employed for destruction,
and not for production, Better far to sink capital into the
deep, than to lend it to any power in Europe—ay, to the British
Government itself—for the support of a warlike policy in any
quarter, and for any purpose whatever.
It is good, after all, to be able to say that, however selfish
and materialistic it may seem at first sight, political economy
has this redeeming characteristic, that it does not teach us to
hide our light under a bushel, to keep what we have to ourselves
�USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
45
and for ourselves. If you have gathered capital, let it out; do
not keep it in your pocket, nor hide it in an old stocking.
If you have any talent, let it shine. Use it liberally for your
selves and for others. I remember reading a happy illustration
of the principle in question as applied to literary pursuits in
“Excelsior,” a charming publication, edited by the late Dr.
Hamilton. “An earnest mind,” he said, “is not a bucket, but
a fountain; and as good thoughts flow out, better thoughts flow
in. Good thoughts are gregarious. The bright image or spark
ling aphorism, the gold or silver of capital,—fear not to give it
wing, for, lured by its decoy, thoughts of sublimer range and
sunnier pinion will be sure to descend and gather round it. As
you scatter, you’ll increase. And it is in this way that, whilst
many a thought that might have enriched the world has been
buried in a sullen and monastic spirit, like a crock of gold in
a coffin, the good idea of a frank and forth-spoken man gets
currency, and after being improved to the advantage of thou
sands, has returned to its originator with usury. It has been
lent, and so it has not been lost; it has been communicated,
and so it has been preserved ; it has circulated, and so it has
increased.”
We should all remember that, in one sense or another, we are
all capitalists. In an economic sense, labour is an element
distinct from capital. But in a better sense—for it is the sense
of common experience—we stand much more on a level. We are
all labourers, and all capitalists. Taking the working classes
at two-thirds of the entire population, and assuming an average
weekly aggregate earning of thirty shillings for each family of 4'50
persons, the entire income of the working classes will amount
to ^400,000,000 per annum, probably quite as much as the
income of all the middle and higher classes together. You, the
working classes, destitute of all capital, a class distinct from the
capitalists ? What folly ! Multiply that earning of yours at ten
years’ purchase, and your property in your labour income from
�46
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
all sources is worth ^4,000,000,000. Away with all jealousy
between Labour and Capital ! We are all interested in each
other’s welfare : on the success of the capitalist your income
depends ; and on your welfare and happiness, the capitalist’s
chief strength must ever rest.
Moralists have often been led to decry the all-absorbing eager
ness of the present age in the pursuit of wealth, and fears have
been expressed lest the love of money should engross far too much
the heart and mind of the nation,—lest, instead of seeking wealth
as an instrument for the purchase of ease and enjoyment, both
the ease and the enjoyment of a whole life should be rendered
up a sacrifice to its shrine,—lest, instead of its being desired as a
minister of gratification to the appetites of nature, it should bring
nature itself into bondage, robbing her of all her simple delights,
pouring wormwood into the current of her feelings, making that
man sad who ought to be cheerful. Well might Matthew Henry
say, “ There is a burden of care in getting riches ; fear in keep
ing them ; temptation in using them ; guilt in abusing them;
sorrow in losing them ; and a burden of account at last to be
given up concerning them.”
But let us not ignore or forget the many benefits derived from
wealth ; and whilst we condemn an excessive devotion to its
pursuit, let us be ready to acknowledge that the acquisition of
wealth is good in itself as the reward of well-directed labour, of
industry, frugality, and economy. And look at the results !
What power of attraction, what magic influence, does capital
possess ! What wonders does it achieve ! Behold the embodi
ments of capital in our halls and palaces, docks and warehouses,
factories and workshops, railways and canals, parks and plea
sure grounds. What a mighty power is capital, even in politics !
Three millions of British sovereigns haye silenced the grumbling
of the Americans for the concession of belligerent rights to the
Confederate States, and the raids of the Alabama and other
privateers on American shipping. Four millions of hard sove-
�USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
47
reigns have procured to England an interest in the Suez Canal.
What is it that renders Britain so influential in the council of
the nations ? What is it that placed this nation, once so ob
scure, in the foremost place in civilization and science ? Whence,
but by the expenditure of much treasure, has Britain been
rendered the healthy and courted resort of princes and nobles
from all countries ? Look around, and see what wealth is
capable of performing,—what monuments it has raised,—what
agencies it has called into activity,—what encouragement it
has afforded to science, art, and discoveries. What but wealth
has procured for Britain those store-houses of knowledge which
enrich our museums and galleries ? And what but the exist
ence of a class in the full enjoyment of ease and wealth has
given to the nation the immense benefit of a large number of
men who, with refined taste and enlarged views, can give them
selves to those higher objects which foster civilization and
science ? It is the glory of England that she possesses so
many men of position and wealth, who, eschewing the tempta
tion of ease and luxury, are thankful if they are selected to
preside over our hospitals, to take their share in the maintenance
of order and justice, to devote themselves to legislation, to take
an active part in the laborious task of our School Boards.
Many are the examples of liberality, moreover, which redeem
wealth from the charge of sordid avarice or cold unconcern for
human suffering. The names of George Moore and George
Peabody, of Samuel Morley and the Baroness Coutts, are
household words in the national catalogue of benefactors :—
“Those are great souls, who touch’d with warmth divine,
Give gold a price, and teach its beams to shine ;
All hoarded pleasures they repute a load,
Nor think their wealth their own, till well bestow’d.”
And let any cry of distress be heard, do we not see at once a
flow of liberality to mitigate its pressure ? Yes ! let wealth
continue to diffuse blessings such as these, and what a crop of
�^g
USE OF CAPITAL IN INDUSTRY.
beneficence will be gathered !
How much misery will be alle
viated ! What amount of ignorance will be removed 1. What
high purposes will be served 1 In the work of production and
distribution of wealth, most of us are immediately interested.
Let us be thankful for the measure of prosperity this work of
ours procures for us. Let us remember that, whether rich or
poor in gold and silver, it is always in our power to possess the
godlike happiness of doing good, to be benefactors to others,
and to have a perpetual spring of peace and joy in ourselves.
�IV.
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
Are the working classes at this moment receiving such wages as
they are entitled to have ? Do they participate fully and justly in
the produce of their labour ? Do they get a just reward for the
work they perform ? These are the questions before us this
evening ; and certainly I know of no other social theme which
has called forth more continuous, more keen, and more interest
ing controversy. We all know that labour is indispensable for
production, that it must be performed with energy, health, and
intelligence, that it is economised by machinery, and rendered
more productive by the division of labour,—and that, as a whole,
labour is exercised in England under circumstances, physical,
economical, and political, far superior to those of many other
countries. Now let us bring labour face to face with capital, that
element so much dreaded for its power and influence, yet without
which labour cannot proceed. On the one hand, we have the
labourer hard at work in the business of life j on the other, the
capitalist, bringing to the help of labour the fruit of his saving, yet
trying to economise it, and to render it as useful as possible.
Labourers both they are, the labourer and the capitalist, because
all capital is the fruit of labour—saved, not wasted, and em
ployed in reproduction. Whilst, however, there lie before us
the two parties in the great conflict, ever at issue, ever jealous
of one another, and now and again coming to an open struggle,
4
�5°
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
let us keep in mind that the two great factors in the determina
tion of the reward of labour, are not capital and labour, but the
producers on the one hand, as including both labour and capital,
and the consumers on the other. On what condition can the
interests of all parties be satisfactorily established, and any
seeming divergence reconciled ?
I do not know how far you are prepared to give heed to what
economists have to say on a question which so touches your
interest to the quick. I have heard the science charged with
being cold and unsympathetic, yet I believe that its dictates
ought to be listened to with attention, for Adam Smith and
John Stuart Mill, Jean Baptiste Say and Michel Chevalier, did
not give their oracles as from the gods, but as the result of
induction from ascertained facts. And whence the immense
accumulation of wealth within the last quarter of a century,
in which the labouring classes have so much participated,
but from the recognition of the principles of economic science
and the practical application of their dictates to national
legislation ?
The machinery of production and distribution is much more
complicated than we are apt to imagine, for it extends back
to the manifold operations connected with the production and
acquisition of the raw materials, tools, and factories, and reaches
far and away, through manifold ramifications, till the produce
finds its way into the hands of the consumer. In a primitive
state of society, a labourer may easily cut a tree and build a
hut for himself, or work on the virgin soil and draw from it a
scanty subsistence ; but it is not so in the present advanced
civilization. The raw materials come from the most distant
regions. The tools, machines, and instruments are the pro
ducts of exquisite skill. The motive power is no longer the
running steam or the rushing wind.
How extensive, how
systematic, how economically adapted everything must be ere
a labourer can enter into his labour! What scheming, what
�THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
Si
.organization, what foresight are required in the master in the
conduct of all his operations 1 What a number of agents !
How many are the instrumentalities required to bring the pro
duce within the reach of the consumer, in towns and hamlets,
at home and abroad ! Travel among the Exquimaux or the
Hottentots, penetrate Asia or America, visit the Fair of Nijni
Novgorod, and the bazaars at Constantinople, and everywhere
you find British goods. How came they there? What toil,
what expenditure to bring them there ! How much of the pro
duce of such goods falls into the hands of the producer in
England, and how much is divided and subdivided among the
merchants and traders, carriers and shipmasters, agents and
brokers, engaged in their transmission, who can say ?
Nor is it easy to ascertain how the net amount which eventually
falls into the hands of the producer should be distributed
between the master and the workmen, the capitalist and the
labourer. Deeply interested alike in the results of production,
interdependent on one another for its success, we might fancy
they might easily agree to act jointly in a kind of partnership.
But can the labourer wait till the article is completed and sold,
to divide the proceeds with the capitalist ? Can he work on
the chance that the article may be sold or prove profitable ?
Better for him, in most cases, to receive something prompt and
certain, than a larger sum at a distant time, and contingent on
the success of the enterprise. Nor would such an agreement
answer the interest of the master, for he must look to the best
time for selling his merchandize, and he cannot expose himself
to the pressure of the labourers, or to the danger of disagree
ment. Better for them both to substitute for such an uncertain
issue, which might in the end prove satisfactory to neither party,
the contract of wages, or the purchase and sale of certain labour
for a certain renumeration, the workmen consenting to have
their share of the profits, whatever they be, or their chance
of profit or loss, commuted into a fixed payment. Only let it
�'52
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
be understood that in entering into such a contract the parties
agree on the mutual recognition of property in capital and
labour, and on the absolute freedom on the part of both, the one
to demand, and the other to give, whatever their respective
interests may dictate.
The business of production is one requiring extreme nicety
of calculation. To accept a contract for the building of a
house, to undertake the working of a mill, or to rent a farm,
are alike operations the success of which depends on the
careful estimate of receipts and expenditure. We often speak
of the master as the capitalist, but the capital he requires is a
commodity having a market value, and the cost of which he
must take into account. You wish to establish a cotton mill.
the mill itself may cost you some ^30,000 in land’ bulld'
ings, steam-engines, gas-works, warehouses, and all the fixed
requisites, besides a per centage per annum for repair and
dilapidation. Beyond this, as much capital will be required
for the machinery; and to that, too, a still larger per centage
per annum must be added for wear and tear, and renewal
when worked out. Then you need capital to purchase cotton
and stock for carrying on the trade. You have the insurance
to pay, and the expense of taxes, engines, horses, the weekly
contengencies of oil, tallow, etc.; and the most important
item, the interest of all this capital, which varies from time
to time from 2| to io per cent, per annum. Add now, the
wages of labour, and the remuneration due to the master for
the labour and talent required in the administration—talent
often of a very high order,—and you can form a fair estimate of
the cost of the article produced. But can the manufacturer
count upon recovering the whole of his cost from the consumer ?
Ultimately, indeed, the value of any article is regulated by the
cost of production, whatever that be ; but is there no probability
that the competition between the producers within the same or
in different countries, or the inability of the consumers, may
�THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
53
compel the producer to sell at prices lower than he had calcu
lated. And if so, the cost of capital and other commodities being
the same, must not the master, if he is to continue to produce,
lower the wages of labour and be content to do himself with
less remuneration ?
It is objected, that before thinking of lowering the wages, the
master should see whether some economy might not be effected
in the expense of distribution, which often absorbs so large a
portion of the produce of an article. It is possible that some
economy may be effected in this direction, but in this matter
the producer is often helpless, the business of production
being quite distinct from that of distribution. Do not imagine
that it would be economy if the producer should attempt to
take into his own hands the business of distribution, for would
he not require double the number of agents, a corresponding
increase in the amount of capital, and double the amount of
profits? But allowing the necessity of lowering both profits
and wages, it is asserted that it must still remain at the
option of the workman whether he will sell his labour at the
lower rates. No one can certainly question the right of the
workman to act on his own judgment in the matter. All I
venture to assert is that the master may be compelled by the
circumstances of trade to offer to his workmen less wages for
the future than he was wont to give for the past. If they will
not accept such lower wages, the master cannot help it, but the
chances are that if they insist on refusing the offer production
may be thereby suspended, for surely the master may be credited
for using the best means in his power to carry on his business,
not only without interruption, but in peace and harmony with
his men, if he can possibly do so.
The motive power which prompts a master in accepting a
contract for the building of a house, in undertaking the working
of a mill, or the renting of a farm, is doubtless profit. It is
with a view to profit that he emplo- s his own capital, and
�54
the reward of labour.
Whatever additional capital may be required in his business ;
and it is with a view to profit that he employs his labourers.
To succeed the master must seek to economise the use of
every element which affects the cost of the produce ; must
choose the best market for it; must endeavour to maintain his
productive power, and avoid any break or interruption of work.
But do you think that it is the interest of the employer to starve
his labourers ? I venture to say, the employer is fully conscious
of the fact that those whom he employs, must be able to live
by their work, that they must educate their children, and they
must have a share of relaxation and enjoyment, without which
life becomes a burden. The master cannot forget that the
best way to make his labourers work well is to pay them well,
or as well as the state of business permits, to keep them happy
and cheerful, strong and healthy ; and he knows, too, full well,
that if he will deal justly by his labourers, they will neither neg
lect their work nor be disaffected, they will neither complain nor
be disposed to strike. Only, the master cannot always control
the course of the market, and he may be compelled to lower the
wages and reduce his profits, lest by keeping the cost of pro
duction too high, he should become unable to compete with the
foreign producers, or to meet the ability of the consumers, and
so lose his custom altogether.
‘ Where is the guarantee, however, that the employer will act
fairly in such calculations ? What if his intentions be solely to
force the labourers to accept lower wages with a view to the
retention of higher profits? What if the statements of bad
trade, or restricted demand, or increasing competition, should
be purposely exaggerated for the same end ? What, m short,
if the wages offered are not justified by the state of the market ?
I fully admit the possibility of such circumstances, and I think
that where there has been between masters and men a long
course of dealings, the men have a moral right to expect from
the master an open and frank statement of the position of the
�THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
55
business, and of the reasons which necessitate an alteration of
the terms of their contract, before he summarily announces a
reduction of wages. In any case, he should remember that he
has to deal with his labourers as with free men, and that they
will exercise their judgment to accept or not, as they please, the
wages offered. And be sure of this, that if the competition
'among labourers is certain to prove favourable to the employer
in keeping the wages low, the freedom of the labourers,
and an extensive field of labour in the colonies and America,
enable the labourers to resist any attempt of his to lower
wages unduly, and to prevent them falling below what is just
and necessary.
There is, indeed, a minimum below which wages can never
go. Much labour has been expended in ascertaining what
that minimum is, or what is the intrinsic value of labour at
any time ; and it has been said that, as the intrinsic value of
anything is regulated by the cost of production, so the intrinsic
value of labour is ultimately governed by the cost of subsistence
of the labourer and his family. However large the competition
among labourers, the wages can never fall below the cost of
bare living, for the simple reason that if the labourer cannot
live in one occupation, he will leave it and choose another ; and
if he is not able for any other, he will emigrate. This, then, is
the natural or necessary rate of wages, and it is variable ac
cording to the cost of articles of food and clothing, and must
also differ at different times and in different countries. Let it
be established, for instance, that the cost of living in England,
including food, drink, clothing, and house-rent, has increased
twenty per cent, within the last twenty years, and the natural or
intrinsic value of labour must of necessity have risen in similar
proportions.* And must not the intrinsic value of labour be
higher in England, where the labourer eats wheaten bread
* See Appendix A.
�56
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
and butcher’s meat daily, than in China, where a labourer is
content and able to live almost exclusively on rice ?
Happily, this minimum of wages is scarcely ever touched, but
there are industries where the profits of production are extremely
low, and where the competition among labourers is extreme.
Who has not heard of the pitiful cases of the silk weavers and
throwsters, of the needlewomen and kid-glove stitchers, of the
stocking and glove weavers, of the farm and dock labourers ? It
does seem miserable pay to offer z^d. for embroidering a skirt
two or three yards wide, even with the sewing machine. Who has
not felt pain, sorrow, and I may say indignation, when reading
those plaintive words of Hood :
“ With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread—
Stitch ! stitch 1 stitch 1
In poverty, hunger, and dirt;
And still with a voice of dolorous pitch
She sang the ‘ Song of the Shirt.'
Work, work, work—
Till the brain begins to swim !
Work, work, work—
Till the eyes are heavy and dim 1
Seam, and gusset, and band,
Band, and gusset, and seam—
Till over the buttons I fall asleep,
And sew them on in a dream !”
But what is the cause of such low wages ? Some say,
nothing else but the competition among producers to sell their
products sufficiently cheap to attract custom. But pay higher
wages, and immediately a rise on the price of such articles must
be made, which will lessen proportionally their consumption,
and check likewise production. Do not say that the consumers
would pay more if they could not get such articles so cheap.
Probably a great number will, but a large number will abstain
�7HE REWARD OF LABOUR.
57
rom consuming them. The consumption of articles of necessity,
as well as of luxury, is alike governed by the price. Add a
penny to the cost of a single shirt, or to that of a pound of tea,
or a halfpenny to the price of sugar or a loaf of bread, and at
once the consumption is sure to diminish in exact proportion.
And what will be the consequence ? A reduction of production
means a less demand for labour ; and many who are now
obtaining a scanty livelihood, may, instead of getting more,
be doomed to get nothing at all. The wages of agricultural
labour are low, but remember that in most cases the labour is
purely manual, and that the supply of simply manual labour is
always superabundant. Mr. Malthus exhibited with great force
the disagreeable fact, that, whilst the population is capable of
increasing at a geometrical ratio, such as 2, 4, 8, 16, 32, and so
forth, the means of subsistence only increase at an arithmetical
ratio such as 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, etc. Doubtless, a proper restraint in
the matter of matrimony, and prudence as regards the increase
of our families, might check the excess of labourers, and so tend
to keep wages above their minimum, but we cannot trust on so
much wisdom on the part of the people, and so our only hope
must lie in the vast fields of emigration ever open for our super
abundant population. As an evidence that supply and demand of
labour regulate the wages compare Devon and Northumberland.
In Devon the wages are, say, I2j. a week ; in Northumberland,
20j. But in Devon the supply of labour is far in excess of the
demand; in Northumberland, with the demand for coal-mining
and with Newcastle at hand, full of industries absorbing any
quantity of labour, labour is ever scarce. What is it that lowers
so much the wages in the manufacturing districts but the con
stant influx of agricultural labourers ? As Mr. Cobden tersely put
it, when two workmen run after one master, the wages will fall;
and when two masters run after a workman, the wages are
certain to rise.
There are industries, however,—and I am happy to say they
�58
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
include almost every branch of the artisan population,—where
the wages are not pressed down by excessive supply of labour,
and where fair wages ought to obtain. To be remunerative the
wages ought to provide the workman not only the cost of living
to himself and his family in the locality where the workman
must live,-—in London, if his work be there, or in a provincial
town, if his labour be there,—but also the cost and maintenance
of his tools, the recovery of the cost of his apprenticeship,
some provision for old age and infirmity, and an insurance
against the perils of sudden or early death, especially in those
occupations which are essentially injurious to health. And
some difference should be made, too, for the agreeableness or
disagreeableness of the work. But all these items are repre
sented in the relative wages of different classes of artisans.
What is included in the price of an article, in a certain rate of
wages of labour, in the course of exchange between one country
and another, or in the rate of interest on capital, it is often
extremely difficult to analyse. The Bank rate is, say, 3^ per
cent. In what proportions are included in that rate the value
of capital proper, the commission and expense of the trans
action, and the insurance of the risk ? And so as regard wages.
How much, for instance, of the ninepence per hour goes to meet
the relation of supply and demand of masons or carpenters, the
cost of their tools, and any of the other considerations named ?
Such analyses are not easily made, yet depend upon it the wages
or the price represents the aggregate of all the items which
enter into their value at the time.
It should be remembered that whilst the labourer calculates
what he receives in relation to the compensation he expects for
his work and toil, the employer calculates what he gives in
relation to the amount of work performed for him in return ;
for the same amount of wages may produce twice as much
labour where the labourer is sturdier in strength, and really in
earnest in his work, than where the labourer is weak and
�THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
59
indolent. And is there not a difference in the power of labour
between the stalwart Northumbrian and the weakly Devonian ?
A greater amount of labour will be performed in a summer
than in a winter’s day, in countries where the people are less
given to enjoyments than in those where pleasure seems
the first and most attractive pursuit. Let us suppose that in
France, Austria, or any other country, a manufacturer should
require twice the number of hands, twice as large a building to
contain the hands, twice as many clerks and bookkeepers and
Overlookers to look after them, and twice as many tools as he
would to do the same quantity of work in England, must he
not pay such labourers less there than he would here? The
rate of wages may be lower in France than in England, and yet
the amount of wages paid for a given quantity of work may be
more in France than in England. “ Profits,” said Mr. Ricardo,
“ depend on wages,—not on nominal but real wages ; not on the
number of pounds that may be annually paid to the labourers,
but on the number of days’ work necessary to obtain those
pounds.”
By whichever standard the rate of wages may be estimated,
the question really at issue between masters and men is whether
or not what is now paid in the shape of wages is just, or below
what is really due to the share taken by labour in production.
There is no concealing the fact that in the mind of many of
our workmen there is a lurking idea that the immense fortunes
amassed by our producers and traders are more or less the
result of an unequal division of the profits of production, and
that they could pay considerably more wages, but they will not.
That indeed, they say, is the real secret of low wages. Only, they
try to cover it under the pretext of the doctrine of the wages or
labour fund. But what is this theory ? According to the econo
mists, the doctrine is simply this : that wages, by an irresistible
law, depend on the demand and supply of labour, and can in no
circumstances be either more or less than what will distribute the
�6o
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
existing wage fund among the existing number of competitors for
the same,—the demand for labour consisting of the whole circu
lating capital of the country, including what is paid in wages
for unproductive labour ; the supply, the whole labouring popu
lation. If the supply is in excess of what the capital can at
present employ, wages must fall. If the labourers are all
employed, and there is a surplus of capital still unused, wages
will rise.
This is the wage-fund theory upon which Mr.
Thornton broke lance with John Stuart Mill. If the question
be asked, Is there such a thing as a wage fund, in the sense
here implied ? exists there any fixed amount which is neither
more nor less than what is destined to be expended in wages ?
Mr. Thornton boldly declares that the supposed barrier to the
expansion of wages as indicated by this theory is a shadow, and
not a reality, for besides the original capital which the employer
invests in the business, there are the growing profits which may
also be used in wages. Mr. Mill, in his review of Mr. Thornton’s
work on “ Labour and its Claims,” in the Fortnightly Review, so
far admitted that there is no law of nature making it impossible
for wages to rise to the point of absorbing not only the funds
which the employer had intended to devote to the carrying on
his business, but the whole of what he allows for his private
expenses beyond the necessaries of life. But, said Mr. Mill,
there is a limit nevertheless, and that limit to the rise of wages
is the practical consideration how much would ruin the employer,
or drive him to abandon his business. In short, just as wages
may be too low, so as to impair the working power of the
labourer, so they may be too high, so as to leave no profit; and
just as excessively low wages will drive the labourer to emigrate,
so unduly high wages will drive capital out of the business.
How far the assumption is correct that employers are
amassing large profits, I am not prepared to say. The under
standing is, that the return of seven per cent, on the capital
invested is a pie, and it cannot be considered excessive when
�THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
6l
we consider the dangers and vicissitudes of commerce. See
what losses are incurred by bankruptcy. During the last six
years, from 1870 to 1875, the total amount of liabilities of estates
liquidated by bankruptcy, by arrangement, or composition with
creditors, was Ziioj759?ooo> and the total amount of assets
^32,607,000, showing an actual loss to creditors of £78,152,000,
or in the proportion of Z^?000,000 Per annum; and this,
remember, irrespective of the cost of bankruptcy, which in
many cases absorbs nearly the whole of the assets. Suppose,
however, good fortune should favour any branch of production,
and unusual profits be realised, will there not' be a sudden rush
of capital for investment in the same ? For a time, the greedy
employer may pocket large profits, but as soon as fresh capital
is invested, competition causes a larger share of the same to fall
on the labourer, and wages rise, till the rates of profits and the
rates of wages are brought to their normal level. The relation
of profits to wages is often wrongly apprehended. It is an error
to suppose that large profits are the results of low wages, and
low profits the results of high wages. Although an increase of
capital has the tendency to lower the profits, and to increase
wages, the same increase of capital also tends to render labour
more profitable, and to increase the amount of production, which
in turn maintains a high rate of profits. See the operation of
machinery on wages. The investment of capital in machinery
enables the workman to produce tenfold more than he was able
to produce by the hand ; and in proportion as he increases his
productive power, so his earnings increase. A workman at
Bristol said that the extra production of machinery ought to
be divided by masters and workmen.
And so they are, in
certain proportions.
Before 1842, said Mr. Ashworth, the
operative spinner’s wages for the production of 20 lb. of yarn
70’s, on a pair of mules of 400 spindles each, was 43-. yd. (or 2fd.
per lb.), and at this rate his net earnings amounted to about
20s. per week. In 1859, with the improvements effected in the
�62
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
spinning mule, by which each machine carries 800 spindles,
the same workman, with a little extra assistance by piecers
(boys), could earn 30J. icvf. per week net, although the amount he
received in wages for 20 lb. of yarn was reduced from 4s. ^d. to
3J. ii%d. or 2'36d, per pound. Compare the actual earnings of
spinners and others employed in the cotton industry during
the last forty years : they show an increase of 30 or 50 per
cent., besides a considerable reduction in the number of hours
of labour.*
The reason why the employer amasses a larger amount of
wealth in proportion than the labourer, will be found, not in
any usurpation of the share of profits which may belong to
workmen, for that, after all, is a matter of simple contract, but
in the fact that whilst the labourer receives only the proper
remuneration of his labour, the employer not only gets higher
remuneration for his skill, because of a higher order, but also
the profit of his capital, or an annual sum of profit on the
aggregate accumulation of all his savings for years past ;—to
say nothing of the immense advantage of production on a large
scale which the possession of large capital enables the master
to realize, and of his chances of large profits from sudden
changes in the value of produce, to be placed, however,
against the chance of equally sudden losses, the result either of
unusual skill and good fortune, or of sad miscalculations and
blunders.
The wages of labour, the profits of merchants and bankers,
the earnings of men of letters, of barristers and doctors, the
salaries of civil servants, and even the incomes of bishops and
clergymen, are not, I apprehend, so uniformly balanced as we
might wish. Doubtless, the progress of freedom, the extended
knowledge of the use of capital, the progress of division of
labour, the facilities of communication, and the advanced conSee Appendix B.
�THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
63
dition of certain industries, may tend to the greater equalization
of wages. But such equalization can never supersede the essen
tial difference of earnings of any number of persons, the natural
consequence of greater or less amount of skill, greater or less
amount of energy, health, or special capacities, and of relative
advantage of position for the exercise of certain industries. To
suppose the possibility of any uniformity of wages, irrespective
of such differences of skill, knowledge, industry, and character,
is to imagine that equal enjoyment may be had as the return
for unequal efforts, abilities, and sacrifices. Upon the relative
merits of the payment of wages, by the day or hour, or by socalled piece-work, little need be said. The contract of labour
is doubtless not so many hours, but so much labour for so much
money ; and it should be a matter of simple convenience to both
parties which of the two systems should be preferable. Honestly
performed, and as honestly inspected, piece-work appears to
me to contain the elements of perfect fairness, though payment
by the day may stimulate greater attention to solidity and finish
of workmanship.
I will not venture to assert that present wages are satis
factory. Taking the wages of builders in the metropolis at
9<£ per hour, they may appear sufficiently liberal. But are all
builders earning as much ? How many get no more than
per hour ? How little are the building labourers earning ! Nor
do such wages continue uninterrupted during the year : for at
least two months of the year many of them remain in forced idle
ness. True, the rates of wages are higher now than they were,
but the cost of living has increased also, whilst the standard
of living is altogether altered.
Must they not pay more now
for the education of their children ? Can they do without their
newspapers ? Must they not travel from their homes to their
works ? And ought they not to have their due relaxation on
Bank holidays, at Christmas, and Whitsuntide ? Many items of
expenditure, once deemed extravagant, are now become almost
�64
I
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
as imperative as the necessaries of life. And if the imperial
taxes are higher, are not the local rates greatly increased ? There
are features at work which leave much to be desired in the
economics of the labouring classes. The sudden emancipation
of youth from all family control, and the consequent waste of
recourses which a family purse would avoid, are a decided evil.
The large proportion of married women employed in the textile
industries, is a sad element in the social system. Let the man be
the bread-winner, and the woman attend to household duties.
That is Nature’s rule ; but instead of this, all home comforts are
sacrificed for recruiting the scanty wages of the men, certain to
be destroyed by mismanagement. Happy indeed would it be
for the manufacturing districts of England were every married
woman having a family prohibited working in any factory, for
it is contrary to the course of all nature that mothers should
have to deposit their nurslings with some friend or neighbour,
or perhaps in some institution established for that purpose,
whilst they go out to work for the family living.*
Better wages, and better use of wages, we must still desire.
Think not that higher wages will restrain industry, for the
economic condition of the masses all over ,the world is im
mensely improved, and their means of purchase are decidedly
enlarged. Low wages are the concomitant of declining, not of
prosperous industries. It has been said that high wages engender
idleness and dissipation. I do not agree with such a proposi
tion. Idleness and dissipation are more frequently the conse
quence of misery and want of strength than of comfort, health,
and vigour. A sudden increase of means may, for a time, lead
to extravagance, but let it consolidate itself into a regular income,
and it is sure to create love of property, a desire of acquisition,
and a sense of self-esteem,—the best safeguards against waste and
dissipation. Charge not the recent rise of wages for the un* See Report of Robert Baker, Esq., Factory Inspector, 31st October,
1873, p. 120.
�THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
65
happy condition of large numbers of the labouring classes.
Charge the same, the rather, on the want of education, on the
employment of women and children in factories, and on the
many evils incident to our present, in many respects, artificial
organization of society.
For all the progress achieved during the last half century
in the economic condition of the people, let us be thankful.
What a change in the mode of living from the time of Queen
Elizabeth, when, while the gentlemen provided themselves with
sufficiency of wheat for their own table, their households and
poor neighbours were content with rice or barley, or in time of
dearth with bread made either of beans, peas, or oats. And
we are cleverer, too, as to the true sources of better wages.
Bitter experience has more than proved that war cannot improve
the condition of the labouring classes, for whatever hinders or
interrupts the production of wealth, whatever discourages the
investment of capital, must of necessity reduce employment and
lower wages. True, a sudden demand of men for the army and
navy may cause a temporary diminution of competition among
labourers; but while production is well-nigh suspended, and the
unproductive expenditure excessive, the resources of the people
are sure to suffer. The attempt to .regulate wages by law has been
tried and failed, as might have been well expected. An artificial
barrier of prohibitions and import duties has been tried as a means
to foster the productive power of the nation, but what is the use
of producing, when the people cannot consume ? The fictitious
and dangerous experiment of supplementing wages by poor relief
has also been tried, and abandoned as Communistic in principle,
and economically most mischievous. A better era, a sounder
policy, has been at last inaugurated, and wealth has increased at
a rapid pace. Have the labouring classes profited by the happy
change to the full extent in their power ? Workmen, it is for
you to answer. Are you desirous to improve your condition, to
become yourselves capitalists ? It is quite within your reach, for
5
�66
THE REWARD OF LABOUR.
wages are the parent of all capital. Only, learn to be thrifty.
Beware of little expenses, and you will soon amass capital which
will enable you from labourers to become employers ; employers,
I hope, the more able to deal kindly and justly with your men
because you have yourselves occasionally had reason to com
plain of your own employers.
�V.
TRADE UNIONS.
The tree is known by its fruit. You cannot expect roses from
thorns. And from a legislation which deliberately robbed the
working man of the only true patrimony he possessed—his
labour by compelling him to work at such wages as the master
chose to pay, by one degree only removed from the state of
slavery, where both the slave and his work are the property of
the master j from a legislation which consigned to the common
gaol any one who attempted to improve his wages, and doomed
to the pillory any one who dared attempt to conspire, cove
nant, or promise, with or to any other, that he should not do
certain works but at certain rates, and should not work but
at certain hours and time, you could expect nothing else but
secret societies acting in the most arbitrary manner, dis
countenancing any record of their proceedings, having their
most stringent laws unwritten, and their most significant usages
unrecorded, whose committees were practically irresponsible,
whose threats were not expressed but understood, and whose
punishments were carried out, not in broad daylight, but by in
visible hands. Happily, we may say, the age of secret societies
is now gone by. We have no sympathy for the Templars or the
Jesuits, the Red Cross or the Carbonari, and though we laugh at
the Pope putting Freemasonry in the Syllabus—for we know it
�68
TRADE UNIONS.
not to be any conspiracy against Government and religion, but
a fraternity for the practice of mutual charity, protection, and
assistance—we rejoice to know also that secret societies need no
longer exist, and should have no place in the political, social, or
economical condition of the nation.
There are a few, but very few, who profess to regard capitalists,
as a class, with suspicion, and who account for their existence
simply as an historical accident, owing its birth, perhaps, to
the fact of all nations having begun in slavery. Incapable
of accounting for the fact that for every hundred persons ninetysix are working people and four capitalists, such enthusiasts
are prepared, like Caspar Rauchbilder, a kind of philosophic
sugar-baker, to put society into a cauldron, secure a perfect
vacuum by relieving it of all prejudices and all property, and
from the ashes make a filter, through which this selfish age
shall pass, and emerge a new moral world. But the great
mass of members of our Trade Societies are not such foolish
dreamers. If they fail at all, they fail in contemplating capital
as something to a certain extent antagonistic to labour,—in
striving not for a maximum of production, but for the maxi
mum share of a given amount of production, in endeavouring to
secure for labour the largest share of a product, which is, to
say the least, the joint result of capital and labour. But what
ever be the object, workmen have a perfect right to combine,
and seek such ends as are lawful, in the way they best prefer.
The right to combine with others in order to secure a common
benefit is, I believe, a sacred one, not a whit less sacred
than that of individual liberty; and I rejoice that all laws
against combinations have long ago been abolished. Nay, I
go further ; I believe that the formation of Trade Societies,
within proper limits, is perfectly justifiable, and may be even to
some extent beneficial, for I sympathise with the condition of
many of our workmen, who seldom come into direct contact
with their employers, or who have to deal with masters too
�TRADE UNIONS.
much hardened in the old system of ruling with the iron rod to
be able fully to recognise the higher aspirations of our workmen.
Only, let me say to such societies, and more particularly to
their leaders, that great as is the power of association, it cannot
be all-supreme ; and undoubted as is their utility, there are
rights and privileges which must be likewise guarded and pro
tected. Individual independence, and the right of isolated
action, are quite as essential as the right of association, and no
one ought to be called to abdicate such rights in deference to
-those of the association. Whilst asserting their right to act
in a corporate capacity, they must not ignore the right of those
who prefer to act by themselves and for themselves. What
ever be the proportion of Trade Unionists to the total number
■of workers in any branch of industry, this is not a case where
■the majority can bind the minority, simply because by no act
of theirs, as in a case of partnership, can non-unionists be said
to have delegated to unionists any power to interfere with their
rights and independence.
Much do I deplore any contest between labour and capital.
It is ominous to find, on the one hand, a National Federation
■of Associated Employers established with a view “ to secure,
through the continuance of existing laws and the enactment of
new ones, complete freedom of labour, protection to capital, and
the true interests of national industry,” with their excellent organ
Capital and. Labourj and, on the other, “ a Federation of Trade
Unions,” recently organized, or about to be organized, in view
“ that struggles between capital and labour will probably be con
ducted in future on a far more gigantic scale than we have hitherto
witnessed, with the Beehive, now the Industrial Review, also ably
conducted as their organ. What can we expect from two such
antagonistic forces set in battle array but quarrels and conflicts ?
What better justification could Trade Societies have for their ex
istence than the very fact of such associations among the masters?
The masters justify their unions by the necessity of self-defence.
�70
TRADE UNIONS.
But what other plea is put forth by Trade Unions but selfdefence ? Whether or not the regulations which bind the masters
associations substantially differ from those of Trade Unions is
of less importance than the fact itself, that those who may be
supposed to be more intelligent, and better acquainted with
economic laws, find that union is strength for them as well as
for others, and that instead of resting on the working of economic
laws, they endeavour by united action to offer an effective resist
ance to the claims of labour.
But can labour effectively contend with capital ? Here effec
tive strength does not depend on mere numbers. What though
the proletaires be ninety-six and the capitalists only four in a
hundred? True, labour is property, and capital is property.
But what is the value of labour as property unless employed
by capital ? As well have a Raphael in the Sandwich Islands
as have ninety-six labourers without the four capitalists. And
is not this superabundance of labour a constant source of
weakness ? Even if you succeed in regulating the supply of
labour in this country, can you attempt to do so in foreign
countries ? True, capital can do nothing without labour, but
neither can labour do anything without capital. To both
capital and labour I should say, by all means use your power
and energy in maintaining your rights ; but avoid any resort to
strikes, or the final arbitrement of war, which is sure to destroy
the very spoil you are striving to possess.
Well organized as many of the Trade Societies are, I cannot
help thinking that their constitution is defective, in supposing a
greater equality of capacities and skill in their members than
human experience justifies us in expecting, a greater amount of
intelligence and prescience in their councils or committees than
they can lay title to possess, and in assuming greater authority
to compel obedience to their rules than is consistent with the
nature of a perfectly voluntary society. The members are sup
posed to be, every one, able to earn the average wages which
�TRADE UNIONS.
U-
the trade gives, or the minimum wages which the Union deter
mines, the test of that ability being found in either five years’
apprenticeship or five years’ work in the trade, or the testimony
of any member who may have worked with the candidate.
Are such tests invariably reliable ? Intelligent workmanship is,
I imagine, the result of qualities and circumstances not always
acquired by apprenticeship, nor are many years’ work in a busi
ness a sure guarantee for ability; whilst the testimony which will
satisfy the committee of a Union may not be such as will satisfy
an employer. Within an apparent uniformity of qualifications
there may be an essential diversity of merit. Hundreds of gen
tlemen are called to the bar every year by the Inns of Court
under the same regulations. Can it be said that they are all
equally gifted ? A uniform wage obtains among privates in the
army, but that continues so long only as they are idling in the
barracks, a mass of inert force. Let them be in active service,
and immediately individual valour will show that they are not
a band of uniform automatic machines.
The executive councils or committees are called to fulfil duties
of a most difficult and delicate character. Their efforts are to
secure a fair and reasonable remuneration for labour, to maintain
a fair rate of wages, to provide the means of legally resisting
unnecessary reductions in the price of work, and to allow no en
croachment on the peculiar privileges of the trade. But is it an
easy work to determine what is a fair rate of wages, what is a
reasonable remuneration, when a reduction may be successfully
resisted, or when no such resistance should be attempted ? The
members of council or committees are themselves workmen.
They do not pretend to be guided by the theories or maxims of
political economists. Naturally in favour of high wages and
short hours, are they such impartial judges as to be able duly to
appreciate the real circumstances of the case before acting in any
emergency? True, they are guided by the periodical reports of
the state of trade and wages from every part of the kingdom ;
�72
TRADE UNIONS.
but these very facts are only the exponent of phenomena which
require a deep and extended range of observation on conditions
and circumstances not within the reach of every one. Far be it
from me to detract from the intelligence and practical knowledge
of the councils of such trade unions. I give them full credit for
an earnest desire to form sound opinions on the questions before
them, and to urge the same for acceptance by fair, open, and
peaceful means. Only, it is not in their power to regulate
economical phenomena, and they cannot prevent their action.
The societies are supported by entrance fees, by weekly or
monthly fees, and by fines. Failing to pay the proper contribu
tion, absenting oneself from a quarterly or a special meeting,
mentioning any club transactions to outsiders, omitting to make
a proper report, and performing many more such acts and trans
actions, are visited with fines; whilst a still more hostile system
of ostracism may be resorted to where perfect obedience is not
secured by fines. But is it desirable to enforce obedience among
a large number of men on matters which touch very nearly the
mode of earning a livelihood ? Doubtless the constitution of such
societies empowers the committees to determine the policy to
be pursued, and there would be an end of all authority if it
were left optional with the members to accept or not the de
cision of their committees ; yet the very fact that large sums are
annually collected by means of fines indicates the frequent resort
to compulsion, on every account to be deprecated. On the whole,
I cannot help thinking that a more elastic system would operate
better, and prove in the end even more efficient than the present
stringent method of action.
The principal objects which Trade Unions have in view are
the regulation of the supply of labour and the supervision of the
rate of wages. By controlling the labour of their own members,
by endeavouring to equalize the supply of labour all over the
country, by regulating and restricting the admission of appren
tices, by hindering the employment of boy and woman labour, and
�TRADE UNIONS.
73
by putting obstacles to the employment of non-unionists, the
Trade Societies hope to maintain a monopoly of labour, and
thereby to reduce that competition among labourers which is so
formidable a barrier to the rise of wages. Nay, more; in the
hope of spreading the work among as large a number of members
as possible, they prohibit working overtime. But rules such as
these contravene some of the first maxims of legal rights,
besides being clearly opposed to sound economy. The mutual
rights and duties arising from the contract of labour are simple
and direct—so much labour for so much reward. The master
has a right to employ his labourers or not as he pleases. The
labourer may consent to work or not as he likes. What right
has either to interfere with the free action of the other in any
matter concerning their respective businesses ? The objection
to overtime is justified by the plea that it is essential for any
labourer overburdened with hard work to have time left for in
struction and recreation, and that it is a grievous evil to protract
labour beyond what nature seems to suggest. But to lay down
any general rule, that no man shall labour beyond a certain
number of hours on each day, is to deprive the young and strong
•of the best opportunity they may have of making hay whilst
health and vigour last. It seems very philanthropic to limit the
work of the over-employed that some work may be left for the
unemployed. But it is, I fear, the law of society, that wealth and
employment are not equally distributed. Aptitude for labour is
not a common gift, and if we neglect the work which Providence
places within our reach, it by no means follows that it will be
given to those less fortunate than ourselves.
Apart, however, from any legal or social considerations, what
are the economic effects of any effort to monopolize or regulate
labour ? Are they not to cripple production, which in turn
must react on wages ? Every hour you take from your daily
labour is so much deducted from the profits of production, all
the fixed capital being to that extent rendered less productive.
�74
TRADE UNIONS.
The fewer labourers are at work the less will be produced,
unless new machinery comes to take their place. Whenever
adult labour is employed where boys and women would besufficient, so much encouragement is given to a waste of forces,
which will render production less profitable. But can you pre
vent an increase of labourers in a profitable industry ? High
wages are certain to be attractive. An agricultural labourer in
the receipt of 15^. a week will be too glad to apprentice his son
to an engineer, in the expectation of getting 305-. or 40^. a week.
And it is against all natural and economic law to attempt to
hinder a process so simple and necessary. There is, indeed, a
necessary monopoly of talent which we cannot abolish. The
few actors, musicians, painters, barristers, and doctors, who
may possess learning and skill far excelling those of the masses
of their competitors ; the few workmen absolutely superior to
others in the perfection of their bodily organs, in the dexterity
of their hands and motions, and in the skill with which they
execute their task, must, of necessity, have a natural monopoly
of the work which may be offered. And they are sure to enjoy
the benefit of that monopoly in a larger remuneration than is
obtained by their competitors, as a fair compensation for ser
vices conferred in the work of production. But to pretend to
establish any monopoly whereby labourers, strong or weak,
skilful or ignorant, shall derive an equal remuneration, and
to entertain any expectation that such higher remuneration
may be derived from diminished production—these are wild
notions, which no true economic principle will sanction.
On the question whether or not Trade Unions can exercise
any influence on wages, I am prepared to make some conces
sions. Wherever wages are in any measure governed by
custom, as to some extent in agriculture, a Trade Society
may shake off that dull sloth and produce a sudden improve
ment. Wherever the labourers are in a position so low and
dejected as to be under the necessity of working for wages not
�TRADE UNIONS.
75
sufficient to pay for the simple cost of living, as in the case of
the needlewomen, a Trade Society may, by granting temporary
help with a view to resistance, operate some reform of wages,
though with the almost certain result of either lessening pro
duction, and so causing a diminution of employment, or of
stimulating machinery.. Wherever, moreover, the rate of profit
is larger than is necessary to provide for the interest of capital,
and a legitimate remuneration for the employer’s services, a
Trade Society may, by a vigilant supervision, operate upon the
margin which may exist between the rate of wages and the rate
of profits below which all production would cease, and in all
probability succeed in securing part of the same for labour,
unless defeated either by the competition of labourers among
themselves, or by foreign competition. In the former case,
however, wages will remain low, though the profits may be
high ; and in the latter, wages will fall, and the profits decline
also, or, at most, remain stationary. Under any circumstance
the advantage derived by Trade Unions can only be temporary,
for supply and demand are sure to assert their sway. Shake
off the custom if you can, and yet if there be seven persons
available to one hundred acres, where four are amply sufficient
for agricultural purposes, the competition among the seven
to get the employment which can only be had by four will be
sure to keep wages low. Enhance by artificial combination
the wages in any one business, or in any one district, yet, unless
that rise is supported by increased savings, and by the sub
stantial accumulation of capital, it will not, it cannot be sus
tained. But suppose the employer should secure for himself a
large amount of profits out of what would be due to the em
ployees, or by keeping wages unduly low, what can he do with
such profits but employ them to render them productive ? See
how it works practically. In i860, the exports of the produce
and manufactures of the United Kingdom were valued at
^136,000,000, and the profits assessed to income tax under
�76
TRADE UNIONS.
Schedule D were declared at ^95,000,000.
But trade has
been very prosperous ever since, and the result has been that in
1874 the amount of profits so assessed to income tax amounted
to ^197,000,000, showing an increase of ^102,000,000, which
you may say went all to the masters, since few or no workmen
pay income tax. But wait a little. How was that extra amount
of profits gained but by increased production? During that
period the amount of exports of British produce rose from
^136,000,000 in i860 to ^223,000,000 in 1874. And from that
increased production workmen got increased wages. Allow
that 20 per cent, of the total amount of produce go in wages,
and upon the ^87,000,000 of extra production for exports only,
at least £ 17,000,000 more per annum must have been divided
among labourers in wages. In truth, the excess of profits must
in all, or in part, sooner or later find its way among the people,
and that is the best possible guarantee for an equitable distri
bution of profits among employers and employed.
Trade Unions endeavour to operate on wages by fixing the
lowest rate and by determining that all their members shall
earn at least that low rate. It is not easy, however, to say
what the lowest rate of wages should be under any circum
stances. You observe the state of the market, that it is buoyant;
the number of orders, which appear numerous. You notice a
certain amount of eagerness among the employers in pursuing
their operations. And as everything seems to denote activity
and progress you say wages must rise. But do not misunder
stand high prices for large profits, for a high price may be the
result of pure speculation, to be soon followed by a great re
action; or the result of increased cost of the raw materials,
which may render production even less remunerative. In truth,
it is not possible to fix what the wages should be, any more than
you can fix what shall be the price of any article or the rate of
interest, and any haphazard way of determining what the lowest
rate of wages ought to be, apart from what is produced by
�TRADE UNIONS.
77
the relation of supply and demand, must be uncertain and un
satisfactory. It is somewhat discomforting to feel that we can
do comparatively so little for ourselves, that we cannot secure
a rise, cannot prevent a fall, and must in a manner stand still.
Only depend upon it, economical laws do not stand still, and
they will operate quite irrespective of our action.
It has been urged by Trade Unionists that they do not
demand any uniformity of wages, but that they only fix the rate
under which no member of the Union shall work. Give such
of them as deserve it as much more as you please, but none
shall work for less. What, however, if what you lay down as
the minimum, employers should regard as the maximum ? Give
to the least capable the maximum wages, and what more can the
most capable earn ? Again, it is said it is to protect labour against
the pernicious system of competition by tender, that labourers
must insist upon a uniform minimum rate ; but on what principle
can the labourers make themselves the guardians of the public
interests ?
Weak as is generally the power of Trade Unions with reference
to the determination of the lowest rate of wages, still more doubtful
is the possibility of their being able to maintain any uniformity in
the wages and earnings of their members. If there be no such
thing as uniformity of talent, skill, judgment, strength, vigour,
will, or of anything that constitutes and regulates our real power
to act upon matter, how can there be such a thing as a uniformity
in the value of the part taken by any number of men in the
production of any article? There is no such thing as an
average ability, for what is an average but an ideal abstract
and imaginary medium of an equal distribution of all the
inequalities among individuals of a series ? We say the average
temperature of England is 50° Fahrenheit, but that is made up
of constant changes from day to day, varying from 38° to 71 °.
And so it is with the average life of a man, or the average loss
of ships, or the like. The great value of an average rests in the
�78
TRADE UNIONS.
indication it gives of the medium of the range in those
variations, but that does not destroy their existence. In matter
of labour, though you may form a fair idea of the average
strength and capacity of any number of labourers, that does not
affect the fact of their possessing some more and some less of
those faculties which are required in production, and which con
stitute the very basis and conditions of the earning of wages.
In the engineering trade, the classification of wages with refer
ence to skill must be carried on to a high point, it having been
given in evidence before the Royal Commissioners on Trade
Unions, that in an establishment of more than 900 men there
were as many as 267 rates of wages earned. The introduction
of machinery may have reduced the great extremes, many of
those feats of force and skill which at one time placed one work
man so much above another being now done by machinery.
Yet there is room enough left for the display of superior personal
ability, strength, and judgment, and to attempt to enforce any
ideal uniformity in wages is as unsound in principle as it is
mischievous in practice.
Partly with a view to uniformity of wages, and partly also as
a means of defence against the masters’ attempts to reduce
wages, some Trade Societies have resisted what is called pay
ment by piecework. The different systems of payment of wages,
by time as by the day or hour, or by piecework as according
to results, or by a combination of the two as by time with
relation to so much work done, are respectively adapted to
different descriptions of labour. For the performance of labour
requiring great exactitude and patient attention, payment by
time is probably the best. For the performance of work ad
mitting of great swiftness of operation, payment by piecework
appears fair for the workman and just to the employer ; whilst
for the execution of work demanding both precision of execution
and economy of time, the combined system seems the best
adapted. In any case there can be no doubt that payment by
�TRADE UNIONS.
79
result is the least fallible test of the value of labour, whilst it is
the only mode by which patient labour and superior intelligence
can raise itself above the surrounding level of low mediocrity.
It is alleged against piecework that it incites the worker to work
longer hours than is good for him, that it tempts him to hurry
over the work, and leave it imperfectly finished ; that it is often
abused by the master appointing middle men, or piece-masters,
to fix the price arbitrarily ; that it is used by the master to
■cut down the wages to the minimum, thus preventing the
labourer from deriving any corresponding benefit from his
greater labour and exertion. Far be it from me to justify any
such practices. I admit that the system may be greatly abused
by both masters and workmen. I allow that unprincipled men
may use it as a snare, rather than as a fair mode of rewarding
labour. And I cannot too strongly condemn any attempt on
the part of either to make it the vehicle of fraud and usurpation.
But as to the objections that piecework is a system by which
the weakest always goes to the wall, or that it incites the labourer
to work too much, or that it gives an advantage to the skilful
over the unskilful, I fear that, practically hard as such objec
tions may prove in some cases, they are but futile in this matterof-fact world. A paternal government, be it by societies or by
the State, can never be advantageous, and you cannot inflict a
deeper injury on any number of people than by taking from them
the right to utilize their forces and energies to the maximum of
their power. It is the great recommendation of piecework that
it is conducive to a better reward of skill, strength, and energy,
that it affords the best possible encouragement to improvement
in workmanship, and that it is a beneficial instrument to the in
crease of the productive power of the nation. Some difficulty,
however, does doubtless exist in the adoption of the piecework
system in different industries. Taking as our guide the two prin
ciples already enunciated, that whilst on the one hand the contract
•of labour is not so many hours in a day, but so much work for so
�8o
TRADE UNIONS.
much money ; and on the other, that the wages themselves are
a commutation of something certain and fixed for the uncertain
share which might fall on the workman of the result of produc
tion,—it is evident that whilst piecework affords the best test
of the real amount of work performed, as a basis for the reward
of wages, it still fails in this, that it does not produce that
certainty of earning which the workman very justly appreciates.
In the cotton manufacture, in printing, and in many other
industries, where the work to be done is generally uniform, thevalue of piecework may be estimated with nearly as much
correctness as day-work. But in other industries, especially in
engineering works, where each article is different from the
other, no such certainty can possibly exist. In the printing and
cotton industries, the price of the work is arrived at from ex
tensive experience, by a committee of masters and men. In
such engineering works as I have mentioned, the price named
is simply what the foreman thinks will be a fair remuneration..
To my mind, the method of gauging wages by the actual work
done, however technically just, is not always practicable, and
to force piecework on unwilling labourers, and to provoke a
strike upon that question, is conduct which can scarcely be
justified. If masters and men are to work harmoniously, piece
work must be held out, wherever there is any doubt on the
matter, as an inducement for greater exertion, and not as a hardand-fast rule for the payment of ordinary wages.
It would be interesting to ascertain how far Trade Unions
have proved themselves beneficial to the labouring classes in
the matter of wages. During the last twenty years, all prices,,
salaries, and wages have risen considerably. The salaries of
clerks at the Bank of England and in every house of trade,,
the salaries of assistants in wholesale warehouses and work
shops, are all higher. In consideration that the cost of livingis dearer, and that a higher standard of living has been intro
duced, more remuneration has been asked and granted in every
�81
TRADE UNIONS.
occupation. But is not this owing to the immense addition to
the supply of the precious metals, the largely increased trade, the
-enormous augmentation of capital ? What else but these cir
cumstances have provided for such increase of wages, prices, and
•salaries ? Trade Unions may have clamoured for higher wages
in certain branches of industry. But if masons and carpenters,
•engineers and ironworkers, protected by Trade Unions, have
realized a handsome rise, so have agricultural labourers, and
especially domestic servants, realized it without any Trade
Unions. Simply left to the tender mercies of the law of supply
and demand, a cook and housekeeper who twenty years ago
was well paid at ^16, now cannot be had for ^25 to ^30. See
what supply and demand do in agricultural labour. Take six
purely agricultural counties, such as Devon, Dorset, Wilts,
Norfolk, Suffolk, and Cambridge, and six agricultural and
industrial counties, such as Cheshire, Lancashire, the West
Riding of Yorkshire, Durham, Kent, and Monmouthshire. The
average wages of agricultural labourers, and the earnings especi
ally by piece-labour, wherever introduced, have risen everywhere,
in consequence of the increasing amount of capital invested in
agriculture ; but whilst the wages in the purely agricultural
counties have risen 15 per cent., those in the agricultural and
industrial counties, from the simple competition in the demand
for labour, have risen 30 to 40 per cent. Making every allow
ance for special cases, it is absurd to imagine that Trade Unions
have been the main instruments in bringing so much additional
wealth into the lap of the working classes. If by constant vigilance
on the relation of wages to profits, they have caused, in certain
instances, a distribution of any excess at an earlier date than
might otherwise have taken place, it is quite possible that the
sudden rise of wages consequent upon it may have been as
rapidly followed by a reaction. And we well know that frequent
oscillations of wages and uncertainty of earnings are more an
•evil than a boon to the working population. Nor should it be
6
�82
TRADE UNIONS.
forgotten that an employer, who may have for some time been
producing at a loss, has a right to retrieve his position by securing
somewhat more liberal profits for a certain period, before he can
risk to establish a more equitable level between profits and wages.
The employer’s object in production is profit, and unless he has
a fair prospect of reasonable profits, we cannot expect that he
will continue to employ his capital or to engage his services in
the business.
Fears have been expressed, that Trade Unions, by harassing
the employers with constant demands, by thwarting the
operation of supply and demand, and by placing restrictions
on the freedom of labour, have discouraged production, and
placed the industries of the country in danger of foreign
competition. But the statistics of trade do not corroborate any
such fear. During recent years production has proceeded at an
enormous scale, whether through the extension of mechanical
agency and steam-power, which has been enormous, or by the
larger adoption of production on a large scale, or by an
actual increase of manual labour. Nor is foreign competition
more formidable now than ever it was.
An increase of
exports from ^136,000,000 in i860 to ^223,000,000 in 1875,
an increase in the quantity of coals produced from 80,000,000
tons in i860 to 132,000,000 tons in 1875, an increase in the
tonnage of shipping belonging to the United Kingdom from
4,600,000 tons to 6,152,000 tons in 1875, are facts which do
not indicate that the British workman has been idle during
the last fifteen years. And what do we find with respect to
the relative increase of the productive power of different
countries ? Compare the exports of Britain with the exports
of other countries, and you will find that British exports
have increased fully in proportion to those of other countries.
Taking the entire amount of exports of seven principal
countries, viz., France, Belgium, Holland, Italy, Austria, the
United States, and the United Kingdom in i860 and 1873, you
�TRADE UNIONS.
S3
will see that the proportion of British exports to the whole
was 37 per cent, in i860, and 37 per cent, in 1874. Nor can
we take the total exports of such countries as a guide to the
great question of danger from foreign competition. Comparing
the exports of manufactured goods, such as cotton, linen, silk,
woollen, from Britain and France in the years 1861 and 1874, it
appears that whilst the exports from the United Kingdom in
creased at the rate of 64 per cent., the exports from France in
creased at the rate of 60 per cent. Since then, I am sorry to
say, the exports from the United Kingdom have been decreasing ;
but trade has been depressed in nearly every country,—the neces
sary reaction from many years of unusual buoyancy.
Trade Unions have been charged with having contributed
to the deterioration of the character of British workmen, by
making them more quarrelsome, more selfish, and more guided
by a spirit of antagonism towards employers than heretofore.
But I doubt the truth of such sweeping charges. In so far as
Trade Unions are concerned, they doubtless consist mostly of
skilled artisans who compare favourably with the great mass
of the labouring classes; whilst as societies they manifest a
degree of organization and a power of management of no mean
order. It must be allowed also that the demonstrations of Trade
Unionists, and the conduct of workmen during any strike at
the present time, contrast favourably with similar exhibitions in
times past. We hear of no incendiarism, no outrage, no riotous
assemblage. The practices at Sheffield were utterly disowned
by the great body of workmen, and though we still hear of
picketing and coercion of different kinds, which the committees
of trade societies would do well to repress as acts of true
cowardice, I am not prepared to join in the cry that our work
men are worse than other people. In the universal progress of
society our workmen have not lagged behind. If they are a
little more quarrelsome than we would like them to be, it is
because they wish to lift themselves up in the scale of society,
�84
TRADE UNIONS.
and because they see the need of protecting their interests,
which were too often heretofore held at nought or trodden
under foot.
Upon the action of trade societies on their benefit funds, I have
scarcely time to touch. For my part, I deeply regret that the
high purposes of a benefit society should be mixed up with the
contentious questions of restraints of trade. I can conceive of
nothing more important than that money laid aside for sick
ness and burials, for widows and orphans, should be perfectly
secure from danger of being swamped up by any warfare with
employers. The best service Trade Unions can render to the
labouring population is to inculcate habits of thrift, and to check
as far as in them lies the evil of intemperance. Let our Trade
Unions abandon the advocacy of theories which are contrary to
sound economy. Let them adopt a spirit of harmony and
conciliation. Let them cease to make war against capital,
which is the necessary handmaid of labour. Let them use only
such means as the law permits, and society sanctions, for the
protection of the just rights of workmen. Let them lead the
mass of labourers in the way of solid progress, and they will
render themselves the benefactors of the people, and be
acknowledged as the friends and trusted helpers of both
capital and labour.
�VI.
STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
That masters and men engaged in industries of a most com
plex character, so often disturbed by the introduction of new
methods and machinery, having much in common, yet each
striving for their own distinct interests, should at times find it
difficult to avoid disagreements, is not, after all, a matter to
cause much surprise. The marvel rather is, that such conflicts
occur so seldom, in comparison with the immense number of
employers and employed, and that when they do occur, they
exercise, comparatively, so small an influence on the general
industry of the country.
What gives to such dissensions any degree of importance is
the dire effect they have on the large number of persons thereby
affected,—the consequence of the modern organization of labour.
A passenger ship has often been compared to a floating village,
and so a mill, or a factory, gathers around itself a complete
community, every inhabitant of which depends on the unin
terrupted progress of the special industry. Let the factory or
the iron work be in full activity, and you see hundreds of
families , rejoicing in plenty, dwelling-houses neatly furnished,
tradesmen and artificers all earning sufficient incomes, and if
the employer be a Sir Titus Salt, or a Sir Francis Crossley,
you will find in such communities the church and the school,
�86
STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
reading-rooms and savings-banks, the club, and many other
institutions which contribute to the moral and intellectual
advancement of the labouring population. But let a dissension
occur, and a strike or lock-out be resolved upon, and what a
sudden blight falls on the whole prospect, what dejection, what
sufferings 1 Here the full loaf is replaced by the half loaf, there
are poverty and sickness, everywhere an idleness which makes
one sad.
A strike, or the joint action on the part of a body of workmen
or persons employed in any department of business, by which
each and all refuse to work except under certain prescribed
conditions, often with the means of sustenance, or some
approximate equivalent to the loss of wages thereby incurred,
provided for by a common fund, is war, which, as Lord Bacon
defined, is “ the highest trial of right.” And a grave responsi
bility rests on those who resort to such a step on any ground
not clearly justifiable, who rush into it before exhausting every
means of conciliation, and who are not ready to withdraw from
it at any moment when a fair compromise can be effected.
That a war may be just, at least in diplomatic language (for
I doubt the possibility of the justice or moral lawfulness of an
act which carries with it so much carnage and destruction), it
must at least be dictated by the necessity of defending ab
solute rights, and be the very last expedient which a nation can
resort to.
" Force is at best
A fearful thing e’en in a righteous cause.
God only helps when man can help no more.”
Strikes have arisen for the purpose of securing higher wages,
for resisting a fall of wages, for opposing or preventing the
introduction of machinery, for obtaining a reduction of the
hours of labour, for resisting any addition to the number of
apprentices. They have been waged against the employment
of non-unionists, against contract work, against piece-work and
�STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
«7
overtime, or to secure overtime beginning earlier. Only the
other day there was a strike in London in consequence of
the employment of plasterers to do a kind of work which the
bricklayers thought they were themselves entitled to do. And
in another case, a printing office lost some of its best members
for the sole reason that the masters accepted in their em
ployment one who had not a full certificate of apprenticeship,
though as able as any of the rest. By what criterion shall
we judge of the justice of such a course where there is no
inalienable right to depart from? The labourer has a right
to his wages, but the rate of wages is a matter of contract, and
depends more on the operation of economic laws than on the
will of the master. Where is the right of the labourer to prevent
any economy of labour by machinery ? On what principle can
he oppose the employment of non-unionists? The right to
resist, and the rectitude of the cause for which resistance is
made, are two distinct things.
An impression seems to exist among our workmen that it is
advantageous to them to show that they are in earnest in
resisting any attempt on the part of masters to ignore their just
rights, and that whether they gain or not the object in view in
the particular instance, they are enabled by such resistance to
secure better terms for the future. A strike, say they, is the
only remedy we have in our own hands. What else can we do ?
What, if masters, strong as a money power, presuming on our
weakness, are found to set aside all considerations of moral
duty, to stretch unduly the laws of economic science, and to
impose conditions which we cannot accept,—what other course
can we pursue but refuse to work at their terms, or, in short, to
strike ? Against such considerations, however, be mindful, I
pray you, to place the immediate sacrifices you thereby inflict
on yourselves, the injury you cause to large multitudes who
can ill spare any cessation of labour, the disorganization of the
industry, the hatred and rancour engendered in your relations
�88
STRIKES AND LOCKOUTS.
with your employers, the chance of failure in the struggle, the
want of security as to the maintenance of your success should
you be so fortunate as to obtain what you strive for, the loss of
wages, the loss and waste of funds the fruit of years of labour
and privations, the injury to theSnation at large ; for remember
that trade is a plant of tender growth, it requires sun and soil
and fine seasons to make it thrive and flourish. It will not
grow like the palm-tree, which with the more weight and
pressure rises the more.” Ere you strike, I pray you, count the
cost. The present dispute in the cotton trade, for instance, is
fraught with danger. Whatever reason there may be for re
vising the standard list, that is no excuse for a strike, especially in
mills where no ground of complaint really exists. Nor have the
masters any justification for a general lock-out simply because
a few workmen in certain mills have unhappily taken such an
objectionable course. I cannot expect that anything I may
say will influence materially the progress of the dispute. But,,
if a word of mine can reach the contending parties, most
earnestly would I urge on the workmen on strike, at once toreturn to their work, on the assurance that a' committee from
both masters and men will be appointed to inquire into the
whole matter and forthwith remove any just ground of com
plaint. And on the masters I would urge not to commit them
selves to joint action in the matter, or to anything like a
general lock-out, which would be the cause of so much trouble
and misery. Ere you resort to a measure so disastrous as to
shut the door of your factories to thousands of innocent labourers,
I pray you, I beseech of you, count the cost.
Before a war is finally resorted to among nations, diplomacy
generally uses its best endeavours to prevent the sad catastrophe,
and certainly no step should be omitted to prevent a strike.
The rules of many Trade Unions prescribe that in case of
dispute, a deputation of two or more members shall wait
on the employer and endeavour to come to an amicable
�STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
89
arrangement; that the men shall first reason the matter with
their employers; that no strike be resorted to without an
attempt having first been made to settle the matter of con
tention between employers and employed by an amicable
negotiation ; and that where a grievance exists, the labourers
shall, in the first place, solicit their employer or foreman for
relief from the same. Now it is only fair to expect from the
masters that they should follow a similar course, for I do not
think it would be beneath their dignity to descend a little and
reason with their workmen on the ground of dispute between
them. How much misgiving, how much prejudice would be saved,
if masters only condescended to reason with their men, not as
so many hands in their service, but as men, working with and
for them ! When masters give sudden notice of a reduction of
wages, without saying why and under what circumstances, the
men are under the necessity of taking an immediate course,
and having had no previous consultation, or time to deliberate^
they cannot help assuming a position of resistance not easily
altered by subsequent action. It is an unfortunate consequence
of the present organization of labour, or of production on a
large scale, that the employers do not deal with the men
individually, and that they are therefore called to act together
in a kind of combination. But that should not prevent a full
mutual understanding of the matter in question. 'Only, if a
deputation be sent to the masters, let it be composed of the
most trusted members in their employment. In the choice of
an ambassador, care is always taken to send one whose pre
sence shall be acceptable at the Court to which he is to be ac
credited, and similar care should be exercised in the selection
of those who are to represent the wishes and views of the
workmen to their masters. Avoid by all means all causes of
irritation at a time when you engage in negotiations requiring
for their solution mutual forbearance and mutual sympathy.
Whatever be the issue of such direct negotiations, care should
�9°
STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
be taken to allow time to work its own good, influence of better
counsel and more ripened judgment. A disposition to strike is
incident to the association of working men smarting under a
sense of wrong. When large numbers have a common griev
ance, a spirit of opposition is speedily engendered, and it is
well if they have not it in their power to act on the impulse of
the moment.
It has been said that Trade Unions encourage workmen to
resistance. Doubtless the feeling that they have such societies
at their back may render workmen less afraid of the issue, but,
on the other hand, an organized society, acting upon rules, must
also introduce an increased sense of order, subordination, and
reflection. Many of such Unions reserve in their own hands the
right of deciding whether a strike should be sanctioned or not.
Some of their rules perscribe that no strike shall be con
sidered legal without the consent of the majority of the lodges,
to all of whom information of any movement has to be sent;
that when a strike for an advance of wages is contemplated by
any lodge, the secretary is to report the same to the Central
Committee, showing the number that would be out, the number
of payable members, the state of trade, and the position of the
Society in the neighbourhood ; that should an attempt be
made unnecessarily to reduce the wages of any of the members,
or to increase their hours of labour unjustly, they shall first
solicit relief from their employers, and afterwards apply to the
president or secretary of their branch, who shall call a com
mittee, or general meeting to inquire into the case ; and that
should the members of any branch leave their employment
without having first obtained the sanction of the Executive
Committee, such members shall not be entitled to the allowance
provided in case of oppression. Would it not be desirable that
the rules of the different Unions on such an important matter
should be more uniform than they appear to be ? I see no
reason why Trade Unions should not operate most favourably
�STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
9i
in matters of strikes, and when we consider that part of the
funds entrusted to them is expended in the maintenance of
persons on strike, surely it becomes their interest to reduce the
demand for such purposes to the minimum possible.
When a strike has, unhappily, commenced, it is too much
to expect the maintenance of much courtesy between the parties,
and many are the circumstances which tend to increase the
bitterness arising from such a forced suspension of labour.
The time when the strike happens is often most inconvenient,
for advantage is taken of a brisk trade to insist on a rise of
wages, just when the employer is, so to say, at the mercy of the
employed. What if the work in operation was contracted for
on the basis of existing wages ? What if the contractor under
took, under penalties of a heavy character, to complete the work
'within a limited time ? What if the season be towards the close,
and the opportunity of fulfilling the engagement fast hastening
away ? Two persons are engaged in a partnership at will, the
condition being that either can retire when he pleases. Can
either leave at an inopportune moment, when difficult questions
are in suspense, when hazardous contracts are pending ? And
ought there not to be in the relation between masters and
men, as far as is possible and is otherwise applicable, the same
sense and practice of equity as we expect between partners
in trade ? A strike occurs, and in the plenitude of your right
you take your tools and go. Can you compel others to follow
your course ? Can you object to others coming to take your
place? You may wish to force your master to make the con
cession you demand, and you may regret seeing your efforts
frustrated by the avidity of others to grasp the chance of em
ployment on any condition ; but remember, you have no right to
interfere, and if you proceed to violence of any kind, even if it
be a slight assault, if you indulge in such threats as will convey
to the mind of such other parties that you will bring any form of
evil upon them, either in their person, property, or reputation,
�92
STRIKES AND LOCKOUTS.
with the intent of forcing them to act otherwise than you wish,,
or if you intimidate them by any deed or word which hnight
create fear, or if you molest them or obstruct them in the
exercise of their rights,—in either of such cases you commit a
wrong which may expose you to criminal proceedings.
A reference to past strikes is not very encouraging as totheir good results to workmen. In 1834 the workmen in the
Staffordshire potteries struck for an advance of wages, and
after fifteen weeks the masters yielded. Elated by their suc
cess, however, the men thought they could demand more, and
so two years after they struck for a diminution in the hours of
labour and a restriction in the number of apprentices. But the
masters were not so ready now to make concessions. They
united together, and they decided to suspend their manufacture
whenever the workmen struck to any master. And the strike
was an utter failure, though it cost the men ,£188,000. What
was gained on the previous occasion was more than lost only
two years after. In 1853 a great strike took place at Preston
for higher wages, which were unconditionally demanded. The
masters made some concessions, but these were indignantly
refused. So the mills were closed, 18,000 Jiands were rendered
inoperative, and after a lengthened struggle, in which the men
sPent Z100,000, submission became unavoidable. A few strikes
have proved successful, but many more have utterly failed.
Not many years ago seven distinct strikes took place in
Lancashire, every one of them unsuccessful. They involved
a loss of employment to 38,000 hands. They lasted a long
time one thirty weeks, another fifty weeks—and together they
produced a loss in wages of ,£757,000 ; and if you add to that
sum the profits on capital, and the subscriptions, at | of the
wages, the total loss exceeded £^1,000,000. In the recent un
happy strike in South Wales nearly 120,000 workers stood out
against a reduction of wages, and upwards of £3,000,000 in
wages was actually lost in the contest.
Did they succeed ?
�STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
93
l?ar from it. They refused, to accept a reduction of ten per
■cent., yet eventually they were compelled by the force of events
-f-0 re-enter work at a reduction of I21> per. cent. ! Suppose,
however, you do succeed in the contest. Remember that you
will have to work a long time at the higher wages before you
■can recover what you have lost by forfeiting the entire amount
week by week. Suppose you strike for 5^. more wages, or for
more in every pound. Dr. Watt made a calculation to show
in how long a time you will get back what you had before. A
week is two per cent, of a working year, or two per cent, of
the wage of one year. Let the strike succeed, and you will
require
year, at the increased rate, to make up for 1
month’s wages lost j 3v years to make up for 2 months
wages lost ; 4-t years to make up for 3 months wages lost ,
94 years to make up for 6 months’ wages lost; and 20 years
to make up for 12 months’ wages lost.
Do not think that the money distributed by the Trade
Societies during the strike goes to diminish the loss of the
persons on strike, for the money so consumed is the saving of
former labour, which might go towards further production. It
is one of the most unfortunate results of a strike, that funds
gained by toil and prudence are expended so fruitlessly in
times of forced idleness. During a strike you not only lose
what you might otherwise earn, but expend what you had
amassed. Nor is the loss confined to the workmen. The
employer is certainly as great a sufferer, for a strike may not
only rob him of his trade for the time being, but may. make
him lose the custom which he possesses, and the labour of men
of skill well versed in the peculiar work he has on hand,
never probably to be replaced, and probably affect also his
permanent power to produce as economically as heretofore.
If the strike be for higher wages when the condition of the
trade or of the nation cannot bear it, either the community will
suffer from the increased cost of the article produced, or else
�94
STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
it may cause the introduction of machinery. A strike may
have the effect of equalizing wages. An industry badly paid
may, by a strike, attract to itself part of the wages which fall
to another; but no equalization of wages can possibly be
equivalent to the production of capital, which alone can support
an increase of wages. If the strike be against the introduc
tion of machinery, it may be the means of the trade being
transplanted to other places. It was probably an exaggeration,,
some years ago, when it was asserted that the frequent strikes
of shipwrights’on the Thames caused shipbuilding to leave the
Thames for the Clyde and the i yne ; the real reason being that
iron shipbuilding found a more natural home where iron and
coals were immediately available. Yet it is no exaggeration to
say that an industry distracted and rendered unproductive in
one quarter may take wing and find rest in another. I have,,
indeed, proved in my previous lecture that up to 1873 at least
the trade and industry of England had not suffered from the
many disturbances which have taken place,—at least, not to any
material extent,—and that foreign competition had not till then
gamed upon British industry. But what has not yet been may
still be. The danger remains, though it may not be imminent.
I doubt the possibility of our ever reaching a time when there
shall be no strikes, for just in proportion as our labouring
population rises to the consciousness of its power, and seeks to
participate in a higher degree in the profits of production, so
the struggle between capital and labour may be expected to be
more frequent. But may we not expect that, side by side with
this, a greater disposition may also be engendered to remove
sources of quarrel, to soften their asperity when they do arise,
and to settle disputes by arbitration and conciliation ? Must
force ever reign ? Is the arbitrement of the sword befitting our
character and position in life. The legislature has done
whatever it could possibly do to provide for the adoption of
more peaceful means. A refusal to leave a matter of dispute to
�STRIKES AND LOCK-OUTS.
95
arbitration betokens either haughtiness and arrogance, or
weakness.
I do not think that the appointment of one or
more strangers as arbitrators, be they lords, lawyers, or phi
lanthropists, is a desirable method, for their decision can, at
best, be a simple compromise of the immediate ground of dis
pute ; it will never be able to regulate the subsequent action of
the parties, and will be certain to leave one of the contending
parties dissatisfied with the result. A conciliation board, on
the other hand, within the establishment itself, composed of an
equal number of masters and men, with a neutral umpire, ah
of them having a perfect acquaintance, not only with the case
in point, but with the bearing of the question generally upon
production, and upon the comfort of working as concerning both
masters and men, and each of them possessing the full con
fidence of the parties interested, is sure to give a verdict
entitled to respect and assent. But let it be fully remembered
that it is the essence of arbitration or conciliation that you
commit the matter in dispute to the decision of other parties,,
and that you thereby incur an obligation to abide by their
verdict, whether it may go in your favour or against you,—
provided, of course, the arbitrators or the board confine them
selves strictly to the matter submitted to them. How far any
national board of arbitration may be advantageously established,
seems to me very doubtful. The first essential to success in any
effort for the prevention of disputes, or their early settlement, is
the possession of a conciliatory spirit, and a ready disposition
to consider the rights and interests of both sides. Let that
spirit prevail within the establishment among both masters and
men, and there will be no difficulty in arriving at an equitable
and satisfactory settlement of any disputes, however formidable
they may appear.
�VII.
BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
About twenty years ago, a work was published in France, by
M. Le Play, the superintendent of the Paris International Ex
hibition, entitled “ Studies on the Labour, the Domestic Life, and
theMoral Condition of the Working Population of Europe,” giving
accurate and minute details, from actual fact, of all the money
received and expended during one year, by a certain number of
families of the working population in every country in Europe;
the income including the wages of the head of the family, as
well as of the mother and children, counting the actual number
of days they were at work, as well as any income from a garden
or parcel of land, rent of house or field, produce of pasture,
pig, sheep, or from any pension, funds, interest, and any miscel
laneous or accidental sources ; the expenditure divided into
expenses for food and drink, for house, fire, and light, for cloth
ing, for moral, educational, or religious purposes, for taxes,
recreation, or debt. And most interesting it is to compare the
habits of the different people, and the effects of temperature,
climate, race, and religion, on the description and quantity ot
food and drink used, the nature of their amusements, and the
amount devoted to the cause of charity and beneficence. I
imagine, however, that if a similar work were attempted regarding
the various classes of labourers in England, if, instead of com-
�BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
97
paring the French andthe Russian, the German and the Italian,
the Spanish, Turkish, and Greek labourers, with the English,
the Scotch, and the Irish, we had before us the real income and
expenditure of any number of families in England from among
the agricultural, the manufacturing, and the industrial classes,
in town and country, and in the metropolis, we would find
the same diversity of results, the same strange anomalies, and
the same gulf in the different traits of manner and character,
as can be found among them in any part of the world.
How, then, can I venture to give you the budgets of the working
classes ? Of what guidance can the income and expenditure of
one family of five be to the income and expenditure of another
family of ten ? What is there in common between a bachelor
living in lodgings and a young couple with two babies, and it may
be with a mother or father to keep ? The ways of life are very
different; so much depends on the surroundings of the family, on
the mode in which the parties have been brought up, the character,
the education, the state of health, and a vast variety of circum
stances, that, really, every household is a world of itself. Home
is the Englishman's castle—impregnable and inaccessible ; who
can assail it ? No ; my object is not to pry into matters which
are happily beyond the public gaze, but rather to lay before you
the value and importance of simply taking a good account of
what we are actually receiving, and what we are actually spend
ing, during the whole of a long year. You are aware that one
of the most important evenings of the Session in Parliament is
the evening when the Chancellor of the Exchequer makes his
financial statement j that is, when he reviews all the circum
stances connected with the income and expenditure of the State
during the preceding year, investigates the condition and pros
pects of the nation as respects the future, communicates his
calculations of the probable income and expenditure for the
year to come, and declares whether the burthens upon the
people are to be increased or diminished. This statement is
7
�98
*
BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
familiarly known as the Budget, and it is regarded with the
greatest possible interest by the whole nation. Now if this is
a good practice for the State, would it not be an excellent practice
for private individuals also ! The large questions that have
engaged our attention in the previous lectures are most impor
tant. A knowledge of the economic laws which govern the rate
of wages is most interesting and valuable. Still more important,
however, in any case, is it to come home to ourselves, and to
consider whether our own annual income is fully equal to our
expenditure, whether every item of income of every member of
the family is duly gathered, accounted for, and properly utilized,
and whether the expenditure is, in every respect, moderate,
legitimate, and kept within proper control. “ Gear is easier got
than guided.” Have you ever tried to keep a diary? The
difficulty of persevering in it is immense. You require habits
of order and method not often possessed. Carefully to note
down what we are doing, and what happens to us every day, is
as difficult as to register all the money that comes and goes.
Merchants, who make all their payments by cheques, and who
draw all their current money by cheques on their bankers, have
a ready means of ascertaining what they get and expend during
the year. But those who have not the luxury of a banker must
keep a little book for themselves ; and it is wonderful how useful
and interesting it becomes in course of time for a comparison
with the past and a check for the future. Let your wife begin
to put down what she expends, and you begin to put down what
you expend,-—and what a monitor such a record will prove !
The pay of the labourer is his wages, but his earnings will
comprise also the produce of labour from any other industry
at spare hours, any allowance from any society, and the fruit of
any money or property he or any member of his family may have
at the savings bank, building society, trade society, or other
wise. The pay itself may consist either in money or in kind,
or in both ; and where clothing, board, or lodging is given, the
�BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
99
money value of the same ought to be taken into account. A
sailor who gets 6oj., or 70s., and sometimes 90s., per month,
must remember that during the whole time of his engagement
he is fed and lodged on board. An agricultural labourer often
gets very little money wages. But in Northumberland the
wages include an allowance of corn for a cow or pig, house and
garden, coals, etc. A hind’s poll in Scotland comprises a given
quantity of oats, barley, peas, and land enough for potato plant
ing. In Devonshire, besides the money wage, there is the allow
ance of cider, and a labourer has a cottage for £1, with a patch
of land, from which he can get vegetables for the whole year for
the entire family, and enough to feed a pig, which again becomes
a source of income. A domestic servant gets from ^10 to ^30 a
year, in money, besides board and lodging, which, in London at
least, are equivalent to as much again. In the occupations I have
noted, the combination of payment in money and kind is not
only indispensable, but really advantageous to the labourers. In
calculating the amount of earnings, therefore, do not forget the
value of the advantages you obtain from your employment over
and above the weekly or monthly wages in money.
Where, moreover, there are more earners than one in a family,
where the wife, or sons, or daughters, earn also money, and bring
it into the common purse, that must be calculated also.' I
imagine sons and daughters do not bring to their fathers and
mothers all they earn, or anything like it. Would that they did 1
A very large portion of the earnings of the younger members of
the whole working population is, I fear, utterly wasted, simply be
cause it never reaches the home treasury. The practice of either
father or children allotting any portion of their wages to the
wife or mother for their food, keeping the rest for themselves,
and throwing on the poor mother the burden of making the two
ends meet, is wrong in principle. The boarding system is wrong
when applied to the family. Oh for a return to the patriarchal
system of united and not divided interest! There are thousands
�IOO
BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
of families of working people in England where the aggregate
earnings would amount to ^3 or £4 a week, but where no account
is taken of a great portion of the same. I am not exaggerating
when I say that in very many cases fully one-fourth of the
income of the family is, in this way, utterly squandered, leading
to no result, giving no comfort, and only going in waste,
drunkenness, and vice. It is the same, unfortunately, in the
country as in towns. The agricultural villages, which have been
greatly multiplied since the introduction of machinery into agri
culture, are the absorbent of most of the earnings of many hard
working agricultural labourers. The public-house, the music
hall, and other places of amusement, waste away many an income
which could maintain a family in honour and comfort.
In order to make the income and the expenditure meet, there
are only two ways: one is, to increase the income; the other
is, to diminish the expenditure. Don’t you be deceived into
any expectation that you may increase your income by any
other means than by hard work. Don’t you be so foolish as to
renounce any income now in the hope that by renouncing it
to-day, you may get more to-morrow. Get what you can, and
keep what you have, is the way to get rich. Don’t you trifle
with any penny you may get, simply trusting on the continuance
of health and work to earn more. Trust in Providence ? Yes,
but never forget the duty of using rightful means. There is one
source of income, moreover, which we should scorn to resort to,
unless under the direst necessity, and that is, the poor rate. I
am strongly of opinion that the poor law in England is most
destructive to the industry, forethought, and honesty of the
labourers. What more degrading than using the parish doctor
both for birth and death ? What more lowering than the
workhouse? What more inconsistent with political economy
than the supporting, by public rates, of able-bodied labourers ?
It is a noble axiom, that none shall die of hunger,—that the
wealth of the rich shall supply the necessities of the poor. But
�BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
IOI
it is communistic in essence, and in practice most mischievous.
The subject is a very difficult one, and a change from a system
which has been so long in use might be attended with hardship ;
but it is for the working classes to say how long a compulsory
charity shall be allowed to enervate the very vitals of their
character and independence. They manage poor relief better
in other countries. In Sweden, every able-bodied person is
expected to maintain himself, his wife, and children, as a legal
obligation. In France, there is no legal claim for support.
“ When the virtue of charity ceases to be private,” said M.
Thiers, “ and becomes collective, it ceases to be a virtue, and it
becomes a dangerous compulsion.” In Belgium, the classic land
of pauperism, there is no poor rate. The legal provision for the
support of the poor consists in the donations of the public, vested
in, and administered by, the civil authorities. In Elberfeld there
is a right to relief, but outdoor relief is entrusted to overseers, and
every person applying for help must show that he cannot exist
without it. In Italy there is no legal provision for the support of
the poor. Comparing the proportion of pauperism to population,
England may seem to stand better than any other country; but
remember, the amount of charity in England, over and beyond
any provision of the poor law, is far in excess of what is given
abroad. Look at the report of the Charity Commissioners. See
how much is spent and squandered in every parish. See what
is passing through the poor box in every police office in the
metropolis. The public support of the sick, the lame, the blind,
the old, and the helpless infant, is a duty; but it is a disgrace
in any one who earns enough and, it may be, to spare, to abandon
an old father or mother, a wife or a child, to the miserable
pittance of the parish. It is a shame and a crime, by extrava
gance and waste, to throw our burden off our shoulders. Burden,
did I say ? There is no sweeter joy, no pleasanter duty, than
to contribute to the well-being of our dear ones, our friends, and
our kindred.
�102
BUDGETS OB THE WORKING CLASSES.
It is time, however, to turn to the other side of the account—
the expenditure. There is a well-known saying fitly applicable
to our subject—“ Cut your coat according to your cloth.”
Measure your expenditure by your income. It is a most un
fortunate practice of our Chancellor of the Exchequer, in
making up the financial statement of the nation, that he does
exactly the reverse, by measuring the public income by the public
expenditure. But he can do that, because he has a whole nation
to fall upon, by compulsory taxation. Not so the private
individual. You and I have no other resource than what we
earn; and we must, of necessity, measure our ekpenditure
by that, and by nothing else whatever. In any case, under no
circumstances, allow yourselves to fall into debt, for it is the
certain source of ruin. “Out of debt out of danger.” A very
large number of the plaints brought before the county courts
consist of sums not exceeding 4°r., and many are for sums not
exceeding ij. It is impossible to exaggerate the burden, the
aggravation, the misery, and the dependence of a man who
gets into the habit of purchasing what he requires, often, it may
be, in excess of what he needs, but with the consciousness of
not having the wherewithal to pay for it. “ Cut your coat ac
cording to your cloth.” Never give out what does not come in.
Avoid, above all, shop debt ; for you pay very dear for it, in
exorbitant prices of all you purchase.
I do hope Mr. Bass
will succeed in his effort to abolish imprisonment for debt, as
a discouragement to shops to sell on credit, for then prices would
sink to the scale of cash prices, and shopkeepers would get rid
of a great deal of care. Have the money before you spend it,
and you will be sure to economise it to the very best.
" Ken when to spend, and when to spare,
And when to buy, and you’ll ne'er be bare,”
The expenditure of a working man’s family cannot differ very
much from the expenditure of a person of the middle classes,
�BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
103
except in this, that the proportion of what is spent in necessaries,
comforts, or luxuries must vary according to the amount of
income. With 5 or. or 6or. a week, you may devote some
portion to the comforts or even the luxuries of life. With 20J.
a week, you may be thankful if you can provide for the neces
saries of life. Our absolute wants usually consist of bread,
flour, vegetables, meat, butter, sugar, tea, and milk ; house-rent,
fire and light, clothing, and the education of children. These
are the necessaries of life. The comforts of life consist, pro
bably, in an extensive use of these very things, plus spices and
condiments, newspaper and omnibus, church and charity,
an excursion, and some insurance for the future. And the
luxuries may consist of tobacco and drink, frivolities, pots
of flowers, keeping of birds, etc. But are we all agreed in
such a classification as this ? Time was when white bread
was a luxury ; now it is an article of common use, as a neces
sary of life. Meat is necessary, but is it necessary to eat it
every day ? And is there not a material difference between
purchasing a prime joint and other portions equally if not
more nutritious ? Clothing is necessary, but what clothing ?
Are bonnets with feathers and flowers necessary ? Are twenty
yards necessary for a dress ? N eed we all dress in silk attire ?
Whether an article of use is to be classed among the neces
saries, comforts, or luxuries of life depends in a great measure
on the standard by which we are guided, on the ideal we form
for ourselves of our own wants.
Looking over a large number of budgets in the work already
■quoted on European labourers, in returns kindly sent to me
direct by several workmen, and in the reports of the Secre
taries of Legation on the industrial condition of the working
classes abroad,* the conclusion I arrive at of a legitimate
appropriation of wages is somewhat as follows : 60 per cent.
* See Appendix B.
�104
BUDGETS OF THE WOEKTNG CLASSES.
is required for food and drink ■ 12 per cent, for'rent and taxes •
10 per cent, for clothing; 6 per cent, for fire and;[light; 1 peicent. for newspapers, omnibus, or travelling;' 4 per cent, for
church, education, and charity; 2 per cent, for amusementsand 5 per cent, for savings. In other words, for every pound of
wages the expense would be-12.. for food and drink; 2s.
for
lodgmg; 3d. forfiring and light; 2s. for clothing; 2ff. for omnibus
and newspaper ; t,. 6d. for church, education, and charity •
for amusements; and u. for saving in any insurance company
or benefit club. But this takes no account of the doctor’s bill
nor of slack time, and it would be only fair that some economy
should be made in either of the items to meet these possible
if not unavoidable, drawbacks. Nor are drink and tobacco’
specially calculated, for the cost of a reasonable quantity of beer
should certainly be included in the 12J. for food and drink
and the cost of the tobacco should be included in the expense
for amusement,-if, by any construction of language, smoking
can be considered an amusement. As a general rule, the neces
saries of life should be first provided ; and whatever excess may
remam may go towards the comforts of life; but, under any cir
cumstance, leave something for saving. It may be kind to be
liberal, and to be anxious to make every member of the family,
day by day, as comfortable as your means allow; but it is
kinder far to provide something for the almost inevitable con
tingency of sickness, want of work, or old age, when you, that
are now the strength and support of the family, are com
pelled sadly to put all work aside, or when any member of your
family, from disease or otherwise, may have to draw more on
your resources than you are able to provide.
Need I say that a considerable economy may be effected in
our. every-day expenditure without abridging in the slightest
manner our means of subsistence and comfort ? You buy | of
an ounce of the best tea, and you are charged fff.—equivalent to
4s- per pound. Buy J pound for cash, and you may get the same
�BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
105
tea at the rate of y. or 2s. 6d. per pound. Is there not much
waste in our cooking ? Is there not wanton waste in many of our
household arrangements ? A penny here and a penny there, and
soon shillings and pounds vanish. It is, however, impossible,
when we come to details such as these, not to place in the very
foremost rank of waste a very considerable portion of what is
spent in drink. Am I wrong in supposing that a person earning
30^. a week will spend 3^. in drink, that being considered a
moderate allowance for dinner and supper ? Am I exaggerating
when I say that in a very large number of cases that pro
portion is far, far exceeded, the amount so expended often being
more than 25 or 30 per cent, of the income ? What is the use
of reasoning on economy in little matters with such a drain
as this? What can the poor wife do with the very small
amount entrusted to her for housekeeping? And how often
does a dissipated husband make a dissipated wife ! What a
wretched example for children ! What a source of vice and
crime drunkenness is proving over the whole country! I am
not in favour of the so-called Permissive Bill, because it would
introduce strife in parishes, and because I think it would, at
best, be of partial application, and might be applied just
where it is least needed.
Nor can I say that we should
lightly interfere with any legitimate business, or with the
common rights of the people.
If there is a demand, the
supply will most assuredly be forthcoming somehow or other.
No, the reform must begin with ourselves. Reasons of duty,
reasons of self-respect, reasons of education, must impel us
to remove this source of scandal, at any rate, from our own
shoulder, and by our exhortation, and by our example, strive to
blot it out from the escutcheon of England. When I last
visited Liverpool I was attracted by the cocoa-shops established
in the immediate centre of the dock and sea-faring population,
and there I got a mug of cocoa for \d. and a scone for ^d.—both
excellent and satisfying. Take that in the morning, and you
�io6
BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES
will find it an excellent preservative against any craving for
strong drink. All honour to Mr. Lockhart for his noble efforts
in that direction. Would that we had such cocoa-shops in
London! Would that public-houses without drink, and public
coffee and working men’s clubs,, were multiplied, for I am sure
there is ample room, and an imperious need, for extensive
efforts in improving the morals of the people in this one direc
tion. I do not trust much in the power of an Act of Parliament
to make people temperate. But I do trust in a sound and
wholesome public opinion, and I appeal to you to create it by
your hearty, spontaneous, and energetic example and action.
Who will help in this glorious enterprise? Do not wait for
great opportunities. Begin at once, and at home. In Mr.
Smiles’ excellent work on Thrift there is a story illustrative of
the influence of example in this matter which is worth re
peating :—
“A calico printer in Manchester was persuaded by his wife,
on their wedding-day, to allow her two half-pints of ale a day,
as her share. He rather winced at the bargain, for, though a
drinker himself, he would have preferred a perfectly sober wife.
They both worked hard, and he, poor man, was seldom out of
the public-house as soon as the factory was closed. She had
her daily pint, and he, perhaps, had his two or three quarts,
and neither interfered with the other, except that, at odd times,
she succeeded, by dint of one little gentle artifice or another,
to win him home an hour or two earlier at night, and now and
then to spend an entire evening in his own home. They had
been married a year, and on the morning of their wedding
anniversary the husband looked askance at her neat and
comely person, with some shade of remorse, as he said, ‘ Mary,
we’ve had no holiday since we were wed ; and, only that I have
not a penny in the world, we’d take a jaunt down to the village
to see thee mother.’
Would’st like to go, John ?’ said she, softly, between a smile
�BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
and a tear, so glad to hear him speak so kindly,
io7
so like old
times. £ If thee’d like to go, John, I’ll stand treat.’
“ £ Thou stand treat! ’ said he, with half a sneer : £ has’t got a
fortune, wench?’
« £ Nay,’ said she, £ but I’ve gotten the pint o’ ale.’
“ £ Gotten what ? ’ said he.
“ £ The pint o’ ale,’ said she.
“ John still didn’t understand her, till the faithful creature
reached down an old stocking from under a loose brick up the
chimney, and counted* over her daily pint of ale, in the shape
of three hundred and sixty-five threepences, or ^4 4-y* 6^-, and
put them into his hand, exclaiming, £ Thou shalt have thee
holiday, J ohn 1 ’
“John was ashamed, astonished, conscience-stricken, charmed,
and wouldn’t touch it. £Hasn’t thee had thy share? Then
I’ll ha’ no more ! ’ he said. He kept his word. They kept theii
wedding day with mother, and the wife’s little capital was the
nucleus of a series of frugal investments, that ultimately swelled
out into a shop, a factory, a warehouse, a country seat, a carriage,
and perhaps a Liverpool mayor.”
In England, the working classes have not much reason to
complain that their taxes are too heavy. That every subject
of the kingdom should, in proportion to his means, contribute his
quota to the general taxation is a principle of finance universally
admitted.
As members of the commonwealth, we are all,
though certainly in different degrees, interested in securing its
preservation and advancement. The poorest among us feels
an interest, if not pride, in the honour and glory of his fatherland. In truth, we should regard the national expenditure in
the light of an insurance, and the payment of the premuim as
a common duty and privilege. During the last thirty years,
however, nearly every step in the reform of the Budget has
been in the direction of lessening the taxes which pressed on
the necessaries of life, and of increasing the taxes affecting
�10S
BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
wealth, industries, and, especially, luxuries. Taxes on sugar, tea,
co ee, corn, and on a vast number of imported articles have
been greatly reduced, or remitted altogether; and in their stead
stamp duties, income tax, land tax, probate duties, and duties on
spirits malt, wine, and tobacco have been newly imposed or in
creased. And what is the result? Of the taxes affecting wealth
and industry, amounting in all to
000,000, the working
classes do not pay more than half a million. Of taxes on ne
cessaries they may pay probably £2,500,ooo-the greater part on
tea. But of the taxes on luxuries, including spirits, malt, and to
bacco, the working classes pay their full quota in some£23,ooo,ooo
a year. But this large sum of taxation, borne by the working
classes under this head, is entirely voluntary. Give up drinking,
give up tobacco, and you avoid nearly every farthing of taxation.
owhere, probably, are the working classes treated with more
consideration than in England. What a pity that greater advan
tage is not taken of this wonderful exemption ! As it is, no tax
of any consequence is paid by the working classes, except in
t e slight addition caused by the duties on the cost of their
spirits, malt liquor, or narcotics ; and no one would grumble if
these taxes were considerably increased.
I have ventured to give what might be deemed a legiti
mate distribution of the expenditure of our working classes
Now, look at the results. I have estimated the total annual
wages and earnings of the working classes at the large amount
o £400,000,000, including money and money’s worth ; but take
no account of money’s worth, and assume only £300,000,000
in hard cash as falling into the hands of our working classes.
And on the proportion given, the money should go in the following
shapes : £180,000,000 would be expended on food and drink;
£36,000,000 in rent; £6,000,000 in firing and light; £30,000,000
m clothing; £3,000,000 in newspapers, omnibuses, and rail
way travelling, £12,000,000 in church, education, and
charity; £6,000,000 in amusements; whilst £15,000,000 would
�BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES. '
109
be reserved, for savings. But is the money so expended ?
Let us see. We may fairly assume that the ,£180,000,000 is
fully expended in food. The £36,000,000 laid down for house
rent tallies, so far, with the census report of 1871, showing
that the rental of houses under ,£20 had an estimated
aggregate annual value of ^32;000?000, Fire and light will
cost quite as much as I have estimated. The amount given for
clothing is, I fear, rather below than above the amount annually
expended. And so, probably, the amount given for amusements
and other items. But as for the ^12,000,000 expended in church,
education, and charity, and ,£15,000,000 reserved for saving,
alas ! where are they ? No, my calculations are fallacious in
two distinct items. Instead of the 60 per cent, given for food
covering the amount expended in drink, that item, to the ex
tent of fully 15 per cent, of the whole income, or £45,000,000,
and also 2 per cent, or £6,000,000 for tobacco, or, in all,
,£51,000,000, must be added as a separate and additional ex
penditure. But if this large amount is really so expended, as
is, unhappily, most likely to be the fact, if it is not indeed
greatly exceeded, what remains for church, education, and
charity, or for savings, or for any other rational purpose ?
Positively nothing. The little saved—probably £3,000,000 or
,£4,000,000 a year—as indicated in the annual increase of the
amount in the savings banks, friendly and building societies,
co-operative societies, etc., is the fruit of the economies of some
families, too few in number to constitute any perceptible
percentage in the whole number of the working population of
the country.
Now this I consider a very lamentable result of the budgets
of the working classes. What wonder if debt and pauperism
be rampant? What surprise can it cause that days of
sunshine and prosperity are so soon followed by dark,’ dark
days of misery and wretchedness ? I hope I may be wrong in
my calculations.
But if I am not, as I fear is not the case, it
�no
BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
may not be in vain that I have called your attention to the
subject.
In discoursing upon the budgets of the working
classes, it would be wrong to ignore the thousand cases of
real, unmistakable hardship. That there is real poverty in
the land, that there is suffering, want, and misadventure, who
can ignore? The difficulties of the poor, their valour and
fortitude in bearing with and mastering them, are best known
to those who come most intimately in contact with them.
Their charitable disposition towards their friends in trouble,
their self-sacrifice, their heroism in labour, have been depicted
by the most masterly hands. But I am now speaking to the
great mass of our working men and women, and I say, if you
will avoid falling into the deep mire of calamities, if you will
maintain yourselves in comfort, honour, and self-reliance, look to
your budget, and endeavour so to economise your income that
you may have always enough and to spare.
�VIII.
SAVINGS BANKS AND OTHER INVESTMENTS OF THE
WORKING CLASSES.
The drift of all my Lectures has been—Look well into your
estate. Large economies depend upon little economies. If
you must be liberal in some kind of expense, do try to save in
some other. If you will be plentiful in diet, be at least saving
in drink. Let not your candle burn at both ends. By all
means, try to save. But how ? By putting aside whatever is
not absolutely indispensable for present want, in order that you
may make a reserve for unforeseen eventualities. And be not
ashamed to save. Call it not penury, miserliness, niggardliness,
and the like. A disposition to save for the future, a prescience
of, and a preparation for, what is to come, are just what place
us above the brute. Savages are not thrifty. They live from
day to day.
It is prudence that prompts us to save, and
wisdom that regulates the amount of our savings. It is modera
tion which enables us to realize any saving, and intelligence
which enables us to render it fruitful. And what are prudence,
wisdom, moderation, and intelligence, but the offspring of
civilization and morals? To have no thought for the morrow,
to have no regard for the welfare of friends and relatives, to
make no provision for old age and sickness, to indulge in
waste while the sun shines, never reflecting that after summer
�112
SA TINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
comes winter, are not consistent with our moral duties and
obligations. Is it a true picture of the English what Mr.
Smiles said, that though they are a diligent, hard-working, and
generally self-reliant race, they are not yet sufficiently educated
to be temperate, provident, and foreseeing; that they live for
the present, and are too regardless of the coming time ; that
though industrious, they are improvident—though money-making
they are spendthrift. I would fain believe that the future is too
highly drawn, for, certainly, there is no nation of the world that
puts aside so much wealth from year to year as England. What
is it but thrift that renders this country able to accumulate
capital at such an enormous ratio ? Ask the merchant and the
manufacturer, and they will tell you that they must and do
strain every nerve to increase their capital. The State, it is true,
has no reserve in the Tower to meet any possible contingency of
war as France had, prior to the Napoleonic wars, in the palace
of the Tuileries. We make no account of the blessing of water
when it rains in abundance. We have no public granaries for
the storing of the surplus of prosperous harvest years. Yet
production and saving must be far in excess of our expenditure,
or else how could wealth increase so fast ? No, there is much
saving going on in England, but the effort is made compara
tively by the few. How often do we see calculations, almost
fabulous, of what good could be done if we would only put
aside what is superfluous or wasteful! What number of churches
and schools, of museums and palaces, of parks and gardens,
could be built and provided with the expenses now allotted to
the army and navy, or the sum devoted to the interest of the
national debt, or the amount expended in drink, or any other
luxuries. Alas I alas! the dreams of the reformer are not so
easily realized.
The first step in the way of saving is to spend well.
You
save one pound. Spend it on some evening classes to learn
drawing or mechanics, arithmetic or French, whatever may be
�SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
113
most useful to you. Remember, we are never too old to learn.
Better late than never. You save another pound. Buy Cassell’s
Popular or Technical Educator. Spend it in, or set it aside to
wards, a new set of tools for your employment. • Lay it out, in short,
in what may be useful to you in improving your fitness for work,
in enabling you to raise yourself and earn better wages. Howmuch has been set aside in tools and implements by our work
ing classes it would be difficult to estimate. A joiner’s tools
may be worth £10, and more, but unhappily with the introduc
tion of machinery the labourer is no longer called to provide
himself with tools and implements, and so this form of saving is
rather diminishing than increasing. Well prepared for your
work, look to your house. By all means let it be comfortable,
cheerful, and well furnished. Mr. Mundella noticed the great
demand for pianofortes and other musical instruments for work
ing men’s houses. Do not indulge in luxuries, but do take a
pride in having a pretty house, a full house, and a comfortable
home. Am I wrong in taking ^10 each, at least, as the
value of furniture in the 3,500,000 houses tenanted by working
people? If so, then some ^35,000,000 or ^40,000,000 must
have been set aside by them in this form.
Under no circumstances, I pray you, keep your money in
your pockets, for it may not be long there. The coin is round,
and it rolls away swiftly. Temptations are strong. The shops
are inviting. If you keep your money loose, you may not have
the fortitude to resist the attraction to spend it amiss. So put
it aside. And where ? Not inside an old stocking, not under a
brick, but at the savings bank. The savings banks only com
menced with the opening of the present century. In 1798,
a Miss Priscilla Wakefield founded a bank at Tottenham, for
receiving the savings of workwomen and female domestic ser
vants. In 1799, an offer was made by the Rev. Joseph Smith,
of Wendover, to receive any part of the savings of the people in
his parish every Sunday evening, during the summer, and to
8
�H4
SA CLEGS OR THE WOREiimG CLASSES.
repay them at Christmas, with the addition of one-third of the
whole amount deposited, as a bounty; and in 1810, the Rev.
Henry Duncan founded the Parish Bank Friendly Society at
Ruthwell. These were the days of small things, but institutions
of this nature soon multiplied, and so a Bill was introduced in
the House of Commons by Mr. Whitbread to make use of the
Post Office machinery for the purpose of receiving and repaying
the savings of the people, though matters were not ripe for that
step. However, in 1817 the first Act was passed upon the subject,
authorising the formation of savings banks for the purpose of
receiving deposits of money for the benefit of the persons de
positing, allowing the same to accumulate at compound interest,
and to return the whole, or any part of the same, to depositors,
after deducting the necessary expense of management, but
deriving no profit from the transaction. The limit of the de
posits was set at ^100 for the first year, and /50 for every year
following, and the interest allowed to depositors was 4 per cent,
net; the Commissioners for the Reduction of the National Debt
paying the trustees for the amount invested with them, at the rate
of 3d. per day for every ^100, producing an interest of ^4 iu. 3^.
Some change was made in the limits of deposits in 1824, reducing
it to ^30 for the first year, and ^30 for the subsequent ones; the
whole not to exceed ^150, and interest to cease when principal
and interest amounted to ^200,—as at present. But money
having become less valuable, in 1844 the interest to depositors
was reduced to ^3 os. iod. per cent, per annum. And how
great has been the success of such measures ! In 1817, on the
first formation of these banks, the amount due to depositors
was^^ooo. In 1831, the amount rose to ^15,000,000, and
thirty years after, in-1861, it reached £42,000,000. By that
time, however, the proposal to make use of the Post Office for
facilitating the employment of the savings of the people acquired
more force from the failure of some savings banks, whilst the
eagerness shown by the people in France in responding to the
�SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
115
appeal of Napoleon III. for one loan after another, with full
confidence in their national securities, commended the use of
the Post Office as an instrument for multiplying the means of
depositing the savings of the people all over the country, as
alike convenient and advantageous. So the suggestion years
before made by Mr. Whitbread was taken up in earnest. And
in i860 Mr. Gladstone laid before the House of Commons a
plan which became the basis of the pi esent system. For a
short time, the old savings banks somewhat suffered from the
presence of these fresh competitors, but they speedily recovered,
and now whilst the Trustees Savings Banks have an amount as
large as ever, or ^42,000,000, the Post Office Banks, so suddenly
sprung up, have already in hand ^25,000,000—making in all
^67,000,000.
This amount is supposed to represent, at least to a large ex
tent, the savings of the labouring classes. There is no means,
however, of ascertaining the classes of persons to whom such
deposits really belong. The probability is that not an incon
siderable portion of such savings belongs to the middle classes,
who need such instruments of saving quite as much as the
working classes. If we take two-thirds of the whole amount
as belonging to the working classes, the sum to their credit
would be ^45,000,000. Nor is this all, for there are a large
multitude of small savings banks connected with Sunday
schools, churches, and other societies, which are of great value,
and which would be found to have together a handsome sum.
The present Post Office Savings Banks fail in their not being
open in the evening, particularly on Fridays and Saturdays,
in their not receiving less than one shilling at a time, and in
their limiting the deposits to ^3° a year. The Society of Aits
and the Provident Knowledge Society represented these wants
to the Postmaster-General, and whilst he consented to open the
banks in the evening, at least gradually, he objected to the
diminution of deposits to less than ij. on the ground of expense-
�u6
SAJHNGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
As it is, every transaction of a depositor, whether he pays in
or draws out money, costs the State nearly 6d. Let the de
posit be i^„ and for each transaction the cost may be ij.
To the objection against the limits of £3o, the Postmaster
said that it was necessary to maintain it on account of
expense, and also for the purpose of keeping clear of com
petition with the ordinary business of bankers. Meanwhile,
however, the National Penny Bank has been founded, in which
our friend Mr. Hamilton Hoare takes a deep interest. It is
open in the evening. It has school branches and workshop
branches, and it is perfectly safe. Patronise it with your pennies,
Do not imagine, indeed, that every penny or pound once de
posited at the savings banks is allowed to remain there. Far,
far from it. It is an advantage certainly of the savings bank
that you have no trouble in taking out whatever you need, but
remember the pith and marrow of the transaction is to keep the
money there. Once taken out, unless, indeed, for the purpose
of a better investment, and it is done. Look at the accounts for
1875, for England only. During that year the old Trustees
Savings Bank received /6,656,000, and actually paid out
^7?O49?OO°? or more than they got. True, some of that money
has possibly been transferred to the Post Office Savings Banks,
and there we find that they received in the year .£8,779,000,
and paid back £6,864,000. But, certainly, it is not satisfactory
that, with receipts amounting in all to upwards of £i5,ooo,oooj
the amount left, or saved, in all the savings banks in one year,
was only £1,5 22,000. Just imagine how many must have tried to
save something, and how few have been able to manage it. How
many must have started with a good resolution, how few were
strong enough to keep to it. And how many must have used
the savings banks simply for a temporary convenience, probably
till Christmas or Whitsuntide, or till the want or the fancy
came to buy something. Thankful, indeed, we may be that
so much has been gathered, and that such a substantial sum
�OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
H7
as /45 000,000, or thereabout, remains there on account of the
nrkino- classes Only remember, it is the accumulation of very
- a matter of fact, if we compare the deposrts
per head of the population in 18S1 and .874, - find tha he
smallest per centage increase has been m England
Whilst^
England the increase was at the rate of 53 pei
•>
it was 175 per cent., and in Scotland 200 per cent.
In connection with savings banks I pray you to remember that
by allowing 3 per cent, per annum the nation loses a large sum
of money every year* The Post Office Savings Banks allow only
per cent., and I venture to say that with the present low
value of money it will not be long before the Trustees Savings
Banks will have to revise their system, unless they obta
greater freedom in the choice of investments. In France, the
savings banks invest their funds in landed and other real pro
perty^ well as in the public funds. In Belgium, they even dis
count bills. InHolland,theylendonmortgages. Needlsaytha
in the United Kingdom all the deposits are invested in the Bntis
funds 7 Whether or not greater latitude might be allowed in the
investments consistently with sufficient security, .s a question for
grave consideration. Comparing the savings bank system in
England and other countries, it would appear that England stands
far ahead, in Europe at least. In 1874, m England and Wales,
the savings banks had £2 yn 8<Z. per head, Scotland £1 1 w.
Ireland nr., France gs. toil., Holland Jr. 4rf, Austria 36s. yi.,
Germany 3^., Switzerland 84s., Italy r6r. 6.. While Great
Britain had 9,436 depositors for every 100,000 persons, Switzer
land had 20,3m, and France only 5,600. But, for purposes of
comparison, you must take into account other faculties of invest
ments, and the habits of the people. The workmg people 0
France and Belgium are less venturesome than those of Englan .
* On the 20th November, 1876, the deficiency from the amount of the liabilitS of tie Government, and the value of the securities held by the Com
missioners for the Reduction of the National Debt, amounted to £a,5^,727
�H8
0^
l^OA^VG CLASSES.
They prefer becoming rentieres, or fundholders, to having money
at their disposal at the savings bank, and still more they like a
plot of ground which they may call their own. The subdivision
o and in France certainly favours this, and the Frenchman
e lghts m it. In England land is not to be had. The funds
o not present much facility for investment. Whilst in England
no m°re than 228,696 persons are entitled to various amounts
of dividends on the several kinds of stock in the public funds, in
rance the number of fundholders is given at 5,500,000. It is
safety and physical grasp of the property that mostly attract
the Frenchman. The Englishman is quite prepared to hazard a
ittle more for profit. After all, the savings banks offer no suffi
cient compensation. All they do is to keep for you any sum
of money you please, paying you as high a rate of interest as
and indeed more than, money is worth in this great storehouse
of capital.
Next to having some ready money always available in case
of need, we do well if we can make provision to secure some
help m case of sickness, or special contingencies ■ and here come
to our aid the many friendly societies. In the savings banks
e depositor’s capital remains his own, he has full freedom to
use it howsoever he likes, and can withdraw it whenever he
likes. In a friendly society the capital of the members con
stitutes a common fund; the investor is understood to devote the
amount to the object of the society, and he can get the fund
back only on the happening of certain events. The purposes
of friendly societies are very varied. They relieve members in
sickness and old age ; they furnish proper medicine and medical
attendance; they provide members with assistance when tra
velling in search of employment; they assist them when in
istress ; they provide a sum on the death of members for their
widows and children; and they defray the expense of burialcomplete list of such societies in every part of the kingdom
would show how extensively the spirit of association is in opera-
�SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
tion First is the Manchester Unity of Odd Fellows Next is
the Ancient Order of Fore^XtXVd" ReZite
Zpeyran“ FrieX' sXyZ for its motto, “ We will drink
LX for Jonadab the son of Rechab our father commanded
"Z Ye shall drink no wine, neither ye nor your sons, fo
ever.” Besides these, and among many others we ha«t e^
c*
a »
TJparts of Oak Benefit Society?
Dreids” “The Loyal Order of Ancient Shepherds,” “The Order
golden Fleece,” “ The Stat of the E-t,” and many mu,
numberin'* together one million and a quarter of members Aft
heTe come the burial societies, with another milhon mid hatf of
members. Then the societies
ZdLiXs ” aL
Sisters ” the “ Comforting Sisters,” the United Siste ,
Xe Daughters of Temperance.” The Scottish Societies go
by the names of “ The Humane,” “ The Protector,
Accord” “The Thistle” Ireland has her Emerald Isle T
bne So’ciety,” the “ Adam and Eve Tontine,” the “ St. DommiP
“St Ignatius,”“St. Joseph,” andmany more. Besides the frien y
societE proper, there are the trade unions, which are friendly
societies and something more ; the industrial an provi en
societies, constituted for carrying on trade ; the loan socie i
and co-operative societies, which have of late made wonderfu
progress. These friendly societies have been ivi e
y
commissioners into seventeen classes. And even these byno
means exhaust all the varieties of societies thus formed. A
y
all solvent? Can they be all recommended? Their object is,
doubtless, good, their intention excellent. But do they Kt e
proper precautions in their investments of money. Do they t
sufficient account of the rate of mortality in the different emp oyments. Are the returns they give reliable ? Should W society
of this character be allowed to meet at public-houses
I
hone the Act recently passed may eventually afford sufficient
guarantees for the 4,000,000 members interested in sue
�120
SA™rCS OF THE WORIawG CLASSES.
societies, having together about g'to,000,000 or ZI2 000 000
"aXa‘
°f thCir
ove^xx:: xx xxxsfrom bWers’
yourseives with such societies, XXXXZXX
are registered, those whose accounts are properly audited and
ose which can produce real certificates that they are sound
solvent, and safe.*
ouna’
.. °.f friendl>'societies th= most useful, when properly used are
«
certa-n
AXr
"r ; “d theSC
”gSa° yiS
"’1WSe
te™inatin»’
F“Xbe
J- °r Peil°dlcal sums> "’h>oh accumulate till the
ate sufficient to give a stipulated sum to each member
When the whole is divided amongst them. The members of
funds
sue societies may have the amount of their share in anticipation
by allowing a large discount,-not all, however, but such as by a’
sort of auction, bid the highest sum of discount, the repayment
bemg secured by mortgages on real or household property The
P-mnent societies do not disso.ve upon the completion of the
ares In a termmatmg society a person must either become
member at the time the'society is established or else pay a
rge amount of back subscriptions. In a permanent, one mac
become a member at any time. In a terminating, one does not
now ow ong he has to continue his payments, and how much
ay withdraw. In a permanent, he does. Together they
have a capital of some ^2,000,000, of which perhaps ,£8,000,000
may belong to the working classes. Are building societies advantageous as an investment for the working classes ? Are they
sa^e.
toperly conducted, a building society ought to be safe,
FrieJdlySodetv^n1305^ tHat
Government shou’d establish a National
the PostOffice Savin*s Banks;
of the causes and d ° t
%
X
abS6nCe °f any reliable data
cost of management n nd°th
]iaMity to decePtion2 the
meats
&
’
he dlfficulty of securing the continuance of pay-
�SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
121
for it invests its funds in houses and other real property, and
it ought to be able to calculate exactly what its funds at com
pound interest are likely to produce. And as for conveni
ence, I can conceive no investment more attractive than one
which may enable you in a comparativly few years to have a
house of your own. In London, indeed, the distance between
your house and your work, the expense of living in the suburbs,
and the uncertainty of remaining long in any employment m
any locality, may prove an obstacle to the purchase of a house,
but I cannot conceive a more mischievous disposition m any
family than that of being continually shifting from place to
place. “A rolling stone gathers no moss.” What waste is the
expense of removing ! What unfixedness of habits '. What
discouragement to beautify your house—to make it a home.
Stay still, my friends. And by all means if you can, buy a house
for yourselves. It is the best and most profitable expenditure
you can possibly make.
The building society will provide you with a house to dwell
in. The friendly society will see that in sickness you have a
doctor, and that on your death you may have a decent burial.
But what of the friends you must leave behind? For any
security to them, you must have recourse to the provident
principle of life insurance. Based on the fixedness of the law
of nature, which not only lays a bound to our natural life, but
seems to indicate what proportion of any given number of
human beings is likely to die, at every age, the life insurer
is ready to take upon himself the obligation to pay a certain
amount to your friends and relatives whenever you may die,
be it to-morrow or fifty years hence, provided you engage to
pay, and do actually pay, every year, as long as you live, a fixed
annual premium. Suppose you have a wife and children, and
you are anxious that when you die they shall not remain pemless. If you are thirty years of age you will have to pay, say,
£2 is. 6d. per annum to secure ^100 at death for your friends.
�122
SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
But mind you—and this is a hard measure in life insurancethat if you do miss a single year, you lose all you have put in.
er, say, ten years, you may surrender the policy to the Office
and get some allowance for what you have paid. But not be
fore But can workmen engage to make annual payments, and
an they be sure of continuing them ? This is indeed the difficu ty, or the collection of weekly payments is very costly, and
hitherto, where insurance has been tried among working men, the
proportion of lapses is very large. It is certainly an advantage,
in life insurance, that it compels you to make some self-sacrifice
nay, to make a very hard struggle every year, somehow, to pay
the premium; for the longer you pay it the safer is the policy.
ou are not likely to grudge paying the premium, because you
wish for yourself length of days, whatever it may cost. And the
insurance company will be glad if you live very long, if you be
come a very centenarian, for then it will get the premium out of
you twice or three times over. But workmen having uncertain
employments have great difficulty to meet the demands of life
insurance. Nevertheless, 1 do wish life insurance could be ex
tended among the labouring classes, for it is of great comfort
and benefit, and the upper and middle classes use it largely, up
wards of £300,000,000 being insured upon their lives, upon which
they pay more than £ 10,000,000 per annum in premium. The
Government has provided for the granting of Government
annuities and insurance in connection with the Post Office ; and
there if you only succeed in paying the premium for five years,
you will be entitled, if you wish to discontinue it, to the sur
render value. But the working classes do not seem to have taken
much advantage of the plan. Founded as far back as 1865, con
tracts have been entered into for the purpose by the Post Office,
for less than £300,000. Insurance companies do not come to
you. You must go to them. If you do decide upon insuring, take
care to choose the safest office ; for valuable as life insurance is,
it should not be forgotten that’the actual solvency of the com-
�SAWINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
123
puny depends on the accuracy of the data upon which it carries
on its business, on the rate of mortality which they
™
the rate of interest which they are able to realize,. an
portion of income from premium which they are able tc. reserve
for future expenses and profits. Inthe words of Messrs. Malcolm
and Hamilton, who have reported on the accounts o insurance
companies, “taking insurance business as it ex
country, where adequate premiums are charged, and live
selected with care, the public cannot be misled if, when seek
ing an office in which to effect an insurance, they select one
which transacts its business at a small percentage of wor mg
cost, and does not anticipate its profits.”
. .
I have mentioned among the friendly societies, the co
operative societies, both for distribution and production. Co
operative societies may be regarded as a means of invest
ment, and as a mode of securing a more liberal reward for
labour. It is not indeed put forth that either co-operative
societies or industrial partnerships can supersede effectua ly, or
in any important degree, the present relation of capital an
labour, as by far the simplest and capable of the wides
application, yet it is conceived that by affording grea er
encouragement to save, and ampler opportunities tor the
profitable use of such savings, many who at present have
other prospect than that of remaining m a condition of com
parative dependence, may eventually become possessed of a
small capital. How to give to the consumer direct access o
the producer ; how to give to the immediate producer, that ,
labour, direct access to capital, either directly, by an antecede»
act of aggregate saving on the part of the producer himself or
mediately, by crediting the immediate producer or labourer with
the necessary capital,-these are the objects which co-operation
seeks to obtain. Co-operative societies have been formed or
distribution and production, and even for credit. The con
ception is certainly simple and practical. Here are a hundre
�■24
SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
men goring yearly’ Say< Z4° each> at Ieast> of commodities,
which if bought wholesale will cost no more than £3o Form
a co-operative society to buy direct such provisions from the
producer, and the profit which the retailers would have gained
Will form a substantial economy to the consumers. Or let the
price of the commodities consumed remain as they would be if
so
y retailers, and let the profits accumulate in the hands of
such society; and you will have, by degree, a handsome capital
belonging to such members, which may be employed in prouction. And thus, from a co-operative society for distribution
you may easily rise to a co-operative society for production’
Here are a thousand operatives, each having a small savinoGather them savings together to form the capital. Let the con
tributors be themselves the operatives, and the combination
will seem perfect. But how should the relative rights of capital
and labour be adjusted ? The workman, as a capitalist, has an
interest m increasing, as much as possible, the profits of the
establishment, but as a workman he is still more interested in
securing a liberal rate of wages. Here an antagonism of
interests is sure to follow, and it is a great question whether the
problem admits of a satisfactory solution. But I have supposed
t e existence of capital in the hands of the labourers. What
if they have no such capital? Can they be credited with it ?
What security can they offer? Shall we ask the State to lend
capital to such labourers if the capitalists will not incur the
usk ? The idea is in itself preposterous.
Take, however, the most probable case, where labourers have
on y a very small capital. Shall we encourage them to em
ploy their savings in co-operative societies for production ? A
arge portion of the success which attends commercial operations
is the result of the skill and shrewdness of those who engage in
them. Capital is an important element, but the capacity to
know when and where to buy and to sell, and the possession of
a spirit of adventure balanced by prudence and caution, are
�12'5
SA RINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
elements of enormous value in securing success. Can working
men lay claim to such knowledge and foresight
If they
have to depend upon others for the management of such
dertakings, is there no danger of their falling into the hands
of designers and schemers, who will soon squander
savings?
e 1
Of the many"^“^X'CeTXcceeded.
1
t chas are for distribution-as grocers, drapers, and proven
dealers—have succeeded exceedingly well, scarcely anyt formed
for productive purposes can show any real gam.
Whils the
Rochdale Equitable Pioneers-as grocers, provision dea e ,
drapers, tailors-realized a goodly sum, the Rochdale card manu
facture realized nothing, and so in a number of instances. The
recent abandonment of the principle of industrial partner^.by
Messrs. Briggs has been exceedingly disappomtmg to the fnends
“ co-operatfon ; and so also has the breakdown of the Ouseburn
Engine Works, of the Shirland Colliery, and the Industnal Ba
in Newcastle. To my mind, there is no royal road to.wealth
The workman must, in some measure, become a capitalist
before he can seek to become a co-operator with the capitalist
in industrial enterprise. And when he has amassed a ittb sum
let him take care what he does with it. In these d y , P
duction on a small scale has no chance of success m competition
with production on a large scale. Great enterprises, w,th la ge
capital, are carried on at much less expense, and can always
command greater facilities. Lay you a solid foundation for your
advancement in a substratum of real capital, foster >t bypru
deuce and foresight, increase it by legitimate means, and yo
may depend upon it that in Z/«t? you will have the surest sa eguard for independence and improvement.
§ The introduction of limited liability in joint stock compam
has opened for the working classes the avenues_ to commercial operations to any extent. All you require is capital,
�^6
SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
and this capital you must gather, little by little, by hard labour
and, it may be, by continuous toil and hardship. Gentlemen it
requires some amount of heroism to set aside any fragment’of
our present income for our future wants, to deprive ourselves
it may be, of needed comforts that we may provide for con
tingencies at present, at least, beyond our ken. But it is worth
doing. A pound to-day and another to-morrow. Now five
pounds and anon ten—it is astonishing how soon the sum grows
if you are only careful. But be you extra cautious how you’
invest your savings, for the more labour we have to give to
the acquisition of small incomes and the accumulation of small
savings, the more incumbent it becomes on us to be on our
guard, lest we should lose it all by carelessness or misemployment. Trust not on the Government to protect you. Keep your
eyes open, and mind what you are about, for once you lose what
you have got, it is extremely difficult to get it again. After all
it is not much we want. Strive for more, but be content with
your lot.
Man s rich with little, were his judgments true ;
Nature is frugal, and her wants are few :
Those few wants answer’d, bring sincere delights ;
But fools create themselves new appetites.”
But, my friends, is it only money that we should seek after?
Are there not treasures of knowledge, treasures of benefaction,
treasures of inward joys and happiness, that we may aspire to
obtain ? Must we all strike the same path ? Have we all the
same talents ? Have we all the same opportunities ? Thirtytwo years ago, a comparative youth came to England, from the
centre of Italy, unknowing and unknown. He had but one talent
—not that of the Universities, either of Oxford or Cambridge,
Pisa or Bologna ; not that of riches, or of fame ; but one com
mon to all—an open eye and an open mind, with perseverance in
duty, and hope and faith to cheer him in his path. He planted
that talent in the British soil, and there it lodged summer and
�SAVINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
127
winter, and winter and summer, giving little signs of life; but
it was growing, and it gave fruit in the establishment of a
Chamber of Commerce in Liverpool, in a work on the Com
mercial Law of the World, and another on the History of Britis
Commerce. And that talent is still growing, and has made its
possessor a barrister-at-law, a member of not a few scientific
societies, and the Professor of the Principles of Commerce
and Commercial Law in King’s College, London ;-the very
one who has now the honour and the pleasure of addressing to
you these Lectures. If you could trace the antecedents of many
of those who are now great, how often would you find that it is
not fortune, or birth, or estate, that produces our best men, but
labour, perseverance, force of will. Read Smiles’ “ Self-made
Men ; ” and you will find that Hargreaves and Crompton were
artiza’ns, and Arkwright a barber. That Telford and Hugh Miller
were stonemasons, and Trevithick amechanic. That Lord Tenterden the judge, and Turner the painter, were both sons of barbers.
That Inigo Jones the architect, and Hunter who discovered
the circulation of the blood, were carpenters. That Cardinal
Wolsey and Defoe were sons of butchers ; that the immorta
John Bunyan was a tinker, and Herschel the astronomer a
bandsman. That James Watt was the son of an instrument
maker, and Faraday the son of a blacksmith ; that Newton’s
father was a yeoman, with a small farm worth iia 6^. a year ;
and Milton the son of a scrivener. That Pope and Southey were
sons of linendrapers, and Shakspeare the son of a butcher
and grazier. That Lord Eldon was the son of a Newcastle coal
fitter and LordJSt. Leonard the son of a barber, who began life
as an errand boy. AU honour to them I Strive you to be like
them.
“ Lives of great men all remind us,
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time ;
�128
SA VINGS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o’er life’s solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labour and to wait.’’
Let our occupation be high or low in public estimation,
he is a great man who, by high character and self-mastery,
by culture and industry, by application and perseverance,
secures for himself a true individuality ; and who, with powers
fully developed, and faculties duly expanded, uses whatever
talent he may possess to the glory of God, and to the benefit
of his fellow-creatures.
�appendix a.
Statement of the weekly expenditure, in 1859, of a family consistm«
wife, and three children, whose total wages averaged th'rtV
P
week, as compared with the cost of the same arttclesm 875,>8^ and
|> 1839.—“ Progress of Manchester,” by D. Chadwick, Brit.sh Assomation
1861, revised by Dr. Watts.
|
Articles.
Expenditure in
i875-
Expenditure in
1849.
Expenditure in
1859.
Expenditure in
i
|(I.) Bread, Flour, and
Meal.
S|8 41b. loaves (32 lbs.) .. 6 Id. per 41bs.
IL a peck of meal........... is. 10d.pr.pk.
||l a doz. (6 lbs.) of flour is. lod. pr.dz.
6d. per 4lbs.
is.6d. perpk.
1s.10d.pr.dz.
5Jd. per 41b.
is.8d. perpk.
is.8d. per dz.
5
4
2
I
81- 7 I. per lb
4 9
4
oj
2
O
0
9
6
4
3
xs.4d. per lb. 0
8
0
3
6
8Jd. per 41b.
is-4d. perpk.
2S.4d. per dz.
(II.) Butchers’ Meat
and Bacon,
;lbs. of butchers' meat 8'd. per lb.
dbs. of bacon ................
6Jd. per lb. .
(III.) Potatoes, Milk,
and Vegetables.
2 score of potatoes .... is. per score
7 quarts of milk ............ 4d. per qt. .
Vegetables ....................
tl
is. per score
3d. per qt. ..
I
;. per score
1. per qt. ..
is. per score
3d. per qt...
;. 4d. per lb.
5. 4d. ,,
2S. per lb.
(IV.) Groceries, Coals,
etc.
Jib. of coffee
Jib. of tea ....
31bs. of sugar
albs, of rice ..
1 lb. butter.. ..
21bs. of treacle
rjlbs. of soap
Coals................
Candles...........
xs. id. per lb
I
I
0
I
0
5
6
0
6
6
Rent, taxes, and water
Clothing .........................
Sundries .........................
I
0
0
II
I
.
4
3
2
9
Totals
• 30
0
0
5*
sJ
0
�APFENDIX.
130
AVERAGE WEEKLY EARNINGS OF THE COTTON OPERATIVES.
Week of 69
1839
s. d.
Steam-engine tenders
24 0
Warehousemen .... 18 0
Carding stretchers
7 0
Strippers, young men, women, and
girls....................................... 11 0
Overlookers....................................... 25 0
Spinners on self-acting Winders,
Males
.
.
.
. 16 0
Piecers, women and young men 8 0
Overlookers ..... 20 0
Reeling Throttle, reelers, women 9 0
Warpers
..... 22 0
Sizers............................................... 23 0
Doubling, Doublers, women.
7 0
Overlookers...................................... 24 0
Agricultural—
Devon
Somerset.
Cheshire .
Durham .
i860.
Per week.
8s. to 12s.
12s. ,, 14s.
15s.
15s. to 20s.
Builders—
Masons .
hours.
1849
s. d.
28 0
20 0
7 6
12
28
0
0
14
28
0
0
19
32
18
0
0
0
6
0
0
6
0
20
10
26
0
0
0
6
0
0
0
0
25
16
9
22
9
22
23
7
25
18555s. per day.
1850.
Per month.
Seamen, London—
Mediterranean
.
45s.
...
.
50s.
...
North America
East India and China 40s.
Australia
40s.
Week of 60 hours.
1873
1859
s. d.
s. d.
32 o
30 0
26 o
22 0
12 o
8 0
...
...
9
23
25
9
28
...
30
12
26
30
12
32
o
o
o
o
o
6
o
6
o
1872.
Per week.
9s. to 12s.
13s. ,, 20s.
16s. 6d.
17s. to 20s.
1876.
96. per hour.
...
...
...
...
1874.
Per month.
70s. to 80s. ... 80s. to 90s.
80s. „ 95s. ... 85s. „ 95s.
60s. „ 65s. ... 80s. „ 85s
70s.
�APPENDIX.
APPENDIX B.
BUDGETS OF THE WORKING CLASSES.
Great Britain.
(From the “ Times," November Vjih, 1872.)
Weekly Expenses of a Farm Labourer in 1872 in East Sussex :—
Per week.
£ s. d.
£, s. d.
0 7 0
7 gallons of flour
.
.
0 i 4
1 lb. butter
.
.
0 0 4
2 oz. tea *
.
.
.
.
.
0 0 7
2 lb. sugar *
.
.
0 1 3
2 lb. cheese
,
.
0 0 3i
Milk
....
.
.
0 O 2
1 lb. soap
.
.
0 O I
Soda and blue .
.
.
0 0 10J
i| lb. candles .
.
.
0 O 7
Schooling
.
.
0 0 3
Cotton and mustard
•
•
0 I 0
Washing and mangling .
.
.
0 2 0
Rent
....
0 15 10
Extra expenses per annum :—
£> s. d.
Benefit club .
Boots
....
Clothes ....
Tools ....
Faggots ....
Extra food in hop drying
1
O IO
4
0
0
0
0
0
12
4
2
I
0
2
7
4
14
0
4
0
equal to 0 3 0
o 18 10
�132
APPENDIX.
Income and Expenditure of a Tobacco Spinner in Edinburgh, the Family
consisting of Six Persons. Income: Father, 25s.; Boy in the Telegraph
Service, 6s.—total, 31s.
Expenditure :—
£
Bread, 361b. ; meat, 4Mb. ; flour, 71b. ;
rice, ilb. ; potatoes, 10J lb ; sugar,*
51b ; tea, * Jib. ; coffee, * Jib. ; butter,
0
i|lb.......................................................
Beer,* 4 pints; spirits nil; tobacco,*
0
302.........................................................
House rent ......
0
Coal and gas...................................
0
Clothing............................................
0
Taxes....................................................
0
vhurch or chapel, 4d. ; amusements,
rd.; benefit club, is. id. ; doctors
bill, and sundries, 2s. 6d.
0
Zr
16 6
0
2 4
8
I
4 0
0 34
2
4 0
IO
94
Per cent.
Taxes.
54
s. d.
0 6
6
7
6
13
I
I
9
0 34
13
IOO
64
2
Income and Expenditure of a Printer, Single Man, living in London.
Income £1 16s. od. a-week :—
z s. d.
Bread, i21b. ; meat, 41b. ; flour, 41b. ;
potatoes, 81b.; sugar,* ilb.; tea,* 202.;
coffee,* 2oz. ; butter, iooz.
Beer,* 14 pints ; spirits, * 1 quartern ;
tobacco,* 40Z........................................
House rent...................................
Coal and gas......
Clothin
......
Church, amusements, laundress .
Per cent.
0 9 8
4i
0 3
■0 5 0
0 2 6
0 I 6
0 2 6
0 2 6
21
1 4
Z*
3
8
Taxes.
II
6
II
IO
IOO
1
7
�APPENDIX.
*33
France.
{From Lord Brabazon s Report, vFjz, p. 45.)
Average. Expenditure of a Married Day Labourer’s Family, consisting of
Father, Mother, and Three Children, with a Collective Income of
£24 is. 7d.
£. s. d. Per cent.
Bread,* vegetables, meat,* milk, salt
59
13 15 7
6
I 7 2
Wine* beer,* and cider* ....
I 13 7
7
Lodging* (tax on doors and windows) .
I
5
5 8
Firing*....................................................
I
0 4 6
Taxes....................................................
16
3 12 9
Clothing*....................................................
6
I
5 9
Other expenses............................................
£23
5 0
IOO
Prussia.
{Dr. Engel’s Table.}
Percentage of the Expenditure of the Family of
A Working Man with A Man of Middle A Person n easy circum
stances with
Class with
an income of
an income from Z 9° an income from ZrS0
from
to Z 220 a year.
Z45 to Zoo a year.
to ZI2° a year.
Per cent.
. 62
Subsistence
. 16
Clothing .
.
. 12
Lodging .
Firing and lighting 5
Education, public
.
. 2
worship
Legal protection
. 1
Care of Health
. 1
Comfort, mental and
bodily recreation 1
IOO
Per cent.
55
18
12
5
3’5
2
2
i’5
IOO
Per cent.
50
18
12
5
5'5
3
3
3‘5i
TOO
�134
APPENDIX.
Netherlands.
(Mr, Locock's Report, 1871, p. 351.)
Weekly Expenses of a Mason, with a Wife and Two Children :—
Bread,* butter, milk, sugar,*
coffee,* suet, flour, potatoes,
Per cent.
s. d.
greens, meal, salt, bacon, oil,
II 11
tobacco,* soap,* etc.
53
2 0
House rent
9
6
I 3
Firing*
....
2 1
Clothing * .
.
.
9
Sundries ....
• 5 3
23
22 6
.
100
Switzerland (Bale).
(dZ. Gould's Report, 1872, p. 366.)
Yearly Expenditure of a Working Man’s Family :—
Bread, coffee, chicory, milk, potatoes, butter, oil, meat, vege£ s.
tables ....
29 6
Rent...................................
IO 8
Wood
....
4 0
Taxes
....
0 6
Clothing ....
6 0
Sick Fund
0 16
d.
2
O
O
5
0
0
50 16 7
Per cent.
57
.
20
8
.
0
.
12
3
.
100
Russia.
Annual Expenditure of a Peasant Family, consisting of Father and Son, Two
Brothers, and a Third Young Man, in the Province of Novgorod :—
(Consul Michel's Report on Land Tenure, p. 63.)
z * d.
8o| bush, rye from the land, 361b. fish, 1
sack wheat, 2.88 bush, buckwheat, salt ...
30 o
Dress,* boots, etc.
.
.
.
.
.
2 13 4
Taxes, Imperial and Provincial, at 3 roubles
per male .......
1 4
Village priest
.
.
.
.
.
o
�APPENDIX.
135
(Consul Gregnon's Report, 1871, p. 54.)
Estimated Expenditure for a Single Man, Factory Hand, for a
d.
Day’s Living in Riga
3 lbs, Russ, rye bread, at 2A copecks
si
1 lb. Russ, meat
....
3k
Coffee,* sugar, and milk.................................................. 12
Potatoes.............................................................................02
Butter........................................................................ ......
Herrings...............................................................................
Barley meal..............................................
.
. ok
10
To the above must be added lodging, capitation-tax, clothing, and per
sonal expenses.
(Consul Campbell's Report, 1872, p. 312.)
A Manufactory Workman’s Monthly Expenditure at Helsingfors
s. d.
£ s. d.
Food,
24 to30 marks .
. o 19 o to 1 3 9
Fuel,
2 ,, 2j „
.
. o 1 7 „ o 2 o
Lodging, 10,, 12 ,,
.
.080,, 096
Clothing,* 10 ,, 12J ,,
.
. o 7 o ,, o 9 6
1 15 7
2 4 9
United States (Pennsylvania).
(Mr. Consul Kortright’s Report, 1871, p. 921.)
Weekly Cost of Living of Two Parents and Three Children
in Philadelphia:—
Bread, flour, meat, butter, cheese,
Per cent.
sugar,* milk, coffee,* tea,*
£ s. d.
fish, salt, eggs, potatoes,
I 8 6 .
fruit
.
.
,
.
.
■
54
. 24
0 13 0
Rent............................................
6
0 3 3 •
Light * and Fire
.
.
0 7 5 •
Clothing *
....
■
14
0 0 4! •
Taxes...................................
•
2
0 0 9J
Other Expenses
2 13 3
100
�136
APPENDIX.
United States.
(From the Sixth Annual Report of the Bureau of the Statistics of Labour.}
Percentage of the Expenditure of the Family of a Working Man
with an income—
From ^60
ZI2O
/150
Above
Z90
Average
to Z90. to/'lCO. to/150. to ^zso. ^250.
Per cent. Per cent. Per cent. Per cent. Per cent. Per cent.
Subsistence.
. 64
60
63
56
5t
58
Clothing
10-5
19
14
• 7
74
15
Rent .
. 20
15
16
14
i5'5
17
Fuel
. 6
6
6
6
5
6
Sundry Expenses 3
6
6
10
6
5
—
----------■
----- IOO
IOO
IOO
IOO
IOO
IOO
�APPENDIX.
137
APPENDIX C.
Report of the Committee of the British Association for the
Advancement of Science, on Combinations of Capital and
Labour. Lord Houghton, D.C.L., F.R.S. (chairman); Jacob
Behrens, Esq.; Thomas Brassey, Esq., M.P.; Frank P.
Fellows, Esq.; Archibald Hamilton, Esq.; Professor Leone
Levi; A. J. Mundella, Esq., M.P.; Wm. Newmarch, Esq.,
F.R.S.; Lord O’Hagan; R. J. Inglis Palgrave, Esq.; Professcr
Thorold Rogers. Submitted by Professor Leone Levi, and
ordered to be printed and laid before the Association.
Your Committee appointed to inquire into the economic effects
of Combinations of labourers or capitalists, and into the laws of
Economic science bearing on the principles on which such
Combinations are founded, have already stated in their preli
minary Report made last year, the course they have thought
to take in order to ascertain the exact views held by both
employers and employed on the subject in question. Although
the general objects of such Combinations, whether of capitalists
or labourers, are well known, both from the written rules, which
bind them together, and from the action taken from time to
time, your Committee have deemed it desirable to come into
personal contact with some representative men from both classes,
with a view of finding whether they do now stand by the rules
of their Unions, and how far they are prepared to defend them.
And for that purpose, your Committee resolved to hold a con
sultative private conference of employers and employed m the
presence of the members of the. Committee, where they might
discuss the questions involved in the resolution of the British
Association, and with a view of reporting thereon to the same.
The points more especially inquired into were the following :—
1 st. What determines the minimum rate of wages ?
2nd. Can that minimum rate be uniform in any trade, and
can that uniformity be enforced ?
3rd. Is Combination capable of affecting the rate of wages,
whether in favour of employers or employed ?
�138
APPENDIX.
4th. Can an artificial restriction of labour or of capital be
economically right or beneficial under any circumstances?
For the discussion of these questions your Committee had
the advantage of bringing together a deputation from the
National Federation of Associated Employers of Labour, in
cluding Messrs. R. R. Jackson, M. A. Brown, H. R. Greg,
Joseph Simpson, J. A. Marshall, R. Hannen, and Henry Whit
worth. As representing labour : Messrs. Henry Broadhurst,
Daniel Guile, George Howell, Loyd Jones, George Potter, and
Robert Newton; Mr. Macdonald, M.P., and Mr. Burt, M.P.,
having been prevented from attending. And on the part of
your Committee there were Lord Houghton, Professor Rogers,
Mr. Samuel Brown, Mr. W. A. Hamilton, Mr. Frank Fellows,
and Professor Leone Levi.
Many are the works and documents bearing on the questions
at issue. Of an official character we have the Report of the
Royal Commission appointed “ to inquire into and report upon
he organization and rules of Trade Unions and other associa
tions, whether of workmen and employers and to inquire into
and report on the effects produced by such Trade Unions and
associations on the workmen and employers and on the relations
between workmen and employers and on the trade and industry
of the country.” Of an unofficial character we have the Report
of the Committee of the Social Science Association “on the
objects and constitution of Trade Societies, with their effects
upon wages and upon the industry and commerce of the country.”
Of special works we have the late lamented Professor Cairnes’
“ Leading Principles of Political Economy,” Mr. Thomas
Brassey’s “Work and Wages,” and Professor Leone Levi’s
“Wages and Earnings of the Working Classes.”
The chief functions of Combinations, whether of Capital or
Labour, being to operate on wages, your Committee were
anxious to ascertain by what criterion the parties interested
ordinarily judge of the sufficiency or insufficiency of existing
wages. The first test of the sufficiency of wages is the re
lation they bear to the cost of the necessaries of life. “The
minimum of wages,” said Prof. Rogers, “ is the barest possible
amount upon which a workman can be maintained ; that
which, under the most unfavourable circumstances, a man is
able to obtain.” But the minimum thus estimated can only be,
and is, submitted to under circumstances of extreme necessity.
“ I believe the minimum rate of wages,” said one of the repre
sentatives of labour, “ is that which, under the worst circum
stances, the worst workman gets from the worst master.” We
cannot, therefore, take the minimum rates so considered as a
proper basis for the sufficiency of wages. How far insufficient
wages in relation to the cost of living in the U nited Kingdom is
�APPENDIX.
139
a cause of the large emigration which is taking place fiom year
to year it is not possible to establish ; * but, doubtless the pros
pect held out in the distant Colonies and in the United States
of America of considerable improvement has been for some
time past and still is a strong inducement. to those m receipt of
insufficient wages in this country to emigrate to other lands
Your Committee are desirous to point out in connection with
this question that not only has the cost of some of the principal
necessaries of life greatly risen within the last twenty years but
that in consequence of the general increase of comfort and
luxury many articles of food, drink, and dress must now be
counted as necessaries which some years ago were far beyond
the reach of the labouring classes ; whilst house rent, especiallyadapted for the labouring classes, is considerably dearer. If,
therefore, the cost of living be taken as a guide to he rate of
wages, it would not be enough to take into account the cost of
the mere necessaries of life. A higher standard of living having
been established, it would be indispensable to compare the
wages of labour to such higher standard. Your Committee are
not satisfied, however, that it is possible to regulate wages
according to the scale of comfort or luxury which may be
introduced among the people, and are compelled to assert that
it is an utter fallacy to imagine that wages will rise or fall m
relation to the cost which such supposed necessaries or indul
gences may entail.
.
,
A better test of the sufficiency of wages is the relation they
bear to the state of the labour market; and tested by that
standard the minimum rate of wages which workmen are at
any time prepared to accept is the least which they think they
are entitled to have under existing circumstances, the 1 rade
Unions guiding them, as to the state of trade and the value of
labour at the time. Unfortunately, however, what workmen
think themselves entitled to have does not always correspond
with what employers find themselves able to grant. Primarily
the wages of labour are'determined, by the. amount of capital
available for the purpose of wages in relation to the number
of labourers competing for the same. But the amount ot
capital employed in any industry is itself governed by con
siderations of the relation of the cost of production to the
market price of the produce—that is, to the price which the
.consumer is able or willing to give for the same : the cost of
production including the cost of materials, the value ot capital,
the cost of superintendence, and the wages of labour.
* The average number of emigrants in the last ten years from the United
Kingdom, from 1862 to 1873, was 239,000 per annum. In 1873, the total
number was 310,612, and in 1874, 241, 014. The emigration to the United
States decreased from 233,073 in 1873, to 148,161 in 1874.
�140
APPENDIX.
Objection has been taken at the Conference to this method
for arriving at the rate of wages ; and it was urged that instead
of taking the price of the article produced, or the interest of
the consumer, as the basis of the calculation, the first ingredient
in the cost of the article should be the price to be paid to the
workman in producing it. But a serious consideration will
show that the employer cannot ignore what the consumer can
or will pay any more than the share which the value of capital,
the cost of superintendence, and the cost of the materials have
upon the cost of production ; for he must cease producing
altogether if he cannot both meet the ability of the consumer
to purchase his article and successfully compete with the
producers of other countries. Your Committee think that it is
not in the power of the employer to control the proportion of
the different elements in the cost of production, each of them
being governed by circumstances peculiar to itself. The value
of Capital, as well as the value of the raw materials, is regu
lated by the law of supply and demand, not only in this
country, but in the principal markets of the world. The cost
of superintendence and the wages of labour are likewise governed
by the relation of the amount of capital to the number seeking
to share in the different employments. The employed say,
“'We must have certain wages. We care for nothing else.
Labour is our property. We set our value upon it. If you
will have our labour you must pay what we ask for it. And
if such wages should require a rise in the market price, let the
consumer pay it.” What however, if the consumer will not
or cannot pay sufficient price to enable the employer to pay
such wages ? What, if he can get the article cheaper else
where ? Must not production cease if there be no market ?
And where will be the wages if there be no production? Nor
should it be forgotten that a general rise of wages producing
an increase of the cost of all the commodities of life reacts on
the masses of the people, and thus far neutralizes the benefit
of higher wages.
Disagreements between employers and employed are often
produced on the subject of wages by the fact that all the
elements of the case are not within the cognizance of both
parties ; experience showing that in making a demand for an
advance of wages, or for resisting a fall, workmen are of
necessity groping in the dark as to the real circumstances of
the case. One of the chief advantages supposed to result from’
the organization of Trade Unions is the competency of their
leaders to give solid and practical advice to those interested,
as to the condition of the labour market; and we have no
doubt that this duty is in the main honestly performed, but it is
very much to expect that such leaders should universally possess
�APPENDIX.
141
laive and liberal views enough to vindicate the exercise of their
enormous power, and such constant and accurate knowledge
of the multiple facts of the case as would enable them to
exercise an almost infallible authority. On the other hand,
were it possible for employers, who are not in the dark in such
matters, to make known to their own workmen the grounds of
the action they propose taking before the resolve is carried
into execution, your Committee are convinced that many
disputes would be avoided, and much of the jealousy which
now exists between the parties would be removed. The recent
lock-out in South Wales illustrated the need of such a course.
Had the facts which Lord Aberdare elicited from the principal
colliery firms in Glamorganshire been made known previous
to or simultaneously with the notice of a fall, it is a question
whether such a widespread calamity would have occurred.
It is perhaps a natural but unfortunate circumstance that
employers are seldom found to take the initiative in allowing
a rise in wages when the state of the market permits it as they
are in case of a fall, and spontaneously to offer what they must
sooner or later be compelled to grant. A more prompt and
politic course on their part in this matter would go far to
neutralise the hostile action of Trade Unions.
Your Committee were anxious to ascertain how far is it in
the mind of the employed that the employers obtain for them
selves too large a share of profits at their expense. Your Com
mittee were assured that no such doubts are entertained, though
cases were produced supporting such suspicions by reference to
the time of the great rise in the price of coals in 1873, when
workmen’s wages did not, in the opinion of the representatives
of labour, rise to anything like the proportion of the masters’
profits.* Your Committee admit that in cases of great oscilla
tions in prices, the share participated either by the employers
in the shape of profits, or by the employed in the shape of
wages, may be for a time greater or less than their normal
distribution would justify. And it is possible that some portions
of these extra profits may be unproductively spent or so em
ployed as not to benefit the parties more immediately _ con
cerned, and even used in totally alien speculations. Yet, in the
main, the working classes must receive in one way or another,
a considerable advantage from them, there being .no doubt that
the largest portion of such extra profits will be reinvested in the
* Mr. Halliday’s evidence before the Committee of the House of
Commons on coals, was that, though the custom was to give to work
men a portion of any rise of prices in the shape of increasing wages,
the proportion being an additional 2d. a day for every 10L a ton, the
rise in wages was often id. per ton only and sometimes nothing, whilst
when the price rose ar. 6d. to 55. a ton the wages were only increased 3^.
a day.
�142
APPENDIX.
ordinary industries of the country. In the end, however, wages
and profits will be divided among the producers in proper pro
portions, and if at any time profits or wages should be larger
than they ought to be, we may be quite sure that ere long the
competition of capitalists will tend either to the lowering of
prices or the raising of wages so as to make profits and wages
gravitate towards each other.
Immediately allied to the question of the determination of a
minimum of wages is that of their uniformity. In the opinion
of many Trade Unions, all workmen of average ability in any
trade should earn the same wages, the average ability of each
man being understood to have been determined in advance by
the fact of his being admitted as a member of the Union. But
a man is subject to no examination, and is generally admitted
upon the testimony of those who have worked with him, whose
evidence must frequently be fallacious and insufficient. Nor
does it appear that the rejection is absolutely certain even if
the applicant should not be deemed a man of average ability,
the acceptance or rejection of the party being always optional
with the lodge to which he is introduced. Your Committee are
therefore not satisfied that any guarantees exist that every
member of a Union is able to earn a fair day’s wages for a
fair day’s work ; and they cannot, therefore, agree in the pro
position that all workmen should be entitled to uniform wages
on the ground of uniform ability. But another reason has been
alleged for the uniformity of wages—which is still less tenable
than the former—viz., a supposed uniformity of production in
dependent of skill. The right of the workman to a uniform
standard of wages was stated to be the production of an article
which, though demanding less skill to perform, is of equal
utility and is proportionally as profitable to the employer.
Your Committee must, however, entirely demur to the principle
that, in the apportionment of wages, no account should be
taken of the skill brought to bear on the execution of the task,
since a system of that nature would act as a premium on in
feriority of workmanship. Again, by another test should the
right of each individual to earn certain wages be determined,
and that is by his productive capacity. Professor Levi asked
whether that was taken into account when the workman was
assumed to be of average ability ; and the answer was that the
amount of production depended largely upon the skill. “ The
more skilful a man is the more he will produce.” But whilst, in
so far as this answer was correct, it contradicted the principle
embodied in the preceding test, the answer itself did not take
sufficiently into account that skill is not the only element in
effectiveness of labour. There are qualities of mind, judgment,
and even of heart, disposition, and of moral character, which
�APPENDIX.
143
go far to increase or diminish the efficiency of labour ; and of
such qualities the employer is, of necessity, a far better judge
than any Union can be. That under ordinary circumstances
wages in any trade should tend to uniformity is quite possible.
The facility of communication and the extension of intercourse
of necessity equalise prices and wages : but any attempt to
compel uniformity of wages among any large number of men
of varied capacity must of necessity prove a source of dis
appointment. Much, again, may be said in favour of a common
standard of wages in any industry, as avoiding the embarrass
ment necessarily encountered in any attempt to adjust the
rate to the exact worth of each individual. Yet it is impossible
to ignore the fact that, whilst a uniform rate is sure to operate
unjustly in favour of persons who may be wanting in fairness
of dealing or capacity for workmanship, in the nature of things
it is almost incapable to exist over a wide area, having regard
to the varieties in the prices of fuel, carriage, house accommo
dation, or of the means of livelihood, as well as in the cost of
raw materials and in the processes employed as affecting the
rate of production of each individual. On the whole, your
Committee find that an absolute uniformity in the rate of wages
in any trade, though to a certain extent convenient, is neither
just nor practicable, whilst any effort to compel uniformity in
the amount of earnings of any number of individuals must
prove fallacious and wrong as an illegitimate interference with
the rights of industry.
A still more important question in connection with the subject
is how far Combination of any kind can affect permanently or
temporarily the rate of wages. Upon this, as might be ex
pected, the most divergent opinions are held by the repre
sentatives of Capital and Labour. The employers of labour,
standing on the solid principles of political economy, deny that
Combinations can under any circumstances affect the rates of
wages, at least in any permanent manner. The argument
adduced being that if workmen are entitled to higher wages
they are sure to get them, since, under the law of supply and
demand, whenever it is found that profits trench unduly upon
wages fresh capital is sure to be introduced, which provides for
the raising of wages. The employed, on the other hand, con
fidently appeal to past experience, and point out the fact that
almost every increase of wages has been due to the action of
Trade Unions. They say that without Combination workmen
cannot secure the market price for their labour, but are to a
certain extent at the mercy of their employers. That in trades
where one establishment employs a large number of workmen
the employers can discharge a single workman with compara
tively slight inconvenience, while the workman loses his whole
�144
APPENDIX.
means of subsistence. That without the machinery of Com
bination the workmen, being dependent upon their daily work
for their daily bread, cannot hold on for a market.
Your Committee are not prepared to deny that Combinations
can render useful service in matters of wages; but they think
that it is impossible for them to frustrate or alter the operations
of the laws of supply and demand, and thereby to affect per
manently the rates of wages. Combination may hasten the
action of those laws which would undoubtedly, though perhaps
more slowly, operate their own results. The limited power of
Combinations is in effect admitted by the workmen themselves.
“We do not say,” said one of the workmen’s representatives,
“ that Trade Unions can absolutely interfere with supply and
demand, because, when trade is very bad, they cannot obtain
the standard ; when it is good they easily raise the standard.
What they do is, they enable workmen sooner to strike at the
right time for a general advance. They get the advance sooner
than if they were an undisciplined mob, having no common
understanding. And when trade is receding, the common
understanding enables workmen to resist the pressure put upon
them by their employers. It helps them in both ways, and the
workmen find they can act together beneficially.” The ground
here taken by the working-men is not at variance with sound
economic principles. But there is yet another way in which
Trade Unions may prove useful, and that is by rendering wages
more sensitive to the action of the state of the market, and so
preventing the influence of custom to stand in the way of the
operation of supply and demand ; for there are such occupa
tions, as agriculture, where custom often exercises imperious
rule even upon wages. As has been well said by M. Batbie,
Wages do not change unless the causes for the change exercise
a strong influence. If the conditions of supply and demand do
not undergo a great change, wages continue the same by the
simple force of custom. The variations of wages are not like
those of a thermometer, where the least clouds are marked,
where one can read the smallest changes of temperature. They
may rather be compared to those bodies which do not become
heated except under the action of an elevated temperature, and
remain quite insensible to the slight modifications of the atmo
sphere. Until a great perturbation takes place in the conditions
of supply and demand, no one would think of changing the rate
of wages.” * After making every allowance your Committee
cannot admit that Combinations have any power either to raise
permanently the rate of wages or to prevent their fall when the
conditions of trade require the same, as recent experience abun* See M. Batbie's article on "Salaries in Bloek's Dictionnaire de la
Politique."
�APPENDIX.
145
dantly shows, and, whilst admitting that Combinations may be
beneficial in accelerating the action of economic laws, your
Committee cannot be blind to the fact that they produce a
state of irritation and discontent which often interferes with
the progress of production.
Limited as is the power of Combinations to affect the rates
of wages, still more limited is their power to affect materially the
progress of productive industry. The Royal Commission on
Trade Unions reported that it was extremely difficult to deter
mine how far Unions have impeded the development of trade,
whether by simply raising prices or by diverting trade from cer
tain districts, or from this to foreign countries. The representa
tives of capital at the conference alluded to, endeavoured to
prove that certain branches of trade have permanently been
injured by the Unions. Whether the fact can be established or
not, it is undeniable that British trade has enormously increased
within the last twenty years, and that the exports of manufac
tured goods are on a larger scale now than they were at any
former period.*
What is perhaps most objectionable in Combinations of labour
is the method they often pursue in order to operate on the rates
of wages ; for they are not content with making a collective de
mand on employers for a rise, but endeavour to force it, or resist
a fall, by restricting the supply of labour and increasing the need
of it. One such method, explained at the Conference, seems to
your Committee peculiarly objectionable. A representative of
Labour said that when depression of trade comes, by means
of associated funds the men are able to say to the surplus
labourers, “ Stand on one side—you are not wanted for the time
being. If you go on with your labour at half-price, it will not
mend the trade; we will not let you become a drug on the
market, putting every other man down, but we will sustain you.”
In three years, your Committee were informed, over £100,000
was thus paid for unemployed labour, in the hope that undue
fall in wages would be prevented by keeping labourers out of
* The following were the quantities of some of the principal articles of
British produce and manufacture exported from the United Kingdom in
1854 and 1874 ;—
Coal and Coke ...
Copper
Cotton Yarn
Cotton Manufacture
Iron
...............
Worsted Manufacture
1854
tons 4,309,000
cwts. 274,000
lbs. 147,128,000
yds. 1,692,899,000
tons 1,175,000
yds. 133,600,000
Increase
per cent.
1874
13,927,000
709,000
220,599,000
3,606,639,000
2,487,000
261,000,000
223
159
49
”3
112
71
The total value of British produce exported increased from £135,891,000
in i860 to £239,558,000 in 1874 or at the rate of 76 per cent.
IO
�146
APPENDIX.
the market. Your Committee are of opinion that the artificial
prevention of a fall of wages when such a fall is necessary and
inevitable, is economically wrong, and can only have the effect of
still more injuring the condition of workmen, since by so doing
they only throw hindrances in the way of production, which is
the parent of all wages. Equally objectionable in your Com
mittee’s opinion, as interfering with the freedom of labour and
with the general economy of production, is every regulation of
such Trade Unions that excludes from employment in the trades
all who have not been regularly apprenticed, or any rule which
should set a limit to the number of apprentices. Professor
Cairnes, commenting on the monopoly thus advocated by Trade
Unions, said, “ It is a monopoly, moreover, founded on no prin
ciple either of moral desert or of industrial efficiency, but simply
on chance or arbitrary selection ; and which, therefore, cannot
but exert a demoralizing influence on all who come within its
scope—in all its aspects presenting an. ungracious contrast to all
that is best and most generous in the spirit of modern demo
cracy.”
The only other question on which your Committee will report
is whether an artificial restriction of labour, or of capital, can
under any circumstances be economically right or beneficial. It
is, indeed, scarcely necessary to say that any restriction of
Labour or of Capital, having the effect of limiting production,
must of necessity prove injurious. Yet it may be a point for
consideration whether under certain circumstances it may not be
better for either Labour or Capital to submit to the evil of re
striction in order to avoid a still greater evil, of producing at a
loss, or working at rates of wages not sufficiently remunerative.
The labourers justify their proceedings in this respect by refer
ence to the practice of producers. One of the representatives of
labour, speaking on this subject, said :—“No doubt there.is not
a working man in Lancashire who would not say that limitation
was an injury. Generally that there should be the largest pos
sible production in a given time is no doubt a true law, but every
trade must regulate that according to its own necessities. The
ironmaster blows out his furnaces when an increased production
would injure; the cotton manufacturer runs his manufactory short
time ; and the labourer limits the production.” There is little or
no difference in the relative position of Capital and Labour as
respects their need of continuous production. Primarily, both
employer and employed alike depend upon production as the
only source for profits and wages. Whilst the employers have
the maximun interest in producing as much as possible, from the
fact that the fixed capital which they cannot withdraw would lie
dormant and unproductive while the forge or mill is silent, the
employed find it thier interest to aid in such production inas-
�APPENDIX.
147
much as they depend upon it for their means of subsistence.
The argument of the employed against a proposal for a reduction
of wages is expressed in the words, “ If you have too much of an
article in the market and you cannot sell, I would rather limit
the quantity in your hands than aggravate the evil and take less
money for it.” But by refusing to work when the employer is
able or willing to continue producing, or by not submitting him
self to accept lower wages when the inevitable law of supply
and demand compels the same, the employed only aggravates
his own position, whilst he places the employer in a still worse
strait; the certain consequence of the withdrawal of labour being
to discourage production, to enhance the cost, and to increase
the difficulty of foreign competition—injurious alike to the pro
ducer and to the whole community.
A frequent source of contention between employers and
employed is the mode of paying wages—viz., by time, such as
by the day or hour, or by piecework. There appears to be no
uniform practice on the subject. While in some branches of
industry the rule is to pay wages by piecework, in other branches
the rule is to pay by time—the reason probably being that whilst
in some branches it is easy to establish a scale of prices at
which the work is to be paid for, in other branches such a scale
could not easily be framed. In so far as the method of pay
ment can be considered to affect production, it seems to your
Committee that whilst payment by piecework is likely to pro
mote quantity of production, payment by time is more likely
to promote precision of execution. Your Committee cannot
believe what has often been alleged, that payment by piecework
is often offered to conceal any reduction of wages. If honestly
acted upon on either side, payment by piecework has, in the
opinion of your Committee, all the elements of fair justice. But
the question in any case is not of sufficient importance to justify
a breach of the friendly relation which should exist between
Capital and Labour. When either party has any decided prefer
ence for one system, it seems advisable that the other party
accept the same.
The economic effects of Strikes and Lock-outs are well known,
and it matters but little which party in the contest in the end
may prove successful. In recent years Strikes and Lock-outs
have occurred among coal and iron miners, the building trade,
engineers, the cotton trade, ship-builders, and most of the trades
and industries of the country, each and all of which have caused
serious losses on the community at large. In the opinion of
your Committee a well-devised system of conciliation is the only
proper and legitimate method of solving labour disputes. And
your Committee cannot too strongly express their sense of the
grave responsibility which rests on either employers or em-
�148
APPENDIX.
ployed when, regardless of consequences, they resort to a step
so vexatious and destructive as a strike or lock-out.
Your Committee are of opinion that the British Association
will confer a lasting benefit if, on its pilgrimage in the principal
industrial towns in the United Kingdom, it will seize every
opportunity for the enunciation of sound lessons of political
economy on the questions in agitation between employers and
employed. It.was suggested to your Committee that workmen
should be admitted to the meetings of Section F at a reduced
rate, and they commend the proposal to the consideration of
the Council. Your Committee would also recommend to the
Council to urge on Her Majesty’s Government the importance
of promoting, as far as possible, the study of political economy,,
and especially of those branches of industrial economy which
most intimately concern the industry, manufactures, and com
merce of the country. Your Committee have learned with
pleasure that the Cobden Club are prepared to offer some
encouragement for the teaching of political economy to the
labouring classes, and your Committee would suggest that the
Chambers of Commerce might advantageously take similar
means in the great centres of commerce and manufacture. In
the opinion of your Committee, a proper sense of the necessity
and utility of continuous labour, an earnest desire for the
achievement of excellence in wTorkmanship in every branch 01
industry, and a keen and lively interest on the part of one and
all to promote national prosperity, are the best safeguards against
the continuance of those disturbances between Capital and
Labour which have of late become of such hindrance to success
ful production. In the great contest which Britain has to wage
with other industrial nations, it is the interest of both masters
and men to be very careful, lest by raising the prices of British
produce and manufacture too high they should no longer be able
to carry the palm in the arena of international competition.
Your Committee regret the death of their much-esteemed
member, Mr. Samuel Brown, who took an active part in the
proceedings. Professor Fawcett, M.P., was unable to act.
But your Committee have pleasure in reporting that the Right
Hon. Lord O’Hagan, Mr. Thomas Brassey, M.P., and Mr. A. J.
Mundella, M.P., were added to the Committee.
LEONE LEVI,
Secretary.
Augusty 1875.
�INDEX
Agricultural Industry, condi
tion for progress of, 19
Arbitration -versus Strikes, 94
British Workman, characteristics
of, 7
— productive power of, 8
Butter, consumption of, in 1844 and
1875, 11
Bacon, consumption of, in 1844 and
1875, 11
Building Societies, object of, 120
— permanent and terminating, 120
Competition, foreign effects of
machinery on, 32
Capital, production in England of,
33
— causes which arrested the growth
of, 34
, .
— difficulty of accumulating, 35
— obstacles to the diffusion of, 35
— what is ? 36
— amount employed of, 41
— what determines the investment
of, 41
— proportions of, distributed in
production, 42
— stoppage of, accumulation of, 43
— consumption of, 44
•— exportation of, 44
— abuse of, 46
— relation of, to labour, 49
— distribution of, between masters
and men, 51
— and labour, partnership of, 51
Capitalists, how regarded, 68
Combinations, Old Laws on, 67
Co-operative Societies, for produc
tion and distribution, 123
Co-operative Societies, advantages
of, 124
Day's work, what is it? 5
Division of labour, advantages of, 23
— disadvantages of, 24
Drunkenness, means of surmount
ing, 105
Drink, amount expended in, 109
Education, necessary for produc
tion, 12
— technical, advantages of, 13
England as a field of labour, 15
Employers’ calculation of wages, 52
— duties towards employed, 54
— profits, 60
— risks of, 61
— power to amass wealth, 62
Earnings, of workmen, sources of, 99
— collective, what, 100
Expenditure of workmen, distribu
tion of, 103
— economy in, 104
Earnings of workmen, total amount
of, 108
Expenditure of workmen, total
amount of, 108
French workman, characteristics
of, 6
Food and drink, consumption of, in
England, n
— expenditure of workmen in, 104
Firing and lighting, expenditure cf
workmen in, 104
Friendly Societies, objects of, 118
— amount invested in, 119
German
of, 6
workman,
characteristics
�150
INDEX.
Health necessary for production, 8
Houses, healthiness of, 9
— high rents of, 9
Home, advantages of, 10
Home industry, condition of, 18
Hand loom and power loom, 18
Italian workman, characteristics
of, 7
Insurance (life), benefits of, 121
— amount insured, 122
— Government, 122
Labour, pleasures of, 1
— necessity of, 2
— value of, 3
— productive and unproductive, 3
— manual and mental, 4
— condition for the efficient dis
charge of, 5
— dangers attending, 8
— duration of, 12
— skilled and unskilled, 12
— division of, 22
— need of capital to, 37
— reward of, 49
— relation of, to capital, 49
— supply and demand of regu
lating, 57
— difficulties of, in contending
wages with capital, 70
Lancashire, progress of, 19
Liverpool, increase of, 20
Labourers capitalists, 45
Morals an element in production, 14
Manufacture, divorcement of, from
agriculture, 19
Manchester, increase of, 20
Machinery, advantages of, 25
— character of, 26
■—■ effects of, 27
— relations of, to wages, 30, 61
— exports of, 31
Minimum wages, limits to, 85
Natural powers, utility of labour to,
37
r ,
Needlewomen, low wages of, 56
Overtime, action of Trade Unions
on, 73
Pauperism, rate of, in 1849 and
1875.- 11
Production on a large scale, advan
tages of, 22
— machinery of, 50
—• requirements for, 52
— cost of, 52
Population, increase of, effect of, on
wages, 57
Piecework, payment by, 78
Pay, what, 98
Poor Law, effects of, 100
— in Sweden, 101
— France, 101
— Belgium, 101
— Eberfeld, 101
Post Office Savings Banks, amount
in, 114
Swiss Workman, characteristic
of, 7
Steam-power, advantages of, 21
Strikes and lock-outs, chances of, 85
— what, 86
— causes of, 86
— supposed advantages of, 87
— means to avoid, 88
— how promoted by Trade Unions,
90
— circumstances attending, 91
— effects of, 85
— cost of, 92
— losses caused by, 93
— arbitration or conciliation, 'versus,
94
Saving, duty of all respecting, 112
— first steps in, 112
Savings Banks, history of, 113
— amount invested in, 115
— post office and trustees, 116
— amount per head in England and
Wales, 117
— Scotland, 117
— Ireland, 117
— France, 117
— Holland, 117
— Belgium, 117
— Austria, 117
— Germany, 117
— Switzerland, 117
Tea, consumption of, in 1844 and
1875, 11
Trade Unions, limits of usefulness
of, 68
— limits of rights of, 69
— constitutional defects of, 70
— membership of, 71
�INDEX.
Trades Unions, councils of, 71
— fees in. 72
— objects of, 72
— monopoly of, 72
— objection of, to overtime, 73
— operation of, on wages, 74
— effects of, on foreign competi
tion, 82
— effects of, on the character of
workmen, 83
— and benefit funds. 84
— rules of, respecting strikes, 88
Tobacco, expenditure of workmen
in, 104
Taxation, effects of, on workmen,
108
Workmen, united labour and pro
duction of, 5
— difference of skill among, 5
Wheat and wheat flour, consump
tion of, in 1844 and 1875, 11
Wealth, benefits of. 46
Wages, what are, 51
— relation of, to profits, 53
Workman, interest of employer in,
54 ,
Wages, lowering of, 54
— minimum rate of what, 55
— of artisans, 58
— what are the elements of, 58
— cost of, 58
Wage-fund, theory of, 60
Wages, effects of machinery on, 61
— uniformity of, 62, 71
— use of, 64
— effect of war on, 65
— attempt to regulate by law, 65
— effects of prohibition tariffs on,
65
— effects of Poor Law on, 65
— how affected by Trades Unions,
76
Working-classes, Budgets of, 96
Wages in money and in kind, 99
Workmen, taxes affecting, 107
Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Printers, London & Aylesbury.
��
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Work and pay; or, principles of industrial economy. Two courses of lectures delivered to working men in King's College, London. With report of the Committee of the British Association on Combinations of Labourers and Capitalists
Creator
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Levi, Leone [1821-1888]
Description
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Place of publication: London
Collation: 151 p. ; 20 cm.
Notes: Part of the NSS pamphlet collection. Includes bibliographical references and index. Printed by Hazell, Watson & Visey, London and Aylesbury. Appendix A: Statement of the weekly expenditure of a family ...whose total wages averaged thirty shillings per week ... B: Budgets of the Working Classes. C: Report of the Committee of the British Association for the Advancement of Science and Combinations of Capital and Labour.
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Strahan and Co., Limited
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1877
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N438
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Labour
Industry
Trade Unions
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171.4
LVE
—......
=
The
Pleasures of Life
BY
THE RIGHT HON.
SIR JOHN LUBBOCK, BART., M.P.
F.R.S., D.C.L., LL.D.
Volition
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
1899
Price Sixpence
�9omp.
‘ Give me Health and a Day, and
I will make the Pomp of Emperors Ridiculous.’—Emerson.
“ As an illustration of the BENEFICIAL EFFECTS
of Eno’s ‘ Fruit Salt,’ I give you particulars of the case
of one of my friends. His whole life was clouded by the
want of vigorous health, and SLUGGISH LIVER and
its concomitant BILIOUS HEADACHES so affected
him, that he was obliged to live upon only a few articles
of diet, and to be most sparing in their use.
This did
nothing in effecting a cure, although persevered in for
some twenty-five years, and also consulting very eminent
members of the faculty.
By the use of your simple
‘Fruit Salt,’ however, he now ENJOYS VIGOROUS
HEALTH, has NEVER had HEADACHE or CONSTI
PATION since he commenced it, and can partake of his
food in such a hearty manner as to afford great satisfac
tion to himself and friends. There are others to whom
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of complaints that I think you may very well extend its
use pro bono publico. I find that it makes a VERY
REFRESHING and INVIGORATING drink.—I remain,
dear Sir, yours faithfully, Veritas.” {From the late Rev.
J. TV. Neil, Holy Trinity Church, North Shields.}
Experience!
‘ Vie Gather the Honey of Wisdom
From Thorns, not from Flowers.’—Lytton.
HOW TO AVOID
The INJURIOUS EFFECTS OF STIMULANTS.
THE PRESENT SYSTEM OF LIVING—
partaking of too rich foods, as pastry, saccharine and fatty
substances, alcoholic drinks, and an insufficient amount of
exercise—FREQUENTLY DERANGES THE LIVER.
I would ADVISE all BILIOUS PEOPLE, unless they are careful to keep the liver acting
freely, to exercise great care in the use of alcoholic drinks; avoid sugar, and always dilute
largely with water.
EXPERIENCE SHOWS that porter, mild ales, port wine, dark
sherries, sweet champagne, liqueurs and brandies, are ALL very APT to DISAGREE;
while light white wines, and gin or old whisky largely diluted with pure mineral water, will
be found the least objectionable. ENO’S ‘ FRUIT SALT ’ is PECULIARLY ADAPTED
for any CONSTITUTIONAL WEAKNESS of the LIVER; it possesses the power of
reparation when digestion has been disturbed or lost, and PLACES the INVALID on the
RIGHT TRACK to HEALTH. A WORLD of WOES is avoided by those who KEEP
and USE ENO’S ‘FRUIT SALT.’
Therefore NO FAMILY SHOULD EVER BE
WITHOUT IT.
THE VALUE OF ENO’S ‘FRUIT SALT’ CANNOT BE TOLD.
Its Success in Europe, Asia, Africa, America, and Australia proves it.
The effect of ENO’S ‘ FRUIT SALT ’ upon any DISORDERED, SLEEPLESS,
and FEVERISH condition of the system is SIMPLY MARVELLOUS. It is, in fact,
NATURE’S OWN REMEDY, and AN UNSURPASSED ONE.
CAUTION.—See Capsule marked ENO'S 1 FRUIT SALT.' Without it you have a WORTHLESS IMITATION.
Prepared only by J. C. ENO, Ltd., at the1 FRUIT SALT ’ WORKS, London, by J. C. ENO’S Patent.
�1
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48
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��PREFACE
Those who have the pleasure of attending the opening meetings of schools and
colleges, and of giving away prizes and certificates, are generally expected at
the same time to offer such words of counsel and encouragement as the ex
perience of the world might enable them to give to those who are entering life.
Having been myself when young rather prone to suffer from low spirits,
I have at several of these gatherings taken the opportunity of dwelling on
the privileges and blessings we enjoy, and I reprint here the substance of
some of these addresses (omitting what was special to the circumstances of
each case, and freely making any alterations and additions which have since
occurred to me), hoping that the thoughts and quotations in which I have
myself found most comfort may perhaps be of use to others also.
- It is hardly necessary to say that I have not by any means referred to
all the sources of happiness open to us, some indeed of the greatest pleasures
and blessings being altogether omitted.
In reading over the proofs I feel that some sentences may appear too
dogmatic, but I hope that allowance will be made for the circumstances under
which they were delivered.
High Elms,
Down, Kent, January 1887.
�PREFACE
TO THE TWENTIETH EDITION
A lecture which I delivered three years ago at the Working Men’s College, and
which forms the fourth chapter of this book, has given rise to a good deal of
discussion. The Pall Mall Gazette took up the subject and issued a circular to many
of those best qualified to express an opinion. This elicited many interesting replies,
and some other lists of books were drawn up. When my book was translated, a
similar discussion took place in Germany. The result has been very gratifying, and
after carefully considering the suggestions which have been made, I see no reason
for any material change in the first list. I had not presumed to form a list of my
own, nor did I profess to give my own favourites. My attempt was to give those
most generally recommended by previous writers on the subject. In the various
criticisms on my list, while large additions, amounting to several hundred works in
all, have been proposed, very few omissions have been suggested. As regards those
v orks with reference to which some doubts have been expressed—namely, the few
Oriental books, Wake’s Apostolic Fathers, etc.—I may observe that I drew up the
list, not as that of the hundred best books, but, which is very different, of those
which have been most frequently recommended as best worth reading.
For instance as regards the Shelving and the Analects of Confucius°I must-humbly
confess that I do not greatly admire either ; but I recommended them because they
are held in the most profound veneration by the Chinese race, containing 400,000,000
of our fellow-men. I may add that both works are quite short.
The Ramayana and Maha Bliarata (as epitomised by Wheeler) and St. Hilaire’s
Bouddha are not only very interesting in themselves, but very important in reference
to our great oriental Empire.
The authentic writings of the Apostolic Fathers are very short, being indeed
comprised in one small volume, and as the only works (which have come down to
us) of those who lived with and knew the Apostles, they are certainly well worth
reading.
I have been surprised at the great divergence of opinion which has been expressed.
Nine lists of some length have been published. These lists contain some three
hundred works not mentioned by me (without, however, any corresponding omissions),
and yet there is not one single book which occurs in every list, or even in half of
them, and only about half a dozen which appear in more than one of the nine.
If these authorities, or even a majority of them, had concurred in their recom
mendations, I would have availed myself of them ; but as they differ so greatly I
will allow my list to remain almost as I first proposed it. I have, however, added
Kalidasa’s Safomfato or The Lost Ring, and Schiller’s Wilhelm Tell, omitting, in
consequence, Lucretius and Miss Austen : Lucretius because though his work is most
remarkable, it is perhaps too difficult and therefore less generally suitable than most
of the others in the list; and Miss Austen because English novelists were somewhat
over-represented.
High Elms,
Down, Kent, August 1890.
�CONTENTS
PART I
CHAP.
*
PAGE
I. The Duty
of
II. The Happiness
III. A Song
of
of
V. The Blessing
VI.The
.
.
Friends
.
Value of Time
VII. The Pleasures
VIII. The Pleasures
IX.Science
.
.
Books
of
1
...
Duty ......
of
Books
IV. The Choice
.
Happiness
of
of
.
.
.13
.
.
.
17
.
.
.
.
.22
.
.
.
.
.25
-
.
28
Travel
.
.
.
.
.
Home
.
.
.
.
.32
........
X. Education
7
.
.
.
.
.
36
.42
�‘ All places that the eye of Heaven visits
Are to the wise man ports and happy havens.”
Shakespeare.
“ Some murmur, when their sky is clear
And wholly bright to view,
If one small speck of dark appear
In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are fill’d
If but one streak of light,
One ray of God’s good mercy gild
The darkness of their night.
‘ ‘ In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,
And all good things denied.
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.”
Trench.
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART I
CHAPTER I
THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS1
“ If a man is unhappy, this must be his own
fault; for God made all men to be happy.”—
Epictetus.
Life is a great gift, and as we reach
years of discretion, we most of us natur
ally ask ourselves what should be the
main object of our existence. Even those
who do not accept “the greatest good
of the greatest number” as an absolute
rule, will yet admit that we should all
endeavour to contribute as far as we may
to the happiness of others. There are
many, however, who seem to doubt
whether it is right that we should try to
be happy ourselves. Our own happiness
ought not, of course, to be our main
object, nor indeed will it ever be secured
if selfishly sought. We may have many
pleasures in life, but must not let them
have rule over us, or they will soon hand
us over to sorrow; and “ into jvhat
dangerous and miserable servitude doth
he fall who suffereth pleasures and
sorrows (two unfaithful and cruel com
manders) to possess him successively 1” 2
I cannot, however, but think that the
world would be better and brighter if our
teachers would dwell on the Duty of
Happiness as well as on the Happiness of
Duty; for we ought to be as cheerful as
we can, if only because to be happy our
selves, is a most effectual contribution to
the happiness of others.
1 The substance of this was delivered at the
Harris Institute, Preston.
2 Seneca.
B
Every one must have felt that a cheer
ful friend is like a sunny day, shedding
brightness on all around ; and most of
us can, as we choose, make of this world
either a palace or a prison.
There is no doubt some selfish satisfac
tion in yielding to melancholy, and fancy
ing that we are victims of fate ; in brood
ing over grievances, especially if more or
less imaginary. To be bright and cheer
ful often requires an effort; there is a
certain art in keeping ourselves happy :
and in this respect, as in others, we re
quire to watch over and manage ourselves,
almost as if we were somebody else.
Sorrow and joy, indeed, are strangely
interwoven. Too often
“We look before and after,
And pine for wliat is not:
Our sincerest laughter
With some pain is fraught ;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest
thought. ”1
As a nation we are prone to melancholy.
It has been said of our countrymen that
they take even their pleasures sadly.
But this, if it be true at all, will, I hope,
prove a transitory characteristic. “ Merry
England ” was the old saying ; let us hope
it may become true again. We must look
to the East for real melancholy. What
can be sadder than the lines with which
Omar Khayyam opens his quatrains : 2
“ We sojourn here for one short day or two,
And all the gain we get is grief and woe ;
And then, leaving life’s problems all unsolved
And harassed by regrets, we have to go ; ”
1 Shelley.
2 I quote from Whinfield’s translation.
IE
�2
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART I
or the Devas’ song to Prince Siddartha, inherit ; the glories and beauties of the
in Edwin Arnold’s beautiful version :
Universe, which is our own if we choose
to have it so ; the extent to which we can
‘ ‘ We are the voices of tlie wandering wind,
Which moan for rest, and rest can never find. make ourselves what we wish to be ; or
Lo ! as the wind is, so is mortal life—
the power we possess of securing peace, of
A moan, a sigh, a sob, a storm, a strife. ”
triumphing over pain and sorrow.
If this indeed be true, if mortal life
Dante pointed to the neglect of oppor
be so sad and full of suffering, no wonder tunities as a serious fault:
that Nirvana—the cessation of sorrow—
“Man can do violence
should be welcomed even at the sacrifice
To himself and his own blessings, and for this
of consciousness.
He, in the second round, must aye deplore,
With unavailing penitence, his crime.
But ought we not to place before our
Whoe’er deprives himself of life and light
selves a very different ideal—a healthier,
In reckless lavishment his talent wastes,
manlier, and nobler hope ?
And sorrows then when he should dwell in joy.”
Life is not to live merely, but to live
Ruskin has expressed this with special
well. There are some “ who live without
any design at all, and only pass in the allusion to the marvellous beauty of this
world like straws on a river : they do not glorious world, too often taken as a matter
go ; they are carried,”1—-but as Homer of course, and remembered, if at all, al
makes Ulysses say, “ How dull it is to most without gratitude. “ Holy men,” he
pause, to make an end, to rest un complains, “in the recommending of the
burnished ; not to shine in use — as love of God to us, refer but seldom to those
things in which it is most abundantly and
though to breathe were life ! ”
Goethe tells us that at thirty he resolved immediately shown; though they insist
“ to work out life no longer by halves, much on His giving of bread, and raiment,
and health (which He gives to all inferior
but in all its beauty and totality.”
creatures): they require us not to thank
“Im Ganzen, Guten, Schonen
Him for that glory of His works which
Resolut zu leben.”
He has permitted us alone to perceive :
Life indeed must be measured by
they tell us often to meditate in the closet,
thought and action, not by time. It
but they send us not, like Isaac, into the
certainly may be, and ought to be, bright,
fields at even : they dwell on the duty of
interesting, and happy ; for, according to
self-denial, but they exhibit not the duty
the Italian proverb, “ if all cannot live on
of delight: ” and yet, as he justly says
the Piazza, every one may feel the sun.”
elsewhere, “ each of us, as we travel the
If we do our best; if we do not mag
way of life, has the choice, according to
nify trifling troubles ; if we look resolutely,
our working, of turning all the voices of
I do not say at the bright side of things,
Nature into one song of rejoicing ; or of
but at things as they really are ; if we
withering and quenching her sympathy
avail ourselves of the manifold blessings
into a fearful withdrawn silence of con
which surround us ; we cannot but feel
demnation,—into a crying out of her
that life is indeed a glorious inheritance.
stones and a shaking of her dust against
“ More servants wait on man
us.”
Than he’ll take notice of. In every path
Must we not all admit, with Sir Henry
lie treads down that which doth befriend
Taylor, that “the retrospect of life swarms
him
When sickness makes him pale and wan. with lost opportunities ” ? “ Whoever en
Oh mighty Love ! Man is one world, and hath joys not life,” says Sir T. Browne, “ I
Another to attend him.” 2
count him but an apparition, though he
Few of us, however, realise the wonder wears about him the visible affections of
ful privilege of living, or the blessings we flesh.”
St. Bernard, indeed, goes so far as to
1 Seneca.
2 Herbert.
�CHAP. I
THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS
3
and that “ rather than follow a multitude
to do evil,” one should “ stand like Pom
pey’s pillar, conspicuous by oneself, and
single in integrity.” 1 But to many this
isolation would be itself most painful, for
the heart is “ no island cut off from other
lands, but a continent that joins to them.”2
If we separate ourselves so much from
the interests of those around us that we
do not sympathise with them in their
sufferings, we shut ourselves out from
sharing their happiness, and lose far more
than we gain. If we avoid sympathy
and wrap ourselves round in a cold chain
armour of selfishness, we exclude ourselves
from many of the greatest and purest joys
of life. To render ourselves insensible to
pain we must forfeit also the possibility
of happiness.
Moreover, much of what we call evil
is really good in disguise, and we should
not “ quarrel rashly with adversities not
yet understood, nor overlook the mercies
often bound up in them.” 3 Pleasure and
pain are, as Plutarch says, the nails which
fasten body and soul together. Pain is
a signal of danger, a very necessity of
existence. But for it, but for the warnings
which our feelings give us, the very bless
ings by ■which we are surrounded would
soon and inevitably prove fatal. Many
of those who have not studied the question
are under the impression that the more
deeply-seated portions of the body must
be most sensitive. The very reverse is
the case. The skin is a continuous and
ever-watchful sentinel, always on guard
to give us notice of any approaching
danger ; while the flesh and inner organs,
where pain would be without purpose,
“ Unaffrighted by the silence round them,
Undistracted by the sights they see,
are, so long as they are in health, com
These demand not that the things without paratively without sensation.
them
“We talk,” says Helps, “of the origin
Yield them love, amusement, sympathy.
of evil ; . . . but what is evil ? We mostly
Bounded by themselves, and unobservant
speak of sufferings and trials as good, per
In what state God’s other works may be,
haps, in their result ; but we hardly
In their own tasks all their powers pouring,
These attain the mighty life you see.”
admit that they may be good in them
selves. Yet they are knowledge—how
It is true that
else to be acquired, unless by making
“ A man is his own star ;
maintain that “nothing can work me
damage except myself; the harm that I
sustain I carry about with me, and never
am a real sufferer but by my own fault.”
Some Heathen moralists also have
taught very much the same lesson. “ The
gods,” says Marcus Aurelius, “ have put all
the means in man’s power to enable him
not to fall into real evils. Now that
which does not make a man worse, how
can it make his life worse ? ”
Epictetus takes the same line : “ If a
man is unhappy, remember that his un
happiness is his own fault; for God has
made all men to be happy.” “ I am,” he
elsewhere says, “ always content with that
which happens ; for I think that what
God chooses is better than what I choose.”
And again : “ Seek not that things should
happen as you wish ; but wish the things
which happen to be as they are, and you
will have a tranquil flow of life. ... If
you wish for anything which belongs to
another, you lose that which is your own.”
Few, however, if any, can I think go
as far as St. Bernard. We cannot but
suffer from pain, sickness, and anxiety;
from the loss, the unkindness, the faults,
even the coldness of those we love. How
many a day has been damped and dark
ened by an angry word !
Hegel is said to have calmly finished
his Phaenomenologie des Geistes at Jena, on
the 14th October 1806, not knowing any
thing whatever of the battle that was
raging round him.
Matthew Arnold has suggested that we
might take a lesson from the heavenly
bodies.
Our acts our angels are
For good or ill,”
1 Sir T. Browne.
2 Bacon.
3 Sir T. Browne.
�4
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
men. as gods, enabling them to understand
without experience. All that men go
through may be absolutely the best for
them—no such thing as evil, at least in
our customary meaning of the word.”
Indeed, “ the vale best discovereth the
hill,” 1 and “ pour sentir les grands biens,
il faut qu’il connoisse les petits maux.” 2
But even if we do not seem to get all
that we should wish, many will feel, as
in Leigh Hunt’s beautiful translation of
Filicaja’s sonnet, that —
“ So Providence for us, high, infinite,
Makes our necessities its watchful task,
Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our wants,
And e’en if it denies what seems our right,
Either denies because ’twould have us ask,
Or seems but to deny, and in denying grants.”
Those on the other hand who do not
accept the idea of continual interferences,
will rejoice in the belief that on the whole
the laws of the Universe work out for
the general happiness.
And if it does come—
“ Grief should be
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate,
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free :
Strong to consume small troubles; to commend
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts last
ing to the end.” 3
If, however, we cannot hope that life
will be all happiness, we may at least
secure a heavy balance on the right side ;
and even events which look like mis
fortune, if boldly faced, may often be
turned to good. Oftentimes, says Seneca,
“calamity turns to our advantage; and
great ruins make way for greater glories.”
Helmholtz dates his start in science to
an attack of illness. This led to his
acquisition of a microscope, which he was
enabled to purchase, owing to his having
spent his autumn vacation of 1841 in the
hospital, prostrated by typhoid fever ;
being a pupil, he was nursed without
expense, and on his recovery he found
himself in possession of the savings of
his small resources.
“ Savonarola,” says Castelar, “ would,
1 Bacon.
2 Rousseau.
3 Aubrey de Vere.
PART I
under different circumstances, undoubtedly
have been a good husband, a tender
father; a man unknown to history,
utterly powerless to print upon the sands
of time and upon the human soul the
deep trace which he has left : but mis
fortune came to visit him, to crush his
heart, and to impart that marked melan
choly which characterises a soul in grief;
and the grief that circled his brows with
a crown of thorns was also that which
wreathed them with the splendour of
immortality.
His hopes were centred
in the woman he loved, his life was set
upon the possession of her, and when her
family finally rejected him, partly on
account of his profession, and partly on
account of his person, he believed that it
was death that had come upon him, when
in truth it was immortality.”
It is, however, impossible to deny the
existence of ewl, and the reason for it
has long exercised the human intellect.
The Savage solves it by the supposition of
evil Spirits. Even the Greeks attributed
the misfortunes of men in great measure
to the antipathies and jealousies of gods
and goddesses.
Others have imagined
two Celestial Beings, opposite and an
tagonistic—the one friendly, the other
hostile, to men.
Freedom of action, however, seems to
involve the existence of evil. If any
power of selection be left us, much must
depend on the choice we make. In the
very nature of things, two and two cannot
make five. Epictetus imagines Jupiter
addressing man as follows : “ If it had
been possible to make your body and
your property free from liability to injury,
I would have done so. As this could not
be, I have given you a small portion of
myself.”
This divine gift it is for us to use
wisely. It is, in fact, our most valuable
treasure. “ The soul is a much better
thing than all the others which you
possess. Can you then show me in what
way you have taken care of it ? For it
is not likely that you, who are so wise a
man, inconsiderately and carelessly allow
�THE DUTY OF HAPPINESS
CHAP. I
the most valuable thing that you possess
to be neglected and to perish.” 1
Moreover, even if evil cannot be alto
gether avoided, it is no doubt true that
not only whether the life we lead be good
and useful, or evil and useless, but also
whether it be happy or unhappy, is very
much in our own power, and depends
greatly on ourselves. “ Time alone re
lieves the foolish from sorrow, but reason
the wise,”2 and no one was ever yet
made utterly miserable excepting by him
self. We are, if not the masters, at any
rate almost the creators of ourselves.
With most of us it is not so much great
sorrows, disease, or death, but rather the
little “daily dyings” which cloud over
the sunshine of life.
Many of our
troubles are insignificant in themselves,
and might easily be avoided L
How happy home might generally be
made but for foolish quarrels, or mis
understandings, as they are well named !
It is our own fault if we are querulous or
ill-humoured ; nor need we, though this
is less easy, allow ourselves to be made
unhappy by the querulousness or illhumours of others.
Much of what we suffer we have
brought on ourselves, if not by actual
fault, at least by ignorance or thought
lessness. Too often we think only of the
happiness of the moment, and sacrifice
that of the life. Troubles comparatively
seldom come to us, it is we who go to
them. Many of us fritter our life away.
La Bruyere says that “ most men spend
much of their lives in making the rest
miserable • ” or, as Goethe puts it:
“ Careworn man has, in all ages,
Sown vanity to reap despair.”
Not only do we suffer much in the
anticipation of evil, as “ Noah lived many
years under the affliction of a flood, and
Jerusalem was taken unto Jeremy before
it was besieged,” but we often distress
ourselves greatly in the apprehension of
misfortunes which after all never happen
at all. We should do our best and wait
1 Epictetus.
2 Ibid.
5
calmly the result. We often hear of
people breaking down from overwork,
but in nine cases out of ten they are
really suffering from worry or anxiety.
“Nos maux moraux,” says Rousseau,
“ sont tous dans 1’opinion, hors un seul,
qui est le crime ; et celui-la depend de
nous : nos maux physiques nous detruisent, ou se detruisent. Le temps, ou la
mort, sont nos remedes.”
“ Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie,
Which we ascribe to heaven.” 1
This, however, applies to the grown up.
With children of course it is different.
It is customary, but I think it is a mistake,
to speak of happy childhood. Children
are often over-anxious and acutely sensi
tive. Man ought to be man and master
of his fate ; but children are at the mercy
of those around them. Mr. Rarey, the
great horse-tamer, has told us that he has
known an angry word raise the pulse of
a horse ten beats in a minute. Think
then how it must affect a child !
It is small blame to the young if they
are over-anxious ; but it is a danger to be
striven against. “ The terrors of the storm
are chiefly felt in the parlour or the
cabin.” 2
To save ourselves from imaginary, or
at any rate problematical, evils, we often
incur real suffering. “The man,” said
Epicurus, “who is not content with little
is content with nothing.” How often do
we “ labour for that which satisfieth not.”
More than we use is more than we need,
and only a burden to the bearer.3 We
most of us give ourselves an immense
amount of useless trouble ; encumber our
selves, as it were, on the journey of life
with a dead weight of unnecessary bag
gage ; and as “a man maketh his train
longer, he makes his wings shorter.” 4 In
that delightful fairy tale, Alice through
the Looking-Glass, the “ White Knight ” is
described as having loaded himself on
starting for a journey with a variety of
odds and ends, including a mousetrap, lest
1 Shakespeare.
3 Seneca.
2 Emerson.
4 Bacon.
�6
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART I
he should be troubled by mice at night,
“ How is it possible,” he says, “ that a
and a bee-hive in case he came across a Inan who has nothing, who is naked,
swarm of bees.
houseless, without a hearth, squalid, with
Hearne, in his Journey to the Mouth of out a slave, without a city, can pass a life
the Coppermine River, tells us that a few that flows easily ? See, God has sent you
days after starting on his expedition he a man to show you that it is possible.
met a party of Indians, who annexed a Look at me, who am without a city,
great deal of his property, and all Hearne without a house, without possessions,
says is, “ The weight of our baggage being without a slave ; I sleep on the ground ;
so much lightened, our next day’s journey I have no wife, no children, no prsetorium,
was much pleasanter.” I ought, however, but only the earth and heavens, and one
to add that the Indians broke up the poor cloak. And what do I want ? Am
philosophical instruments, which,no doubt, I not without sorrow ? Am I not with
were rather an encumbrance.
out fear ? Am I not free ? When did
When troubles do come, Marcus Aur any of you see me failing in the object of
elius wisely tells us to “ remember on my desire ? or ever falling into that which
every occasion which leads thee to vex I would avoid ? Did I ever blame God
ation to apply this principle, that this is or man ? Did I ever accuse any man ?
not a misfortune, but that to bear it nobly Did any of you ever see me with a
is good fortune.” Our own anger indeed sorrowful countenance ? And how do I
does us more harm than the thing which meet with those whom you are afraid of
makes us angry; and we suffer much and admire ? Do not I treat them like
more from the anger and vexation which slaves ? Who, when he sees me, does not
we allow acts to rouse in us, than we do think that he sees his king and master ? ”
from the acts themselves at which we are
Think how much we have to be
angry and vexed. How much most people, thankful for. Few of us appreciate the
for instance, allow themselves to be dis number of our everyday blessings; we
tracted and disturbed by quarrels and look on them as trifles, and yet “ trifles
family disputes. Yet in nine cases out make perfection, and perfection is no
of ten one ought not to suffer from being trifle,” as Michael Angelo said. We for
found fault with. If the condemnation is get them because they are always with
just, it should be welcome as a warning ; us ; and yet for each of us, as Mr. Pater
if it is undeserved, why should we allow well observes, “ these simple gifts, and
it to distress us 1
others equally trivial, bread and wine,
Moreover, if misfortunes happen we do fruit and milk, might regain that poetic
but make them worse by grieving over and, as it were, moral significance which
them.
surely belongs to all the means of our
“ I must die,” says Epictetus. “ But daily life, could we but break through the
must I then die sorrowing ? I must be veil of our familiarity with things by no
put in chains. Must I then also lament? means vulgar in themselves.”
I must go into exile. Can I be prevented
“Let not,” says Isaak Walton, “the
from going with cheerfulness and con blessings we receive daily from God make
tentment ? But I will put you in prison. us not to value or not praise Him because
Man, what are you saying ? You may they be common; let us not forget to
put my body in prison, but my mind not praise Him for the innocent mirth and
even Zeus himself can overpower.”
pleasure we have met with since we met
If, indeed, we cannot be happy, the together. What would a blind man give
fault is generally in ourselves. Socrates to see the pleasant rivers and meadows
lived under the Thirty Tyrants. Epic and flowers and fountains ; and this and
tetus was a poor slave, and yet how much many other like blessings we enjoy daily.”
we owe him !
Contentment, we have been told by
�CHAP. I
THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY
Epicurus, consists not in great wealth, but
in few wants. In this fortunate country,
however, we may have many wants, and
yet, if they are only reasonable, we may
gratify them all.
Nature indeed provides without stint
the main requisites of human happiness.
“.To watch the corn grow, or the blossoms
set; to draw hard breath over plough
share or spade ; to read, to think, to love,
to pray,” these, says Ruskin, “ are the
things that make men happy.”
“ I have fallen into the hands of
thieves,” says Jeremy Taylor ; “ what
then ? They have left me the sun and
moon, fire and water, a loving wife and
many friends to pity me, and some to
relieve me, and I can still discourse ; and,
unless I list, they have not taken away
my merry countenance and my cheerful
spirit and a good conscience. . . . And
he that hath so many causes of joy, and
so great, is very much in love with
sorrow and peevishness who loses all
these pleasures, and chooses to sit down
on his little handful of thorns.”
“ When a man has such things to think
on, and sees the sun, the moon, and stars,
and enjoys earth and sea, he is not
solitary or even helpless.” 1
“ Paradise indeed might,” as Luther
said, “apply to the whole world.” What
more is there we could ask for ourselves ?
“Every sort of beauty,” says Mr. Greg,2
“has been lavished on our allotted home ;
beauties to enrapture every sense, beauties
to satisfy every taste • forms the noblest
and the loveliest, colours the most
gorgeous and the most delicate, odours
the sweetest and subtlest, harmonies the
most soothing and the most stirring : the
sunny glories of the day; the pale
Elysian grace of moonlight; the lake, the
mountain, the primeval forest, and the
boundless ocean; ‘ silent pinnacles of
aged snow ’ in one hemisphere, the
marvels of tropical luxuriance in another ;
the serenity of sunsets; the sublimity of
storms ; everything is bestowed in bound
less profusion on the scene of our exist1 Epictetus,
? The Enigmas of Life.
7
ence ; we can conceive or desire nothing
more exquisite or perfect than what is
round us every hour; and our percep
tions are so framed as to be consciously
alive to all. The provision made for our
sensuous enjoyment is in overflowing
abundance ; so is that for the other
elements of our complex nature. Who
that has revelled in the opening ecstasies
of a young Imagination, or the rich
marvels of the world of Thought, does not
confess that the Intelligence has been
dowered at least with as profuse a benefi
cence as the Senses ? Who that has truly
tasted and fathomed human Love in its
dawning and crowning joys has not
thanked God for a felicity which indeed
‘passeth understanding.’ If we had set
our fancy to picture a Creator occupied
solely in devising delight for children
whom he loved, we could not conceive
one single element of bliss which is not
here.”
CHAPTER II
THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY1
“I am always content with that which
happens ; for I think that what God chooses is
better than what I choose.”
Epictetus.
“ 0 God, All conquering ! this lower earth
Would be for men the blest abode of mirth
If they were strong in Thee
As other things of this world well are seen ;
Oh then, far other than they yet have been,
How happy would men be.”
King Alfred’s ed. of Boethius’s
Consolations of Philosophy.
We ought not to picture Duty to our
selves, or to others, as a stern taskmistress.
She is rather a kind and sympathetic
mother, ever ready to shelter us from the
cares and anxieties of this world, and to
guide us in the paths of peace.
To shut oneself up from mankind i°,
in most cases, to lead a dull, as well as a
selfish life. Our duty is to make ourselves
useful, and thus life may be made most
1 The substance of this was delivered at the
Harris Institute, Preston.
�8
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART I
interesting, while yet comparatively free if we have done our best to make others
from anxiety.
happy; to promote “ peace on earth and
But how can we fill our lives with life, goodwill amongst men.” Nothing, again,
energy, and interest, and yet keep care can do more to release us from the cares
outside ?
of this world, which consume so much of
Many great men have made shipwreck our time, and embitter so much of our
in the attempt. “ Anthony sought for life. When we have done our best, we
happiness in love ; Brutus in glory; Cfesar should wait the result in peace ; content,
in dominion : the first found disgrace, the as Epictetus says, “with that which
second disgust, the last ingratitude, and happens, for what God chooses is better
each destruction.” 1 Riches, again, often than what I choose.”
bring danger, trouble, and temptation ■
At any rate, if we have not effected all
they require care to keep, though they we wished, we shall have influenced our
may give much happiness if wisely spent. selves. It may be true that one cannot
How then is this great object to be do much. “You are not Hercules, and
secured ? What, says Marcus Aurelius, you are not able to purge away the wicked
“ What is that which is able to conduct ness of others ; nor yet are you Theseus,
a man ? One thing and only one—philo able to drive away the evil things of
sophy. But this consists in keeping the Attica. But you may clear away your
daemon 2 within a man free from violence own. From yourself, from your own
and unharmed, superior to pains and thoughts, cast away, instead of Procrustes
pleasures, doing nothing without a pur and Sciron,1 sadness, fear, desire, envy,
pose, yet not falsely and with hypocrisy, malevolence, avarice, effeminacy, intem
not feeling the need of another man’s perance. But it is not possible to eject
doing or not doing anything ; and besides, these things otherwise than by looking to
accepting all that happens, and all that God only, by fixing your affections on
is allotted, as coming from thence, where- Him only, by being consecrated by His
ever it is, from whence he himself came ; commands.” 2
and, finally, waiting for death with a
Duty does not imply restraint. People ’
cheerful mind, as being nothing else than sometimes think how delightful it would
a dissolution of the elements of which be to be quite free. But a fish, as Ruskin
every living being is compounded.” I con says, is freer than a man, and as for a fly,
fess I do not feel the force of these last few it is “a black incarnation of freedom.”
words, which indeed scarcely seem requisite A life of so-called pleasure and self-indul
for his argument. The thought of death, gence is not a life of real happiness or
however, certainly influences the conduct true freedom. Far from it, if we once
of life less than might have been expected. begin to give way to ourselves, we fall
Bacon truly points out that “there is under a most intolerable tyranny. Other
no passion in the mind of man so weak, temptations are in some respects like that
but it mates and masters the fear of of drink. At first, perhaps, it seems
death. . . . Revenge triumphs over death, delightful, but there is bitterness at the
love slights it, honour aspireth to it, grief bottom of the cup. Men drink to satisfy
flieth to it.”
the desire created by previous indulgence.
So it is in other things. Repetition soon
“Think not I dread to see my spirit fly
Through the dark gates of fell mortality;
becomes a craving, not a pleasure. Re
Death has no terrors when the life is true ;
sistance grows more and more painful;
’Tis living ill that makes us fear to die.” 3
yielding, which at first, perhaps, afforded
We need certainly have no such fear some slight and temporary gratification,
1 Colton, Lacon, or Many Things in Few soon ceases to give pleasure, and even if
JFotyZs.
2 J.e. spirit.
I
3 Omar Khayyam.
1 Two robbers destroyed by Theseus.
2 Epictetus.
�CHAP. II
THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY
9
for a time it procures relief, ere long have of the Universe must in some measure
damp personal ambition. What it is to be
becomes odious itself.
To resist is difficult, to give way is pain king, sheikh, tetrarch, or emperor over a
ful ; until at length the wretched victim ‘ bit of a bit ’ of this little earth ? ” “ All
to himself can only purchase, or thinks rising to great place,” says Bacon, “ is by
he can only purchase, temporary relief from a winding stair; ” and “ princes are like
intolerable craving and depression, at the heavenly bodies, which have much vener
expense of even greater suffering in the ation, but no rest.”
Plato in the Republic mentions an old
future.
On the other hand, self-control, how myth that after death every soul has to
ever difficult at first, becomes step by step choose a lot in life for the existence in the
easier and more delightful. We possess next world ; and he tells us that the wise
mysteriously a sort of dual nature, and Ulysses searched for a considerable time
there are few truer triumphs, or more for the lot of a private man. He had
delightful sensations, than to obtain some difficulty in finding it, as it was lying
neglected in a corner, but when he had
thorough command of oneself.
How much pleasanter it is to ride a secured it he was delighted ; the recollec
spirited horse, even perhaps though requir tion of all he had gone through on earth
ing some strength and skill, than to creep having disenchanted him of ambition.
along upon a jaded hack. In the one
Moreover, there is a great deal of
case you feel under you the free, re drudgery in the lives of courts. Cere
sponsive spring of a living and willing monials may be important, but they take
force ; in the other you have to spur a up much time and are terribly tedious.
dull and lifeless slave.
A man then is his own best kingdom.
To rule oneself is in reality the greatest “ He that ruleth his spirit,” says
triumph. “ He who is his own monarch,” Solomon, “ is better than he that taketh
says Sir T. Browne, “ contentedly sways a city.” But self-control, this truest and
the sceptre of himself, not envying the greatest monarchy, rarely comes by in
glory to crowned heads and Elohim of the heritance. Every one of us must conquer
earth ; ” for those are really highest who himself; and we may do so, if we take
are nearest to heaven, and those are low conscience for our guide and general.
est who are farthest from it.
No one really fails who does his best.
True greatness has little, if anything, Seneca observes that “no one saith the
to do with rank or power. “ Eurystheus three hundred Fabii were defeated, but
being what he was,” says Epictetus, “ was that they were slain,” and if you have
not really king of Argos nor of Mycenee, done your best, you will, in the words of
for he could not even rule himself ; while an old Norse ballad, have gained
Hercules purged lawlessness and intro
“ Success in thyself, which is best of all.”
duced justice, though he was both naked
and alone.”
Being myself engaged in business, I was
We are told that Cineas the philosopher rather startled to find it laid down by no
once asked Pyrrhus what he would do less an authority than Aristotle (almost as
when he had conquered Italy. “ I will if it were a self-evident proposition) that
conquer Sicily.” “And after Sicily?” commerce “ is incompatible with that
“ Then Africa.” “ And after you have dignified life which it is to be wished that
conquered the world ? ” “I will take my our citizens should lead, and totally ad
ease and be merry.” “ Then,” asked verse to that generous elevation of mind
Cineas, “ why can you not take your ease with which it is our ambition to inspire
and be merry now ? ”
them.” I know not how far that may
Moreover, as Sir Arthur Helps has really have been the spirit and tendency
wisely pointed out, “ the enlarged view we of commerce among the ancient Greeks;
�IO
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
but if so, I do not wonder that it was not
more successful.
I may, indeed, quote Aristotle against
himself, for he has elsewhere told us that
“business should be chosen for the sake
of leisure ; and things necessary and useful
for the sake of the beautiful in conduct.”
It is not true that the ordinary duties
of life in a country like ours—agriculture,
manufactures, and commerce,—the pur
suits to which the vast majority are and
must be devoted—are incompatible with
the dignity or nobility of life. Whether
a life is noble or ignoble depends, not on
the calling which is adopted, but on the
spirit in which it is followed. The
humblest life may be noble, while that of
the most powerful monarch or the greatest
genius may be contemptible. Commerce,
indeed, is not only compatible, but I
would almost go further and say that it
will be most successful, if carried on in
happy union with noble aims and generous
aspirations. What Ruskin says of art is,
with due modification, true of life gener
ally. It does not matter whether a man
“ paint the petal of a rose or the chasms
of a precipice, so that love and admiration
attend on him as he labours, and wait for
ever on his work. It does not matter
whether he toil for months on a few
inches of his canvas, or cover a palace
front with colour in a day ; so only that
it be with a solemn purpose, that he have
filled his heart with patience, or urged his
hand to haste.’’
It is true that in a subsequent volume
he refers to this passage, and adds, “ But
though all is good for study, and all is
beautiful, some is better than the rest for
the help and pleasure of others ; and this
it is our duty always to choose if we have
opportunity,” adding, however, “ being
quite happy with what is within our
reach if we have not.”
We read of and admire the heroes of
old, but every one of us has to fight his
ow’n Marathon and ThermopyIse ; every
one meets the Sphinx sitting by the road
he has to pass ; to each of us, as to
Hercules, is offered the choice of Vice or
PART I
Virtue; we may, like Paris, give the apple
of life to Venus, or Juno, or Minerva.
There are many who seem to think that
we have fallen on an age in the world
when life is especially difficult and anxious,
when there is less leisure than of yore,
and the struggle for existence is keener
than ever.
On the other hand, we must remember
how much we have gained in security?
It may be an age of hard work, but -when
this is not carried to an extreme, it is by
no means an evil. If we have less leisure,
one reason is because life is so full of
interest. Cheerfulness is the daughter of
employment, and on the whole I believe
there never was a time when modest
merit and patient industry were more
sure of reward.
We must not, indeed, be discouraged if
success be slow in coming, nor puffed up
if it comes quickly. We often complain
of the nature of things when the fault is
all in ourselves. Seneca, in one of his
letters, mentions that his wife’s maid,
Harpaste, had nearly lost her eyesight,
but “ she knoweth not she is blind, she
saith the house is dark. This that seemeth
ridiculous unto us in her, happeneth unto
us all. No man understandeth that he is
covetous, or avaricious. He saith, I am
not ambitious, but no man can otherwise
live in Rome ; I am not sumptuous, but
the city requireth great expense.”
Newman, in perhaps the most beautiful
of his hymns, “ Lead, kindly light,” says :
“ Keep thou my feet, I do not ask to see
The distant scene ; one step enough for me. ”
But we must be sure that we are really
following some trustworthy guide, and not
out of mere laziness allowing ourselves to
drift. We have a guide within us which
will generally lead us straight enough.
Religion, no doubt, is full of difficulties,
but if we are often puzzled what to think,
we need seldom be in doubt what to do.
“ To say well is good, but to do well is better ;
Do well is the spirit, and say well the letter ;
If do well and say well were fitted in one frame,
All were won, all were done, and. got were all
the gain.”
�THE HAPPINESS OF DUTY
CHAP. II
il
Cleanthes, who appears to have well every fourth. But if you have inter
merited the statue erected to him at mitted thirty days, make a sacrifice to
God. For the habit at first begins to be
Assos, says :
weakened, and then is completely de
“ Lead me, 0 Zeus, and thou, 0 Destiny,
stroyed. When you can say, ‘ I have not
The way that I am bid by you to go :
To follow I am ready. If I choose not,
been vexed to-day, nor the .day before, nor
I make myself a wretch ;—and still must yet on any succeeding day during two or
follow.”
three months ; but I took care when some
If we are ever in doubt what to do, it exciting things happened,’ be assured that
is a good rule to ask ourselves what we you are in a good way.” 1
Emerson closes his Conduct of Life
shall wish on the morrow that we had
with a striking allegory.
The young
done.
Moreover, the result in the long run Mortal enters the Hall of the Firmament.
will depend not so much on some single The Gods are sitting there, and he is
resolution, or on our action in a special alone with them. They pour on him
case, but rather on the preparation of gifts and blessings, and beckon him to
daily life. Battles are often won before their thrones. But between him and
they are fought. To control our passions them suddenly appear snow-storms of
we must govern our habits, and keep illusions. He imagines himself in a vast
watch over ourselves in the small details crowd, whose behests he fancies he must
obey. The mad crowd drives hither and
of everyday life.
The importance of small things has thither, and sways this way and that.
been pointed out by philosophers over What is he that he should resist ? He
and over again from jEsop downwards. lets himself be«carried about. How can
“ Great without small makes a bad wall,” he think or act for himself? But the
says a quaint Greek proverb, which seems clouds lift, and there are the Gods still
to go back to cyclopean times. In an old sitting on their thrones ; they alone with
Hindoo story Ammi says to his son, him alone.
“ The great man,” he elsewhere says,
“ Bring me a fruit of that tree and break
it open. What is there ? ” The son said, “is he who in the midst of the crowd
“ Some small seeds.” “ Break one of keeps with perfect sweetness the serenity
them and what do you see ? ” “ Nothing, of solitude.”
We may all, indeed, if we will, secure
my lord.”
“ My child,” said Ammi,
“where you see nothing there dwells a peace of mind for ourselves.
“ Men seek retreats,” says Marcus Au
mighty tree.” It may almost be questioned
whether anything can be truly called relius, “ houses in the country, sea-shores,
and mountains ; and thou too art wont
small.
to desire such things very much. But
“ There is no great and no small
this is altogether a mark of the most
To the soul that maketh all ;
common sort of men ; for it is in thv
And where it cometh all things are,
And it cometh everywhere.” 1
power whenever thou shalt choose, to
We should therefore watch ourselves in retire into thyself. For nowhere either
small things. If “ you wish not to be of with more quiet or more freedom from
an angry temper, do not feed the habit: trouble does a man retire, than into his
throw nothing on it which will increase own soul, particularly when he has within
it: at first keep quiet, and count the days him such thoughts that by looking into
on which you have not been angry. I them he is immediately in perfect tran
used to be in a passion every day ; now quillity.”
Happy indeed is he who has such a
every second day ; then every third ; then
sanctuary in his own soul. “He who is
1 Emerson.
1 Epictetus.
�12
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
virtuous is wise ; and he who is wise is
good ; and he who is good is happy.” 1
But we cannot expect to be happy if
we do not lead pure and useful lives. To
be good company for ourselves we must
store our minds well ; fill them with pure
and peaceful thoughts ; with pleasant
memories of the past, and reasonable
hopes for the future. We must, as far
as may be, protect ourselves from selfreproach, from care, and from anxiety. We
shall make our lives pure and peaceful,
by resisting evil, by placing restraint upon
our appetites, and perhaps even more by
strengthening and developing our tend
encies to good. We must be careful, then,
on what we allow our minds to dwell.
The soul is dyed by its thoughts; we
cannot keep our minds pure if we allow
them to be sullied by detailed accounts
of crime and sin. Peace of mind, as
Ruskin beautifully observes, “ must come
in its own time, as the waters settle
themselves into clearness as well as quiet
ness ; you can no more filter your mind
into purity than you can compress it into
calmness ; you must keep it pure if you
would have it pure, and throw no stones
into it if you would have it quiet.”
The penalty of injustice, said Socrates,
is not death or stripes, but the fatal neces
sity of becoming more and more unjust.
Few men have led a wiser or more
virtuous life than Socrates himself, of
whom Xenophon gives us the following
description :—“ To me, being such as I
have described him, so pious that he did
nothing without the sanction of the gods;
so just, that he wronged no man even in
the most trifling affair, but was of service
in the most important matters to those
who enjoyed his society ; so temperate
that he never preferred pleasure to virtue;
so wise, that he never erred in distinguish
ing better from worse ; needing no counsel
from others, but being sufficient in himself
to discriminate between them ; so able to
explain and settle such questions by argu
ment ; and so capable of discerning the
character of others, of confuting those
1 King Alfred’s Boethius.
PART I
who were in error, and of exhorting them
to virtue and honour, he seemed to be
such as the best and happiest of men
would be. But if any one disapproves
of my opinion let him compare the con
duct of others with that of Socrates, and
determine accordingly.”
Marcus Aurelius again has drawn for us
a most instructive lesson in his character
of Antoninus:—“Remember his constancy
in every act which was conformable to
reason, his evenness in all things, his
piety, the serenity of his countenance,
his sweetness, his disregard of empty
fame, and his efforts to understand things ;
how he would never let anything pass
without having first most carefully ex
amined it and clearly understood it ; how
he bore with those who blamed him
unjustly without blaming them in return;
how he did nothing in a hurry; how he
listened not to calumnies, and how exact
an examiner of manners and actions he
was ; not given to reproach people, nor
timid, nor suspicious, nor a sophist; with
how little he was satisfied, such as lodging,
bed, dress, food, servants ; how laborious
and patient ; how sparing he was in his
diet; his firmness and uniformity in his
friendships ; how he tolerated freedom of
speech in those who opposed his opinions;
the pleasure that he had when any man
showed him anything better ; and how
pious he was without superstition. Imi
tate all this that thou mayest have as
good a conscience, when thy last hour
comes, as he had.”
Such peace of mind is indeed an in
estimable boon, a rich reward of duty
fulfilled. Well then does Epictetus ask,
“Is there no reward? Do you seek a
reward greater than that of doing what
is good and just ? At Olympia you wish
for nothing more, but it seems to you
enough to be crowned at the games.
Does it then seem to you so small and
worthless a thing to be good and happy?”
In Bernard of Morlaix’s beautiful
lines —
“ Pax erit ilia fidelibus, ilia beata
Irrevocabilis, Invariabilis, Intemerata.
�A SONG OF BOOKS
CHAP. Ill .
13
Pax sine crimine, pax sine turbine, pax sine himself to-be a zealous follower of truth,
rixa,
of happiness, of wisdom, of science, or
Meta Laboribus, inque tumultibus anchora
even of the faith, must of necessity make
fixa ;
Pax erit omnibus unica. Sed quibus ? Im- himself a lover of books.” But if the
maculatis
debt were great then, how much more
Pectore niitibus, ordine stantibus, ore sacratis.” now.
What greater reward can we have than
this ; than the “peace which passeth all
understanding,” which “ cannot be gotten
for gold, neither shall silver be weighed
for the price thereof.” 1
CHAPTER III
A SONG OF BOOKS2
“ Oil for a booke and a sliadie nooke,
Eyther in doore or out;
With the grene leaves whispering overhead
Or the streete cryes all about.
Where I maie reade all at my ease,
Both of the newe and old ;
For a jollie goode booke whereon to looke,
Is better to me than golde.”
Old English Song.
Of all the privileges we enjoy in this
nineteenth century there is none, perhaps,
for which we ought to be more thankful
than for the easier access to books.
The debt we owe to books -was well
expressed by Richard de Bury, Bishop of
Durham, author of Philobiblon, written
as long ago as 1344, published in 1473,
and the earliest English treatise on the
delights of literature :—“ These,” he says,
“ are the masters who instruct us without
rods and ferules, without hard words and
anger, without clothes or money. If you
approach them, they are not asleep; if
investigating you interrogate them, they
conceal nothing ; if you mistake them,
they never grumble ; if you are ignorant,
they cannot laugh at you. The library,
therefore, of wisdom is more precious
than all riches, and nothing that can be
wished for is worthy to be compared with
it. Whosoever therefore acknowledges
1 Job.
2 Delivered at the Working Men’s College.
This feeling that books are real friends
is constantly present to all who love read
ing. “ I have friends,” said Petrarch,
“ whose society is extremely agreeable to
me ; they are of all ages, and of every
country. They have distinguished them
selves both in the cabinet and in the
field, and obtained high honours for their
knowledge of the sciences. It is easy to
gain access to them, for they are always
at my service, and I admit them to my
company, and dismiss them from it,
whenever I please. They are never
troublesome, but immediately answer every
question I ask them. Some relate to me
the events of past ages, while others
reveal to me the secrets of Nature. Some
teach me how to live, and others how to
die. Some, by their vivacity, drive away
my cares and exhilarate my spirits ; while
others give fortitude to my mind, and
teach me the important lesson how to
restrain my desires, and to depend wholly
on myself. They open to me, in short,
the various avenues of all the arts and
sciences, and upon their information I
may safely rely in all emergencies. In
return for all their services, they only ask
me to accommodate them with a con
venient chamber in some corner of my
humble habitation, where they may
repose in peace; for these friends are
more delighted by the tranquillity of
retirement than with the tumults of
society.”
“ He that loveth a book,” says Isaac
Barrow, “ will never want a faithful
friend, a wholesome counsellor, a cheer
ful companion, an effectual comforter.
By study, by reading, by thinking, one
may innocently divert and pleasantly
entertain himself, as in all weathers, so
in all fortunes.”
Southey took a rather more melancholy
view :
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
“My days among the dead are pass’d,
Around me I_beliold,
Where’er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.”
Imagine, in the words of Aikin, “ that
we had it in our power to call up the
shades of the greatest and wisest men
that ever existed, and oblige them to con
verse with us on the most interesting
topics—what an inestimable privilege
should we think it !—how superior to all
common enjoyments! But in a wellfurnished library we, in fact, possess this
power. We can question Xenophon and
Csesar on their campaigns, make Demos
thenes and Cicero plead before us, join in
the audiences of Socrates and Plato, and
receive demonstrations from Euclid and
Newton. In books we have the choicest
thoughts of the ablest men in their best
dress.”
“Books,” says Jeremy Collier, “are a
guide in youth and an entertainment for
age. They support us under solitude,
and keep us from being a burthen to
ourselves. They help us to forget the
crossness of men and things ; compose
our cares and our passions ; and lay our
disappointments asleep. When we are
weary of the living, we may repair to
the dead, who have nothing of peevish
ness, pride, or design in their conversa
tion.”
Sir John Herschel tells an amusing
anecdote illustrating the pleasure derived
from a book, not assuredly of the first
order. In a certain village the black
smith having got hold of Richardson’s
novel, Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded, used
to sit on his anvil in the long summer
evenings and read it aloud to a large and
attentive audience. It is by no means a
short book, but they fairly listened to it
alL At length, when the happy turn of
fortune arrived, which brings the hero
and heroine together, and sets them living
long and happily together according to
the most approved rules, the congregation
were so delighted as to raise a great shout,
PART I
and procuring the church keys, actually
set the parish bells a-ringing.
“The lover of reading,” says Leigh
Hunt, “will derive agreeable terror from
Sir Bertram and the Haunted Chamber;
will assent with delighted reason to every
sentence in Mrs. Barbauld’s Essay; will
feel himself wandering into solitudes with
Gray; shake honest hands with Sir Roger
de Coverley; be ready to embrace Parson
Adams, and to chuck Pounce out of the
window instead of the hat ; will travel
with Marco Polo and Mungo Parle; stay
at home with Thomson; retire with
Cowley; be industrious with Hutton;
sympathising with Gay and Mrs. Inch
bald; laughing with (and at) Buncle;
melancholy, and forlorn, and self-restored
with the shipwrecked mariner of De Foe.”
Carlyle has wisely said that a collection
of books is a real university.
The importance of books has been
appreciated in many quarters where we
might least expect it. Among the hardy
Norsemen runes were supposed to be
endowed with miraculous power. There
is an Arabic proverb, that “a wise man’s
day is worth a fool’s life,” and another—
though it reflects, perhaps, rather the
spirit of the Califs than of the Sultans,—
that “ the ink of science is more precious
than the blood of the martyrs.”
Confucius is said to have described
himself as a man who “ in his eager pur
suit of knowledge forgot his food, who
in the joy of its attainment forgot his
sorrows, and did not even perceive that
old age was coming on.”
Yet, if this could be said by the Arabs
and the Chinese, what language can be
strong enough to express the gratitude we
ought to feel for the advantages we enjoy !
We do not appreciate, I think, our good
fortune in belonging to the nineteenth
century. Sometimes, indeed, one may
even be inclined to wish that one had not
lived quite so soon, and to long for a
glimpse of the books, even the school
books, of one hundred years hence. A
hundred years ago not only were books
extremely expensive and cumbrous, but
�CHAP .III
A SONG OF BOOKS
many of the most delightful were still
uncreated—such as the works of Scott,
Thackeray, Dickens, Shelley, and Byron,
not to mention living authors. How
much more interesting science has become
especially, if I were to mention only one
name, through the genius of Darwin!
Renan has characterised this as a most
amusing century; I should rather have
described it as most interesting : present
ing us as it does with an endless vista of
absorbing problems ; with infinite oppor
tunities ; with more interest and less
danger than surrounded our less fortunate
ancestors.
Cicero described a room without books,
as a body without a soul. But it is by no
means necessary to be a philosopher to
love reading.
Reading, indeed, is by no means neces
sarily study. Far from it. “ I put,” says
Mr. Frederic Harrison, in his excellent
article on the “ Choice of Books,” “ I
put the poetic and emotional side of
literature as the most needed for daily
use.”
In the prologue to the Legende of Goode
Women, Chaucer says :
“ And as for me, though that I konne but lyte,
On bokes for to rede I me delyte,
And to him give I feyth and ful credence,
And in myn herte have him in reverence,
So hertely, that tlier is game noon,
That fro my bokes maketh me to goon,
But yt be seidome on the holy day,
Save, certynly, when that the monthe of May
Is comen, and that I here the foules synge,
And that the floures gynnen for to sprynge,
Farwel my boke and my devocion.”
But I doubt whether, if he had enjoyed
our advantages, he could have been so
certain of tearing himself away, even in
the month of May.
Macaulay, who had all that wealth and
fame, rank and talents could give, yet, we
are told, derived his greatest happiness
from books. Sir G. Trevelyan, in his
charming biography, says that—“of the
feelings which Macaulay entertained to
wards the great minds of bygone ages it is
not for any one except himself to speak.
He has told us how his debt to them was
IS
incalculable; how they guided him to
truth; how they filled his mind with
noble and graceful images ; how they stood
by him in all vicissitudes—comforters in
sorrow, nurses in sickness, companions in
solitude, the old friends who are never
seen with new faces ; who are the same in
wealth and in poverty, in glory and in
obscurity. Great as were the honours and
possessions which Macaulay acquired by his
pen, all who knew him were well aware
that the titles and rewards which he gained
by his own works were as nothing in the
balance compared with the pleasure he
derived from the works of others.”
There was no society in London so agree
able that Macaulay would have preferred
it at breakfast or at dinner “ to the com
pany of Sterne or Fielding, Horace Wal
pole or Boswell.” The love of reading
which Gibbon declared he would not ex
change for all the treasures of India was,
in fact, with Macaulay “ a main element of
happiness in one of the happiest lives that
it has ever fallen to the lot of the bio
grapher to record.”
“History,” says Fuller, “maketh a
young man to be old without either
wrinkles or gray hair, privileging him
with the experience of age without either
the infirmities or the inconveniences
thereof.”
So delightful indeed are books that we
must be careful not to forget other duties
for them; in cultivating the mind we
must not neglect the body.
To the lover of literature or science,
exercise often presents itself as an irksome
duty, and many a one has felt like “ the
fair pupil of Ascham (Lady Jane Grey),
who, while the horns were sounding and
dogs in full cry, sat in the lonely oriel,
with eyes riveted to that immortal page
which tells how meekly and bravely
(Socrates) the first martyr of intellectual
liberty took the cup from his weeping
jailer.” 1
Still, as the late Lord Derby justly ob
served,2 those who do not find time for
1 Macaulay.
2 Address, Liverpool College, 1873.
�i6
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
exercise will have to find time for ill
ness.
Books, again, are now so cheap as to be
within the reach of almost every one.
This was not always so. It is quite a
recent blessing. Mr. Ireland, to whose
charming little Book Lover's Enchiridion,
in common with every lover of reading, I
am greatly indebted, tells us that when
a boy he was so delighted with White’s
Natural History of Selborne, that in order
to possess a copy of his own he actually
copied out the whole work.
Mary Lamb gives a pathetic description
of a studious boy lingering at a bookstall :
“ I saw a boy with eager eye
Open a book upon a stall,
And read, as he’d devour it all;
Which, when the*stall man did espy,
Soon to the boy I heard him call,
‘ You, sir, you never buy a book,
Therefore in one you shall not look.’
The boy passed slowly on, and with a sigh
He wished he never had been taught to read,
Then of the old churl’s books he should have
had no need.”
Such snatches of literature have, indeed,
a special and peculiar charm. This is, I
believe, partly due to the very fact of
their being brief. Many readers miss
much of the pleasure of reading by forceing themselves to dwell too long con
tinuously on one subject. In a long
railway journey, for instance, many persons
take only a single book. The consequence
is that, unless it is a story, after half an
hour or an hour they are quite tired of it.
Whereas, if they had two, or still better
three books, on different subjects, and one
of them of an amusing character, they
would probably find that, by changing as
soon as they felt at all weary, they would
come back again and again to each with
renewed zest, and hour after hour would
pass pleasantly away. Every one, of
course, must judge for himself, but such
at least is my experience.
I quite agree, therefore, with Lord
Iddesleigh as to the charm of desultory
reading, but the wider the field the more
important that we should benefit by the
very best books in each class. Not that we
PART I
need confine ourselves to them, but that
we should commence with them, and they
will certainly lead us on to others. There
are of course some books which we must
read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.
But these are exceptions. As regards by
far the larger number, it is probably
better to read them quickly, dwelling only
on the best and most important passages.
In this way, no doubt, we shall lose much,
but we gain more by ranging over a wider
field. We may, in fact, I think, apply to
reading Lord Brougham’s wise dictum as
regards education, and say that it is well
to read everything of something, and
something of everything. In this way
only we can ascertain the bent of our
own tastes, for it is a general, though not
of course an invariable, rule, that we
profit little by books which we do not enjoy.
Every one, however, may suit himself.
The variety is endless.
Not only does a library contain “in
finite riches in a little room,” 1 but we
may sit at home and yet be in all quarters
of the earth. We may travel round the
world with Captain Cook or Darwin,
with Kingsley or Ruskin, who will show
us much more perhaps than ever we
should see for ourselves.
The world
itself has no limits for us ; Humboldt
and Herschel will carry us far away to
the mysterious nebulas, beyond the sun
and even the stars : time has no more
bounds than space; history stretches out
behind us, and geology will carry us back
for millions of years before the creation
of man, even to the origin of the material
Universe itself. Nor are we limited to
one plane of thought.
Aristotle and
Plato will transport us into a sphere none
the less delightful because we cannot
appreciate it without some training.
Comfort and consolation, peace and
happiness, may indeed be found in his
library by any one “ who shall bring the
golden key that unlocks its silent door.” 2
A library is true fairyland, a very palace
of delight, a haven of repose from the
storms and troubles of the world. Rich
1 Marlowe.
2 Matthews.
�THE CHOICE OF BOOKS
CHAP. IV
and poor can enjoy it alike, for here, at
least, wealth gives no advantage. We
may make a library, if we do but rightly
use it, a true paradise on earth, a garden
of Eden without its one drawback ; for
all is open to us, including, and especially,
the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, for
which we are told that our first mother
sacrificed all the Pleasures of Paradise.
Here we may read the most important
histories, the most exciting volumes of
travels and adventures, the most interest
ing stories, the most beautiful poems ; we
may meet the most eminent statesmen,
poets, and philosophers, benefit by the
ideas of the greatest thinkers, and enjoy
the grandest creations of human genius.
CHAPTER IV
THE CHOICE OF BOOKS 1
“ All round the room my silent servants wait—
My friends in every season, bright and dim,
Angels and Seraphim
Come down and murmur to me, sweet and low,
And spirits of the skies all come and go
Early and Late.”
Proctor.
And yet too often they wait in vain.
One reason for this is, I think, that people
are overwhelmed by the crowd of books
offered to them.
In old days books were rare and dear.
Now on the contrary, it may be said with
greater truth than ever that
“Words are things, and a small drop of ink,
Falling like dew upon a thought, produces
That which makes thousands, perhaps millions,
think.”2
Our ancestors had great difficulty in pro
curing books. Ours now is what to select.
We must be careful what we read, and
not, like the sailors of Ulysses, take bags
of wind for sacks of treasure—not only
lest we should even now fall into the
error of the Greeks, and suppose that
1 Delivered at the London Working Men’s
College.
2 Byron.
c
17
language and definitions can be instru
ments of investigation as well as of
thought, but lest, as too often happens,
we should waste time over trash. There
are many books to which one may apply,
in the sarcastic sense, the ambiguous
remark which Lord Beaconsfield made to
an unfortunate author, “ I will lose no
time in reading your book.”
There are, indeed, books and books ;
and there are books which, as Lamb said,
are not books at all. It is wonderful
how much innocent happiness we thought
lessly throw away. An Eastern proverb
says that calamities sent by heaven may
be avoided, but from those we bring on
ourselves there is no escape.
Many, I believe, are deterred from
attempting what are called stiff books for
fear they should not understand them ;
but there are few* who need complain of
the narrowness of their minds, if only
they would do their best with them.
In reading, however, it is most im
portant to select subjects in which one is
interested. I remember years ago con
sulting Mr. Darwin as to the selection of
a course of study. He asked me what
interested me most, and advised me to
choose that subject. This, indeed, applies
to the work of life generally.
I am sometimes disposed to think that
the great readers of the next generation
will be, not our lawyers and doctors,
shopkeepers and manufacturers, but the
labourers and mechanics. Does not this
seem natural1? The former work mainly
with their head ; when their daily duties
are over, the brain is often exhausted, and
of their leisure time much must be de
voted to air and exercise. The labourer
and mechanic, on the contrary, besides
working often for much shorter hours,
have in their work-time taken sufficient
bodily exercise, and could therefore give
any leisure they might have to reading
and study. They have not done so as
yet, it is true ; but this has been for
obvious reasons. Now, however, in the
first place, they receive an excellent edu
cation in elementary schools, and in the
�i8
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
second have more easy access to the best
books.
Ruskin has observed that he is not sur
prised at what men suffer, but he often
wonders at what they lose. We suffer
much, no doubt, from the faults of others,
but we lose much more by our own
ignorance.
“ If,” says Sir John Herschel, “ I were
to pray for a taste which should stand
me in stead under every variety of cir
cumstances, and be a source of happiness
and cheerfulness to me through life, and
a shield against its ills, however things
might go amiss and the world frown upon
me, it would be a taste for reading. I
speak of it of course only as a worldly
advantage, and not in the slightest degree
as superseding or derogating from the
higher office and surer and stronger
panoply of religious principles—but as
a taste, an instrument, and a mode of
pleasurable gratification.
Give a man
this taste, and the means of gratifying it,
and you can hardly fail of making a
happy man, unless, indeed, you put into
his hands a most perverse selection of
books.”
It is one thing to own a library ; it
is quite another to use it wisely. I
have often been astonished how little care
people devote to the selection of ■what
they read. Books, we know, are almost
innumerable ; our hours for reading are,
alas ! very few. And yet many people
read almost by hazard. They will take
any book they chance to find in a room
at a friend’s house ; they will buy a novel
at a railway-stall if it has an attractive
title ; indeed, I believe in some cases even
the binding affects their choice.
The
selection is, no doubt, far from easy. I
have often wished some one would re
commend a list of a hundred good books.
If we had such lists drawn up by a few
good guides they would be most useful.
I have indeed sometimes heard it said
that in reading every one must choose for
himself, but this reminds me of the re
commendation not to go into the water
till you can swim.
PART I
In the absence of such lists I have
picked out the books most frequently
mentioned with approval by those who
have referred directly or indirectly to the
pleasure of reading, and have ventured to
include some which, though less frequently
mentioned, are especial favourites of my
own. Every one who looks at the list
will wish to suggest other books, as indeed
I should myself, but in that case the
number would soon run up.1
I have abstained, for obvious reasons,
from mentioning works by living authors,
though from many of them I have myself
derived the keenest enjoyment; and I
have omitted works on science, with one
or two exceptions, because the subject is
so progressive.
I feel that the attempt is over bold,
and I must beg for indulgence, while
hoping for criticism ; indeed one object
which I have had in view is to stimu
late others more competent than I am to
give us the advantage of their opinions.
Moreover, I must repeat that I suggest
these works rather as those which, as far
as I have seen, have been most frequently
recommended, than as suggestions of my
own, though I have slipped in a few of
my own special favourites.
In any such selection much weight
should, I think, be attached to the general
verdict of mankind. There is a “ struggle
for existence ” and a “ survival of the
fittest” among books, as well as among
animals and plants. As Alonzo of Aragon
said, “Age is a recommendation in four
things—old wood to burn, old wine to
drink, old friends to trust, and old books
to read.” Still, this cannot be accepted
without important qualifications.
The
most recent books of history and science
contain, or ought to contain, the most
accurate information and the most trust
worthy conclusions. Moreover, while the
1 Several longer lists have been given ; for
instance, by Comte, Catechism of Positive Philo
sophy ; Pycroft, Course of English Pleading;
Baldwin, The, Book Lover; Perkins, The Best
Reading ; and by Ireland, Books for General
Readers.
�CHAP. IV
THE CHOICE OF BOOKS
books of other races and times have an
interest from their very distance, it must
be admitted that many will still more
enjoy, and feel more at home with, those
of our own century and people.
Yet the oldest books of the world are
remarkable and interesting on account
of their very age; and the works which
have influenced the opinions, or charmed
the leisure hours, of millions of men in
distant times and far-away regions are
well worth reading on that very account,
even if to us they seem scarcely to deserve
their reputation.
It is true that to
many, such works are accessible only in
translations ; but translations, though
they can never perhaps do justice to the
original, may yet be admirable in them
selves. The Bible itself, which must
stand first in the list, is a conclusive
case.
At the head of all non- Christian
moralists, I must place the Enchiridion
of Epictetus and the Meditations of Marcus
Aurelius, certainly two of the noblest
books in the whole of literature ; and
which, moreover, have both been admir
ably translated. The Analects of Con
fucius will, I believe, prove disappointing
to most English readers, but the effect it
has produced on the most numerous race
of men constitutes in itself a peculiar
interest. The Ethics of Aristotle, per
haps, appear to some disadvantage from
the very fact that they have so profoundly
influenced our views of morality. The
Koran, like the Analects of Confucius,
will to most of us derive its principal
interest from the effect it has exercised,
and still exercises, on so many millions of
our fellow-men. I doubt whether in any
other respect it will seem to repay per
usal, and to most persons probably certain
extracts, not too numerous, would appear
sufficient.
The writings of the Apostolic Fathers
have been collected in one volume by
Wake. It is but a small one, and though
I must humbly confess that I vas dis
appointed, they are perhaps all the more
curious from the contrast they afford to
19
those of the Apostles themselves. Of the
later Fathers I have included only the
Confessions of St. Augustine, which Dr.
Pusey selected for the commencement of
the Library of the Fathers, and which, as
he observes, has “ been translated again
and again into almost every European
language, and in all loved ; ” though
Luther was of opinion that St. Augustine
“ wrote nothing to the purpose concerning
faith.” But then Luther was no great
admirer of the Fathers. St. Jerome, he
says, “ writes, alas ! very coldly ; ” Chrys
ostom “ digresses from the chief points ; ”
St. Jerome is “very poor;” and in fact,
he says, “ the more I read the. books of the
Fathers the more I find myself offended ; ”
while Renan, in his interesting auto
biography, compared theology to a Gothic
Cathedral, “ elle a la grandeur, les vides
immenses, et le peu de solidite.”
Among other devotional works most
frequently recommended are Thomas a
Kempis’s Imitation of Christ, Pascal’s
Pensees, Spinoza’s Tractatus TheologicoPoliticus, Butler’s Analogy of Religion,
Jeremy Taylor’s Holy Living and Dying,
Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, and last, not
least, Keble’s beautiful Christian Year.
Aristotle and Plato stand at the head
of another class. The Politics of Aristotle,
and Plato’s Dialogues, if not the whole,
at any rate the Phcedo, the Apology, and
the Republic, will be of course read by all
who wish to know anything of the history
of human thought, though I am heretical
enough to doubt whether the latter repays
the minute and laborious study often
devoted to it.
Aristotle being the father, if not the
creator, of the modern scientific method,
it has followed naturally—indeed, almost
inevitably—that his principles have be
come part of our very intellectual being,
so that they seem now almost self-evident
while his actual observations, though very
remarkable—as, for instance, when he
observes that bees on one journey confine
themselves to one kind of flower—still
have been in many cases superseded by
others, carried on under more favourable
�20
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
conditions. We must not be ungrateful
to the great master, because his own
lessons have taught us how to advance.
Plato, on the other hand, I say so with
all respect, seems to me in some cases to
play on words : his arguments are very
able, very philosophical, often very noble ;
but not always conclusive ; in a language
differently constructed they might some
times tell in exactly the opposite sense.
If his method has proved less fruitful, if
in metaphysics we have made but little
advance, that very fact in one point of
view leaves the Dialogues of Socrates as
instructive now as ever they were; while
the problems with which they deal will
always rouse our interest, as the calm
and lofty spirit which inspires them
must command our admiration.
Of
the Apology and the Phcedo especially
it would be impossible to speak too grate
fully.
I would also mention Demosthenes’s
De Corona, which Lord Brougham pro
nounced the greatest oration of the
greatest of orators ; Lucretius, Plutarch’s
Lives, Horace, and at least the De Officiis,
De Amicitia, and De Senectute of Cicero.
The great epics of the world have
always constituted one of the most popu
lar branches of literature. Yet how few,
comparatively, ever read Homer or Virgil
after leaving school.
The Nibelungenlied, our great AngloSaxon epic, is perhaps too much neglected,
no doubt on account of its painful char
acter. Brunhild and Kriemhild, indeed,
are far from perfect, but we meet with few
such “ live ” women in Greek or Roman
literature. Nor must I omit to mention
Sir T. Malory’s Morte d’A rthur, though I
confess I do so mainly in deference to the
judgment of others.
Among the Greek tragedians I include
zEschylus, if not all his works, at any rate
Prometheus, perhaps the sublimest poem
in Greek literature, and the Trilogy (Mr.
Symonds in his Greek Poets speaks of the
“ unrivalled majesty ” of the Agamemnon,
and Mark Pattison considered it “the
grandest work of creative genius in the
PART I
whole range of literature”); or, as Sir
M. E. Grant Duff recommends, the Persce;
Sophocles (CEdipus Tyrannus), Euripides
(Medea), and Aristophanes (The Knights and
Clouds') ; unfortunately, as Schlegel says,
probably even the greatest scholar does
not understand half his jokes ; and I think
most modern readers will prefer our own
poets.
I should like, moreover, to say a word
for Eastern poetry, such as portions of the
Maha Bharata and Ramayana (too long
probably to be read through, but of which
Taiboys Wheeler has given a most interest
ing epitome in the first two volumes of
his History of India); the Shali-nameh, the
work of the great Persian poet Firdusi;
Kalidasa’s Sakuntala, and the Sheking, the
classical collection of ancient Chinese odes.
Many I know, will think I ought to have
included Omar Khayyam.
In history we are beginning to feel that
the vices and vicissitudes of kings and
queens, the dates of battles and wars, are
far less important than the development
of human thought, the progress of art, of
science, and of law, and the subject is on
that very account even more interesting
than ever. I will, however, only mention,
and that rather from a literary than a his
torical point of view, Herodotus, Xenophon
(the Anabasis), Thucydides, and Tacitus
(Germania); and of modern historians,
Gibbon’s Decline and Fall (“ the splendid
bridge from the old world to the new ”),
Hume’s History of England, Carlyle’s
French Revolution, Grote’s History of Greece,
and Green’s Short History of the English
People.
Science is so rapidly progressive that,
though to many minds it is the most
fruitful and interesting subject of all, I
cannot here rest on that agreement which,
rather than my own opinion, I take as the
basis of my list. I will therefore only
mention Bacon’s Novum Organum, Mill’s
Logic, and Darwin’s Origin of Species; in
Political Economy, which some of our
rulers do not now sufficiently value, Mill,
and parts of Smith’s Wealth of Nations,
for probably those who do not intend to
�CHAP. IV
THE CHOICE OF BOOKS
make a special study of political economy
would scarcely read the whole.
Among voyages and travels, perhaps
those most frequently suggested are Cook’s
Voyages, Humboldt’s Travels, and Darwin’s
Naturalist’s Journal; though I confess I
should like to have added many more.
Mr. Bright not long ago specially re
commended the less known American poets,
but he probably assumed that every one
would have read Shakespeare, Milton
(Paradise Lost, Lycidas, Comus and minor
poems), Chaucer, Dante, Spenser, Dryden,
Scott, Wordsworth, Pope, Byron, and
others, before embarking on more doubtful
adventures.
Among other books most frequently re
commended are Goldsmith’s Vicar of
Wakefield, Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels, Defoe’s
Robinson Crusoe, The Arabian Nights, Don
Quixote, Boswell’s Life of Johnson, White’s
Natural History of Selborne, Burke’s Select
Works (Payne), the Essays of Bacon,
Addison, Hume, Montaigne, Macaulay, and
Emerson, Carlyle’s Past and Present,
Smiles’s Self-Help, and Goethe’s Faust and
Autobiography.
Nor can one go wrong in recommending
Berkeley’s Human Knowledge, Descartes’s
Discours sur la Methode, Locke’s Conduct
of the Understanding Lewes’s History of
Philosophy ; while, in order to keep within
the number one hundred, I can only
mention Moliere ,and Sheridan among
dramatists. Macaulay considered Mari
vaux’s La Vice de Marianne the best novel
in any language, but my number is so
nearly complete that I must content my
self with English: and will suggest
Thackeray (Vanity Fair and Pendennis'),
Dickens (Pickwick and David Copperfield),
G. Eliot (Adam Bede or The Mill on the
Floss), Kingsley (Westward Ho!), Lytton
(Last Days of Pompeii), and last, not least,
those of Scott, which indeed constitute a
library in themselves, but which I must
ask, in return for my trouble, to be allowed,
as a special favour, to count as one.
To any lover of books the very mention
of these names brings back a crowd of de
licious memories, grateful recollections of
21
peaceful home hours, after the labours and
anxieties of the day. How thankful we
ought to be for these inestimable blessings,
for this numberless host of friends who
never weary, betray, or forsake us !
LIST OF 100 BOOKS
Works by Living Authors are omitted
The Bible
The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius
Epictetus
Aristotle’s Ethics
Analects of Confucius
St. Hilaire’s “Le Bouddha et sa religion”
Wake’s Apostolic Fathers
Thos. a Kempis’s Imitation of Christ
Confessions of St. Augustine (Dr. Pusey)
The Koran (portions of)
Spinoza’s Tractatus Theologico-Politicus
Pascal’s Pensees
Butler’s Analogy of Religion
Taylor’s Holy Living and Dying
Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress
Keble’s Christian Year
Plato’s Dialogues ; at any rate, the Apology,
Crito, and Pheedo
Xenophon’s Memorabilia
Aristotle’s Politics
Demosthenes’s De Corona
Cicero’s De Officiis, De Amicitia, and De
Senectute
Plutarch’s Lives
Berkeley’s Human Knowledge
Descartes’s Discours sur la Methode
Locke s On the Conduct of the Understanding
Homer
Hesiod
Virgil
Maha Bliarata
Ramayana
Epitomised in Taiboys
Wheeler’s History of
India, vols. i. and ii.
The Shahnameh
The Nibelungenlied
Malory’s Morte d’Arthur
The Sheking
Kalidasa’s Sakuntala or The Lost Ring
Alschylus’s Prometheus
Trilogy of Orestes
Sophocles’s (Edipus
Euripides’s Medea
Aristophanes’s The Knights and Clouds
Horace
Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales (perhaps in
Morris’s edition ; or, if expurgated, in C.
Clarke’s, or Mrs. Haweis’s)
�22
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
Shakespeare *
Milton’s Paradise Lost, Lycidas, Comus, and
the shorter poems
Dante’s Divina Commedia
Spenser’s Fairie Queen
Dryden’s Poems
Scott’s Poems
Wordsworth (Mr. Arnold’s selection)
Pope’s Essay on Criticism
Essay on Man
Rape of the Lock
Burns
Byron’s Childe Harold
Gray’s Poems
Tennyson’s Idylls and smaller poems
PART I
Thackeray’s Vanity Fair
Pendennis
Dickens’s Pickwick
David Copperfield
Lytton’s Last Days of Pompeii
George Eliot’s Adam Bede
Kingsley’s Westward Ho >.
Scott’s Novels
CHAPTER V
THE BLESSING OF FRIENDS1
Herodotus
Xenophon’s Anabasis
Thucydides
Tacitus’s Germania
Livy
Gibbon’s Decline and Fall
Hume’s History of England
Grote’s History of Greece
Carlyle’s French Revolution
Green’s Short History of England
Lewes’s History of Philosophy
“They seem to take away the sun from the
world who withdraw friendship from life ; for
we have received nothing better from the Im
mortal Gods, nothing more delightful.”—Cicero.
Most of those who have written in praise
of books have thought they could say
nothing more conclusive than to compare
them to friends.
All men, said Socrates, have their
different objects of ambition—horses, dogs,
Arabian Nights
money, honour, as the case may be ; but
Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels
Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe
for his own part he would rather have a
Goldsmith’s Vicar of Wakefield
good friend than all these put together.
Cervantes’s Don Quixote
And again, men know “ the number of
Boswell’s Life of Johnson
their other possessions, although they
Moliere
Schiller’s William Tell
might be very numerous, but of their
Sheridan’s The Critic, School for Scandal, and friends, though but few, they were not
The Rivals
only ignorant of the number, but even
Carlyle’s Past and Present
when they attempted to reckon it to such
as asked them, they set aside again some
Bacon’s Novum Organum
that they had previously counted among
Smith’s Wealth of Nations (part of)
Mill’s Political Economy
their friends; so little did they allow
Cook’s Voyages
their friends to occupy their thoughts.
Humboldt’s Travels
Yet in comparison with what possession,
White’s Natural History of Selborne
of all others, would not a good friend
Darwin’s Origin of Species
Naturalist’s Voyage
appear far more valuable ? ”
Mill’s Logic
“ As to the value of other things,” says
Cicero, “most men differ; concerning
Bacon’s Essays
friendship all have the same opinion.
Montaigne’s Essays
What can be more foolish than, when
Hume’s Essays
Macaulay’s Essays
men are possessed of great influence by
Addison’s Essays
their wealth, power, and resources, to
Emerson’s Essays
procure other things which are bought
Burke’s Select Works
by money—horses, slaves, rich apparel,
Smiles’s Self-Help
costly vases—and not to procure friends,
Voltaire’s Zadig and Micromegas
Goethe’s Faust, and Autobiography
1 The substance of this was delivered at the
London Working Men’s College.
�CHAP. V
THE BLESSING OF. EE ZENDS
the most valuable and fairest furniture of
life?” And yet, he continues, “every
man can tell how many goats or sheep
he possesses, but not how many friends.”
In the choice, moreover, of a dog or of a
horse, we exercise the greatest care : we
inquire into its pedigree, its training and
character, and yet we too often leave the
selection of our friends, which is of in
finitely greater importance—by whom our
whole life will be more or less influenced
either for good or evil—almost to chance.
It is no doubt true, as the Autocrat of
the Breakfast Table says, that all men are
bores except when we want them. And
Sir Thomas Browne quaintly observes
that “ unthinking heads who have not
learnt to be alone, are a prison to them
selves if they be not with others ; whereas,
on the contrary, those whose thoughts are
in a fair and hurry within, are sometimes
fain to retire into company to be out of
the crowd of themselves.” Still I do not
quite understand Emerson’s idea that
“men descend to meet.” In another
place, indeed, he qualifies the statement,
and says, “ Almost all people descend to
meet.” Even so I should venture to
question it, especially considering the
context.
“ All association,” he adds,
“must be a compromise, and, what is
worse, the very flower and aroma of the
flower of each of the beautiful natures
disappears as they approach each other.”
What a sad thought! Is it really so ;
Need it be so ? And if it were, would
friends be any real advantage ? I should
have thought that the influence of friends
was exactly the reverse : that the flower
of a beautiful nature would expand, and
the colours grow brighter, when stimu
lated by the warmth and sunshine of
friendship.
It has been said that it is wise always
to treat a friend, remembering that he
may become an enemy, and an enemy,
remembering that he may become a
friend ; and whatever may be thought
of the first part of the adage, there is
certainly much wisdom in the latter.
Many people seem to take more pains
23
and more pleasure in making enemies,
than in making friends. Plutarch, in
deed, quotes with approbation the. advice
of Pythagoras “ not to shake hands with
too many,” but as long as friends are
well chosen, it is true rather that
“ He who has a thousand friends,
Has never a one to spare,
And he who has one enemy,
Will meet him everywhere,”
and unfortunately, while there are few
great friends there is no little enemy.
I guard myself, however, by saying
again—As long as they are well chosen.
One is thrown in life with a great many
people who, though not actively bad,
though they may not wilfully lead us
astray, yet take no pains with themselves,
neglect their own minds, and direct the
conversation to petty puerilities or mere
gossip ; who do not seem to realise that
conversation may by a little effort be
made instructive and delightful, without
being in any way pedantic ; or, on the
other hand, in ay be allowed to drift into
a mere morass of muddy thought and
weedy words. There are few from ■whom
we may not learn something, if only they
will trouble themselves to tell us. Nay,
even if they teach us nothing, they may
help us by the stimulus of intelligent
questions, or the warmth of sympathy.
But if they do neither, then indeed their
companionship, if companionship it can
be called, is mere waste of time, and of
such we may well say, “ I do desire that
we be better strangers.”
Much certainly of the happiness and
purity of our lives depends on our making
a wise choice of our companions and
friends. If badly chosen they will in
evitably drag us down ; if well they will
raise us up. Yet many people seem to
trust in this matter to the chapter of
accident. It is well and right, indeed, to
be courteous and considerate to every one
with whom we are brought into contact,
but to choose them as real friends is an
other matter. Some seem to make a man
a friend, or try to do so, because he lives
near, because he is in the same business,
�24
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
travels on the same line of railway, or for
some other trivial reason. There cannot
be a greater mistake. These are only, in
the words of Plutarch “ the idols and
images of friendship.”
To be friendly with every one is
another matter ; we must remember that
there is no little enemy, and those who
have ever really loved any one will have
some tenderness for all. There is indeed
some good in most men. “ I have heard
much,” says Mr. Nasmyth in his charming
autobiography, “ about the ingratitude
and selfishness of the world. It may
have been ray good fortune, but I have
never experienced either of these unfeel
ing conditions.” Such also has been my
own experience.
“ Men talk of unkind hearts, kind deeds
With coldness still returning.
Alas ! the gratitude of men
Has ofteuer left me mourning.”
I cannot, then, agree with Emerson
when he says that “we walk alone in the
world. Friends such as we desire are
dreams and fables. But a sublime hope
cheers ever the faithful heart, that else
where in other regions of the universal
power souls are now acting, enduring,
and daring, which can love us, and which
we can love.”
No doubt, much as worthy friends
add to the happiness and value of life,
we must in the main depend on ourselves,
and every one is his own best friend
or worst enemy.
Sad, indeed, is Bacon’s assertion that
“ there is little friendship in the world,
and least of all between equals, which
was wont to be magnified. That that is,
is between superior and inferior, whose
fortunes may comprehend the one to the
other.” But this can hardly be taken as
his deliberate opinion, for he elsewhere
says, “ but we may go farther, and affirm
most truly, that it is a mere and miser
able solitude to want true friends, without
which the world is but a wilderness.”
Not only, he adds, does friendship intro
duce “ daylight in the understanding out
of darkness and confusion of thoughts;”
PART I
it “ maketh a fair day in the affections
from storm and tempests:” in consultation
with a friend a man “ tosseth his thoughts
more easily; he marshalleth them more
orderly ; he seeth how they look when
they are turned into words ; finally, he
waxeth wiser than himself, and that more
by an hour’s discourse than by a day’s
meditation.” . . . “ But little do men
perceive what solitude is, and how far it
extendeth, for a crowd is not company,
and faces are but a gallery of pictures,
and talk but a tinkling cymbal where
there is no love.”
With this last assertion I cannot alto
gether concur. Surely even strangers may
be most interesting ! and many will agree
with Dr. Johnson when, describing a
pleasant evening, he summed it up—“ Sir,
we had a good talk.”
Epictetus gives excellent advice when
he dissuades from conversation on the
very subjects most commonly chosen, and
advises that it should be on “ none of
the common subjects—not about gladi
ators, nor horse-races, nor about athletes,
nor about eating or drinking, which are
the usual subjects ; and especially not
about men, as blaming them ; ” but when
he adds, “or praising them,” the injunction
seems to me of doubtful value. Surely
Marcus Aurelius more wisely advises that
“when thou wishest to delight thyself,
think of the virtues of those who live
with thee ; for instance, the activity of
one, and the modesty of another, and the
liberality of a third, and some other good
quality of a fourth. For nothing delights
so much as the examples of the virtues,
when they are exhibited in the morals of
those who live with us and present them
selves in abundance, as far as is possible.
Wherefore we must keep them before us.”
Yet how often we know merely the sight
of those we call our friends, or the sound
of their voices, but nothing whatever of
their mind or soul.
We must, moreover, be as careful to
keep friends as to make them. If every
one knew what one said of the other,
Pascal assures us that “ there would not
�THE VALUE OF TIME
CHAP. V
be four friends in the world.” This I
hope and think is too strong, but at
any rate try to be one of the four. And
when you have made a friend, keep
him. Hast thou a friend, says an Eastern
proverb, “ visit him often, for thorns and
brushwood obstruct the road which no
one treads.” The affections should not be
mere “tents of a night.”
Still less does Friendship confer any
privilege to make ourselves disagreeable.
Some people never seem to appreciate
their friends till they have lost them.
Anaxagoras described the Mausoleum as
the ghost of wealth turned into stone.
“ But he who has once stood beside the
grave to look back on the companionship
which has been for ever closed, feeling
how impotent then are the wild love and
the keen sorrow, to give one instant’s
pleasure to the pulseless heart, or atone
in the lowest measure to the departed
spirit for the hour of unkindness, will
scarcely for the future incur that debt to
the heart which can only be discharged
to the dust.” 1
Death, indeed, cannot sever friendship.
“Friends,” says Cicero, “though absent,
are still present ; though in poverty they
are rich ; though weak, yet in the enjoy
ment of health ; and, what is still more
difficult to assert, though dead they are
alive.” This seems a paradox, yet is
there not much truth in his explanation ?
“ To me, indeed, Scipio still lives, and
will always live ; for I love the virtue of
that man, and that worth is not yet ex
tinguished. . . . Assuredly of all things
that either fortune or time has bestowed
on me, I have none which I can compare
with the friendship of Scipio.”
If, then, we choose our friends for
what they are, not for what they have,
and if we deserve so great a blessing, then
they will be always with us, preserved in
absence, and even after death, in the
amber of memory.
25
CHAPTER VI
THE VALUE OF TIME1
Each day is a little life
All other good gifts depend on time
for their value. What are friends, books,
or health, the interest of travel or the de
lights of home, if we have not time for
their enjoyment ? Time is often said to
be money, but it is more—it is life ; and
yet many who would cling desperately to
life, think nothing of wasting time.
Ask of the wise, says Schiller in Lord
Sherbrooke’s translation,
‘ ‘ The moments we forego
Eternity itself cannot retrieve. ”
And, in the words of Dante,
“ For who knows most, him loss of time most
grieves.”
Not that a life of drudgery should be our
ideal. Far from it. Time spent in
innocent and rational enjoyments, in
healthy games, in social and family inter
course, is well and wisely spent. Games
not only keep the body in health, but give
a command over the muscles and limbs
which cannot be over-valued. Moreover,
there are temptations which strong exercise
best enables us to resist.
It is the idle who complain they cannot
find time to do that which they fancy
they wish. In truth, people can generally
make time for what they choose to do ; it
is not really the time but the will that is
wanting: and the advantage of leisure is
mainly that we may have the power of
choosing our own wTork, not certainly that
it confers any privilege of idleness.
“ Time travels in divers paces with
divers persons. I’ll tell you who time
ambles withal, who time trots withal, who
time gallops withal, and who he stands
still withal.” 2
1 Ruskin.
1 The substance of this was delivered at the
Polytechnic Institution.
2 Shakespeare.
�26
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART I
For it is not so much the hours that Devil tempts the busy man, but the idle
tell, as the way we use them.
man tempts the Devil. I remember, says
Hillard, “a satirical poem, in which the
“ Circles are praised, not that excel
In largeness, but th’ exactly framed ;
Devil is represented as fishing for men,
So life we praise, that does excel
and adapting his bait to the tastes and
Not in much time, but acting well.” 1
temperaments of his prey ; but the idlers
“Idleness,” says Jeremy Taylor, “is were the easiest victims, for they swallowed
the greatest prodigality in the world ; it even the naked hook.”
throws away that which is invaluable in
The mind of the idler indeed preys upon
respect of its present use, and irreparable itself. “ The human heart is like a mill
when it is past, being to be recovered by stone in a mill; when you put wheat
no power of art or nature.”
under it, it turns and grinds and bruises
Life must be measured rather by depth the wheat to flour ; if you put no wheat,
than by length, by thought and action it still grinds on—and grinds itself away.” 1
rather than by time. “ A counted number
It is not work, but care, that kills, and
of pulses only,” says Pater, “is given to us it is in this sense, I suppose, that we are
of a variegated, aromatic, life. How may told to “ take no thought for the morrow.”
we see in them all that is to be seen by To “ consider the lilies of the field, how
the finest senses 1 How can we pass most they grow ; they toil not, neither do they
swiftly from point to point, and be present spin : and yet even Solomon, in all his
always at the focus where the greatest glory, was not arrayed like one of these.
number of vital forces unite in their Wherefore, if God so clothe the grass of
purest energy ? To burn always with this the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow
hard gem-like flame, to maintain this is cast into the oven, shall he not much
ecstasy, is success in life. Failure is to more clothe you, O ye of little faith 1 ” It
form habits, for habit is relation to a would indeed be a mistake to suppose that
stereotyped world ; . . . while all melts lilies are idle or imprudent. On the
under our feet, we may well catch at any contrary, plants are most industrious, and
exquisite passion, or any contribution to lilies store up in their complex bulbs a
knowledge, that seems, by a lifted horizon, great part of the nourishment of one year to
to set the spirit free for a moment.”
quicken the growth of the next. Care, on
I would not quote Lord Chesterfield as the other hand, they certainly know not.2
generally a safe guide, but there is certainly
“ Hours have wings, fly up to the author
much shrewd wisdom in his advice to his of time, and carry news of our usage.
son with reference to time. “ Every All our prayers cannot entreat one of them
moment you now lose, is so much character either to return or slacken his pace. The
and advantage lost ; as, on the other hand, misspents of every minute are a new record
every moment you now employ usefully, against us in heaven. Sure if we thought
is so much time wisely laid out, at pro thus, we should dismiss them with better
digious interest.”
reports, and not suffer them to fly away
And again, “ It is astonishing that any empty, or laden with dangerous intelli
one can squander away in absolute idleness gence. How happy is it when they carry
one single moment of that small portion up not only the message, but the fruits of
of time which is allotted to us in the world. good, and stay with the Ancient of Days
. . . Know the true value of time ; snatch, to speak for us before His glorious
seize, and enjoy every moment of it.”
throne! ” 3
‘ Are you in earnest ? seize this very minute,
What you can do, or think you can, begin it.” 2
There is a Turkish proverb that
1 Waller.
2 Faust.
1 Luther.
2 The word used iiepifiv-qa-qTe is translated in
the Liddell and Scott “to be anxious about, to be
distressed in mind, to be cumbered with many
cares.”
3 Milton.
�CHAP. VI
THE VALUE OF TIME
Time is often said to fly : but it is not
so much the time that flies ; as we that
waste it, and wasted time is worse than no
time at all; “ I wasted time,” Shake
speare makes Richard II. say, “and now
doth time waste me.”
“He that is choice of his time,” says
Jeremy Taylor, “ will also be choice of
his company, and choice of his actions ;
lest the first engage him in vanity and
loss, and the latter, by being criminal, be
a throwing his time and himself away,
and a going back in the accounts of
eternity.”
The life of man is seventy years, but
how little of this is actually our own.
We must deduct the time required for
sleep, for meals, for dressing and undress
ing, for exercise, etc., and then how little
remains really at our own disposal!
“ I have lived,” said Lamb, “ nominally
fifty years, but deduct from them the
hours I have lived for other people, and
not for myself, anct you will find me still
a young fellow.”
The hours we live for other people,
however, are not those which should be
deducted, but rather those which benefit
neither oneself nor any one else ; and
these, alas 1 are often very numerous.
“ There are some hours which are taken
from us, some which are stolen from us,
and some which slip from us.”1 But
however we may lose them, we can never
get them back. It is wonderful, indeed,
how much innocent happiness we thought
lessly throw away. An Eastern proverb
says that calamities sent by heaven may
be avoided, but from those we bring on
ourselves there is no escape.
Some years ago I paid a visit to the
sites of the ancient lake villages of Switzer
land in company with a distinguished
archseologist, M. Morlot. To my surprise
I found that his whole income was £100
a year, part of which, moreover, he spent
in making a small museum. I asked him
whether he contemplated accepting any
post or office, but he said certainly not.
He valued his leisure and opportunities
1 Seneca.
27
as priceless possessions far more than
silver or gold, and would not waste any
of his time in making money.
Time, indeed, is a sacred gift, and each
day is a little life. Just think of our
advantages here in London ! We have
access to the whole literature of the
world ; we may see in our National
Gallery the most beautiful productions of
former generations, and in the Royal
Academy and other galleries the works of
the greatest living artists. Perhaps there
is no one who has ever found time to
see the British Museum thoroughly. Yet
consider what it contains ; or rather, what
does it not contain ? The most perfect
collection of living and extinct animals;
the marvellous monsters of geological
ages ; the most beautiful birds, shells, and
minerals ; precious stones and fragments
from other worlds ; the most interesting
antiquities ; curious and fantastic speci
mens illustrating different races of men ;
exquisite gems, coins, glass, and china ;
the Elgin marbles; the remains of the
Mausoleum ; of the temple of Diana of
Ephesus; ancient monuments of Egypt
and Assyria ; the rude implements of our
predecessors in England, who were coeval
with the hippopotamus and rhinoceros, the
musk-ox, and the mammoth ; and beauti
ful specimens of Greek and Roman art.
Suffering may be unavoidable, but no
one has any excuse for being dull. And
yet some people are dull. They talk of
a better world to come, while whatever
dulness there may be here is all their
own. Sir Arthur Helps has well said :
“ What! dull, when you do not know
what gives its loveliness of form to the
lily, its depth of colour to the violet, its
fragrance to the rose; when you do not
know in what consists the venom of the
adder, any more than you can imitate the
glad movements of the dove. What !
<jull, when earth, air, and water are all
alike mysteries to you, and when as you
stretch out your hand you do not touch
anything the properties of which you have
mastered ; while all the time Nature is
inviting you to talk earnestly with her,
�28
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
part I
to understand her, to subdue
be blessed by her 1 Go away,
something, do something,
something, and let me hear
your dulness.”
her, and to
Surely no one who has the opportunity
man ; learn should omit to travel. The world belongs
understand to him who has seen it. “ But he that
no more of would make his travels delightful must
first make himself delightful.” 1
According to the old proverb, “ the fool
wanders, the wise man travels.” Bacon
tells us that “the things to be seen and
observed are the courts of princes, especi
CHAPTER VII
ally when they give audience to ambas
THE PLEASURES OF TRAVEL 1
sadors ; the courts of justice while they
sit and hear causes ; and so of consistories
“I ain a part of all that I have seen.”
ecclesiastic • the churches and monasteries,
with the monuments which are therein
I AM sometimes disposed to think that
extant; the walls and fortifications of
there are few things in which we of this cities and towns ; and so the havens and
generation enjoy greater advantages over harbours, antiquities and ruins, libraries,
our ancestors than in the increased facili colleges, disputations and lectures, when
ties of travel; but I hesitate to say this, any are; shipping and navies ; houses
not because our advantages are not great, and gardens of state and pleasure near
but because I have already made the same great cities; armouries, arsenals, maga
remark with reference to several other zines, exchanges, burses, warehouses, exer
aspects of life.
cises of horsemanship, fencing, training of
The very word “ travel ” is suggestive. soldiers, and the like; comedies, such
It is a form of “travail”—excessive labour; whereunto the better sort of persons do
and, as Skeat observes, it forcibly recalls resort; treasuries of jewels and robes;
the toil of travel in olden days. How cabinets and rarities ; and, to conclude,
different things are now !
whatsoever is memorable in the places
It is sometimes said that every one where they go.”
should travel on foot “ like Thales, Plato,
But this depends on the time at our
and Pythagoras ” ; we are told that in disposal, and the object with which we
these days of railroads people rush through travel. If we are long enough in any
countries and see nothing. It may be so, one place Bacon’s advice is no doubt
but that is not the fault of the railways. excellent; but for the moment I am
They confer upon us the inestimable ad thinking rather of an annual holiday,
vantage of being able, so rapidly and with taken for the sake of rest and health ;
so little fatigue, to visit countries which for fresh air and exercise rather than for
were much less accessible to our ancestors. study. Yet even so, if we have eyes to
What a blessing it is that not our own see, we cannot fail to lay in a stock of
islands only—our smiling fields and rich new ideas as well as a store of health.
woods, the mountains that are full of
We may have read the most vivid and
peace and the rivers of joy, the lakes and accurate description, we may have pored
heaths and hills, castles and cathedrals, over maps and plans and pictures, and yet
and many a spot immortalised in the the reality will burst on us like a revela
history of our country :—not these only, tion. This is true not only of mountains
but the sun and scenery of the South, and glaciers, of palaces and cathedrals,
the Alps the palaces of Nature, the blue but even of the simplest examples.
Mediterranean, and the cities of Europe,
For instance, like every one else, I had
with all their memories and treasures, are read descriptions and seen photographs
now brought within a few hours of us.
and pictures of the Pyramids. Their
1 The substance of this was delivered at Oldham.
1 Seneca.
�CHAP. VII
THE PLEASURES OF TRAVEL
form is simplicity itself. I do not know
that I could put into words any character
istic of the original for -which I was not
prepared. It was not that they were
larger ; it was not that they differed in
form, in colour, or situation. And yet,
the moment I saw them, I felt that my
previous impression had been but a faint
shadow of the reality. The actual sight
seemed to give life to the idea.
Every one who has been in the East
will agree that a -week of oriental travel
brings out, with more than stereoscopic
effect, the pictures of patriarchal life as
given us in the Old Testament. And
what is true of the Old Testament is true
of history generally. To those who have
been in Athens or Rome, the history of
Greece or Italy becomes far more interest
ing ; -while, on the other hand, some
knowledge of the history and literature
enormously enhances the interest of the
scenes themselves.
Good descriptions and pictures, how
ever, help us to see much more than we
should perhaps perceive for ourselves. It
may even be doubted whether some
persons do not derive a more correct im
pression from a good drawing or descrip
tion, which brings out the salient points,
than they would from actual, but unaided,
inspection. The idea may gain in ac
curacy, in character, and even in detail,
more than it misses in vividness. But,
however this may be, for those who cannot
travel, descriptions and pictures have an
immense interest; while to those who
have travelled, they will afford an inex
haustible delight in reviving the memories
of beautiful scenes and interesting expedi
tions.
It is really astonishing how little most
of us see of the beautiful world in which
we live. Mr. Norman Lockyer tells me
that while travelling on a scientific mission
in the Rocky Mountains, he w’as astonished
to meet an aged French Abbe, and could
not help showing his surprise. The Abbd
observed this, and in the course of con
versation explained his presence in that
distant region.
29
“You were,” he said, “I easily saw,
surprised to find me here. The fact is,
that some months ago I was very ill. My
physicians gave me up : one morning I
seemed to faint and thought that I was
already in the arms of the Bon Dieu. I
fancied one of the angels came and asked
me, ‘Well, M. l’Abbe, and how did you
like the beautiful world you have just
left?’ And then it occurred to me that
I who had been all my life preaching
about heaven, had seen almost nothing
of the world in which I was living. I
determined therefore, if it pleased Provi
dence to spare me, to see something of
this world ; and so here I am.”
Few of us are free, however much we
might wish it, to follow the example of
the worthy Abbe. But although it may
not be possible for us to reach the Rocky
Mountains, there are other countries nearer
home which most of us might find time
to visit.
Though it is true that no descriptions
can come near the reality, they may at
least persuade us to give ourselves this
great advantage. Let me then try to
illustrate this by pictures in words, as
realised by some of our most illustrious
countrymen; I will select references to
foreign countries only, not that we have
not equal beauties here, but because every
where in England one feels oneself at
home.
The following passage from Tyndall’s
Hours of Exercise in the Alps, is almost as
good as an hour in the Alps themselves :
“ I looked over this wondrous scene
towards Mont Blanc, the Grand Combin,
the Dent Blanche, the Weissliorn, the
Dom, and the thousand lesser peaks which
seemed to join in the celebration of the
risen day. I asked myself, as on previous
occasions, How was this colossal work
performed ? Who chiselled these mighty
and picturesque masses out of a mere
protuberance of the earth ? And the
answer was at hand. Ever young, ever
mighty—with the vigour of a thousand
worlds still within him—the real sculptor
was even then climbing up the eastern
�30
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART I
i
sky. It was lie wlio raised aloft the
waters which cut out these ravines; it
was he who planted the glaciers on the
mountain-slopes, thus giving gravity a
plough to open out the valleys ; and it is
he who, acting through the ages, will
finally lay low these mighty monuments,
rolling them gradually seaward, sowing
the seeds of continents to be ; so that the
people of an older earth may see mould
spread, and corn wave over the hidden
rocks which at this moment bear the
weight of the Jungfrau.” And the Alps
lie within twenty-four hours of London !
Tyndall’s writings also contain many
vivid descriptions of glaciers ; those
“ silent and solemn causeways . . . broad
enough for the march of an army in line
of battle and quiet as a street of tombs in
a buried city.” 1 I do not, however, borrow
from him or from any one else any descrip
tion of glaciers, for they are so unlike any
thing else, that no one who has not seen,
can possibly visualise them.
The history of European rivers yet
remains to be written, and is most inter
esting. They did not always run in their
present courses. The Rhone, for instance,
appears to have been itself a great traveller.
At least there seems reason to believe
that the upper waters of the Valais fell
at first into the Danube, and so into
the Black Sea ; subsequently joined the
Rhine and the Thames, and so ran far
north over the plains which once connected
the mountains of Scotland and of Norway
—to the Arctic Ocean ; and have only
comparatively of late years adopted their
present course into the Mediterranean.
But, however this may be, the Rhine
of Germany and the Rhine of Switzerland
are very unlike. The catastrophe of Schaff
hausen seems to alter the whole character
of the river, and no wonder. “ Stand for
half an hour,” says Ruskin, “beside the
Fall of Schaffhausen, on the north side
where the rapids are long, and watch how '
the vault of water first bends, unbroken,
in pure polished velocity, over the arching
rocks at the brow of the cataract, covering ,
1 Ruskin.
' them with a dome of crystal twenty feet
j thick, so swift that its motion is unseen
i except when a foam globe from above
, darts over it like a falling star ; . . . and
, how ever and anon, startling you with its
white flash, a jet of spray leaps hissing
out of the fall, like a rocket, bursting in
the wind and driven away in dust, filling
the air with light; and how, through the
curdling wreaths of the restless crushing
abyss below, the blue of the water, paled
by the foam in its body, shows purer
than the sky through white rain-cloud •
. . . their dripping masses lifted at inter
vals, like sheaves of loaded corn, by some
stronger gush from the cataract, and
bowed again upon the mossy rocks as its
roar dies away.”
But much as we may admire the
majestic grandeur of a mighty river,
either in its eager rush or its calmer
moments, there is something which
fascinates even more in the free life, the
young energy, the sparkling transparence,
and merry music of smaller streams.
“ The upper Swiss valleys,” as the
same great Seer says, “ are sweet with
perpetual streamlets, that seem always to
have chosen the steepest places to come
down, for the sake of the leaps, scattering
their handfuls of crystal this way and
that, as the wind takes them, with all the
grace, but with none of the formalism, of
fountains . . . until at last . . . they
find their way down to the turf, and lose
themselves in that, silently ; with quiet
depth of clear water furrowing among the
grass blades, and looking only like their
shadow, but presently emerging again in
little startled gushes and laughing hurries,
as if they had remembered suddenly that
the day was too short for them to get
down the hill.”
How vividly does Symonds bring before
us the sunny shores of the Mediterranean,
which he loves so well, and the contrast
between the scenery of the North and
the South.
“ In northern landscapes the eye travels
through vistas of leafy boughs to still,
secluded crofts and pastures, where slow-
�CHAP. VII
THE PLEASURES OF TRA VEL
moving oxen graze. The mystery of
dreams and the repose of meditation haunt
our massive bowers. But in the South,
the lattice-work of olive boughs and foliage
scarcely veils the laughing sea and bright
blue sky, while the hues of the landscape
find their climax in the dazzling radiance
of the sun upon the waves, and the pure
light of the horizon. There is no conceal
ment and no melancholy here. Nature
seems to hold a never-ending festival and
dance, in which the waves and sunbeams
and shadows join. Again, in northern
scenery, the rounded forms of full-foliaged
trees suit the undulating country, with its
gentle hills and brooding clouds ; but in
the South the spiky leaves and sharp
branches of the olive carry out the defined
outlines which are everywhere observable
through the broader beauties of mountain
and valley and sea-shore. Serenity and
intelligence characterise this southern
landscape, in which a race of splendid men
and women lived beneath the pure light
of Phoebus, their ancestral god. Pallas
protected them, and golden Aphrodite
favoured them with beauty. Olives are
not, however, by any means the only trees
which play a part in idyllic scenery. The
tall stone pine is even more important. . . .
Near Massa, by Sorrento, there are two
gigantic pines so placed that, lying on the
grass beneath them, one looks on Capri
rising from the sea, Baiae, and all the bay
of Naples sweeping round to the base of
Vesuvius. Tangled growths of olives,
oranges, and rose-trees fill the garden
ground along the shore, while far away in
the distance pale Inarime sleeps, with
her exquisite Greek name, a virgin island
on the deep.
“ On the wilder hills you find patches
of ilex and arbutus glowing with crimson
berries and white waxen bells, sweet myrtle
rods and shafts of bay, frail tamarisk and
tall tree-heaths that wave their frosted
houghs above your head. Nearer the
shore the lentisk grows, a savoury shrub,
with cytisus and aromatic rosemary.
Clematis and polished garlands of tough
sarsaparilla wed the shrubs with clinging,
3i
climbing arms ; and here and there in
sheltered nooks the vine shoots forth
luxuriant tendrils bowed with grapes,
stretching from branch to branch of mul
berry or elm, flinging festoons on which
young loves might sit and swing, or
weaving a lattice-work of leaves across the
open shed. Nor must the sounds of this
landscape be forgotten,—sounds of bleat
ing flocks, and murmuring bees, and
nightingales, and doves that moan, and
running streams, and shrill cicadas, and
hoarse frogs, and whispering pines. There
is not a single detail which a patient
student may not verify from Theocritus.
“ Then too it is a landscape in which
sea and country are never sundered. The
higher we climb upon the mountain-side
the more marvellousis the beauty of the sea,
which seems to rise as we ascend, and
stretch into the sky. Sometimes a little
flake of blue is framed by olive boughs,
sometimes a turning in the road reveals
the whole broad azure calm below. Or,
after toiling up a steep ascent we fall
upon the undergrowth of juniper, and
lo ! a double sea, this way and that,
divided by the sharp spine of the jutting
hill, jewelled with villages along its shore,
and smiling with fair islands and silver
sails.”
To many of us the mere warmth of the
South is a blessing and a delight. The
very thought of it is delicious. I have
read over again and again Wallace’s graphic
description of a tropical sunrise—of the
sun of the early morning that turneth all
into gold.
“ Up to about a quarter past five o’clock,”
he says, “ the darkness is complete ; but
about that time a few cries of birds begin
to break the silence of night, perhaps
indicating that signs of dawn are percept
ible in the eastern horizon. A little later
the melancholy voices of the goatsuckers
are heard, varied croakings of frogs, the
plaintive whistle of mountain thrushes,
and strange cries of birds or mammals
peculiar to each locality. About half-past
five the first glimmer of light becomes
perceptible ; it slowly becomes lighter, and
�32
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
then, increases so rapidly that at about a
quarter to six it seems full daylight. For
the next quarter of an hour this changes
very little in character ; when, suddenly,
the sun’s rim appears above the horizon,
decking the dew-laden foliage with glitter
ing gems, sending gleams of golden light
far into the woods, and waking up all
nature to life and activity. Birds chirp
and flutter about, parrots scream, monkeys
chatter, bees hum among the flowers, and
gorgeous butterflies flutter lazily along or
sit with full expanded wings exposed to
the warm and invigorating rays. The
first hour of morning in the equatorial
regions possesses a charm and a beauty
that can never be forgotten. All nature
seems refreshed and strengthened by the
coolness and moisture of the past night,
new leaves and buds unfold almost before
the eye, and fresh shoots may often be
observed to have grown many inches since
the preceding day. The temperature is
the most delicious conceivable. The slight
chill of early dawn, which was itself
agreeable, is succeeded by an invigorating
warmth ; and the intense sunshine lights
up the glorious vegetation of the tropics,
and realises all that the magic art of the
painter or the glowing words of the poet
have pictured as their ideals of terrestrial
beauty.”
Or take Dean Stanley’s description of
the colossal statues of Amenophis III., the
Memnon of the Greeks, at Thebes—“The
sun was setting, the African range glowed
red behind them ; the green plain was
dyed with a deeper green beneath them,
and the shades of evening veiled the vast
rents and fissures in their aged frames.
As I looked back at them in the sunset,
and they rose up in front of the background
of the mountain, they seemed, indeed, as
if they were part of it,—as if they belonged
to some natural creation.”
But I must not indulge myself in more
quotations, though it is difficult to stop.
Such pictures recall the memory of many
glorious days : for the advantages of travels
last through life ; and often, as we sit at
home, “some bright and perfect view of
PART I
Venice, of Genoa, or of Monte Rosa comes
back on you, as full of repose as a day
wisely spent in travel.” 1
So far is a thorough love and enjoyment
of travel from interfering with the love of
home, that perhaps no one can thoroughly
enjoy his home who does not sometimes
wander away. They are like exertion and
rest, each the complement of the other ; so
that, though it may seem paradoxical, one
of the greatest pleasures of travel is the
return ; and no one who has not roamed
abroad, can realise the devotion which the
wanderer feels for Domiduca—the sweet
and gentle goddess who watches over our
coming home.
CHAPTER VIII
THE PLEASURES OF HOME
“There’s no place like Home.”—
Old English Song.
It may ■well be doubted which is more
delightful,—to start for a holiday which
has been fully earned, or to return home
from one which has been thoroughly
enjoyed ; to find oneself, with renewed
vigour, with a fresh store of memories
and ideas, back once more by one’s own
fireside, with one’s family, friends, and
books.
“ To sit at home,” says Leigh Hunt,
“with an old folio (?) book of romantic
yet credible voyages and travels to read,
an old bearded traveller for its hero, a
fireside in an old country house to read it
by, curtains drawn, and just wind enough
stirring out of doors to make an accom
paniment to the billows or forests we are
reading of—this surely is one of the
perfect moments of existence.”
It is no doubt a great privilege to
visit foreign countries; to travel say
in Mexico or Peru, or to cruise among
the Pacific Islands ; but in some respects
the narratives of early travellers, the
histories of Prescott or the voyages of
1 Helps.
�CHAP. VIII
THE PLEASURES OF HOME
Captain Cook, are even more interesting ;
describing to us, as they do, a state of
society which was then so unlike ours,
but which has now been much changed
and Europeanised.
Thus we may make our daily travels
interesting, even though, like those of the
Vicar of Wakefield, all 'our adventures
are by our own fireside, and all our migra
tions from one room to another.
Moreover, even if the beauties of home
are humble, they are still infinite, and a
man “ may lie in his bed, like Pompey
and his sons, in all quarters of the
earth.” 1
It is, then, wise to “ cultivate a talent
very fortunate for a man of my dis
position, that of travelling in my easy
chair ; of transporting myself, without
stirring from my parlour, to distant places
and to absent friends ; of drawing scenes
in my mind’s eye ; and of peopling them
with the groups of fancy, or the society
of remembrance.” 2
We may indeed secure for ourselves
endless variety without leaving our own
firesides.
In the first place, the succession of
seasons multiplies every home.
How
different is the view from our windows as
we look on the tender green of spring, the
rich foliage of summer, the glorious tints
of autumn, or the delicate tracery of
winter.
Our climate is so happy, that even in
the worst months of the year, “ calm
mornings of sunshine visit us at times,
appearing like glimpses of departed spring
amid the wilderness of wet and windy
days that lead to winter. It is pleasant,
when these interludes of silvery light
occur, to ride into the woods and see how
wonderful are all the colours of decay.
Overhead, the elms and chestnuts hang
their wealth of golden leaves, while the
beeches darken into russet tones, and the
wild cherry glows like blood-red wine.
In the hedges crimson haws and scarlet
hips are wreathed with hoary clematis or
1 Sir T. Browne.
2 Mackenzie, The Lounger.
D
33
necklaces of coral briony-berries ; the
brambles burn with many-coloured flames ;
the dog-wood is bronzed to purple ; and
here and there the ’ spindle-wood puts
forth its fruit, like knots of rosy buds,
on delicate frail twigs. Underneath lie
fallen leaves, and the brown bracken
rises to our knees as we thread the forest
paths.”1
Nay, every day gives us a succession of
glorious pictures in never-ending variety.
It is remarkable how few people seem
to derive any pleasure from the beauty of
the sky. Gray, after describing a sunrise
—how it began, with a slight whitening,
just tinged with gold and blue, lit up
all at once by a little line of insufferable
brightness which rapidly grew to half an
orb, and so to a whole one too glorious
to be distinctly seen—adds, “ I wonder
whether any one ever saw it before. I
hardly believe it.” 2
No doubt from the dawn of poetry, the
splendours of the morning and evening
skies have delighted all those who have
eyes to see.
But we are especially
indebted to Ruskin for enabling us more
vividly to realise these glorious sky
pictures. As he says, in language almost
as brilliant as the sky itself, the whole
heaven, “from the zenith to the horizon,
becomes one molten, mantling sea of
color and fire ; every black bar turns
into massy gold, every ripple and wave
into unsullied, shadowless crimson, and
purple, and scarlet, and colors for which
there are no words in language, and
no ideas in the mind—things which can
only be conceived while they are visible ;
the intense hollow blue of the upper sky
melting through it all, showing here deep
and pure, and lightness ; there, modulated
by the filmy, formless body of the trans
parent vapour, till it is lost imperceptibly
in its crimson and gold.”
' It is in some cases indeed “ not color
but conflagration,” and though the tints
are richer and more varied towards morn
ing and at sunset, the glorious kaleidoscope
goes on all day long. Yet “ it is a strange
1 J. A. Symonds.
2 Gray’s Letters.
�THE PLEASURES OE LIRE
34
thing how little in general people know
about the sky. It is the part of creation
in which Nature has done more for the
sake of pleasing man, more for the sole
and evident purpose of talking to him and
teaching him, than in any other of her
works, and it is just the part in which we
least attend to her. There are not many
of her other works in which some more
material or essential purpose than the
mere pleasing of man is not answered by
every part of their organisation ; but
every essential purpose of the sky might,
so far as we know, be answered, if once
in three days, or thereabouts, a great,
ugly, black rain-cloud were brought up
over the blue, and everything well
watered, and so all left blue again till
next time, with perhaps a film of morning
and evening mist for dew. And instead
of this, there is-not a moment of any day
of our lives when Nature is not producing
scene after scene, picture after picture,
glory after glory, and working still upon
such exquisite and constant principles of
the most perfect beauty, that it is quite
certain it is all done for us, and intended
for our perpetual pleasure.” 1
Nor does the beauty end with the day.
“ Is it nothing to sleep under the canopy
of heaven, where we have the globe of
the earth for our place of repose, and the
glories of the heavens for our spectacle? ”2
For my part I always regret the custom
of shutting up our rooms in the evening,
as though there was nothing worth seeing
outside. What, however, can be more
beautiful than to “ look how the floor of
heaven is thick inlaid with patines of
bright gold,” or to watch the moon
journeying in calm and silver glory
through the night. And even if we do
not feel that “ the man who has seen the
rising moon break out of the clouds at
midnight, has been present like an Arch
angel at the creation of light and of the
world,”3 still “ the stars say something
significant to all of us : and each man
has a whole hemisphere of them, if he
r Ruskin.
2 Seneca.
3 Emerson.
PART I
will but look up, to counsel and befriend
him ” ;1 for it is not so much, as Helps
elsewhere observes, “in guiding us over
the seas of our little planet, but out of
the dark waters of'our own perturbed
minds, that we may make to ourselves
the most of their significance.” Indeed,
“ How beautiful is night !
A dewy freshness fills the silent air ;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor
stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven :
In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark blue depths ;
Beneath her steady ray
The desert circle spreads,
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky ;
How beautiful is night ! ” 2
I have never wondered at those who
worshipped the sun and moon.
On the other hand, when all outside is
dark and cold ; when perhaps
“ Outside fall the snowflakes lightly ;
Through the night loud raves the storm ;
In my room the fire glows brightly,
And ’tis cosy, silent, warm.
Musing sit I on the settle
By the firelight’s cheerful blaze,
Listening to the busy kettle
Humming long-forgotten lays.” 3
For after all the true pleasures of home
are not without, but within ; and “ the
domestic man who loves no music so well
as his -own kitchen clock and the airs
which the logs sing to him as they burn
on the hearth, has solaces which others
never dream of.” 4
We love the ticking of the clock, and
the flicker of the fire, like the sound of
the cawing of rooks, not so much for any
beauty of their own as for their associations.
It is a great truth that when we re
tire into ourselves we can call up what
memories we please.
“ How dear to this heart are the scenes of my
childhood,
When fond recollection recalls them to view.—
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled
wildwood
And every lov’d spot which my infancy knew.” 5
1 Helps.
2 Southey.
3 Heine, trans, by E. A. Bowring.
4 Emerson,
8 Woodworth.
�THE PLEASURES OF HOME
CHAP. VIII
It is not so much the
“ Fireside enjoyments,
And all the comforts of the lowly roof,” 1
but rather, according to the higher and
better ideal of Keble,
“ Sweet is the smile of home ; the mutual look,
When hearts are of each other sure ;
Sweet all the joys that crowd the household
nook,
The haunt of all affections pure.”
In ancient times, not only among
savage races, but even among the Greeks
themselves, there seems to have been but
little family life.
What a contrast was the home life of
the Greeks, as it seems to have been, to
that, for instance, described by Cowley—
a home happy “ in books and gardens,”
and above all, in a
“ Virtuous wife, where thou dost meet
Both pleasures more refined and sweet;
The fairest garden in her looks
And in her mind the wisest books.”
No one who has ever loved mother or
wife, sister or daughter, can read without
astonishment and pity St. Chrysostom’s
description of woman as “a necessary
evil, a natural temptation, a desirable
calamity, a domestic peril, a deadly fascina
tion, and a painted ill.”
In few respects has mankind made a
greater advance than in the relations of
men and women. It is terrible to think
how women suffer in savage life; and
even among the intellectual Greeks, with
rare exceptions, they seem to have been
treated rather as housekeepers or play
things than as the Angels who make a
Heaven of home.
The Hindoo proverb that you should
“ never strike a wife, even with a flower,”
though a considerable advance, tells a
melancholy tale of what must previously
have been.
In The Origin of Civilisation I have
given many cases showing how small a
part family affection plays in savage life.
Here I will only mention one case
in illustration. The Algonquin (North i
1 Cowper.
|
35
America) language contained no word
for “ love,” so that when the missionaries
translated the Bible into it they were
obliged to invent one. What a life, and
what a language, without love.
Yet in marriage even the rough passion
of a savage may contrast favourably with
any cold calculation, which, like the en
chanted hoard of the Nibelungs, is almost
sure to bring misfortune. In the Kalevala,
the Finnish epic, the divine smith, Ilmarinnen, forges a bride of gold and silver
for Wainamoinen, who was pleased at first
to have so rich a wife, but soon found
her intolerably cold, for, in spite of fires
and furs, whenever he touched her she
froze him.
Moreover, apart from mere coldness,
how much we suffer from foolish quarrels
about trifles ; from mere misunderstand
ings ; from hasty words thoughtlessly
repeated, sometimes without the context
or tone which would have deprived them
of any sting. How much would that
charity which “beareth all things, believeth all things, bopeth all things,
endureth all things,” effect to smooth
away the sorrows of life and add to the
happiness of home. Home indeed may
be a sure haven of repose from the storms
and perils of the world. But to secure
this we must not be content to pave it
with good intentions, but must make it
bright and cheerful.
If our life be one of toil and of suffer
ing, if the world outside be cold and
dreary, what a pleasure to return to
the sunshine of happy faces and the
warmth of hearts we love.
�36
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
’Twas she discovered that the world was
young,
And taught a language to its lisping tongue.”
CHAPTER IX
SCIENCE 1
“Happy is he that findeth wisdom,
And the man that getteth understanding :
For the merchandise of it is better than silver,
And the gain thereof than fine gold.
She is more precious than rubies :
And all the things thou canst desire are not to
be compared unto her.
Length of days is in her right hand,
And in her left hand riches and honour.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness,
And all her paths are peace.”
Proverbs
of
PART I
Solomon.
Those who have not tried for themselves
can hardly imagine how much Science
adds to the interest and variety of life.
It is altogether a mistake to regard it as
dry, difficult, or prosaic—-much of it is
as easy as it is interesting. A wise in
stinct of old united the prophet and the
“ seer.” “ The wise man’s eyes are in
his head, but the fool walketh in dark
ness.” Technical works, descriptions of
species, etc., bear the same relation to
science as dictionaries do to literature.
Occasionally, indeed, Science may de
stroy some poetical myth of antiquity,
such as the ancient Hindoo explanation
of rivers, that “ Indra dug out their beds
with his thunderbolts, and sent them
forth by long continuous paths ; ” but
the real causes of natural phenomena are
far more striking, and contain more true
poetry, than those which have occurred
to the untrained imagination of mankind.
In endless aspects science is as wonder
ful and interesting as a fairy tale.
‘ ‘ There are things whose strong reality
Outshines our fairyland ; in shape and hues
More beautiful than our fantastic sky,
And the strange constellations which the Muse
O’er her wild universe is skilful to diffuse.” 2
Mackay justly exclaims :
“Blessings on Science! When the earth
seemed old,
When Faith grew doting, and our reason cold,
1 The substance of this was delivered at
Mason College, Birmingham.
2 Byron.
Botany, for instance, is by many re
garded as a dry science. Yet though
without it we may admire flowers and
trees, it is only as strangers, only as one
may admire a great man or a beautiful
woman in a crowd. The botanist, on the
contrary—nay, I will not say the botanist,
but one with even a slight knowledge of
that delightful science—when he goes
out into the woods, or into one of those
fairy forests which we call fields, finds
himself welcomed by a glad company of
friends, every one with something inter
esting to tell. Dr. Johnson said that, in
his opinion, when you had seen one
green field you had seen them all; and a
greater even than Johnson—Socrates—
the very type of intellect without science,
said he was always anxious to learn, and
from fields and trees he could learn
nothing.
It has, I know, been said that botanists
“Love not the flower they pluck and know it
not,
And all their botany is but Latin names. ”
Contrast this, however, with the language
of one who would hardly claim to be a
master in botany, though he is certainly a
loving student. “Consider,” says Ruskin,
“ what we owe to the meadow grass, to
the covering of the dark ground by that
glorious enamel, by the companies of
those soft, countless, and peaceful spears
of the field ! Follow but for a little
time the thought of all that we ought to
recognise in those words. All spring and
summer is in them—the walks by silent
scented paths, the rest in noonday heat,
the joy of the herds and flocks, the power
of all shepherd life and meditation; the
life of the sunlight upon the world, fall
ing in emerald streaks and soft blue
shadows, when else it would have struck
on the dark mould or scorching dust;
pastures beside the pacing brooks, soft
banks and knolls of lowly hills, thymy
slopes of down overlooked by the blue
�CHAP. IX
SCIENCE
line of lifted sea ; crisp lawns all dim
with early dew, or smooth in evening
warmth of barred sunshine, dinted by
happy feet, softening in their fall the
sound of loving voices.”
My own tastes and studies have led
me mainly in the direction of Natural
History and Archaeology ; but if you
love one science, you cannot but feel in
tense interest in them all. How grand
are the truths of Astronomy ! Prudhomme, in a sonnet, beautifully trans
lated by Arthur O’Shaugnessy, has
pictured an Observatory. He says—
“ ’Tis late ; the astronomer in his lonely height,
Exploring all the dark, descries afar
Orbs that like distant isles of splendour are.”
He notices a comet, and calculating its
orbit, finds that it will return in a
thousand years—
“ The star will come. It dare not by one hour
Cheat Science, or falsify her calculation ;
Men will have passed, but, watchful in the
tower,
Man shall remain in sleepless contemplation ;
And should all men have perished in their
turn,
Truth in their place would watch that star’s
return.”
Ernest Rhys well says of a student’s
chamber—
“ Strange things pass nightly in this little room,
All dreary as it looks by light of day ;
Enchantment reigns here when at evening
play
Red fire-light glimpses through the pallid
gloom.”
And the true student, in Ruskin’s words,
stands on an eminence from which he
looks back on the universe of God and
forward over the generations of men.
Even if it be true that science was dry
when it was buried in huge folios, that is
certainly no longer the case now ; and
Lord Chesterfield’s wise wish, that Minerva
might have three Graces as well as Venus,
has been amply fulfilled.
The study of natural history indeed
seems destined to replace the loss of what
is, not very happily I think, termed
“ sport; ” engraven in us as it is by the
37
operation of thousands of years, during
which man lived greatly on the produce
of the chase. Game is gradually becoming
“small by degrees and beautifully less.”
Our prehistoric ancestors hunted the
Mammoth, the woolly-haired Rhinoceros,
and the Irish Elk ; the ancient Britons
had the wild ox, the deer, and the wolf.
We have still the pheasant, the partridge,
the fox, and the hare; but even these are
becoming scarcer, and must be preserved
first, in order that they may be killed
afterwards. Some of us even now—and
more, no doubt, will hereafter—satisfy
instincts, essentially of the same origin, by
the study of birds, or insects, or even
infusoria—of creatures which more than
make up by their variety what they want
in size.
Emerson avers that when a naturalist
has “got all snakes and lizards in his
phials, science has done for him also, and
has put the man into a bottle.” I do not
deny that there are such cases, but they
are quite exceptional. The true naturalist
is no mere dry collector.
I cannot resist, although it is rather
long, quoting the following description
from Hudson and Gosse’s beautiful work
on the Rotifera :—
“ On the Somersetshire side of the Avon,
and not far from Clifton, is a little combe,
at the bottom of which lies an old fish-pond,
Its slopes are covered with plantations of
beech and fir, so as to shelter the pond on
three sides, and yet leave it open to the
soft south-western breezes, and to the
afternoon sun. At the head of the combe
wells up a clear spring, which sends a
thread of water, trickling through a bed
of osiers, into the upper end of the pond.
A stout stone wall has been drawn across
the combe from side to side, so as to dam
up the stream ; and there is a gap in one
corner through which the overflow finds
its way in a miniature cascade, down into
the lower plantation.
“ If we approach the pond by the game
keeper’s path from the cottage above, we
shall pass through the plantation, and
come unseen right on the corner of the
�38
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
wall; so that one quiet step will enable
us to see at a glance its whole surface,
without disturbing any living thing that
may be there.
“Far off at the upper end a water-hen
is leading her little brood among the
willows ; on the fallen trunk of an old
beech, lying half way across the pond, a
vole is sitting erect, rubbing his right ear,
and the splash of a beech husk just at our
feet tells of a squirrel who is dining some
where in the leafy crown above us.
“ But see, the water-rat has spied us out,
and is making straight for his hole in the
bank, while the ripple above him is the
only thing that tells of his silent flight.
The water-hen has long ago got under
cover, and the squirrel drops no more
husks. It is a true Silent Pond, and
without a sign of life.
“But if, retaining sense and sight, we
could shrink into living atoms and plunge
under the water, of what a world of
wonders should we then form part ! We
should find this fairy kingdom peopled
with the strangest creatures—creatures
that swim with their hair, that have ruby
eyes blazing deep in their necks, with
telescopic limbs that now are withdrawn
wholly within their bodies and now
stretched out to many times their own
length. Here are some riding at anchor,
moored by delicate threads spun out from
their toes ; and there are others flashing
by in glass armour, bristling with sharp
spikes or ornamented with bosses and
flowing curves ; while fastened to a green
stem is an animal convolvulus that, by
some invisible power, draws a neverceasing stream of victims into its gaping
cup, and tears them to death with hooked
jaws deep down within its body.
“ Close by it, on the same stem, is some
thing that looks like a filmy heart’s-ease.
A curious wheelwork runs round its four
outspread petals ; and a chain of minute
things, living and dead, is winding in and
out of their curves into a gulf at the back
of the flower. What happens to them
there we cannot see ; for round the stem
is raised a tube of golden-brown balls, all j
PART I
regularly piled on each other. Some
creature dashes by, and like a flash the
flower vanishes within its tube.
“We sink still lower, and now see on
the bottom slow gliding lumps of jelly
that thrust a shapeless arm out where they
will, and grasping their prey with these
chance limbs, wrap themselves round their
food to get a meal; for they creep without
feet, seize without hands, eat without
mouths, and digest without stomachs.”
Too many, however, still feel only in
Nature that which we share “ with the
weed and the worm ; ” they love birds as
boys do—that is, they love throwing
stones at them ; or wonder if they are good
to eat, as the Esquimaux asked about the
watch ; or treat them as certain devout
Afreedee villagers are said to have treated
a descendant of the Prophet—killed him
in order to worship at his tomb: but
gradually we may hope that the love of
Science—the notes “we sound upon the
strings of nature ”1—-will become to more
and more, as already it is to many, a
“ faithful and sacred element of human
feeling.”
Science summons us
“ To that cathedral, boundless as our wonder,
Whose quenchless lamps the sun and moon
supply ;
Its choir the winds and waves, its organ thunder,
Its dome the sky.” 2
Where the untrained eye will see
nothing but mire and dirt, Science will
often reveal exquisite possibilities. The
mud we tread under our feet in the street
is a grimy mixture of clay and sand, soot
and water. Separate the sand, however,
as Ruskin observes—-let the atoms arrange
themselves in peace according to their
nature—and you have the opal. Separate
the clay, and it becomes a white earth,
fit for the finest porcelain; or if it still
further purifies itself, you have a sapphire.
Take the soot, and if properly treated it
will give you a diamond. While, lastly,
the water, purified and distilled, will
become a dew-drop, or crystallise into a
lovely star. Or, again, you may see as
1 Emerson.
2 H. Smith.
�CHAP. IX
SCIENCE
39
you will in any shallow pool either the many years ago by Professor Huxley to
mud lying at the bottom, or the image the South London Working Men’s College
of the heavens above.
which struck me very much at the time,
Nay, even if we imagine beauties and and which puts this in language more
charms which do not really exist ; still if forcible than any which I could use.
we err at all, it is better to do so on the
“Suppose,” he said, “it were perfectly
side of charity; like Nasmyth, who tells certain that the life and fortune of every
us in his delightful autobiography, that one of us would, one day or other, depend
he used to think one of his friends had a upon his winning or losing a game of
charming and kindly twinkle, and was chess. Don’t you think that we should
one day surprised to discover that he all consider it to be a primary duty to
had a glass eye.
learn at least the names and the moves of
But I should err indeed were I to the pieces ? Do you not think that we
dwell exclusively on science as lending should look with a disapprobation amount
interest and charm to our leisure hours. ing to scorn upon the father who allowed
Far from this, it would be impossible his son, or the State which allowed its
to overrate the importance of scientific members, to grow up without knowing a
training on the wise conduct of life.
pawn from a knight ? Yet it is a very
“ Science,” said the Royal Commission plain and elementary truth that the life,
of 1861, “quickens and cultivates directly the fortune, and the happiness of every
the faculty of observation, which in very one of us, and more or less of those who
many persons lies almost dormant through are connected with us, do depend upon
life, the power of accurate and rapid our knowing something of the rules of a
generalisation, and the mental habit of game infinitely more difficult and compli
method and arrangement; it accustoms cated than chess. It is a game which
young persons to trace the sequence of has been played for untold ages, every
cause and effect; it familiarises them with man and woman of us being one of the
a kind of reasoning which interests them, two players in a game of his or her own.
and which they can promptly compre The chessboard is the world, the pieces
hend • and it is perhaps the best correc are the phenomena of the Universe, the
tive for that indolence which is the vice rules of the game are what we call the
of half-awakened minds, and which shrinks laws of Nature. The player on the other
from any exertion that is not, like an side is hidden from us. We know that
effort of memory, merely mechanical.”
his play is always fair, just, and patient.
Again, when we contemplate the gran But also we know to our cost that he
deur of science, if we transport ourselves never overlooks a mistake or makes the
in imagination back into primeval times, smallest allowance for ignorance. To the
or away into the immensity of space, man who plays well the highest stakes
our little troubles and sorrows seem to are paid, with that sort of overflowing
shrink into insignificance. “ Ah, beautiful generosity which with the strong shows
creations ! ” says Helps, speaking of the delight in strength. And one who plays
stars, “it is not in guiding us over the ill is checkmated—without haste, but
seas of our little planet, but out of the without remorse.”
dark waters of our own perturbed minds,
I have elsewhere1 endeavoured to show
that we may make to ourselves the most the purifying and ennobling influence of
of your significance.” They teach, he tells science upon religion ; how it has assisted,
us elsewhere, “something significant to if indeed it may not claim the main share,
all of us; and each man has a whole in sweeping away the dark superstitions,
hemisphere of them, if he will but look the degrading belief in sorcery and witch
up, to counsel and befriend him.”
craft, and the cruel, however well-intenThere is a passage in an address given
1 The, Origin of Civilisation.
�40
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
tioned, intolerance which embittered the
Christian world almost from the very days
of the Apostles themselves. In this she
has surely performed no mean service to
religion itself. As Canon Fremantle has
well and justly said, men of science, and not
the clergy only, are ministers of religion.
Again, the national necessity for
scientific education is imperative. We
are apt to forget how much we owe to
science, because so many of its wonderful
gifts have become familiar parts of our
everyday life, that their very value makes
us forget their origin. At the recent
celebration of the sexcentenary of Peterhouse College, near the close of a long
dinner, Sir Frederick Bramwell was called
on, some time after midnight, to return
thanks for Applied Science. He excused
himself from making a long speech on the
ground that, though the subject was
almost inexhaustible, the only illustration
which struck him as appropriate under
the circumstances was “ the application
of the domestic lucifer to the bedroom
candle.” One cannot but feel how un
fortunate was the saying of the poet that
“The light-outspeeding telegraph
Bears nothing on its beam.”
The report of the Royal Commission
on Technical Instruction, which has
recently been issued, teems with illustra
tions of the advantages afforded by
technical instruction. At the same time,
technical training ought not to begin too
soon, for, as Bain truly observes, “ in a
right view of scientific education the first
principles and leading examples, with
select details, of all the great sciences,
are the proper basis of the complete and
exhaustive study of any single science.”
Indeed, in the words of Sir John Herschel,
“it can hardly be pressed forcibly enough
on the attention of the student of Nature,
that there is scarcely any natural pheno
menon which can be fully and completely
explained in all its circumstances, with
out a union of several, perhaps of all, the
sciences.” The most important secrets of
Nature are often hidden away in unex
pected places. Many valuable substances
PART I
have been discovered in the refuse of
manufactories ; and it was a happy
thought of Glauber to examine what
everybody else threw away. There is
perhaps no nation the future happiness
and prosperity of which depend more on
science than our own. Our population is
over 35,000,000, and is rapidly increas
ing. Even at present it is far larger
than our acreage can support.
Few
people whose business does not lie in the
study of statistics realise that we have
to pay foreign countries no less than
£150,000,000 a year for food. This, of
course, we purchase mainly by manu
factured articles. We hear even now a
great deal about depression of trade, and
foreign, especially American, competition ;
but let us look forward a hundred years
—no long time in the history of a nation.
Our coal supplies will then be greatly
diminished. The population of Great
Britain doubles at the present rate of
increase in about fifty years, so that we
should, if the present rate continues,
require to import over £400,000,000 a
year in food. How, then, is this to be
paid for ? We have before us, as usual,
three courses.
The natural rate of
increase may be stopped, which means
suffering and outrage ; or the population
may increase, only to vegetate in misery
and destitution; or, lastly, by the de
velopment of scientific training and
appliances, they may probably be main
tained in happiness and comfort. We
have, in fact, to make our choice between
science and suffering. It is only by
wisely utilising the gifts of science that
we have any hope of maintaining our
population in plenty and comfort.
Science, however, will do this for us if
we will only let her. She may be no
Fairy Godmother indeed, but she will
richly endow those who love her.
That discoveries, innumerable, marvel
lous, and fruitful, await the successful
explorers of Nature no one can doubt.
“We are so far,” says Locke, “from
being admitted into the secrets of Nature,
that we scarce so much as approach the
�CHAP. IX
SCIENCE
first entrance towards them.”
What
would one not give for a Science primer
of the next century ? for, to paraphrase a
well-known saying, even the boy at the
plough will then, know more of science
than the wisest of our philosophers do
now. Boyle entitled one of his essays
“ Of Man’s great Ignorance of the Uses
of Natural Things; or that there is no
one thing in Nature whereof the uses to
human life are yet thoroughly under
stood ”—a saying which is still as true
now as when it was written. And, lest I
should be supposed to be taking too
sanguine a view, let me give the authority
of Sir John Herschel, who says : “Since
it cannot but be that innumerable and
most important uses remain to be dis
covered among the materials and objects
already known to us, as well as among
those which the progress of science must
hereafter disclose, we may hence conceive
a well-grounded expectation, not only of
constant increase in the physical resources
of mankind, and the consequent improve
ment of their condition, but of continual
accession to our power of penetrating into
the arcana of Nature and becoming
acquainted with her highest laws.”
Nor is it merely in a material point of
view that science would thus benefit the
nation. She will raise and strengthen
the national, as surely as the individual,
character. The great gift which Minerva
offered to Paris is now freely tendered to
all, for we may apply to the nation, as
well as to the individual, Tennyson’s
noble lines :—
“ Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control:
These three alone lead life to sovereign power,
Yet not for power (power of herself
Would come uncalled for), but to live bylaw ;
Acting the law we live by without fear.”
“ In the vain and foolish exultation of
the heart,” said John Quincey Adams, at
the close of his final lecture on resigning
his chair at Boston, “ which the brighter
prospects of life will sometimes excite,
the pensive portress of Science shall call
you to the sober pleasures of her holy
cell. In the mortification of disappoint
4i
ment, her soothing voice shall whisper
serenity and peace. In social converse
with the mighty dead of ancient days,
you will never smart under the galling
sense of dependence upon the mighty
living of the present age. And in your
struggles with the world, should a crisis
ever occur, when even friendship may
deem it prudent to desert you, when
priest and Levite shall come and look on
you and pass by on the other side, seek
refuge, my unfailing friends, and be
assured you shall find it, in the friend
ship of Laelius and Scipio, in the
patriotism of Cicero, Demosthenes, and
Burke, as well as in the precepts and
example of Him whose law is love, and
who taught us to remember injuries only
to forgive them.”
Let me in conclusion quote the glow
ing description of our debt to science
given by Archdeacon Farrar in his address
at Liverpool College-—-testimony, more
over, all the more valuable, considering
the source from which it comes.
“In this great commercial city,” he
said, “ where you are surrounded by the
triumphs of science and of mechanism—
you, whose river is ploughed by the great
steamships whose white wake has been
called the fittest avenue to the palace
front of a mercantile people—you know
well that in the achievements of science
there is not only beauty and wonder, but
also beneficence and power. It is not
only that she has revealed to us infinite
space crowded with unnumbered worlds ;
infinite time peopled by unnumbered
existences ; infinite organisms hitherto in
visible but full of delicate and irridescent
loveliness ; but also that she has been, as
a great Archangel of Mercy, devoting
herself to the service of man. She has
laboured, her votaries have laboured, not
to increase the power of despots or add to
the magnificence of courts, but to extend
human happiness, to economise human
effort, to extinguish human pain. Where
of old, men toiled, half blinded and half
naked, in the mouth of the glowing
furnace to mix the white-hot iron, she
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
42
now substitutes the mechanical action of
the viewless air. She has enlisted the
sunbeam in her service to limn for us,
with absolute fidelity, the faces of the
friends we love. She has shown the
poor miner how he may work in safety,
even amid the explosive fire-damp of the
mine.
She has, by her anaesthetics,
enabled the sufferer to be hushed and
unconscious while the delicate hand of
some skilled operator cuts a fragment
from the nervous circle of the unquiver
ing eye. She points not to pyramids
built during weary centuries by the
sweat of miserable nations, but to the
lighthouse and the steamship, to the rail
road and the telegraph. She has restored
eyes to the blind and hearing to the deaf.
She has lengthened life, she has minimised
danger, she has controlled madness, she
has trampled on disease. And on all
these grounds, I think that none of our
sons should grow up wholly ignorant of
studies which at once train the reason
and fire the imagination, which fashion as
well as forge, which can feed as well as
fill the mind.”
CHAPTER X
EDUCATION
“No pleasure is comparable to the standing
upon the vantage ground of truth.”—Bacon.
‘ ‘ Divine Philosophy !
Not harsh and crabbed as dull fools suppose,
But musical as is Apollo’s lute,
And a perpetual feast of nectar’d sweets
Where no crude surfeit reigns.”—Milton.
It may seem rather surprising to include
education among the pleasures of life ;
for in too many cases it is made odious
to the young, and is supposed to cease
with school; while, on the contrary, if it
is to be really successful it must be suit
able, and therefore interesting, to children,
and must last through life. The very
process of acquiring knowledge is a
privilege and a blessing. It used to be
PART I
said that there was no royal road to learn
ing : it would be more true to say that
the avenues leading to it are all royal.
“It is not,” says Jeremy Taylor, “the
eye that sees the beauties of heaven, nor
the ear that hears the sweetness of music,
or the glad tidings of a prosperous
accident; but the soul that perceives all
the relishes of sensual and intellectual
perceptions: and the more noble and
excellent the soul is, the greater and
more savoury are its perceptions. And
if a child behold the rich ermine, or the
diamonds of a starry night, or the order
of the world, or hears the discourses of
an apostle ; because he makes no reflex
act on himself and sees not what he sees,
he can have but the pleasure of a fool or
the deliciousness of a mule.”
Herein lies the importance of educa
tion. I say education rather than in-,
struction, because it is far more important
to cultivate the mind than to store the
memory. Instruction is only a part of
education : the true teacher has been well
described by Montgomery :
‘ ’ And while in tones of sportive tenderness,
He answer’d all its questions, and ask’d others
As simple as its own, yet wisely framed
To wake and prove an infant’s faculties ;
As though its mind were some sweet instru
ment,
And he, with breath and touch, were finding
out
What stops or keys would yield the richest
music.”
Studies are a means and not an end.
“To spend too much time in studies is
sloth ; to use them too much for orna
ment is affectation ; to make judgment
wholly by their rules is the humour of a
scholar : they perfect nature, and are per
fected by experience. . . . Crafty men
contemn studies, simple men admire
them, and wise men use them.” 1
Moreover, though, as Mill says, “in
the comparatively early state of human
development in which we now live, a
person cannot indeed feel that entireness
of sympathy with all others which would
make any real discordance in the general
1 Bacon.
�EDUCATION
CHAP. X
direction of tlieir conduct in life impos
sible,” yet education might surely do more
to root in us the feeling of unity with our
fellow-creatures. At any rate, if we do
not study in this spirit, all our learning
will but leave us as weak and sad as
Faust.
Our studies should be neither “a
couch on which to rest; nor a cloister in
which to promenade alone ; nor a tower
from which to look down on others; nor
a fortress whence we may resist them ;
nor a workshop for gain and merchandise ;
but a rich armoury and treasury for the
glory of the creator and the ennoblement
of life.” 1
For in the noble words of Epictetus,
“ you will do the greatest service to the
state if you shall raise, not the roofs of
the houses, but the souls of the citizens :
for it is better that great souls should
dwell in small houses rather than for
mean slaves to lurk in great houses.”
It is then of great importance to con
sider whether our present system of
education is the one best calculated to
fulfil these great objects. Does it really
give that love of learning which is better
than learning itself ? Does all the study
of the classics to which our sons devote
so many years give any just appreciation
of them; or do they not on leaving
college too often feel with Byron—
“ Then farewell, Horace ; whom I hated so ! ”
Too much concentration on any one
subject is a great mistake, especially in
early life. Nature herself indicates the
true system, if we would but listen to
her. Our instincts are good guides,
though not infallible, and children will
profit little by lessons which do not
interest them. In cheerfulness, says
Pliny, is the success of our studies—
“ studia hilaritate proveniunt ”—and we
may with advantage take a lesson from
Theognis, who, in his Ode on the
Marriage of Cadmus and Harmonia,
makes the Muses sing —
1 Bacon.
43
‘ ‘ What is good and fair,
Shall ever be our care ;
Thus the burden of it rang,
That shall never be our care,
Which is neither good nor fair.
Such were the words your lips immortal sang.”
There are some who seem to think
that our educational system is as good as
possible, and that the only remaining
points of importance are the number of
schools and scholars, the question of fees,
the relation of voluntary and board
schools, etc. “No doubt,” says Mr.
Symonds, in his Sketches in Italy and
Greece, “ there are many who think that
when we not only advocate education but
discuss the best system we are simply
beating the air ; that our population is
as happy and cultivated as can be, and
that no substantial advance is really
possible. Mr. Galton, however, has ex
pressed the opinion, and most of those
who have written on the social condition
of Athens seem to agree with him, that
the population of Athens, taken as a
whole, was as superior to us as we are to
Australian savages.”
That there is, indeed, some truth in
this, probably no student of Greek history
will deny. Why, then, should this be so ?
I cannot but think that our system of
education is partly responsible.
Manual and science teaching need not
in any way interfere with instruction in
other subjects. Though so much has
been said about the importance of science
and the value of technical instruction, or
of hand-training, as I should prefer to
call it, it is unfortunately true that in
our system of education, from the highest
schools downwards, both of them are
sadly neglected, and the study of language
reigns supreme.
This is no new complaint. Ascham,
in The Schoolmaster, long ago lamented
it; Milton, in his letter to Mr. Samuel
Hartlib, complained “ that our children
are forced to stick unreasonably in these
grammatick flats and shallows ; ” and
observes that, “though a linguist should
pride himself to have all the tongues
�44
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
Babel cleft tlie world into, yet, if he have
not studied the solid things in them as
well as the words and lexicons, he were
nothing so much to be esteemed a learned
man as any yeoman or tradesman com
petently wise in his mother dialect only ; ”
and Locke said that “ schools fit us for
the university rather than for the world.”
Commission after commission, committee
after committee, have reiterated the same
complaint. How then do we stand now ?
I see it indeed constantly stated that,
even if the improvement is not so rapid
as could be desired, still we are making
considerable progress. But is this so ?
I fear not.
I fear that our present
system does not really train the mind, or
cultivate the power of observation, or
even give the amount of information
which we may reasonably expect from the
time devoted to it.
Sir M. E. Grant-Duff has expressed
the opinion that a boy or girl of fourteen
might reasonably be expected to “read
aloud clearly and agreeably, to write a
large distinct round hand, and to know
the ordinary rules of arithmetic, especially
compound addition — a by no cneans
universal accomplishment; to speak and
write French with ease and correctness,
and have some slight acquaintance with
French literature ; to translate ad aperturam libri from an ordinary French
or German book ; to have a thoroughly
good elementary knowledge of geography,
under which are comprehended some
notions of astronomy—enough to excite
his curiosity ; a knowledge of the very
broadest facts of geology and history—
enough to make him understand, in a
clear but perfectly general way, how the
larger features of the world he lives in,
physical and political, came to be like
what they are ; to have been trained from
earliest infancy to use his powers of
observation on plants, or animals, or rocks,
or other natural objects; and to have
gathered a general acquaintance with what
is most supremely good in that portion
of the more important English classics
which is suitable to his time of life; to
PART I
have some rudimentary acquaintance with
drawing and music.”
To effect this, no doubt, “industiy
must be our oracle, and reason our
Apollo,” as Sir T. Browne says ; but surely
it is no unreasonable estimate; yet how
far do we fall short of it ? General
culture is often deprecated because it is
said that smatterings are useless. But
there is all the difference in the world
between having a smattering of, or being
well grounded in, a subject. It is the
latter which we advocate-—to try to know,
as Lord Brougham well said, “ every
thing of something, and something of
everything.”
“It can hardly,” says Sir John Her
schel, “ be pressed forcibly enough on
the attention of the student of nature,
that there is scarcely any natural phe
nomenon which can be fully and com
pletely explained, in all its circumstances,
without a union of several, perhaps of all,
the sciences.”
The present system in most of our
public schools and colleges sacrifices
everything else to classics and arithmetic.
They are most important subjects, but
ought not to exclude science and modern
languages. Moreover, after all, our sons
leave college unable to speak either Latin
or Greek, and too often absolutely with
out any interest in classical history or
literature. But the boy who has been
educated without any training in science
has grave reason to complain of “ wisdom
at one entrance quite shut out.”
By concentrating the attention, indeed,
so much on one or two subjects, we defeat
our own object, and produce a feeling of
distaste where we wish to create an
interest.
Our great mistake in education is, as
it seems to me, the worship of book
learning—the confusion of instruction and
education. We strain the memory instead
of cultivating the mind. The children
in our elementary schools are wearied
by the mehanical act of wilting, and
the interminable intricacies of spelling;
they are oppressed by columns of dates
�CHAP. X
EDUCATION
45
by lists of kings and places, which convey man he was. I doubt, however, whether
no definite idea to their minds, and have the boys were deceived by the hat ; and
no near relation to their daily wants am very sceptical about Dr. Busby’s
and occupations; while in our public theory of education.
schools the same unfortunate results are
Master John of Basingstoke, who was
produced by the weary monotony of Latin Archdeacon of Leicester in 1252, learnt
and Greek grammar. We ought to follow Greek during a visit to Athens, from
exactly the opposite course with children Constantina, daughter of the Archbishop
—to give them a wholesome variety of of Athens, and used to say afterwards
mental food, and endeavour to cultivate that though he had studied well and
their tastes, rather than to fill their minds diligently at the University of Paris, yet
with dry facts. The important thing is he learnt more from an Athenian maiden
not so much that every child should be of twenty. We cannot all study so
taught, as that every child should be pleasantly as this, but the main fault
given the wish to learn. What does it I find with Dr. Busby’s system is that
matter if the pupil knows a little more or it keeps out of sight the great fact of
a little less ? A boy who leaves school human ignorance.
knowing much, but hating his lessons,
Boys are given the impression that
will soon have forgotten almost all he the masters know everything. If, on the
ever learnt; while another who had contrary, the great lesson impressed on
acquired a thirst for knowledge, even if them was that what we know is as nothing
he had learnt little, would soon teach to what we do not know, that the “great
himself more than the first ever knew. ocean of truth lies all undiscovered before
Children are by nature eager for informa us,” surely this would prove a great
tion. They are always putting questions. stimulus, and many would be nobly
This ought to be encouraged. In fact, anxious to enlarge the boundaries of
we may to a great extent trust to their human knowledge, and extend the in
instincts, and in that case they will do I tellectual kingdom of man. Philosophy,
much to educate themselves. Too often, says Aristotle, begins in wonder, for Iris
however, the acquirement of knowledge is the child of Thaumas.
is placed before them in a form so irk
Education ought not to cease w’hen we
some and fatiguing that all desire for leave school; but if well begun there,
information is choked, or even crushed will continue through life.
out; so that our schools, in fact, become
Moreover, whatever our occupation
places for the discouragement of learning, or profession in life may be, it is most
and thus produce the very opposite effect desirable to create for ourselves some
from that at which we aim. In short, other special interest. In the choice of
children should be trained to observe and a subject every one should consult his
to think, for in that way there would own instincts and interests. I will not
be opened out to them a source of the attempt to suggest whether it is better to
purest enjoyment for leisure hours, and pursue art or science ; whether we should
the wisest judgment in the work of study the motes in the sunbeam, or the
life.
heavenly bodies themselves. Whatever
Another point in which I venture to may be the subject of our choice, we shall
think that our system of education might find enough, and more than enough, to
be amended, is that it tends at present repay the devotion of a lifetime.
to give the impression that everything is
Life no doubt is paved with enjoyments,
known.
but we must all expect times of anxiety,
Dr. Busby is said to have kept his of suffering, and of sorrow ; and when
hat on in the presence of King Charles, these come it is an inestimable comfort to
that the boys might see what a great have some deep interest which will, at
�46
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
any rate to some extent, enable us to escape
from ourselves.
“ A cultivated mind,” says Mill—“ I do
not mean that of a philosopher, but any
mind to which the fountains of knowledge
have been opened, and which has been
taught in any tolerable degree to exercise
its faculties—will find sources of inex
haustible interest in all that surrounds
it; in the objects of nature, the achieve
ments of art, the imaginations of poetry,
the incidents of history, the ways of man
kind, past and present, and their prospects
in the future. It is possible, indeed, to
become indifferent to all this, and that too
without having exhausted a thousandth
part of it ; but only when one has had
from the beginning no moral or human
interest in these things, and has sought in
them only the gratification of curiosity.”
I have been subjected to some goodnatured banter for having said that I
looked forward to a time when our artizans
and mechanics would be great readers. But
it is surely not unreasonable to regard our
social condition as susceptible of great im
provement. The spread of schools, the
cheapness of books, the establishment of
free libraries will, it may be hoped, exercise
a civilising and ennobling influence. They
will even, I believe, do much to diminish
poverty and suffering, so much of which
is due to ignorance and to the want of
interest and brightness in uneducated life.
So far as our elementary schools are con
cerned, there is no doubt much difficulty in
apportioning the National Grant without
unduly stimulating mere mechanical in
struction. But this is not the place to dis
PART I
cuss the subject of religious or moral train
ing, or the system of apportioning the grant.
If we succeed in giving the love of learn
ing, the learning itself is sure to follow.
We should therefore endeavour to edu
cate our children so that every country
walk may be a pleasure ; that the dis
coveries of science may be a living interest;
that our national history and poetry may
be sources of legitimate pride and rational
enjoyment. In short, our schools, if they
are to be worthy of the name—if they are
to fulfil their high function—must be
something more than mere places of dry
study ; they must train the children edu
cated in them so that they may be able
to appreciate and enjoy those intellectual
gifts which might be, and ought to be, a
source of interest and of happiness, alike
to the high and to the low, to the rich
and to the poor.
A wise system of education will at
least teach us how little man yet knows,
how much he has still to learn ; it will
enable us to realise that those ■who com
plain of the tiresome monotony of life
have only themselves to' blame ; and that
knowledge is pleasure as well as power.
It will lead us all to try with Milton “ to
behold the bright countenance of truth
in the quiet and still air of study,” and to
feel with Bacon that “no pleasure is com
parable to the standing upon the vantage
ground of truth.”
We should then indeed realise in part,
for as yet we cannot do so fully, the
“ sacred trusts of health, strength, and
time,” and how thankful we ought to be
for the inestimable gift of life.
�PAET II
��PREFACE
“ And what is writ, is writ—
Would it were worthier.”
Byron.
Herewith I launch the conclusion of my subject. Perhaps I am unwise in
publishing a second part. The first was so kindly received that I am running
a risk in attempting to add to it.
In the preface, however, to the first part I have expressed the hope that
the thoughts and quotations in which I have found most comfort and delight,
might be of use to others also.
In this my most sanguine hopes have been more than realised. Not only
has the book passed through twenty editions in less than three years, but the
many letters which I have received have been most gratifying.
Two criticisms have been repeated by several of those who have done me
the honor, of noticing my previous volume. It has been said in the first
place that my life has been exceptionally bright and full, and that I cannot
therefore judge for others. Nor do I attempt to do so. I do not forget, I
hope I am not ungrateful for, all that has been bestowed on me. But if I
have been greatly favoured, ought I not to be on that very account especially
qualified to write on such a theme 1 Moreover, I have had,—who has not,—
my own sorrows.
Again, some have complained that there is too much quotation—too little
of my own. This I take to be in reality a great compliment. I have not
striven to be original.
If, as I have been assured by many, my book has added to their power
of enjoying life, and has proved a comfort in the hours of darkness, that
is indeed an ample reward and is the utmost I have ever hoped.
High Elms, Down, Kent,
April 1889.
E
�CONTENTS
PART II
CHAP.
I. Ambition ....
51
II. Wealth ....
54
III. Health
....
IV. Love
....
V. Art
....
65
....
70
....
74
VI. Poetry
•VII. Music
VIII. The Beauties of Nature
IX. The Troubles of Life
.
X. Labour and Rest
XI. Religion .
XII. The Hope of Progress .
XIII. The Destiny of Man
56
61
79
86
89
92
98
102
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART II
CHAPTER I
I know, says Morris,
“ How far high failure overleaps the bound
Of low successes.”
AMBITION
“ Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth
raise
(That last infirmity of noble mind)
To scorn delights and live laborious days.”
Milton.
If fame be the last infirmity of noble
minds, ambition is often the first ; though,
when properly directed, it may be no
feeble aid to virtue.
Had not my youthful mind, says
Cicero, “ from many precepts, from many
writings, drunk in this truth, that glory
and virtue ought to be the darling, nay,
the only wish in life; that, to attain
these, the torments of the flesh, with the
perils of death and exile, are to be
despised ; never had I exposed my person
in so many encounters, and to these daily
conflicts with the worst of men, for your
deliverance. But, on this head, books
are full; the voice of the wise is full;
the examples of antiquity are full: and
all these the night of barbarism had still
enveloped, had it not been enlightened
by the sun of science.”
The poet tells us that
“The many fail: the one succeeds.”1
And Bacon assures us that “ if a man
look sharp and attentively he shall see
fortune; for though she is blind, she is
not invisible.”
To give ourselves a reasonable prospect
of success, we must realise what we
hope to achieve ; and then make the
most of our opportunities.
Of these the use of time is one of the
most important. What have we to do
with time, asks Oliver Wendell Holmes,
but to fill it up with labour. “At the
battle of Montebello,” said Napoleon, “I
ordered Kellermann to attack with 800
horse, and with these he separated the
6000 Hungarian grenadiers before the
very eyes of the Austrian cavalry. This
cavalry was half a league off, and required
a quarter of an hour to arrive on the
field of action ; and I have observed that
it is always these quarters of an hour
that decide the fate of a battle,” including,
we may add, the battle of life.
Nor must we spare ourselves in other
ways, for
“ He who thinks in strife
To earn a deathless fame, must do, nor ever
care for life.” 1
But this is scarcely true. All succeed
who deserve, though not perhaps as they
hoped. An honourable defeat is better
than a mean victory, and no one is really
the worse for being beaten, unless he
loses heart. Though we may not be able
to attain, that is no reason why we should
not aspire.
In the excitement of the struggle,
moreover, he will suffer comparatively
little from wounds and blows which
would otherwise cause intense pain.
It is well to weigh scrupulously the
object in view, to run as little risk as
may be, to count the cost with care.
1 Tennyson.
1 Beowulf.
�52
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
But when the mind is once made up,
there must be no looking back, you must
spare yourself no labour, nor shrink from
danger.
“ He either fears his fate too much
Or his deserts are small,
That dares not put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all.” 1
Glory, says Renan, “is after all the
thing which has the best chance of not
being altogether vanity.” But what is
glory ?
Marcus Aurelius observes that “ a
spider is proud when it has caught a fly,
a man when he has caught a hare,
another when he has taken a little fish
in a net, another when he has taken
wild boars, another when he has taken
bears, and another when he has taken
Sarmatians ; ”2 but this, if from one
point of view it shows the vanity of
lame, also encourages us with the evidence
that every one may succeed if his objects
are but reasonable.
Alexander may be taken as almost a
type of Ambition in its usual form,
though carried to an extreme.
His desire was to conquer, not to in
herit or to rule. When news was brought
that his father Philip had taken some
town, or won some battle, instead of
being delighted, he used to say to his
companions, “ My father will go on con
quering, till there be nothing extra
ordinary left for you and me to do.”3
He is said even to have been mortified at
the number of the stars, considering that
he had not been able to conquer one
world. Such ambition is justly fore
doomed to disappointment.
The remarks of Philosophers on the
vanity of ambition refer generally to that
unworthy form of which Alexander may
be taken as the type—the idea of self
exaltation, not only without any reference
to the happiness, but even regardless of
the sufferings, of others.
“A continual and restless search after
1 Montrose.
2 He is referring here to one of his expeditions.
3 Plutarch.
PART II
fortune,” says Bacon, “ takes up too much
of their time who have nobler things to
observe.” Indeed he elsewhere extends
this, and adds that “No man’s private
fortune can be an end in any way worthy
of his existence.”
Goethe well observes that man “ exists
for culture; not for what he can accom
plish, but for what can be accomplished
in him.” 1
As regards fame, we must not confuse
name and essence. To be remembered is
not necessarily to be famous. There is
infamy as well as fame; and unhappily
almost as many are remembered for the
one as for the other, and not a few for a
mixture of both.
Who would not, however, rather be
forgotten, than recollected as Ahab or
Jezebel, Nero or Commodus, Messalina
or Heliogabalus, King John or Richard
III.?
“To be nameless in worthy deeds ex
ceeds an infamous history. The Canaanitish woman lives more happily without
a name than Herodias with one ; and
■who would not rather have been the good
thief than Pilate ? ” 2
Kings and Generals are often remem
bered as much- for their misfortunes as
for their successes, for their deaths as for
their lives. The Hero of Thermopylae
was Leonidas, not Xerxes. Alexander’s
Empire fell to pieces at his death.
Napoleon was a great genius, though no
Hero. But what came of all his victories ?
They passed away like the smoke of his
guns and he left France weaker, poorer,
and smaller than he found her. The
most lasting result of his genius is no
military glory, but the Code Napoleon.
A surer and more glorious title to
fame is that of those who are remembered
for some act of justice or self-devotion:
the self-sacrifice of Leonidas, the good
faith of Regulus, are the glories of history.
In some cases where men have been
called after places, the men are remem
bered, while the places are forgotten.
When we speak of Palestrina or Perugino,
1 Emerson.
2 Sir T. Browne.
�CHAP. I
AMBITION
of Nelson or Wellington, of Newton or
Darwin, who remembers the towns ?
We think only of the men.
Goethe has been called the soul of his
century.
We have but meagre biographies of
Shakespeare or of Plato • yet how’ much
we know about them.
Statesmen and Generals enjoy great
celebrity during their lives. The news
papers chronicle every word and move
ment. But the fame of the Philosopher
and Poet is more enduring.
Wordsworth deprecates monuments to
Poets, with some exceptions, on this very
account. The case of Statesmen, he says,
is different. It is right to commemorate
them because they might otherwise be
forgotten ; but Poets live in their books
for ever.
The real conquerors of the world in
deed are not the generals but the
thinkers ; not Genghis Khan and Akbar,
Barneses, or Alexander, but Confucius
and Buddha, Aristotle, Plato, and Christ.
The rulers and kings wrho reigned over
our ancestors have for the most part long
since sunk into oblivion—they are for
gotten for want of some sacred bard to
give them life—or are remembered, like
Suddhodana and Pilate, from their associ
ation with higher spirits.
Such men’s lives cannot be compressed
into any biography.
They lived not
merely in their own generation, but for
all time. When we speak of the Eliza
bethan period we think of Shakespeare
and Bacon, Raleigh and Spenser. The
ministers and secretaries of state, with
one or two exceptions, we scarcely re
member, and Bacon himself is recollected
less as the Judge than as the Philosopher.
Moreover, to what do Generals and
Statesmen owe their fame? They were
celebrated for their deeds, but to the
Poet and the Historian they are indebted
for their immortality, and to the Poet and
Historian we owe their glorious memories
and the example of their virtues.
‘ ‘ Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; sed omnes illacrimabiles
53
Urgentur ignotique Tonga
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.”
Montrose happily combined the tw*o,
when in “ My dear and only love ” he
promises,
“ I’ll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.”
It is remarkable, and encouraging, how
many of the greatest men have risen
from the lowest rank, and triumphed
over obstacles which might well have
seemed insurmountable; nay, even ob
scurity itself may be a source of honour.
The very doubts as to Homer’s birthplace
have contributed to his glory, seven cities
as we all know laying claim to the great
poet—
“Smyrna, Rhodos, Colophon, Salamis, Chios,
Argos, Athenaj.”
Take men of Science only. Ray was
the son of a blacksmith, Watt of a ship
wright, Franklin of a tallow-chandler,
Dalton of a handloom weaver, Fraunhofer
of a glazier, Laplace of a farmer, Linnseus
of a poor curate, Faraday of a blacksmith,
Lamarck of a banker’s clerk ; George
Stephenson wras a working collier, Davy
an apothecary’s assistant, Wheatstone a
musicalinstrumentmaker; Galileo, Kepler,
Sprengel, Cuvier, and Sir W. Herschel
were all children of very poor parents.
It is, on the other hand, sad to think
how many of our greatest benefactors are
unknown even by name. Who discovered
the art of procuring fire ? Prometheus is
merely the personification of forethought.
Who invented letters ? Cadmus is a
mere name.
These inventions, indeed, are lost in
the mists of antiquity, but even as re
gards recent progress the steps are often
so gradual, and so numerous, that few in
ventions can be attributed entirely, or
even mainly, to any one person.
Columbus is said, and truly said, to
have discovered America, though the
Northmen were there before him.
We Englishmen have every reason to
be proud of our fellow-countrymen. To
�54
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART II
take Philosophers and men of Science what as the years roll on, does add to the
only, Bacon and Hobbes, Locke and comfort of life. But this is of course on
Berkeley, Hume and Hamilton, will the supposition that you are master of
always be associated with the progress of your money, that the money is not master
human thought; Newton with gravita of you.
tion, Adam Smith with Political Economy,
Unquestionably the possession of wealth
Young with the undulatory theory of is attended by many drawbacks. Money
light, Herschel with the discovery of and the love of money often go together.
Uranus and the study of the star depths, The poor man, as Emerson says, is the
Lord Worcester, Trevethick, and Watt man who wishes to be rich ; and the more
with the steam-engine, Wheatstone with a man has, the more he often longs to
the electric telegraph, Jenner with the be richer. Just as drinking often does
banishment of smallpox, Simpson with but increase thirst; so in many cases the
the practical application of anaesthetics, craving for riches grows with wealth
and Darwin with the creation of modern
This is, of course, especially the case
Natural History.
when money is sought for its own sake.
These men, and such as these, have Moreover, it is often easier to make money
made our history and moulded our than to keep or to enjoy it. Keeping it
opinions ; and though during life they is dull and anxious drudgery. The dread
may have occupied, comparatively, an of loss may hang like a dark cloud over
insignificant space in the eyes of their life. Seneca tells us that when Apicius
countrymen, they became at length an had squandered most of his patrimony,
irresistible power, and have now justly but had still 250,000 crowns left, he
grown to a glorious memory.
committed suicide, for fear he should die
of hunger.
Wealth is certainly no sinecure. More
over, the value of money depends partly
CHAPTER II
on knowing what to do with it, partly
WEALTH
on the manner in which it is acquired.
“ Acquire money, thy friends say, that
“ The rich and poor meet together : the Lord
is the maker of them all.” — Proverbs of we also may have some. If I can acquire
money and also keep myself modest, and
Solomon.
faithful, and magnanimous, point out the
Ambition often takes the form of a love way, and I will acquire it. But if you
of money. There are many who have ask me to lose the things which are good
never attempted Art or Music, Poetry or and my own, in order that you may gain
Science ; but most people do something things that are not good, see how unfair
for a livelihood, and consequently an and unwise you are. For which would
increase of income is not only acceptable you rather have? Money, or a faithful
in itself, but gives a pleasant feeling of and modest friend. . . .
success.
■“What hinders a man, who has clearly
Doubt is indeed often expressed whether comprehended these things, from living
wealth is any advantage. I do not my with a light heart, and bearing easily the
self believe that those who are born, as reins, quietly expecting everything which
the saying is, with a silver spoon in their can happen, and enduring that which has
mouth, are necessarily any the happier for already happened ? Would you have me
it. No doubt wealth entails almost more to bear poverty ? Come, and you will
labour than poverty, and certainly more know what poverty is when it has found
anxiety. Still it must, I think, be con one who can act well the part of a poor
fessed that the possession of an income, man.” 1
whatever it may be, which increases some
1 Epictetus.
�CHAP. II
WEALTH
We must bear in mind Solon’s answer
to Croesus, “ Sir, if any other come that
hath better iron than you, he will be
master of all this gold.”
Midas is another case in point. He
prayed that everything he touched might
be turned into gold, and this prayer was
granted. His wine turned to gold, his
bread turned to gold, his clothes, his very
bed.
“Attonitus novitate mali, divesque miserque,
Effugere optat opes, et quse modo voverat, odit.”
He is by no means the only man who
has suffered from too much gold.
The real truth I take to be that wealth
is not necessarily an advantage, but that
whether it is so or not depends on the
use we make of it. The same, however,
might be said of most other opportunities
and privileges ; Knowledge and Strength,
Beauty and Skill, may all be abused ; if
we neglect or misuse them we are worse
off than if we had never had them.
Wealth is only a disadvantage in the hands
of those who do not know how to use it.
It gives the command of so many other
things—leisure, the power of helping
others, books, works of art, opportunities
and means of travel.
It would, however, be easy to exagger
ate the advantages of money. It is well
worth having, and worth working for,
but it does not requite too great a sacri
fice ; not indeed so great as is often offered
up to it. A wise proverb tells us that
gold may be bought too dear. If wealth
is to be valued because it gives leisure,
clearly it would be a mistake to sacrifice
leisure in the struggle for wealth. Money
has no doubt also a tendency to make men
poor in spirit. But, on the other hand,
what gift is there which is without
danger ?
Euripides said that money finds friends
for men, and has great (he said the
greatest) power among Mankind, cynically
adding, “ Mighty indeed is a rich man,
especially if his heir be unknown.”
Bossuet tells us that “he had no
attachment to riches, still if he had only
55
what was barely necessary, he felt him
self narrowed, and would lose more than
half his talents.”
Shelley was certainly not an avaricious
man, and yet “ I desire money,” he said,
“ because I think I know the use of it.
It commands labour, it gives leisure ; and
to give leisure to those who will employ
it in the forwarding of truth is the noblest
present an individual can make to the
whole.”
Many will have felt with Pepys when
he quaintly and piously says, “ Abroad
with my wife, the first time that ever I
rode in my own coach ; which do make
my heart rejoice and praise God, and pray
him to bless it to me, and continue it.”
This, indeed, was a somewhat selfish
satisfaction. Yet the merchant need not
quit nor be ashamed of his profession,
bearing in mind only the inscription on
the Church of St. Giacomo de Bialto at
Venice: “ Around this temple let the
merchant’s law be just, his weights true,
and his covenants faithful.” 1
If, however, life has been sacrificed to
the rolling up of money for its own sake,
the very means by which it was acquired
will prevent its being enjoyed ; the chill
of poverty will have entered into the very
bones. The miser deprives himself of
everything, for fear lest some day he
should be deprived of something. The
term Miser was happily chosen for such
persons ; they are essentially miserable.
“ A collector peeps into all the picture
shops of Europe for a landscape of Poussin,
a crayon sketch of Salvator; but the
Transfiguration, the Last Judgment, the
Communion of St. Jerome, and what are
as transcendent as these, are on the walls
of the Vatican, the Uffizi, or the Louvre,
where every footman may see them ; to
say nothing of Nature’s pictures in every
street, of sunsets and sunrises every day,
and the sculpture of the human body
never absent. A collector recently bought
at public auction in London, for one
hundred and fifty-seven guineas, an auto
graph of Shakespeare : but for nothing a
1 Ruskin.
�56
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
schoolboy can read Hamlet, and can detect
secrets of highest concernment yet un
published therein.”1 And yet “What
hath the owner but the sight of it with
his eyes.” 2
We are really richer than we think.
We often hear of Earth hunger. People
envy a great Landlord, and fancy how
delightful it must be to possess a large
estate. But, too often, as Emerson says,
“if you own land, the land owns you.”
Moreover, have we not all, in a better
sense—have we not all thousands of acres
of our own ? The commons, and roads,
and footpaths, and the seashore, our grand
and varied coast—these are all ours.
The sea-coast has, moreover, two great
advantages. In the first place, it is for
the most part but little interfered with
by man, and in the second it exhibits most
instructively the forces of Nature.
We are, indeed, all great landed pro
prietors, if we only knew it. What we
lack is not land, but the power to enjoy it.
This great inheritance has the additional
advantage that it entails no labour, requires
no management. The landlord has the
trouble, but the landscape belongs to
every one who has eyes to see it. Thus
Kingsley called the heaths round Eversley
his “ winter garden ” ; not because they
were his in the eye of the law, but in that
higher sense in which ten thousand persons
may own the same thing.
CHAPTER III
HEALTH
“ Health is best for mortal man ; next beauty ;
thirdly, well gotten wealth ; fourthly, the
pleasure of youth among friends.”
Simonides.
But if there has been some difference of
opinion as to the advantage of wealth,
with reference to health all are agreed.
“Health,” said Simonides long ago, “is
best for mortal man ; next beauty ; thirdly,
well gotten wealth ; fourthly, the pleasure
1 Emerson.
2 Solomon.
PART II
of youth among friends.” “Life, ’ says
Longfellow, “ without health is a burden,
with health is a joy and gladness.” Em
pedocles delivered the people of Selinus
from a pestilence by draining a marsh, and
was hailed as a Demigod. We are told
that a coin was struck in his honour, re
presenting the Philosopher in the act of
staying the hand of Phoebus.
We scarcely realise, I think, how much
we owe to Doctors. Our system of Medi
cine seems so natural and obvious that it
hardly occurs to us as something new and
exceptional. When we are ill we send for
a Physician ; he prescribes some medicine ;
we take it, and pay his fee. But among
the lower races of men pain and illness
are often attributed to the presence of evil
spirits. The Medicine Man is a Priest, or
rather a Sorcerer, more than a true Doctor,
and his effort is to exorcise the evil Spirit.
In other countries where some advance
has been made, a charm is written on a
board, washed off, and drunk. In some
cases the medicine is taken, not by the
patient, but by the Doctor. Such a sys
tem, however, is generally transient; it is
naturally discouraged by the Profession,
and is indeed incompatible with a large
practice. Even as regards the payment
we find very different- systems. The
Chinese pay their medical man as long as
they are well, and stop his salary as soon
as they are ill. In ancient Egypt we are
told that the patient feed the Doctor for the
first few days, after which the Doctor paid
the patient until he made him well. This
is a fascinating system, but might afford
too much temptation to heroic remedies.
On the whole our plan seems the best,
though it does not offer adequate encour
agement to discovery and research. There
is probably some cure for cancer if we did
but know it. If, however, the substantial
rewards of discovery are inadequate, we
ought to be all the more grateful to such
men as Hunter and Jenner, Simpson and
Lister. And yet in the matter of health
we can generally do more for ourselves
than the greatest Doctors can for us.
But if all are agreed as to the blessing
�CHAP. Ill
HEALTH
of health, there are many who will not
take the little trouble, or submit to the
slight sacrifices, necessary to maintain it.
Many, indeed, deliberately ruin their own
health, and incur the certainty of an early
grave, or an old age of suffering.
No doubt some inherit a constitution
which renders health almost unattainable.
Pope spoke of that long disease, his life.
Many indeed may say, 111 suffer, therefore
I am.” But happily these cases are excep
tional. Most of us might be well, if we
would. It is very much our own fault
that we are ill. We do those things
which we ought not to do, and we leave
undone those things which we ought to
have done, and then we wonder that there
is no health in us.
Like Naaman, we expect our health to
be the subject of some miraculous interfer
ence, and neglect the homely precautions
by which it might be secured.
We all know that we can make ourselves
ill, but few perhaps realise how much we
can do to keep ourselves well. Much of
our suffering is self-inflicted. It has been
observed that among the ancient Egyptians
it seemed the chief aim of life to be well
buried. Many, however, live even now
as if this were the principal object of their
existence.
I am inclined to doubt whether the
study of health is sufficiently impressed
on the minds of those entering life. Not
that it is desirable to potter over minor
ailments, to con over books on illnesses,
or experiment on ourselves with medicine.
Far from it. The less we fancy ourselves
ill, or bother about little bodily discom
forts, the more likely perhaps we are to
preserve our health.
It is, however, a different matter to
study the general conditions of health. A
well-known proverb tells us that, by the
time he is forty, every one is either a fool
or a physician. Unfortunately, however,
many persons are invalids at forty as well
as physicians.
Ill-health, however, is no excuse for
moroseness. If we have one disease we
may at least congratulate ourselves that
57
we are escaping all the rest. Sydney
Smith, ever ready to look on the bright
side of things even when borne down by
suffering, wrote to a friend that he had
gout, asthma, and seven other maladies,
but was “otherwise very well”; and many
of the greatest invalids have borne their
sufferings with cheerfulness and good
spirits.
It is said that the celebrated physiog
nomist, Campanella, could so abstract his
attention from any sufferings of his body,
that he was even able to endure the rack
without much pain ; and whoever has the
power of concentrating his attention and
controlling his will, can emancipate him
self from most of the minor miseries of
life. He may have much cause for anxiety,
his body may be the seat of severe suffer
ing, and yet his mind will remain serene
and unaffected ; he may triumph over care
and pain.
It is sad to think how much unnecessary
suffering has been caused, and how many
valuable lives have been lost, through
ignorance or carelessness.
We cannot
but fancy that the lives of many great
men might have been much prolonged by
the exercise of a little ordinary care.
If we take musicians only, what a
grievous loss to the world it is that Pergolesi should have died at twenty-six,
Schubert at thirty-one, Mozart at thirtyfive, Purcell at thirty-seven, and Mendels
sohn at thirty-eight.
In the old Greek myth the life of
Meleager was indissolubly connected by
fate with the existence of a particular
log of wood. As long as this was kept
safe by Althaea, his mother, Meleager bore
a charmed life. It seems wonderful that
we do not watch with equal care over our
body, on the state of which happiness so
much depends.
The requisites of health are plain
enough: regular habits, daily exercise,
cleanliness, and moderation in all things
—in eating as well as in drinking—would
keep most people well.
I need not here dwell on the evils of
alcohol, but we perhaps scarcely realise
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
how much of the suffering and ill-humour
of life is due to over-eating. Dyspepsia,
for instance, from which so many suffer,
is in nine cases out of ten their own fault,
and arises from the combination of too
much food with too little exercise. To
lengthen your life, says an old proverb,
shorten your meals. Plain living and
high thinking will secure health for most
of us, though it matters, perhaps, com
paratively little what a healthy man eats,
so long as he does not eat too much#
“ Go to your banquet then, but use delight,
So as to rise still with an appetite.”1
Mr. Gladstone has told us that the
splendid health he enjoys is greatly due
to his having early learnt one simple
physiological maxim, and laid it down as
a rule for himself always to make twentyfive bites at every bit of meat.
No doubt, however, though the rule not
to eat or drink too much is simple enough
in theory, it is not quite so easy in applica
tion. There have been many Esaus who
have sold their birthright of health for a
mess of pottage.
Yet, though it may seem paradoxical,
it is certainly true, that in the long run
the moderate man will derive more enjoy
ment even from eating and drinking, than
the glutton or the drunkard will ever
obtain. They know not what it is to
enjoy “the exquisite taste of common
dry bread.” 2
Even then if we were to consider
merely the pleasure to be derived from
eating and drinking, the same rule would
hold good. A lunch of bread and cheese
after a good walk is more enjoyable than
a Lord Mayor’s feast. Without wishing,
like Apicius, for the neck of a stork, so
as to enjoy our dinner longer, we must
not be ungrateful for the enjoyment we
derive from eating and drinking, even
though they be amongst the least aesthetic
of our pleasures.
They are homely,
no doubt, but they come morning, noon,
and night, and are not the less real
Herrick,
2 Hamerton.
PART II
because they have reference to the body
rather than the soul.
We speak truly of a healthy appetite,
for it is a good test of our bodily condi
tion ; and indeed in some cases of our
mental state also. That
“ There cometh no good thing
Apart from toil to mortals,”
is especially true with reference to appe
tite ; to sit down to a dinner, however
simple, after a walk with a friend among
the mountains or along the shore, is a
pleasure not to be despised.
Cheerfulness and good humour, more
over, during meals are not only pleasant
in themselves, but conduce greatly to
health.
It has been said that hunger is the
best sauce, but most would prefer some
good stories at a feast even to a good
appetite; and who would not like to
have it said of him, as of Biron by
Rosaline—
“A merrier man,
Within the limit of becoming mirth,
I never spent an hour’s talk withal.”
In the three great “Banquets” of
Plato, Xenophon, and Plutarch, the food
is not even mentioned.
In the words of the old Lambeth
adage—
“ What is a merry man ?
Let him do all he can
To entertain his guests
With wine and pleasant jests,
Yet if his wife do frown
All merryment goes down.”
What salt is to food, wit and humour
are to conversation and literature. “You
do not,” an amusing writer in the Cornhill
has said, “expect humour in Thomas a
Kempis or the Hebrew Prophets”; but
we have Solomon’s authority that there is
a time to laugh, as well as to weep.
“ To read a good comedy is to keep
the best company in the world, when the
best things are said,* and the most amus
ing things happen.” 1
It is not without reason that every one
1 Hazlitt.
�HEALTH
CHAP. Ill
resents the imputation of being unable to
see a joke.
Laughter appears to be the special
prerogative of man. The higher animals
present us with proofs of evident, if not
highly-developed reasoning power, but it
is more than doubtful whether they are
capable of appreciating a joke.
Wit, moreover, has solved many diffi
culties and decided many controversies.
“ Ridicule shall frequently prevail,
And cut the knot when graver reasons fail.” 1
The most wasted of all days, says
Chamfort, is that on which one has not
laughed.
A careless song, says Walpole, “with
a little nonsense in it now and then, does
not misbecome a monarch ; ” but it is
difficult now to realise that James I.
should have regarded skill in punning in
his selection of bishops and privy coun
cillors.
It is no small merit of laughter that it
is quite spontaneous. “You cannot force
people to laugh ; you cannot give a
reason why they should laugh; they
must laugh of themselves or not at all.
. . . If we think we must not laugh,
this makes our temptation to laugh the
greater.”2 Humour is, moreover, con
tagious. A witty man may say, as Falstaff does of himself, “ I am not only
witty in myself, but the cause that wit is
in other men.”
One may paraphrase the well-known
remark about port wine and say that
some jokes may be better than others, but
anything which makes one laugh is good.
“After all,” says Dryden, “it is a good
thing to laugh at any rate ; and if a straw
can tickle a man, it is an instrument of
happiness,” and I may add, of health.
I have been told that in omitting any
mention of smoking I was overlooking
one of the real pleasures of life. Not
being a smoker myself I cannot perhaps
judge ; much must depend on the in
dividual temperament ; to some nervous
natures it certainly appears to be a great
1 Francis.
2 Hazlitt.
59
comfort; but I have my doubts whether
smoking, as a general rule, does add to
the pleasures of life. It must, at any
rate, detract somewhat from the sensitive
ness of taste and of smell.
Those who live in cities may almost
lay it down as a rule that no time spent
out of doors is ever wasted. Fresh air is
a cordial of incredible virtue ; old families
are in all senses county families, not town
families ; and those who prefer Homer
and Plato and Shakespeare to rivers and
forests and mountains must beware that
they are not tempted to neglect this great
requisite of our nature.
An Oriental traveller, having been
taken to watch a game of cricket, was
astonished at hearing that many of those
playing were rich men. He asked why
they did not pay some poor people to do
it for them.
Most Englishmen, however, love open
air, and it is probably true that most of
us enjoy a game at cricket or golf more
than looking at any of the old masters.
The love of sport is engraven in the
English character.
As was said of
William Rufus, “ he loves the tall deer as
if he had been their father.”
Wordsworth made it a rule to go out
every day, and used to say that as he
never consulted the weather, he never had
to consult the physicians.
It always seems to be raining harder
than it really is when you look at the
weather through the window. Even in
winter, though the landscape often seems
cheerless and bare enough when you look
at it from the fireside, still it is far better
to go out, even if you have to brave the
storm : when you are once out of doors
the touch of earth and the breath of the
fresh air will give you new life and
energy. Men, like trees, live in great
part on air.
After a gallop over the downs, a row
on the river, a sea voyage, a walk by the
seashore or in the woods,
“ The blue above, the music in the air,
The flowers upon the ground,” 1
1 Trench.
�6o
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
one feels as if one could say with Henry
IV., “ Je me porte comme le Pont Neuf.”
The Roman proverb that a child should
be taught nothing which he cannot learn
standing up, went no doubt into one
extreme, but surely we fall into another
when we act as if games were the only
thing which boys could learn upon their
feet.
The love of games among boys is
indeed a healthy instinct, and though
carried too far in some of our great
schools, there can be no question that
cricket and football, fives and hockey,
bathing and boating, are not only among
the greatest pleasures, but the best medi
cines, for boys.
We cannot always secure sleep. When
important decisions have to be taken, the
natural anxiety to come to a right decision
will often keep us awake.
Nothing,
however, is more conducive to healthy
sleep than plenty of open air. Then in
deed we can enjoy the fresh life of the
early morning : “ the breezy call of in
cense-breathing mom.”1
“ At morn the blackcock trims his jetty wing,
’Tis morning prompts the linnet’s blithest
lay,,
All Nature’s children feel the matin spring
Of life reviving, with reviving day.”
Epictetus described himself as “ a
spirit bearing about a corpse.” That
seems to me an ungrateful description.
Surely we ought to cherish the body, even
if it be but a frail and humble companion.
Do we not owe to the eye our enjoyment
of the beauties of this world and the
glories of the Heavens ; to the ear the
voices of friends and all the delights of
music ; are not the hands most faithful
and invaluable instruments, ever ready
in case of need, ever willing to do our
bidding ? and even the feet bear us with
out a murmur along the roughest and
stoniest paths of life.
With reasonable care, most of us may
hope to enjoy good health. And yet
what a marvellous and complex organisa
tion we have!
1 Gray.
PART II
We are indeed fearfully and wonder
fully made. It is
“ Strange that a harp of a thousand strings
Should keep in tune so long.”
When we consider the marvellous com
plexity of our bodily organisation, it
seems a miracle that we should live at
all; much more that the innumerable
organs and processes should continue day
after day and year after year with so
much regularity and so little friction
that we are sometimes scarcely conscious
of having a body at all.
And yet in that body we have more
than 200 bones, of complex and varied
forms, any irregularity in, or injury to,
which would of course grievously inter
fere with our movements.
We have over 500 muscles ; each
nourished by almost innumerable blood
vessels, and regulated by nerves. One
of our muscles, the heart, beats over
30,000,000 times in a year, and if it
once stops, all is over.
In the skin are wonderfully varied
and complex organs—for instance, over
2,000,000 perspiration glands, which
regulate the temperature, communicating
with the surface by ducts which have a
total length of some ten miles.
Think of the miles of arteries and veins,
of capillaries and nerves ; of the blood,
with the millions of millions of blood
corpuscles, each a microcosm in itself.
Think of the organs of sense,—the eye
with its cornea and lens, vitreous humour,
aqueous humour, and choroid, culminating
in the retina, no thicker than a sheet of
paper, and yet consisting of nine distinct
layers, the innermost composed of rods
and cones, supposed to be the immediate
recipients of the undulations of light,
and so numerous that in each eye the
cones are estimated at over 3,000,000,
the rods at over 30,000,000.
Above all, and most wonderful of all,
the brain itself. Meinert has calculated
that the gray matter alone contains no
less than 600,000,000 cells ; each cell
consists of several thousand visible mole-
�LOVE
CHAP. IV
cules, and each molecule again of many
millions of atoms.
And yet, with reasonable care, we can
most of us keep this wonderful organisa
tion in health, so that it will work with
out causing us pain, or even discomfort,
for many years ; and we may hope that
even when old age comes
“ Time may lay his hand
Upon your heart gently, not smiting it,
But as a harper lays his open palm
Upon his harp, to deaden its vibrations.”
61
To this a look, to that a word, dispenses,
And, whether stern or smiling, loves them
still;—
So Providence for us, high, infinite,
Makes our necessities its watchful task,
Hearkens to all our prayers, helps all our
wants,
And e’en if it denies what seems our right,
Either denies because ’twould have us ask,
Or seems but to deny, and in denying
grants.”1
Sir Walter Scott well says—
“And if there be a human tear
From passion’s dross 2 refined and clear,
’Tis that which pious fathers shed
Upon a duteous daughter’s head.”
Epaminondas is said to have given as
his main reason for rejoicing at the victory
of Leuctra, that it would give so much
LOVE
pleasure to his father and mother.
“ £)tre avec ceux qu’on aime, cela suffit.”
Nor must the love of animals be
La Bruy1:re.
altogether omitted. It is impossible not
Love is the light and sunshine of life. to sympathise with the Savage when he
We cannot fully enjoy ourselves, or any believes in their immortality, and thinks
thing else, unless some one we love enjoys that after death
it with us. Even if we are alone, w’e
“Admitted to that equal sky,
His faithful dog shall bear him company.” 3
store up our enjoyment in hope of shar
ing it hereafter with those wre love.
In the Mahabharata, the great Indian
Love lasts through life, and adapts Epic, when the family of Pandavas, the
itself to every age and circumstance ; in heroes, at length reach the gates of
childhood for father and mother, in man heaven, they are welcomed themselves,
hood for wife, in age for children, and but are told that their dog cannot come
throughout for brothers and sisters, re in. Having pleaded in vain, they turn
lations and friends. The strength of to depart, as they say they can never
friendship is indeed proverbial, and in leave their faithful companion. Then at
some cases, as in that of David and the last moment the Angel at the door
Jonathan, is described as surpassing the relents, and their Dog is allowed to enter
love of women. But I need not now with them.
refer to it, having spoken already of what
We may hope the time will come when
we owe to friends.
we shall learn
The goodness of Providefice to man has
to blend
or our pride,
been often compared to that of fathers “Never sorrow of our pleasure thing that feels.” 4
With
the meanest
and mothers for their children.
But at the present moment I am speak
“ Just as a mother, with sweet, pious face,
ing rather of the love which leads to mar
Yearns towards her little children from her
riage. Such love is the music of life, nay,
seat,
Gives one a kiss, another an embrace,
“there is music in the beauty, and the
Takes this upon her knees, that on her silent note of love, far sweeter than the
feet;
sound of any instrument.” 5
And while from actions, looks, complaints,
CHAPTER IV
pretences,
She learns their feelings and their various
will,
1 Filicaja. Translated by Leigh Hunt.
2 Not from passion itself.
3 Pope.
4 Wor ds worth.
5 Browne.
�62
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
The Symposium of Plato contains an in
teresting and amusing disquisition on Love.
“ Love,” Ph sod r us is made to say, “ will
make men dare to die for their beloved—
love alone ; and women as well as men.
Of this, Alcestis, the daughter of Pelias,
is a monument to all Hellas ; for she was
willing to lay down her life on behalf of
her husband, when no one else would,
although he had a father and mother ;
but the tenderness of her love so far ex
ceeded theirs, that she made them seem
to be strangers in blood to their own son,
and in name only related to him ; and so
noble did this action of hers appear to the
gods, as well as to men, that among the
many who have done virtuously she is
one of the very few to whom they have
granted the privilege of returning to earth,
in admiration of her virtue ; such exceed
ing honour is paid by them to the devo
tion and virtue of love.”
Agathon is even more eloquent—
Love “fills men with affection, and
takes away their disaffection, making them
meet together at such banquets as these.
In sacrifices, feasts, dances, he is our lord
—supplying kindness and banishing un
kindness, giving friendship and forgiving
enmity, the joy of the good, the wonder
of the wise, the amazement of the gods,
desired by those who have no part in him,
and precious to those who have the better
part in him ; parent of delicacy, luxury,
desire, fondness, softness, grace, regardful
of the good, regardless of the evil. In
every word, work, wish, fear—pilot, com
rade, helper, saviour ; glory of gods and
men, leader best and brightest: in whose
footsteps let every man follow, sweetly
singing in his honour that sweet strain
with which love charms the souls of gods
and men.”
No doubt, even so there are two
Loves, “one, the daughter of Uranus,
who has no mother, and is the elder and
wiser goddess ; and the other, the daughter
of Zeus and Dione, who is popular and
common,”—but let us not examine too
closely. Charity tells us even of Guine
vere, “ that while she lived, she was a
PART II
good lover and therefore she had a good
end.” 1
The origin of love has exercised philo
sophers almost as much as the origin of
evil. The Symposium continues with a
speech which Plato attributes in joke to
Aristophanes, and of which Jowett ob
serves that nothing in Aristophanes is
more truly Aristophanic.
The original human nature, he says,
was not like the present. The Primeval
Man “ was round,2 his back and sides form
ing a circle ; and he had four hands and
four feet, one head with two faces, look
ing opposite ways, set on a round neck
and precisely alike.
He could walk
upright as men now do, backwards or
forwards as he pleased, and he could
also roll over and over at a great rate,
whirling round on his four hands and
four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going
over and over with their legs in the
air ; this was when he wanted to run fast.
Terrible was their might and strength, and
the thoughts of their hearts were great, and
they made an attack upon the gods ; of
them is told the tale of Otys and Epliialtes,
who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven,
and would have laid hands upon the gods.
Doubt reigned in the celestial councils.
Should they kill them and annihilate the
race with thunderbolts, as they had done
the giants, then there would be an end
of the sacrifices and worship which men
offered to them ; but, on the other hand,
the gods could not suffer their insolence
to be unrestrained. At last, after a good
deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way.
He said : ‘ Methinks I have a plan which
will humble their pride and mend their
manners ; they shall continue to exist, but
I will cut them in two, which will have a
double advantage, for it will halve their
strength and we shall have twice as many
sacrifices. They shall walk upright on
two legs, and if they continue insolent and
will not be quiet, I will split them again
and they shall hop on a single leg.’ He
spoke and cut men in two, ‘ as you might
1 Malory, Morte eVArthur.
2 I avail myself of Dr. Jowett’s translation.
�LOVE
CHAP. IV
split an egg with a hair.’ . . . After the
division the two parts of man, each de
siring his other half, came together. . . .
So ancient is the desire for one another
which is implanted in us, reuniting our
original nature, making one of two, and
healing the state of man. Each of us when
separated is but the indenture of a man,
having one side only, like a flat-fish,
and he is always looking for his other
half.
“ And when one of them finds his other
half, the pair are lost in amazement of
love and friendship and intimacy, and
one will not be out of the other’s sight,
as I may say, even for a minute : they
will pass their whole lives together ; yet
they could not explain what they desire
of one another. For the intense yearn
ing which each of them has towards the
other does not appear to be the desire of
lovers’ intercourse, but of something else,
which the soul of either evidently desires
and cannot tell, and of which she has
only a dark and doubtful presentiment.”
However this may be, there is such in
stinctive insight in the human heart
that we often form our opinion almost
instantaneously, and such impressions
seldom change, I might even say, they
are seldom wrong. Love at first sight
sounds like an imprudence, and yet is
almost a revelation. It seems as if we
were but renewing the relations of a
previous existence.
‘ But to see her were to love her,
Love but her, and love for ever."1
Yet though experience seldom falsifies
such a feeling, happily the reverse does
not hold good. Deep affection is often of
slow growth. Many a warm love has
been won by faithful devotion.
Montaigne indeed declares that “ Few
have married for love without repenting
it.” Dr. Johnson also maintained that
marriages would generally be happier if
they were arranged by the Lord Chan
cellor ; but I do not think either Mon
taigne or Johnson were good judges. As
1 Burns.
63
Lancelot said to the unfortunate Maid of
Astolat, “ I love not to be forced to love,
for love must arise of the heart and not
by constraint.” 1
Love defies distance and the elements ;
Sestos and Abydos are divided by the
sea, “ but Love joined them by an arrow
from his bow.” 2
Love can be happy anywhere. Byron
wished
“ 0 that the desert were my dwelling-place,
With one fair Spirit for my minister,
That I might all forget the human race,
And, hating no one, love but only her.”
And many will doubtless have felt
“ 0 Love ! what hours were thine and mine
In lands of palm and southern pine,
In lands of palm, of orange-blossom,
Of olive, aloe, and maize and vine.”
What is true of space holds good equally
of time.
“ In peace, Love tunes the shepherd’s reed ;
In war, he mounts the warrior’s steed ;
In halls, in gay attire is seen ;
In hamlets, dances on the green.
Love rules the court, the camp, the grove,
And men below, and saints above ;
For love is heaven, and heaven is love.”3
Even when, as among some Eastern
races, Religion and Philosophy have com
bined to depress Love, truth reasserts
itself in popular sayings, as for instance
in the Turkish proverb, “ All women are
perfection, especially she who loves you.”
A French lady having once quoted to
Abd-el-Kader the Polish proverb, “ A
woman draws more with a hair of her
head than a yoke of oxen well harnessed ; ”
he answered with a smile, “ The hair is
unnecessary, woman is powerful as fate.”
But we like to think of Love rather as
the Angel of Happiness than as a ruling
force : of the joy of home when “hearts
are of each other sure.”
“ It is the secret sympathy,
The silver link, the silken tie,
Which heart to heart, and mind to mind
In body and in soul can bind.” 4
1 Malory, Morte. d’Arthur.
2 Symonds.
3 Scott.
4 Ibid.
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
64
What Bacon says of a friend is even
truer of a wife ; there is “ no man that
imparteth his joys to his friend, but he
joyeth the more ; and no man that
imparteth his griefs to his friend, but he
grieveth the less.”
Let some one we love come near us and
“ At once it seems that something new or
strange
Has passed upon the flowers, the trees, the
ground ;
Some slight but unintelligible change
On everything around.” 1
PART II
Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers ; and sweet the coming-on
Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night,
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry
train.
But neither breath of morn when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun
On this delightful land; nor herb, fruit,
flower,
Glistering with dew; nor fragrance after
showers ;
Nor grateful evening mild ; nor silent night,
With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by moon,
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.”
Moreover, no one need despair of an
ideal marriage. We fortunately differ so
much in our tastes ; love does so much to
create love, that even the humblest may
hope for the happiest marriage if only he
deserves it; and Shakespeare speaks, as
11 Her feet are tender, for she sets her steps
Not on the ground, but on the heads of men.” he does so often, for thousands when he
says
Love and Reason divide the life of man.
“ She is mine own,
We must give to each its due. If it is
And I as rich in having such a jewel
impossible to attain to virtue by the aid
As twenty seas, if all their sands were pearls,
The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.”
of Love without Reason, neither can we
do so by means of Reason alone without
True love indeed will not be unreason
Love.
able or exacting.
Love, said Melanippides, “ sowing in
“ Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind
the heart of man the sweet harvest of
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
desire, mixes the sweetest and most
To war and arms I fly.
beautiful things together.”
How true is the saying of La Bruyere,
“ Etre avec ceux qu’on aime, cela suffit.”
We might, I think, apply to Love what
Homer says of Fate :
“ Love is kind, and suffers long,
Love is meek, and thinks no wrong,
Love than death itself more strong—
Therefore give us Love.”
True ! a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field,
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore,
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.”1
No one indeed could complain now,
with Phaedrus in Plato’s Symposium,
And yet
that Love has had no worshippers among
the Poets. On the contrary, Love has 1 ‘ Alas ! how light a cause may move
Dissension between hearts that love !
brought them many of their sweetest in
Hearts that the world in vain had tried,
spirations : none perhaps nobler or more
but more
beautiful than Milton’s description of And sorrowthe storm, closely tied, were rough,
That stood
when waves
Paradise :
Yet in a sunny hour fall off,
Like ships that have gone down at sea,
‘ With thee conversing, I forget all time,
When heaven was all tranquillity.” 2
All seasons, and their change ; all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet
For love is brittle. Do not risk even
With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the
any little jar ; it may be
sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
“The little rift within the lute,
His orient beams, on herb, treo, fruit, and
That by and by will make the music mute,
flower,
And ever widening slowly silence all.”3
1 Trench.
1 Lovelace.
2 Moore.
3 Tennyson.
�ART
CHAP. V
Love is delicate; “ Love is hurt with
jar and fret,” and you might as well ex
pect a violin to remain in tune if roughly
used, as Love to survive if chilled or
driven into itself. But what a pleasure
to keep it alive by
“ Little, nameless, unremembered acts
Of kindness and of love.” 1
“ She whom you loved and chose,” says
Bondi,
“ Is now your bride, •
The gift of heaven, and to your trust consigned;
Honour her still, though not with passion blind;
And in her virtue, though you watch, confide.
Be to her youth a comfort, guardian, guide,
In whose experience she may safety find ;
And whether sweet or bitter be assigned,
The joy with her, as well as pain, divide.
Yield not too much if reason disapprove ;
Nor too much force ; the partner of your life
Should neither victim be, nor tyrant prove.
Thus shall that rein, which often mars the bliss
Of wedlock, scarce be felt; and thus your wife
Ne’er in the husband shall the lover miss.” 2
65
Earthly these passions of the Earth,
They perish where they have their birth,
But Love is indestructible ;
Its holy flame for ever burneth,
From Heaven it came, to Heaven retumeth ;
Too oft on Earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at times opprest,
It here is tried and purified,
Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest:
It soweth here with toil and care,
But the harvest time of Love is there.
“ The Mother when she meets on high
The Babe she lost in infancy,
Hath she not then, for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night
For all her sorrow, all her tears,
An over-payment of delight ? ”1
As life wears on the love of husband or
wife, of friends and of children, becomes
the great solace and delight of age. The
one recalls the past, the other gives in
terest to the future ; and in our children
we live our lives again.
Every one is ennobled by true love—
“ ’Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.” 3
Perhaps no one ever praised a woman
more gracefully in a sentence than Steele
when he said of Lady Elizabeth Hastings
that “ to know her was a liberal educa
tion ” ; but every woman may feel as she
improves herself that she is not only
laying in a store of happiness for herself,
but also raising and blessing those whom
she would most wish to- see happy and
good.
Love, true love, grows and deepens
with time. Husband and wife, who are
married indeed, live
CHAPTER V
ART
“ High art consists neither in altering, nor in
improving nature ; but in seeking throughout
nature for ‘whatsoever things are lovely, what
soever things are pure ’ ; in loving these, in dis
playing to the utmost of the painter’s power
such loveliness as is in them, and directing the
thoughts of others to them by winning art, or
gentle emphasis. Art (caeteris paribus) is great
in exact proportion to the love of beauty shown
by the painter, provided that love of beauty
forfeit no atom of truth.”—Ruskin.
The most ancient works of Art which we
possess, are representations of animals,
rude indeed, but often strikingly charac
teristic, engraved on, or carved in, stag’s“ By each other, till to love and live
Be one.” 4
horn or bone ; and found in English,
Nor does it end with life. A mother’s French, and German caves, with stone
and other rude implements, and the re
love knows no bounds.
mains of mammalia, belonging apparently
“ They err who tell us Love can die,
to the close of the glacial epoch: not
With life all other passions fly,
only of the deer, bear, and other animals
All others are but vanity.
In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,
now inhabiting temperate Europe, but
Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell ;
of some, such as the reindeer, the musk
4 Wordsworth.
2 Bondi. Tr. by Glassford. sheep, the mammoth, and the woolly-
3 Tennyson.
K
4 Swinburne.
1 Southey.
�66
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
haired rhinoceros, which have either re
treated north or become altogether ex
tinct. We may even, I think, venture to
hope that other designs may hereafter be
found, which will give us additional in
formation as to the manners and customs
of our ancestors in those remote ages.
Next to these in point of antiquity
come the sculptures and paintings on
Egyptian and Assyrian tombs, temples,
and palaces.
These ancient scenes, considered as
works of art, have no doubt many faults,
and yet how graphically they tell their
story ! As a matter of fact a king is not,
as a rule, bigger than his soldiers, but in
these battle-scenes he is always so repre
sented. We must, however, remember
that in ancient warfare the greater part
of the fighting was done by the chiefs.
In this respect the Homeric poems re
semble the Assyrian and Egyptian repre
sentations. At any rate, we see at a
glance which is the king, which are
officers, which side is victorious, the
struggles and sufferings of the wounded,
the flight of the enemy, the city of refuge
—so that he who runs may read ; while
in modern battle-pictures the story is
much less clear, and, indeed, the untrained
eye sees for some time little but scarlet
and smoke.
These works assuredly possess a grandeur
and dignity of their own, even though
they have not the beauty of later art.
In Greece Art reached a perfection
which has never been excelled, and it
was more appreciated than perhaps it has
ever been since.
At the time when Demetrius attacked
the city of Rhodes, Protogenes was paint
ing a picture of Ialysus. “ This,” says
Pliny, “hindered King Demetrius from
taking Rhodes, out of fear lest he should
burn the picture; and not being able to
fire the town on any other side, he was
pleased rather to spare the painting than
to take the victory, which was already in
his hands. Protogenes, at that time, had
his painting-room in a garden out of the
town, and very near the camp of the
PART II
enemies, where he was daily finishing
those pieces which he had already begun,
the noise of soldiers not being capable of
interrupting his studies. But Demetrius
causing him to be brought into his pre
sence, and asking him what made him so
bold as to work in the midst of enemies,
he answered the king, ‘That he under
stood the war which he made was against
the Rhodians, and not against the Arts.’ ”
With the decay of Greece, Art sank too,
until it was revived in the thirteenth
century by Cimabue, since whose time its
progress has been triumphal.
Art is unquestionably one of the purest
and highest elements in human happiness.
It trains the mind through the eye, and
the eye through the mind. As the sun
colors flowers, so does art color life.
“In true Art,” says Ruskin, “the
hand, the head, and the heart of man go
together. But Art is no recreation : it
cannot be learned at spare moments, nor
pursued when we have nothing better to
do.”
It is not only in the East that great
works, really due to study and labour,
have been attributed to magic.
Study and labour cannot make every
man an artist, but no one can succeed in
art without them. In Art two and two
do not make four, and no number of
little things will make a great one.
It has been said, and on high authority,
that the end of all art is to please. But
this is a very imperfect definition. It
might as well be said that a library is
only intended for pleasure and ornament.
Art has the advantage of nature, in so
far as it introduces a human element,
which is in some respects superior even
to nature. “If,” says Plato, “you take
a man as he is made by nature and com
pare him with another who is the effect
of art, the work of nature will always
appear the less beautiful, because art is
more accurate than nature.”
Bacon also, in The Advancement of
Learning, speaks of “ the world being in
ferior to the soul, by reason whereof there
is agreeable to the spirit of man a more
�CHAP. V
ART
ample greatness, a more exact goodness,
and a more absolute variety than can be
found in the nature of things.”
The poets tell us that, Prometheus
having made a beautiful statue of Minerva,
the goddess was so delighted that she
offered to bring down anything from
Heaven which could add. to its perfection.
Prometheus on this prudently asked her
to take him there, so that he might choose
for himself. This Minerva did, and Pro
metheus, finding that in heaven all things
were animated by fire, brought back a
spark, with which he gave life to his
work.
In fact, Imitation is the means and not
the end of Art. The story of Zeuxis and
Parrhasius is a pretty tale ; but to deceive
birds, or even man himself, is but a
trifling matter compared with the higher
functions of Art. To imitate the Iliad,
says Dr. Young, is not imitating Homer ;
though, as Sir J. Reynolds adds, the more
the artist studies nature “the nearer he
approaches to the true and perfect idea of
art.”
Art, indeed, must create as well as
copy. As Victor Cousin well says, “ The
ideal without the real lacks life ; but the
real without the ideal lacks pure beauty.
Both need to unite; to join hands and
enter into alliance. In this way the best
work may be achieved. Thus beauty is
an absolute idea, and not a mere copy of
imperfect Nature.”
The grouping of the picture is of course
of the utmost importance. Sir Joshua
Reynolds gives two remarkable cases to
show how much any given figure in a
picture is affected by its surroundings.
Tintoret in one of his pictures has taken
the Samson of Michael Angelo, put an
eagle under him, placed thunder and
lightning in his right hand instead of the
jawbone of an ass, and thus turned him
into a Jupiter. The second instance is
even more striking. Titian has copied
the figure in the vault of the Sistine
Chapel which represents the Deity divid
ing light from darkness, and has intro
duced it into his picture of the battle of
67
Cadore, to represent a general falling from
his horse.
We must remember that so far as the
eye is concerned, the object of the artist
is to train, not to deceive, and that his
higher function has reference rather to
the mind than to the eye.
Those who love beauty will see beauty
everywhere. No doubt
“ To gild refined gold, to paint the lily,
To throw a perfume on the violet,
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper-light
To seek the beauteous eye of heaven to
garnish,
Is wasteful aud ridiculous excess.”1
But all is not gold that glitters, flowers
are not all arrayed like the lily, and
there is room for selection as well as
representation.
“The true, the good, and the beautiful,”
says Cousin, “ are but forms of the in
finite : what then do we really love in
truth, beauty, and virtue1? We love the
infinite himself. The love of the infinite
substance is hidden under the love of its
forms. It is so truly the infinite which
charms in the true, the good, and the
beautiful, that its manifestations alone do
not suffice. The artist is dissatisfied at
the sight even of his greatest works ; he
aspires still higher.”
It is indeed sometimes objected that
Landscape painting is not true to nature;
but we must ask, What is truth ? Is the
object to produce the same impression on
the mind as that created by the scene
itself? If so, let any one try to draw
from memory a group of mountains, and
he will probably find that in the impres
sion produced on his mind the mountains
are loftier and steeper, the valleys deeper
and narrower, than in the actual reality.
A drawing, then, which was literally
exact would not be true, in the sense of
conveying the same impression as Nature
herself.
In fact, Art, says Goethe, is called Art
simply because it is not Nature.
It is not sufficient for the artist to
choose beautiful scenery, and delineate
1 Shakespeare.
�68
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
tART ii
it with accuracy. He must not be a
mere copyist.
Something higher and
more subtle is required. He must create,
or at any rate interpret, as well as copy.
Turner was never satisfied merely to
copy even the most glorious scenery. He
moved, and even suppressed, mountains.
A certain nobleman, we are told, was
very anxious to see the model from whom
Guido painted his lovely female faces.
Guido placed his color-grinder, a big
coarse man, in an attitude, and then drew
a beautiful Magdalen. “ My dear Count,”
he said, “ the beautiful and pure idea
must be in the mind, and then it is no
matter what the model is.”
When painting St. Michael for the
Church of the Capuchins at Rome, Guido
wished that he “ had the wings of an
angel, to have ascended unto Paradise, and
there to have beheld the forms of those
beautiful spirits, from which I might have
copied my Archangel. But not being
able to mount so high, it was in vain for
me to seek for his resemblance here below;
so that I was forced to look into mine
own mind, and into that idea of beauty
which I have formed in my own imagina
tion.” 1
Science attempts, as far as the limited
powers of Man permit, to reproduce the
actual facts in a manner which, however
bald, is true in itself, irrespective of time
and scene. To do this she must submit
to many limitations ; not altogether unvexatious, and not without serious draw
backs. Art, on the contrary, endeavours
to convey the impression of the original
under some especial aspect.
In some respects, Art gives a clearer
and more vivid idea of an unknown
country than any description can convey.
In literature rock may be rock, but in
painting it must be granite, slate, or some
other special kind, and not merely rock
in general.
It is remarkable that while artists have
long recognised the necessity of studying
anatomy, and there has been from the
commencement a professor of anatomy in
the Royal Academy, it is only of late
years that any knowledge of botany or
geology has been considered desirable,
and even now their importance is by no
means generally recognised.
Much has been written as to the rela
tive merits of painting, sculpture, and
architecture. This, if it be not a some
what unprofitable inquiry, would at any
rate be out of place here.
Architecture not only gives intense
pleasure, but even the impression of
something ethereal and superhuman.
Madame de Stael described it as
“ frozen music ”; and a cathedral is a
glorious specimen of “ thought in stone,”
whose very windows are transparent walls
of gorgeous hues.
Caracci said that poets paint in their
words and artists speak in their works.
The latter have indeed one great advan
tage, for a glance at a statue or a painting,
will convey a more vivid idea than a long,
and minute description.
Another advantage possessed by Art
is that it is understood by all civilised
nations, whilst each has a separate language.
Again, from a material point of view
Art is most important.
In a recent
address Sir F. Leighton has observed that
the study of Art “ is every day becoming
more important in relation to certain
sides of the waning material prosperity of
the country. For the industrial compe
tition between this and other countries
—a competition, keen and eager, which
means to certain industries almost a race
for life—runs, in many cases, no longer
exclusively or mainly on the lines of
excellence of material and solidity of
workmanship, but greatly nowadays on
the lines of artistic charm and beauty
of design.”
The highest service, however, that Art
can accomplish for man is to become “ at
once the voice of his nobler aspirations,
and the steady disciplinarian of his
emotions ; and it is with this mission,
rather than with any eesthetic perfection,
that we are at present concerned.” 1
1 Dryden.
1 Haweis.
�CHAI’. V
ART
69
Science and Art are sisters, or rather story, that the picture was sold for a pot
perhaps they are like brother and sister. of porter and a cheese, which, however,
The mission of Art is in some respects does not give a higher idea of the ap
like that of woman. It is not Hers preciation of the art of landscape at that
so much to do the hard toil and moil date.
Until very recently the general feeling
of the world, as to surround it with a
halo of beauty, to convert work into with reference to mountain scenery has
been that expressed by Tacitus. “ Who
pleasure.
In Science we naturally expect pro would leave Asia or Africa or Italy to go
gress, but in Art the case is not so clear : to Germany, a shapeless and unformed
and yet Sir Joshua Reynolds did not country, a harsh sky, and melancholy
hesitate to express his conviction that in aspect, unless indeed it was his native
the future “ so much will painting im land?”
It is amusing to read the opinion of
prove, that the best we can now achieve
will appear like the work of children,” Dr. Beattie, in a special treatise on Truth.,
and we may hope that our power of Poetry, and Music, written at the close
enjoying it may increase in an equal of last century, that “ The Highlands of
ratio. Wordsworth says that poets have Scotland are in general a melancholy
to create the taste for their own works, country. ■ Long tracts of mountainous
and the same is, in some degree at any country, covered with dark heath, and
often obscured by misty weather ; narrow
rate, true of artists.
In one respect especially modern painters valleys thinly inhabited, and bounded by
appear to have made a marked advance, precipices resounding with the fall of
and one great blessing which in fact we torrents ; a soil so rugged, and a climate
owe to them is a more vivid enjoyment so dreary, as in many parts to admit
neither the amenities of pasturage, nor
of scenery.
I have of course no pretensions to speak the labours of agriculture ; the mournful
with authority, but even in the case of the dashing of waves along the firths and
greatest masters before Turner, the land lakes ; the portentous noises which every
scapes seem to me singularly inferior to the change of the wind is apt to raise in a
figures. Sir Joshua Reynolds tells us that ' lonely region, full of echoes, and rocks,
Gainsborough framed a kind of model of a and caverns ; the grotesque and ghastly
landscape on his table, composed of broken appearance of such a landscape by the
stones, dried herbs, and pieces of looking- light of the moon: objects like these
glass, which he “ magnified and improved diffuse a gloom over the fancy,” etc.1
Even Goldsmith regarded the scenery
into rocks, trees, and water” ; and Sir
Joshua solemnly discusses the wisdom of of the Highlands as dismal and hideous.
such a proceeding. “ How far it may be Johnson, we know, laid it down as an
useful in giving hints,” he gravely says, axiom that “ the noblest prospect which
“ the professors of landscape can best a Scotchman ever sees is the high road
determine,” but he does not recommend that leads him to England ”—a saying
it, and is disposed to think, on the whole, which throws much doubt on his dis
the practice may be more likely to do tinction that the Giant’s Causeway was
“ worth seeing but not worth going to
harm than good !
In the picture of Ceyx and Alcyone, by see.” 2
Madame de Stael declared, that though
Wilson, of whom Cunningham said that,
with Gainsborough, he laid the foundation she would go 500 leagues to meet a clever
of our School of Landscape, the castle is man, she would not care to open her
said to have been painted from a pot of window to see the Bay of Naples.
porter, and the rock from a Stilton cheese.
Nor was the ancient absence of apThere is indeed another version of the
1 Beattie. 1776.
2 Boswell.
�70
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
preciation confined to scenery. Burke,
speaking of Stonehenge, even says, “ Stone
henge, neither for disposition nor ornament,
has in it anything admirable.”
Ugly scenery may well in some cases
have an injurious effect on the human
system.
It has been ingeniously sug
gested that what really drove Don Quixote
out of his mind was not the study of his
books of chivalry, so much as the mono
tonous scenery of La Mancha.
The love of landscape is not indeed
due to Art alone. It has been the happy
combination of art and science which has
trained us to perceive the beauty which
surrounds us.
Art helps us-to see, and “hundreds of
people can talk for one who can think ;
but thousands can think for one who can
see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy,
and religion all in one. . . . Remember
ing always that there are two characters
in which all greatness of Art consists—
first, the earnest and intense seizing of
natural facts ; then the ordering those
facts by strength of human intellect, so
as to make them, for all who look upon
them, to the utmost serviceable, memor
able, and beautiful. And thus great Art
is nothing else than the type of strong
and noble life ; for as the ignoble person,
in his dealings w’ith all that occurs in the
world about him, first sees nothing clearly,
looks nothing fairly in the face, and then
allows himself to be swept away by the
trampling torrent and unescapable force
of the things that he would not foresee
and could not understand : so the noble
person, looking the facts of the world full
in the face, and fathoming them with deep
faculty, then deals with them in unalarmed
intelligence and unhurried strength, and
becomes, with his human intellect and
will, no unconscious nor insignificant
agent in consummating their good and
restraining their evil.” 1
May we not also hope that in this
respect also still further progress may be
made, that beauties may be revealed, and
pleasures may be in store for those who
1 Ruskin.
PART JI
come after us, which we cannot appreciate,
or at least can but faintly feel ?
Even now there is scarcely a cottage
without something more or less success
fully claiming to rank as Art,—a picture,
a photograph, or a statuette; and we may
fairly hope that much as Art even now
contributes to the happiness of life, it
will do so even more effectively in the
future.
CHAPTER VI
POETRY
“ And here the singer for his Art
Not all in vain may plead
‘ The song that nerves a nation’s heart
Is in itself a deed.’ ”
Tennyson.
After the disastrous defeat of the Athen
ians before Syracuse, Plutarch tells us
that the Sicilians spared those who could
repeat any of the poetry of Euripides.
“ Some there were,” he says, “ who owed
their preservation to Euripides. Of all
the Grecians, his was the muse with whom
the Sicilians were most in love. From
the strangers who landed in their island
they gleaned every small specimen or
portion of his works, and communicated
it with pleasure to each other. It is said
that upon this occasion a number of
Athenians on their return home went to
Euripides, and thanked him in the most
grateful manner for their obligations to
his pen ; some having been enfranchised
for teaching their masters what they re
membered of his poems, and others having
procured refreshments, when they were
wandering about after the battle, by sing
ing a few of his verses.”
Nowadays we are not likely to owe our
lives to Poetry in this sense, yet in another
we many of us owe to it a similar debt.
How often, when worn with overwork,
sorrow, or anxiety, have we taken down
Homer or Horace, Shakespeare or Mil ton,
and felt the clouds gradually roll
away, the jar of nerves subside, the con-
�POETRY
CHAP. VI
sciousness of power replace physical
exhaustion, and the darkness of despond
ency brighten once more into the light of
life.
“And yet Plato/’ says Jowett, “expels
the poets from his Republic because they
are allied to sense; because they stimulate
the emotions ; because they are thrice re
moved from the ideal truth.”
In that respect, as in some others, few
would accept Plato’s Republic as being
an ideal Commonwealth, and most would
agree with Sir Philip Sidney that “ if you
cannot bear the planet-like music of
poetry ... I must send you in the be
half of all poets, that while you live, you
live in love, and never get favour for
lacking skill of a sonnet; and when you
die, your memory die from the earth, for
want of an epitaph.”
Poetry has often been compared with
painting and sculpture. Simonides long
ago said that Poetry is a speaking picture,
and painting is mute Poetry.
“ Poetry,” says Cousin, “ is the first of
the Arts because it best represents the
infinite.”
And again, “Though the arts are in
some respects isolated, yet there is one
which seems to profit by the resources of
all, and that is Poetry. With words,
Poetry can paint and sculpture ; she can
build edifices like an architect; she unites,
to some extent, melody and music. She
is, so to say, the centre in which all arts
unite.”
A true poem is a gallery of pictures.
It must, Tthink, be admitted that paint
ing and sculpture can give us a clearer and
more vivid idea of an object we have
never seen than any description can
convey. But when we have once seen it,
then on the contrary there are many
points which the poet brings before us,
and which perhaps neither in the repre
sentation, nor even in nature, should we
perceive for ourselves. Objects can be
most vividly brought before us by the
artist, actions by the poet; space is the
domain of Art, time of Poetry.1
1 See Lessing’s Tmocooh.
71
Take, for instance, as a typical instance,
female beauty. How laboured and how
cold any description appears, The great
est poets recognise this ; as, for instance,
when Scott wishes us to realise the Lady
of the Lake he does not attempt any de
scription, but just mentions her attitude
and then adds—
“ And ne’er did Grecian chisel trace
A Nymph, a Naiad, or a Grace,
Of finer form or lovelier face ! ”
A great poet must be inspired ; he
must possess an exquisite sense of beauty,
with feelings deeper than those of most men,
and yet well under control. “The Milton
of poetry is the man, in his own magnifi
cent phrase, of devout prayer to that
Eternal Spirit that can enrich with all
utterance and knowledge, and sends out
his seraphim with the hallowed fire of his
altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom
he pleases.” 1 And if from one point of
view Poetry brings home to us the im
measurable inequalities of different minds,
on the other hand it teaches us that genius
is no affair of rank or wealth.
“ I think of Chatterton, the marvellous boy,
The sleepless soul, that perish’d in his pride ;
Of Burns, that walk’d in glory and in joy
Behind his plough upon the mountain-side.” 2
A man may be a poet and yet write no
verse, but not if he writes bad or poor
ones.
“ Mediocribus esse poetis
Non homines, non Di, non concessere column a?.”3
Poetry will not live unless it be alive,
“ that which comes from the head goes to
the heart ”;4 and Milton truly said that
“ he who would not be frustrate of his
hope to write well hereafter in laudable
things, ought himself to be a true poem.”
For “ he who, having no touch of the
Muses’ madness in his soul, comes to the
door and thinks he will get into the temple
by the help of Art—he, I say, and his
Poetry are not admitted.” 5
Secondrate poets, like secondrate writers
1 Arnold.
3 Horace.
2 Wordsworth.
4 Coleridge.
5 Plato.
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
72
PART II
generally, fade gradually into dreamland;
The works of our greatest Poets are all
but the work of the true poet is immortal. episodes in that one great poem which
“ For have not the verses of Homer the genius of man has created since the
continued 2500 years or more without commencement of human history.
the loss of a syllable or a letter, during
A distinguished mathematician is said
which time infinite palaces, temples, once to have inquired what was proved
castles, cities, have been decayed and by Milton in his Paradise Lost; and there
demolished ? It is not possible to have are no doubt still some who ask them
the true pictures or statues of Cyrus, selves, even if they shrink from putting
Alexander, or Ciesar ; no, nor of the kings the question to others, whether Poetry
or great personages of much later years ; is of any use, just as if to give pleasure
for the originals cannot last, and the were not useful in itself. No true Utili
copies cannot but lose of the life and tarian, however, would feel this doubt,
truth. But the images of men’s wits and since the greatest happiness of the greatest
knowledge remain in books, exempted number is the rule of his philosophy.
from the wrong of time and capable of
We must not however “ estimate the
perpetual renovation. Neither are they works of genius merely with reference
fitly to be called images, because they to the pleasure they afford, even when
generate still and cast their seeds in the pleasure was their principal object. We
minds of others, provoking and causing must also regard the intelligence which
infinite actions and opinions in succeeding they presuppose and exercise.”1
ages ; so that if the invention of the ship
Thoroughly to enjoy Poetry we must
was thought so noble, which carrietli riches not limit ourselves, but must rise to a
and commodities from place to place, and high ideal.
consociateth the most remote regions in
“ Yes ; constantly in reading poetry, a
participation of their fruits, how much sense for the best, the really excellent,
more are letters to be magnified, which, and of the strength and joy to be drawn
as ships, pass through the vast seas of time from it, should be present in our minds,
and make ages so distant to participate of and should govern our estimate of what
the wisdom, illuminations, and inventions, we read.” 2
the one of the other 1 ” 1
Cicero, in his oration for Archias, well
The poet requires many qualifications. asked, “ Has not this man then a right to
“ Who has traced,” says Cousin, “ the plan my love, to my admiration, to all the
of this poem ? Reason. Who has given means which I can employ in his defence ?
it life and charm ? Love. And who has For we are instructed by all the greatest
guided reason and love ? The Will.” All and most learned of mankind, that educa
men have some imagination, but the lover tion, precepts, and practice, can in every
and the poet
other branch of learning produce excel
“ Are of imagination all compact.
lence. But a poet is formed by the hand
of nature ; he is aroused by mental vigour,
The Poet’s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
and inspired by what we may call the
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth
spirit of divinity itself. Therefore our
to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
Ennius has a right to give to poets the
The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen epithet of Holy,3 because they are, as it
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing !
were, lent to mankind by the indulgent
A local habitation and a name.” 2
bounty of the gods.”
Poetry is the fruit of genius; but it
“Poetry,” says Shelley, “awakens and
cannot be produced without labour. Moore, enlarges the mind itself by rendering it
one of the airiest of poets, tells us that he
1 St. Hilaire.
2 Arnold.
was a slow and painstaking workman.
1 Bacon.
2 Shakespeare.
3 Plato styles poets the sons and interpreters
of the gods,
�CHAP. VI
POETRY
73
The man who has a love for Poetry can
scarcely fail to derive intense pleasure
from Nature, which to those who love it
is all “ beauty to the eye and music to
the ear.”
“Yet Nature never set forth the earth
in so rich tapestry as divers poets have
done ; neither with so pleasant rivers,
fruitful trees, sweet-smelling flow’ers, nor
whatsoever else may make the too-muchloved earth more lovely.”1
In the smokiest city the poet will
transport us, as if by enchantment, to the
fresh air and bright sun, to the murmur
of woods and leaves and water, to the
ripple of waves upon sand ; and enable
us, as in some delightful dream, to cast
off the cares and troubles of life.
The poet, indeed, must have more true
knowledge, not only of human nature,
but of all Nature, than other men are
gifted with.
Crabbe Robinson tells us that when a
“ Higher still and higher
stranger once asked permission to see
From the earth thou springest
Wordsworth’s study, the maid said, “ This
Like a cloud of fire ;
The blue deep thou wingest,
is master’s Library, but he studies in the
And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever fields.” No wonder then that Nature
singest.
has been said to return the poet’s love.
the receptacle of a thousand unappre
hended combinations of thought. Poetry
lifts the veil from the hidden beauty of
the world, and makes familiar objects be
as if they were not familiar ; it repro
duces all that it represents, and the im
personations clothed in its Elysian light
stand thenceforward in the minds of those
who have once contemplated them, as
memorials of that gentle and exalted
content which extends itself over all
thoughts and actions with which it co
exists.”
And again, “All high Poetry is infinite;
it is as the first acorn, which contained
all oaks potentially. Veil after veil may
be undrawn, and the inmost naked beauty
of the meaning never exposed. A great
poem is a fountain for ever overflowing
with the waters of wisdom and delight.”
Or, as he has expressed himself in his
Ode to a Skylark :
“ Like a poet hidden
In the light of thought,
Singing hymns unbidden,
Till the world is wrought
To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:
“ Call it not vain ;—they do not err
Who say that, when the poet dies,
Mute Nature mourns her worshipper,
And celebrates his obsequies.” 2
Swinburne says of Blake, and I feel
“ Like a glow-worm golden
entirely with him, though in my case the
In a dell of dew,
application would have been different,
Scattering unbeholden
that “The sweetness of sky and leaf, of
Its aerial hue
Among the flowers and grass, which screen it grass and water—the bright light life of
from the view.”
bird, child, and beast—is, so to speak,
We speak now of the poet as the
Maker or Creator—•ttoitjtt/s ; the origin
of the word “ bard ” seems doubtful.
The Hebrews well called their poets
“ Seers,” for they not only perceive more
than others, but also help other men to
see much which would otherwise be lost
to us. The old Greek word was aoiSos
—the Bard or Singer.
Poetry lifts the veil from the beauty
of the world which would otherwise be
hidden, and throws over the most familiar
objects the glow and halo of imagination.
kept fresh by some graver sense of
faithful and mysterious love, explained
and vivified by a conscience and purpose
in the artist’s hand and mind. Such a
fiery outbreak of spring, such an insurrec
tion of fierce floral life and radiant riot
of childish power and pleasure, no poet
or painter ever gave before ; such lustre
of green leaves and flushed limbs, kindled
cloud and fervent fleece, was never
wrought into speech or shape.”
1 Sydney, Defence of Poetry.
3 Scott.
�74
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
To appreciate Poetry we must not
merely glance at it, or rush through it,
or read it in order to talk or write about
it. One must compose oneself into the
right frame of mind. Of course for one’s
own sake one will read Poetry in times of
agitation, sorrow, or anxiety, but that is
another matter.
The inestimable treasures of Poetry
again are open to all of us. The best
books are indeed the cheapest. For the
price of a little beer, a little tobacco,
we can buy Shakespeare or Milton—or
indeed almost as many books as a man
can read with profit in a year.
Nor, in considering the advantage of
Poetry to man, must we limit ourselves
to its past or present influence. The
future of Poetry, says Mr. Matthew
Arnold, and no one was more qualified to
speak, “ The future of Poetry is immense,
because in Poetry, where it is worthy of
its high destinies, our race, as time goes
on, will find an ever surer and surer stay.
But for Poetry the idea is everything ;
the rest is a world of illusion, of divine
illusion. Poetry attaches its emotion to
the idea; the idea is the fact. The
strongest part of our religion to-day is its
unconscious Poetry. We should conceive
of Poetry worthily, and more highly than
it has been the custom to conceive of it.
We should conceive of it as capable of
higher uses, and called to higher destinies
than those which in general men have
assigned to it hitherto.”
Poetry has been well called the record
“ of the best and happiest moments of the
happiest and best minds ” ; it is the light
of life, the very “ image of life expressed
in its eternal truth ” ; it immortalises all
that is best and most beautiful in the
world ; “ it purges from our inward sight
the film of familiarity which obscures
from us the wonder of our being” ; “it
is the centre and circumference of know
ledge ” ; and poets are “ mirrors of the
gigantic shadows which futurity casts
upon the present.”
Poetry, in effect, lengthens life ; it
creates for us time, if time be realised as
TART II
the succession of ideas and not of minutes ;
it is the “ breath and finer spirit of all
knowledge ” ; it is bound neither by time
nor space, but lives in the spirit of man.
What greater praise can be given than
the saying that life should be Poetry put
into action ?
CHAPTER VIT
MUSIC
“Music is a moral law. It gives a soul to
the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the
imagination, a charm to sadness, gaiety and life
to everything. It is the essence of order, and
leads to all that is good, just, and beautiful, of
which it is the invisible, but nevertheless
dazzling, passionate, and eternal form.”—Plato.
Music is in one sense far more ancient
than man, and the voice was, from the
very commencement of human existence,
a source of melody. The early history of
Music is, however, unfortunately wrapped
in much obscurity. The use of letters
long preceded the invention of notes, and
tradition in such a matter can tell us but
little. So far, however, as musical in
struments are concerned, it is probable
that percussion came first, then wind in
struments, and lastly, those with strings :
first the Drum, then the Flute, and
thirdly, the Lyre.
The contest between Marsyas and
Apollo is supposed by some to typify the
struggle between the Flute and the Lyre ;
Marsyas representing the archaic Flute,
Apollo the champion of the Lyre. The
latter of course was victorious : it sets the
voice free, and the sound
“ Of music that is born of human breath
Conies straighter to the soul than any strain
The hand alone can make.” 1
Various myths have grown up to ex
plain the origin of Music. One Greek
tradition was to the effect that Grass
hoppers were human beings themselves
in a world before the Muses ; that when
1 L. Morris.
�CHAP. VII
MUSIC
75
the Muses came, being ravished with
delight, they “sang and sang and forgot
to eat, until they died of hunger for the
love of song. And they carry to heaven
the report of those who honour them on
earth.” 1
The old writers and commentators tell
us that Pythagoras, “ as he was one day
meditating on the want of some rule to
guide the ear, analogous to what had
been used to help the other senses,
chanced to pass by a blacksmith’s shop,
and observing that the hammers, which
were four in number, sounded very har
moniously, he had them weighed, and
found them to be in the proportion of
six, eight, nine, and twelve. Upon this
he suspended four strings of equal length
and thickness, etc., fastened weights in
the above-mentioned proportions to each
of them respectively, and found that they
gave the same sounds that the hammers
had done; viz., the fourth, fifth, and
octave to the gravest tone.”2 However
this may be, it would appear that the
lyre had at first four strings only;
Terpander is said to have given it three
more, and an eighth was subsequently
added.
The Chinese indicated the notes by
words or their initials. The lowest was
termed “ Koung,” or the Emperor, as
being the Foundation on which all were
supported ; the second was Tschang, the
Prime Minister ; the third, the Subject;
the fourth, Public Business ; the fifth,
the Mirror of Heaven.3 The Greeks also
had a name for each note. We have
unfortunately no specimens of Greek 4 or
Roman, or even of Early Christian music.
The so-called Gregorian notes were not
invented until six hundred years after
Gregory’s death. The Monastery of St.
Gall possesses a copy of Gregory’s Antiphonary, made about the year 780 by a
chorister who was sent from Rome to
Charlemagne to reform the Northern
music, and in this the sounds are indi
cated by “ pneumes,” from which our
notes were gradually developed, being
first arranged along one line, to which
others were gradually added.
The most ancient known piece-of music
for several voices is an English four men’s
song, “Summer is i-comen in,” which is
considered to be at least as early as 1240,
and is now in the British Museum.
.In the matter of music Englishmen
have certainly deserved well of the world.
Even as long ago as 1185 Giraldus
Cambrensis, Archdeacon of St. David’s,
says, “ The Britons do not sing their
tunes in unison like the inhabitants of
other countries, but in different parts.
So that when a company of singers meet
to sing, as is usual in this country, as
many different parts are heard as there
are singers.”1
The Venetian ambassador in the time
of Henry VIII. said of our English
Church music : “ The mass was sung by
His Majesty’s choristers, whose voices are
more heavenly than human; they did
not chaunt like men, but like angels.”
Dr. Burney says that Purcell was “ as
much the pride of an Englishman in
music as Shakespeare in productions of
the stage, Mil ton in epic poetry, Locke
in metaphysics, or Sir Isaac Newton in
philosophy and mathematics ” ; and yet
Purcell’s music is unfortunately but little
known to us now, as Macfarren says, “ to
our great loss.”
Purcell died early, and on his tomb is
the celebrated epitaph—
“ Here lies Henry Purcell, who left
this life, and is gone to that blessed place,
where, only, his harmony can be exceeded.”
The authors of some of the loveliest
music, and even in some cases that of
comparatively recent times, are unknown
to us. This is the case for instance with
the exquisite song “Drink to me only
with thine eyes,” the words of which
were taken by Jonson from Philostratus,
1 Plato.
2 Crowest.
and which has been considered as the
3 Rowbotliam, History of Music.
4 Since this was written some fragments of a most beautiful of all “people’s songs.”
hymn to Apollo have been found at Delphi.
1 Wakefield.
�76
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
The music of “ God save the Queen ”
has been adopted in more than half a
dozen other countries, and yet the author
ship is a matter of doubt, being attributed
by some to Dr. John Bull, by others to
Carey. It was apparently first sung in a
tavern in Cornhill.
Both the music and words of “ O
Death, rock me to sleep ” are said to be
by Anne Boleyn : “ Stay, Corydon ” and
“ Sweet Honey-sucking Bees ” by Wildye,
“ the first of madrigal writers. ” “ Rule
Britannia ” was composed by Arne, and
originally formed part of his Masque of
Alfred, first performed in 1740 at Cliefden, near Maidenhead. To Arne we are
also indebted for the music of “ Where
the Bee sucks, there lurk I.” “ The
Vicar of Bray ” is set to a tune originally
known as “ A Country Garden.” “ Come
unto these yellow sands ” we owe to
Purcell; “ Sigh no more, Ladies ” to
Stevens ; “ Home, Sweet Home ” to
Bishop.
There is a curious melancholy in
national music, which is generally in the
minor key ; indeed this holds good with
the music of savage races generally.
They appear, moreover, to have no love
songs.
Herodotus tells us that during the
whole time he was in Egypt he only
heard one song, and that was a sad one.
My own experience there was the same.
Some tendency to melancholy seems in
herent in music, and Jessica is not alone
in the feeling
Pz\RT II
composed “ Il trillo del Diavolo,” con
sidered to be his best work, in a dream.
Rossini, speaking of the chorus in G
minor in his “ Dal tuo stellato soglio,”
tells us: “ While I was writing the
chorus in G minor I suddenly dipped my
pen into a medicine bottle instead of the
ink. I made a blot, and when I dried
this with the sand it took the form of a
natural, which instantly gave me the idea
of the effect the change from G minor to
G major would make, and to this blot is
all the effect, if any, due.” But these of
course are exceptional cases.
There are other forms of Music, which,
though not strictly entitled to the name,
are yet capable of giving intense pleasure.
To the Sportsman what Music can excel
that of the hounds themselves. The
cawing of rooks has been often quoted as
a sound which has no actual beauty of its
own, and yet which is delightful from its
associations.
There is, moreover, a true Music of
Nature,— the song of birds, the whisper
of leaves, the ripple of waters upon a
sandy shore, the wail of wind or sea.
There was also an ancient impression
that the Heavenly bodies give out sound
as well as light: the Music of the Spheres
has become proverbial.
“There’s not the smallest orb which thou beholdest
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubims ;
Such harmony is in immortal souls.
But while this muddy vesture of decay
Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.” 1
Music indeed often seems as if it
scarcely belonged to this material universe,
The histories of music contain many but was
curious anecdotes as to the circumstances
“ A tone
under w’hich different works have been
Of some world far from ours,
Where music, and moonlight, and feeling are
composed.
one.” 2
Rossini tells us that he wrote the over
“ It is a language which is incapable
ture to the “ Gazza Ladra ” on the very
day of the first performance, in the upper of expressing anything impure.” There
loft of the La Scala, where he had been is music in speech as well as in song.
confined by the manager under the guard Not merely in the voice of those we love,
of four scene-shifters, who threw the text and the charm of association, but in
out of window to copyists bit by bit as it actual melody ; as when Milton says,
was composed. Tartini is said to have
1 Shakespeare.
2 Swinburne.
“ I am never merry when I hear sweet music.”
�MUSIC
CHAP. VII
77
“ The Angel ended, and in Adam’s ear
As touching the human heart—
So charming left his voice, that he awhile
Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed “ The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till waked and kindled by the master’s spell ;
to hear.”
And feeling hearts—touch them but rightly—
pour
It is remarkable that more pains are
A thousand melodies unheard before.”1
not taken with the voice in conversation
As an education—
as well as in singing, for
“What plea so tainted and corrupt
But, being seasoned with a gracious voice,
Obscures the show of evil.”
As a general rule
“ I have sent books and music there, and all
Those instruments with which high spirits call
The future from its cradle, and the past
Out of its grave, and make the present last
In thoughts and joys which sleep, but cannot
die,
Folded within their own eternity.” 2
‘ ‘ The man that hath no Music in himself
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds
Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils ” ;1 As an aid to religion—
“ As from the power of sacred lays
but there are some notable exceptions.
The spheres began to move,
Dr. Johnson had. no love of music. On
And sung the great Creator’s praise
one occasion, hearing that a certain piece
To all the blessed above,
So when the last and dreadful hour
of music was very difficult, he expressed
This crumbling pageant shall devour,
his regret that it was not impossible.
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
Poets, as( might have been expected,
The dead shall live, the living die,
have sung most sweetly in praise of song.
And music shall untune the sky.” 3
They have, moreover, done so from the Or again—
opposite points of view.
“Hark how it falls ! and now it steals along,
Milton invokes it as a luxury—
“ And ever against eating cares
Lap me in soft Lydian airs ;
Married to immortal verse
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes -with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out ;
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running ;
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony.”
Like distant beHs upon the lake at eve,
When all is still; and now it grows more strong
As when the choral train their dirges weave
Mellow and many voiced ; where every close
O’er the old minster roof, in echoing waves
reflows.
Oh ! I am rapt aloft. My spirit soars
Beyond the skies, and leaves the stars behind;
Lo ! angels lead me to the happy shores.
And floating paeans fill the buoyant wind.
Farewell! base earth, farewell ! my soul is
freed.”
Sometimes it is used as a temptation : so
The power of Music to sway the feel
Spenser says of Phsedria,
ings of Man has never been more cleverly
“ And she, more sweet than any bird on bough, portrayed than by Dryden in “ The
Would oftentimes amongst them bear a part, Feast of Alexander,” though the circum
And strive to passe (as she could well enough)
stances of the case precluded any reference
Their native musicke by her skilful art.”
to the influence of Music in its nobler
Or as an element of pure happiness—
aspects.
Poets have always attributed to Music
“There is in souls a sympathy with sounds ;
And as the mind is pitched, the ear is pleased —and who can deny it—a power even
With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave ; over the inanimate forces of Nature.
Some chord in unison with what we hear
Shakespeare accounts for shooting stars
Is touched within us, and the heart replies.
by the attraction of Music :
How soft the music of those village bells,
Falling at intervals upon the e.ar
In cadence sweet, now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again and louder still
Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on.” 2
1 Shakespeare.
2 Cowper.
“ The rude sea grew civil at her song,
And certain stars shot madly from their spheres
To hear the Sea-maid’s Music.”
Prose writers have also been inspired
1 Rogers.
2 Shelley.
3 Dryden.
�7«
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
by Music to their highest eloquence.
“ Music,” said Plato, “ is a moral law.
It gives a soul to the universe, wings to
the mind, flight to the imagination, a
charm to sadness, gaiety and life to
everything. It is the essence of order,
and leads to all that is good, just, and
beautiful, of which it is the invisible,
but nevertheless dazzling, passionate, and
eternal form.”
“Music,” said Luther,
“is a fair and glorious gift from God. I
would not for all the world renounce my
humble share in music.” “Music,” said
Halevy, “is an art that God has given
us, in which the voices of all nations
may unite their prayers in one harmoni
ous rhythm.” And Carlyle, “ Music is a
kind of inarticulate, unfathomable speech,
which leads us to the edge of the infinite,
and lets us for moments gaze into it.”
“ There are but seven notes in the
scale; make them fourteen,” says Newman,
“ yet what a slender outfit for so vast an
enterprise ! What science brings so miicli
out of so little ?
Out of what poor
elements does some great master in it
create his new world ! Shall we say that
all this exuberant inventiveness is a mere
ingenuity or trick of art, like some game
of fashion of the day, without reality,
without meaning ? . . . Is it possible that
that inexhaustible evolution and dis
position of notes, so rich yet so simple, so
intricate yet so regulated, so various yet
so majestic, should be a mere sound, which
is gone and perishes ? Can it be that
those mysterious stirrings of the heart, and
keen emotions, and strange yearnings after
we know not what, and awful impressions
from we know not whence, should be
wrought in us by what is unsubstantial,
and conies and goes, and begins and ends
in itself ? it is not so ; it cannot be. No ;
they have escaped from some higher
sphere ; they are the outpourings of eter
nal harmony in the medium of created
sound ; they are echoes from our Home ;
they are the voice of Angels, or the Mag
nificat of Saints, or the living laws of
Divine Governance, or the Divine Attri
butes ; something are they besides them
PART II
selves, which we cannot compass, which
we cannot utter, though mortal man, and
he perhaps not otherwise distinguished
above his fellows, has the gift of eliciting
them.”
Let me also quote Helmholtz, one of
the. profoundest exponents of modern
science. “Just as in the rolling ocean,
this movement, rhythmically repeated, and
yet ever-varying, rivets our attention and
hurries us along. But whereas in the sea
blind physical forces alone are at work,
and hence the final impression on the
spectator’s mind is nothing but solitude—
in a musical work of art the movement
follows the outflow of the artist’s own
emotions. Now gently gliding, now grace
fully leaping, now violently stirred,
penetrated, or laboriously contending with
the natural expression of passion, the
stream of sound, in primitive vivacity,
bears over into the hearer’s soul unimagined
moods which the artist has overheard
from his own, and finally raises him up to
that repose of everlasting beauty of which
God has allowed but few of his elect
favourites to be the heralds.”
Poetry and Music unite in song. From
the earliest ages song has been the sweet
companion of labour. The rude chant of
the boatman floats upon the water, the
shepherd sings upon the hill, the milk
maid in the dairy, the ploughman in the
field. Every trade, every occupation,
every act and scene of life, has long
had its own especial music. The bride
went to 'her marriage, the labourer to
his work, the old man to his last long rest,
each with appropriate and immemorial
music.
Music has been truly described as the
mother of sympathy, the handmaid of
Religion, and will never exercise its full
effect, as the Emperor Charles VI. said to
Farinelli, unless it aims not merely to
charm the ear, but to touch the heart.
There are many who consider that our
life at present is peculiarly prosaic and
mercenary. I greatly doubt whether
that be the case, but if so our need for
Music is all the more imperative.
�CHAP. VIII
THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE
Much indeed as Music has already done
for man, we may hope even more from it
in the future.
It is, moreover, a joy for all. To ap
preciate Science or Art requires some
training, and no doubt the cultivated ear
will more and more appreciate the beauties
of Music ; but though there are exceptional
individuals, and even races, almost devoid
of any love of Music, still they are happily
but rare.
Good Music, moreover, does not neces
sarily involve any considerable outlay ; it
is even now no mere luxury of the rich,
and we may hope that as time goes on, it
will become more and more the comfort
and solace of the poor.
CHAPTER VIII
THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE
“ Speak to the earth and it shall teach thee.”
Job.
“ And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running
brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.”
Shakespeare.
We are told in the first chapter of Genesis
that at the close of the sixth day “ God
saw every thing that he had made, and,
behold, it was very good.” Not merely
good, but very good. Yet how few of us
appreciate the beautiful world in which we
live 1
In preceding chapters I have incident
ally, though only incidentally, referred to
the Beauties of Nature ; but any attempt,
however imperfect, to sketch the blessings
of life must contain some special reference
to this lovely world itself, which the Greeks
happily called /cocr/ws—beauty.
Hamerton, in his charming work on
Landscape, says, “ There are, I believe,
four new experiences for which no de
scription ever adequately prepares us, the
first sight of the sea, the first journey in
the desert, the sight of flowing molten lava,
79
and a walk on a great glacier. We feel in
each case that the strange thing is pure
nature, as much nature as a familiar
English moor, yet so extraordinary that
we might be in another planet.” But it
would, I think, be easier to enumerate the
Wonders of Nature for which description
can prepare us, than those which are
beyond the power of language.
Many of us, however, walk through
the world like ghosts, as if we were in it,
but not of it. We have “ eyes and see
not, ears and hear not.” We must look
before wre can expect to see. To look is
indeed much less easy than to overlook,
and to be able to see what we do see, is a
great gift. Ruskin maintains that “ The
greatest thing a human soul ever does in
this world is to see something, and tell
what it saw in a plain way.” . I do not
suppose that his eyes are better than ours,
but how much more he sees with them !
“ To the attentive eye,” says Emerson,
“ each moment of the year has its own
beauty ; and in the same field it beholds
every hour a picture that was never seen
before, and shall never be seen again.
The heavens change every moment and
reflect their glory or gloom on the plains
beneath.”
The love of Nature is a great gift, and
if it is frozen or crushed out, the character
can hardly fail to suffer from the loss.
I will not, indeed, say that a person
who does not love Nature is necessarily
bad ; or that one who does, is necessarily
good; but it is to most minds a great
help. Many, as Miss Cobbe says, enter
the Temple through the gate called
Beautiful.
There are doubtless some to whom none
of the beautiful wonders of Nature; neither
the glories of the rising or setting sun ; the
magnificent spectacle of the boundless
ocean, sometimes so grand in its peaceful
tranquillity, at others so majestic in its
mighty power ; the forests agitated by the
storm, or alive with the song of birds;
nor the glaciers and mountains—there
are doubtless some whom none of these
magnificent spectacles can move, w’hom
�So
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
l’ART II
“ all the glories of heaven and earth else is illusion, or mere endurance. To
may pass in daily succession without be beautiful and to be calm, without
touching their hearts or elevating their mental fear, is the ideal of Nature.”
minds.” 1
I must not, however, enlarge on the
Such men are indeed pitiable. But, contrast and variety of the seasons, each
happily, they are exceptions. If we can of which has its own special charm and
noire of us as yet fully appreciate the i interest, as
beauties of Nature, we are beginning to
“ The daughters of the year
do so more and more.
Dance into light and die into the shade.” 1
For most of us the early summer has a
Our countrymen derive great pleasure
special charm. The very life is luxury.
The air is full of scent, and sound, and from the animal kingdom, in hunting,
sunshine, of the song of birds and the shooting, and fishing, thus obtaining fresh
murmur of insects ; the meadows gleam 1 air and exercise, and being led into much
with golden buttercups ; one can almost varied and beautiful scenery. Still it
see the grass grow and the buds open ; will probably ere long be recognised that
the bees hum for very joy, and the air even from a purely selfish point of view,
is full of a thousand scents, above all killing animals is not the way to get
the greatest enjoyment from them. How
perhaps that of new-mown hay.
The exquisite beauty and delight of much more interesting would every walk
a fine summer’s day in the country has in the country be, if Man would but treat
never perhaps been more truly, and there-I other animals with kindness, so that they
fore more beautifully, described, than by might approach us without fear, and we
Jefferies in his “Pageant of Summer.” I might have the constant pleasure of
Their
“ I linger,” he says, “ in the midst of the watching their winning ways.
long grass, the luxury of the leaves, and origin and history, structure and habits,
the song in the very air. I seem as if I senses and intelligence, offer an endless
could feel all the glowing life the sunshine field of interest and wonder.
The richness of life is marvellous. Any
gives and the south wind calls to being.
The endless grass, the endless leaves, the one who will sit down quietly on the
immense strength of the oak expanding, grass and watch a little, will be indeed
the unalloyed joy of finch and blackbird ; surprised at the number and variety of
from all of them I receive a little. . . . living beings, every one with a special
In the blackbird’s melody one note is history of its own, every one offering
mine ; in the dance of the leaf shadows ' endless problems of great interest.
“ If indeed thy heart were right, then
the formed maze is for me, though the
motion is theirs ; the flowers with a thou would every creature be to thee a rnirrox'
sand faces have collected the kisses of the of life, and a book of holy doctrine.” 2
The study of Natural History has the
morning. Feeling with them, I receive
some, at least, of their fulness of life. special advantage of carrying us into the
Never could I have enough ; never stay country and the open air.
Not but what towns are beautiful too.
long enough. . . . The hours when the
mind is absorbed by beauty are the only They teem with human interest and his
hours when we really live, so that the torical associations.
Wordsworth was an intense lover of
longer we can stay among these things
so much the more is snatched from nature ; yet does he not tell us, in lines
inevitable Time. . . . These are the which every Londoner will appreciate,
only hours that are not wasted—these that he knew nothing in nature more
hours that absorb the soul and fill it fair, no calm more deep, than the city of
with beauty. This is real life, and all London at early dawn ?
1 Beattie.
1 Tennyson.
Thomas a Kempis.
�THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE
CHAP. VIII
“Earth has not anything to show more fair ;
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by
A sight so touching in its majesty:
This City now doth, like a garment, wear
The beauty of the igorning ; silent, bare,
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie
Open unto the fields, and to the sky ;
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air..
Never did sun more beautifully steep
In his first splendour, valley, rock, or hill;
Ne’er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep !
The river glideth at his own sweet will:
Dear God ! the very houses seem asleep ;
And all that mighty heart is lying still ! ”
Milton also described London as
81
mountain-side up to the very edge of the
eternal snow.
And what an infinite variety they
present.
“Daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty ; violets, dim.
But sweeter than the lids of Juno’s eyes,
Or Cytherea’s breath ; pale primroses,
That die unmarried, ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids ; bold oxlips and
The crown imperial ; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one.”1
Nor are they mere delights to the eye ;
they are full of mystery and suggestions.
Some of our streets indeed are lines of They almost seem like enchanted prin
cesses waiting for some princely deliverer.
loveliness, but yet, after being some time
Wordsworth tells us that
in a great city, one longs for the country.
“Too blest abode, no loveliness we see
In all the earth, but it abounds in thee.”
“The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.”1
“ To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.”
Here Gray justly places flowers in the
first place, for whenever in any great
town we think of the country, flowers
seem first to suggest themselves.
“ Flowers,” says Ruskin, “ seem in
tended for the solace of ordinary humanity.
Children love them; quiet, tender, con
tented, ordinary people love them as they
grow ; luxurious and disorderly people
rejoice in them gathered. They are the
cottager’s treasure ; and in the crowded
town, mark, as with a little broken frag
ment of rainbow, the windows of the
workers in whose heart rests the covenant
of peace.” But in the crowded street, or
even in the formal garden, flowers always
seem, to me at least, as if they were pining
for the freedom of the woods and fields,
where they can live and grow as they
please.
There are flowers for almost all seasons
and all places,—flowers for spring,
summer, and autumn ; while even in the
very depth of winter here and there one
makes its appearance. There are flowers
of the fields and woods and hedgerows, of
the seashore and the lake’s margin, of the
Every color again, every variety of form,
has some purpose and explanation.
And yet, lovely as Flowers are, Leaves
add even more to the Beauty of Nature.
Trees in our northern latitudes seldom
own large flowers; and though of course
there are notable exceptions, such as the
Horse-chestnut, still even in these cases
the flowers live only a few days, while
the leaves last for months.
Every tree indeed is a picture in itself:
The gnarled and rugged Oak, the symbol
and source of our navy, sacred to the
memory of the Druids, the type of
strength, is the sovereign of British trees :
the Chestnut has beautiful, tapering, and
rich green, glossy leaves, delicious fruit,
and wood so durable that to it we owe
the grand and historic roof of Westminster
Hall.
The Birch is the queen of trees, with
her feathery foliage, scarcely visible in
spring but turning to gold in autumn;
the pendulous twigs tinged with purple,
and silver stems so brilliantly marked
with black and white.
The Beech enlivens the country by its
tender green in spring, rich tints in
summer, and glorious gold and orange in
1 Gray.
1 Shakespeare.
G
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
82
autumn, set off by the graceful gray
stem ; and has, moreover, such a wealth
of leaves that, as we see in autumn, there
are enough not only to clothe the tree
itself but to cover the grass underneath.
If the Beech owes much to its delicate
gray stem, quite as beautiful is the reddish
crimson of the Scotch Pine, in such
charming contrast with the rich green of
the foliage, by which it is shown off
rather than hidden. Pines, moreover,
with the green spires of the Firs, keep the
woods warm in winter.
The Elm forms grand masses of foliage
which turn a beautiful golden yellow in
autumn ; and the Black Poplar with its
perpendicular leaves, rustling and trem
bling with every breath of wind, towers
over most of our other forest trees.
Nor must I overlook the smaller trees :
the Yew with its thick green foliage ; the
wild Guelder rose, which lights up the
woods in autumn with translucent glossy
berries and many-tinted leaves ; or the
Bryonies, the Briar, the Traveller’s Joy,
and many another plant, even humbler
perhaps, and yet each with some exquisite
beauty and grace of its own, so that we
must all have sometimes felt our hearts
overflowing with gladness and gratitude,
as if the woods were full of music—as if
“ The woods were filled so full with song
There seemed no room for sense of wrong.”1
On the whole, no doubt, woodlands are
most beautiful in the summer ; yet even
in winter the delicate tracery of the
branches, which cannot be so well seen
when they are clothed with leaves, has a
special beauty of its own ; while every
now and then hoar frost or snow settles
like silver on every branch and twig,
lighting up the forest as if by enchant
ment in preparation for some fairy
festival.
I feel with Jefferies that “by day or
by night, summer or winter, beneath
trees the heart feels nearer to that depth
of life which the far sky means. The
rest of spirit found only in beauty, ideal
,
1 Tennyson.
TART II
and pure, comes there because the distance
seems within touch of thought.”
The general effect of forests in tropical
regions must be very different from that
of those in our latitudes.
Kingsley
describes it as one of helplessness, con
fusion, awe, all but terror. The trunks
are lofty and straight, rising to a great
height without a branch, so that the wood
seems at first comparatively open. In
Brazilian forests, for instance, the trees
struggle upwards, and the foliage forms
an unbroken canopy, perhaps a hundred
feet overheard. Here, indeed, high up in
the air is the real life of the forest.
Everything seems to climb to the light.
The quadrupeds climb, birds climb,
reptiles climb, and tlie variety of climb
ing plants is far greater than anything to
which we are accustomed.
Many savage nations worship trees,
and I really think my first feeling would
be one of delight and interest rather than
of surprise, if some day when I am alone
in a wood one of the trees were to speak
to me. Even by day there is something
mysterious in a forest, and this is much
more the case at night.
With wood, Water seems to be natur
ally associated. Without water no land
scape is complete, while overhead the
clouds add beauty to the heavens them
selves. The spring and the rivulet, the
brook, the river, and the lake, seem to
give life to Nature, and were indeed re
garded by our ancestors as living entities
themselves.
Water is beautiful in the
morning mist, in the broad lake, in the
glancing stream, in tlie river pool, or the
wide ocean, beautiful in all its varied
moods. Water nourishes vegetation ; it
clothes the lowlands with green and the
mountains with snow. It sculptures the
rocks and excavates the valleys, in most
cases acting mainly through the soft rain,
though our harder rocks are still grooved
by the ice-chisel of bygone ages.
The refreshing power of water upon
the earth is scarcely greater than that
which it exercises on the mind of man.
After a long spell of work how delightful
�CHAP. VIII
THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE
83
it is to sit by a lake or river, or on the and quarries and lines of stratification
seashore, and enjoy the fresh air, the began to show themselves, though the
glancing sunshine on the water, and the cliffs were still in shadow, and the more
ripple of the waves upon sand.
distant headlands still a mere succession
Every Englishman loves the sight of of ghosts, each one fainter than the one
the Sea. We feel that it is to us a second before it. As the morning advances the
home. It seems to vivify the very at sea becomes blue, the dark woods, green
mosphere, so that Sea air is proverbial as meadows, and golden cornfields of the
a tonic, and the very thought of it makes opposite coast more distinct, the details
the blood dance in our veins. The Ocean of the cliffs come gradually into view,
gives an impression of freedom and and fishing-boats with dark sails begin to
grandeur more intense perhaps even than appear.
the aspect of the heavens themselves. A
Gradually as the sun rises higher, a
poor woman from Manchester, on being yellow line of shore appears under the
taken to the seaside, is said to have ex opposite cliffs, and the sea changes its
pressed her delight on seeing for the first color, mapping itself out as it were, the
time something of which there was enough shallower parts turquoise blue, almost
for everybody. The sea coast is always green ; the deeper ones violet.
interesting. When we think of the cliff
This does not last long—a thunderstorm
sections with their histories of bygone comes up. The wind mutters overhead,
ages ; the shore itself teeming with sea the rain patters on the leaves, the coast
weeds and animals, waiting for the return opposite seems to shrink into itself, as if
of the tide, or thrown up from deeper it would fly from the storm. The sea
water by the waves; the weird cries of grows dark and rough, and white horses
seabirds ; the delightful feeling that, with appear here and there.
every breath, we are laying in a store of
But the storm is soon over. The clouds
fresh life, and health, and energy, it is break, the rain stops, the sun shines once
impossible to over-estimate all we owe to more, the hills opposite come out again.
the Sea.
They are divided now not only into fields
It is, moreover, always changing. We and woods, but into sunshine and shadow.
went for our holiday last year to Lyme The sky clears, and as the sun begins to
Regis. Let me attempt to describe the descend westwards the sea becomes one
changes in the view from our windows beautiful clear uniform azure, changing
during a single day. Our sitting-room again soon to pale blue in front and dark
opened on to a little lawn, beyond which violet beyond; and once more, as clouds
the ground dropped suddenly to the sea, begin to gather again, into an archipelago
while over about two miles of water were of bright blue sea and islands of deep
the hills of the Dorsetshire coast—-Golden ultramarine. As the sun travels west
Cap, with its bright crest of yellow sand, ward, the opposite hills change again.
and the dark blue Lias Cliff of Black Ven, They scarcely seem like the same country.
When I came down early in the morning What was in sun is now in shade, and
the sun was rising opposite, shining into what was in shade now lies bright in the
the room over a calm sea, along an avenue sunshine. The sea once more becomes a
of light; by degrees, as it rose, the whole uniform solid blue, only flecked in places
sea glowed in the sunshine while the hills by scuds of wind, and becoming paler
were bathed in a violet mist. By break towards evening as the sun sinks, the cliffs
fast-time all color had faded from the which catch his setting rays losing their
sea—it was like silver passing on each deep color and in some places looking
side into gray ; the sky blue, flecked with almost as white as chalk ; while at sunset
fleecy clouds ; while, on the gentler slopes they light up again for a moment with a
of the coast opposite, fields and woods, | golden glow, the sea at the same time
�84
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
sinking to a cold gray. But soon the
hills grow cold too, Golden Cap holding
out bravely to the last, and the shades of
evening settle over cliff and wood, corn
field and meadow.
These are but a part, and a very small
part, of the changes of a single day. And
scarcely any two days are alike. At
times a sea-fog covers everything. Again
the sea which sleeps to-day so peacefully,
sometimes rages, and the very existence of
the bay itself bears witness to its force.
The night, again, varies like the day.
Sometimes shrouded by a canopy of dark
ness, sometimes lit up by millions of
brilliant worlds, sometimes bathed in the
light of a moon, which never retains the
same form for two nights together.
If Lakes are less grand than the sea,
they are in some respects even more
lovely. The seashore is comparatively
bare. The banks of Lakes are often
richly clothed with vegetation which
comes close down to the water’s edge,
sometimes hanging even into the water
itself. They are often studded with wellwooded islands. They are sometimes
fringed with green meadows, sometimes
bounded by rocky promontories rising
directly from comparatively deep water ;
while the calm bright surface is often
fretted by a delicate pattern of interlacing
ripples ; or reflects a second, softened, and
inverted landscape.
To water again we owe the marvellous
spectacle of the rainbow—“ God’s bow in
the clouds.” It is indeed truly a heavenly
messenger, and so unlike anything else that
it scarcely seems to belong to this world.
Many things are colored, but the rain
bow seems to be color itself.
“ First the flaming red
Sprang vivid forth ; the tawny orange next,
And next delicious yellow ; by whose side
Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing green.
Then the pure blue that swells autumnal skies.
Ethereal play’d ; and then, of sadder hue
Emerged the deeper indigo (as when
The heavy-skirted evening droops with frost),
While the last gleamings of refracted light
Died in the fainting violet away.”1
1 Thomson.
PART II
We do not, I think, sufficiently realise
how wonderful is the blessing of color.
It would have been possible, it would
even seem more probable, that though
light might have enabled us to perceive
objects, this would only have been by
shade and form. How we perceive color
is not yet understood ; and yet when we
speak of beauty, among the ideas which
come to us most naturally are those of
birds and butterflies, flowers and shells,
precious stones, skies, and rainbows.
Our minds might have been constituted
exactly as they are, we might have been
capable of comprehending the highest and
sublimest truths, and yet, but for a small
organ in the head, the world of sound
would have been shut out from us ; we
should have lost all the varied melody of
nature, the charms of music, the conversa
tion of friends, and have been condemned
to perpetual silence: a slight alteration
in the retina, which is not thicker than a
sheet of paper, not larger than a finger
nail,—and the glorious spectacle of this
beautiful world, the exquisite variety of
form, the glow and play of color, the
variety of scenery, of woods and fields,
and lakes and hills, seas and mountains,
the beauty of the sky alike by day and
night, would all have been lost to us.
Mountains, again, “ seem to have been
built for the human race, as at once their
schools and cathedrals ; full of treasures
of illuminated manuscript for the scholar,
kindly in simple lessons for the worker,
quiet in pale cloisters for the thinker,
glorious in holiness for the worshipper.”
They are “great cathedrals of the earth,
with their gates of rock, pavements of
cloud, choirs of stream and stone, altars of
snow, and vaults of purple traversed by
the continual stars.” 1
All these beauties are comprised in
Tennyson’s exquisite description of (Enone’s
vale—the city, flowers, trees, river, and
mountains.
“ There lies a vale in Ida, lovelier
Than all the valleys of Ionian hills.
1 Ruskin.
�CHAP. VIII
THE BEAUTIES OF NATURE
The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen,
Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,
And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand
The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down
Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars
The long brook falling thro’ the clov’n ravine
In cataract after cataract to the sea.
Behind the valley topmost Gargarus
Stands up and takes the morning; but in front
The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal
Troas and Ilion’s column’d citadel,
The crown of Troas.”
85
The evening colors indeed soon fade
away, but as night comes on,
“ how glows the firmament
With living sapphires ! Hesperus that led
The starry host, rode brightest ; till the moon
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,
And o’er the dark her silver mantle threw.” 1
We generally speak of a beautiful night
when it is calm and clear, and the stars
shine brightly overhead ; but how grand
And when we raise our eyes from earth, also are the wild ways of Nature, how
who has not sometimes felt “ the witchery magnificent when the lightning flashes,
of the soft blue sky ” ? who has not “ between gloom and glory ” ; when
watched a cloud floating upwards as if on ‘ ‘ From peak to peak, the rattling crags among
its way to heaven ?
Leaps the live thunder. ” 2
And yet “if, in our moments of utter
In the words of Ossian—
idleness and insipidity, we turn to the sky
“ Ghosts ride in the tempest to-night;
as a last resource, which of its phenomena
Sweet is their voice between the gusts of wind,
do we speak of? One says, it has been
Their songs are of other worlds.”
wet; and another, it has been w'indy;
Nor are the -wonders and beauties of the
and another, it has been warm. Who,
heavens limited by the clouds and the blue
among the whole chattering crowd, can
sky, lovely as they are. In the heavenly
tell me of the forms and the precipices
bodies we have before us the perpetual
of the chain of tall white mountains that
presence of the sublime. They-are so im
girded the horizon at noon yesterday 1
mense and so far away, and yet on soft
Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came
summer nights “they seem leaning down
out of the south, and smote upon their
to whisper in the ear of our souls.” 3
summits until they melted and mouldered
“ A man can hardly lift up his eyes to
away in a dust of blue rain ? Who saw
wards the heavens,” says Seneca, “ without
the dance of the dead clouds when the sun
wonder and veneration, to see so many
light left them last night, and the west
millions of radiant lights, and to observe
wind blew them before it like withered
their courses and revolutions, even with
leaves ? All has passed, unregretted as
out any respect to the common good of the
unseen ; or if the apathy be ever shaken
Universe.”
off, even for an instant, it is only by -what
Who does not sympathise with the
is gross, or what is extraordinary ; and
feelings of Dante as he rose from his visit
yet it is not in the broad and fierce mani
to the lower regions, until, he says,
festations of the elemental energies, not in
the clash of the hail, nor the drift of the “ On our view the beautiful lights of heaven
Dawned through a circular opening in the cave,
whirlwind, that the highest characters of
Thence issuing, we again beheld the stars.”
the sublime are developed.” 1
As we watch the stars at night they
But exquisitely lovely as is the blue
arch of the midday sky, with its inexhaust seem so still and motionless that we can
ible variety of clouds, “ there is yet a light hardly realise that all the time they are
which the eye invariably seeks with a rushing on with a velocity far far exceed
deeper feeling of the beautiful, the light ing any that man has ever accomplished.
Like the sands of the sea, the stars of
of the declining or breaking day, and
the flakes of scarlet cloud burning like heaven have ever been used as an appro
watch-fires in thegreen sky ofthe horizon.” 2 priate symbol of number, and we know
that therfe are more than 100,000,000 ;
1 Ruskin.
2 Ibid.
1 Milton.
2 Byron.
3 Symonds.
�86
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
many, no doubt, with planets of their own.
But this is by no means all. The floor of
heaven is not only “ thick inlaid with
patines of bright gold,” but is studded also
with extinct stars, once probably as bril
liant as our own sun, but now dead and
cold, as Helmholtz thinks that our own
sun will be some seventeen millions of
years hence. Then, again, there are the
comets, which, though but few are visible
to the unaided eye, are even more numerous
than the stars ; there are the nebulae, and
the countless minor bodies circulating in
space, and occasionally visible as meteors.
Nor is it only the number of the
heavenly bodies which is so overwhelm
ing ; their magnitude and distances are
almost more impressive. The ocean is
so deep and broad as to be almost infinite,
and indeed in so far as our imagination
is the limit, so it may be. Yet what is
the ocean compared to the sky ? Our
globe is little compared to the giant orbs
of Jupiter and Saturn, which again sink
into insignificance by the side of the Sun.
The Sun itself is almost as nothing com-,
pared with the dimensions of the solar
system. Sirius is a thousand times as
great as the Sun, and a million times as
far away. The solar system itself travels
in one region of space, sailing between
worlds and worlds ; and is surrounded by
many other systems at least as great and
complex; while we know that even then
we have not reached the limits of the
Universe itself.
There are stars so distant that their
light, though travelling 180,000 miles in
a second, yet takes years to reach us ; and
beyond all these are other systems of stars
which are so far away that they cannot
be perceived singly, but even in our most
powerful telescopes appear only as minute
clouds or nebulae.
The velocities of the Heavenly bodies
are equally astounding. We ourselves
make our annual journey round the Sun
at the rate of 1000 miles a minute ; of
the so-called “ fixed ” stars Sirius moves
at the same rate, and Arcturus no less
than 22,000 miles a minute. And yet
PART II
the distances of the stars are so great
that 1000 years makes hardly any differ
ence in the appearance of the Heavens.
It is, indeed, but a feeble expression
of the truth to say that the infinities re
vealed to us by Science,—the infinitely
great in the one direction, and the in
finitely small in the other,—go far beyond
anything which had occurred to the un
aided imagination of Man, and are not
only a never-failing source of pleasure
and interest, but lift us above the petty
troubles, and help us to bear the greater
sorrows, of life.
CHAPTER IX
THE TROUBLES OF LIFE
“ Count each affliction, whether light or grave,
God’s messenger sent down to thee ;
Grief should be
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate ;
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free ;
Strong to consume small troubles ; to commend
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts
lasting to the end.”
Aubrey be Vere.
We have in life many troubles, and
troubles are of many kinds. Some
sorrows, alas, are real enough, especially
those we bring on ourselves, but others,
and by no means the least numerous, are
mere ghosts of troubles : if we face them
boldly, we find that they have no sub
stance or reality, but are mere creations
of our own morbid imagination, and that
it is as true now as in the time of David
that “ Man disquieteth himself in a vain
shadow.”
Some, indeed, of our troubles are evils,
but not real; while others are real, but
not evils.
“ And yet, into how unfathomable a
gulf the mind rushes when the troubles
of this world agitate it. If it then forget
its own light, which is eternal joy, and
rush into the outer darkness, which are the
�CHAP. IX
THE TROUBLES OF LIFE
cares of this world, as the mind now does,
it knows nothing else but lamentations.” 1
“Athens,” said Epictetus, “is a good
place,—but happiness is much better ; to
be free from passions, free from dis
turbance.”
We should endeavour to maintain our
selves in
“ that blessed mood
In which the burden of the mystery,
In which the heavy and the weary weight,
Of all this unintelligible world
Is lightened.” 2
87
happen equally to good men and bad,
being things which make us neither
better nor worse.”
“ The greatest evils,” observes Jeremy
Taylor, “ are from within us ; and from
ourselves also we must look for our
greatest good.”
“ The mind,” says Milton,
“ is its own place, and in itself
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven.”
Milton indeed in his blindness saw
more beautiful visions, and Beethoven in
his deafness heard more heavenly music,
So shall we fear “neither the exile of than most of us can ever hope to enjoy.
Aristides, nor the prison of Anaxagoras,
We are all apt, when we know not
nor the poverty of Socrates, nor the con what may happen, to fear the worst.
demnation of Phocion, but think virtue When we know the full extent of any
worthy our love even under such trials.” 3 : danger, it is half over. Hence, we dread
We should then be, to a great extent, in-1 ghosts more than robbers, not only with
dependent of external circumstanced, for out reason, but against reason ; for even
if ghosts existed, how could they hurt us ?
“ Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage,
and in ghost stories, few, even of those
Minds innocent and quiet take
who say that they have seen ,a ghost, ever
That for an hermitage.
profess or pretend to have felt one.
“ If I have freedom in my love,
Milton, in his description of death,
And in my soul am free ;
dwells on this characteristic of obscurity :
Angels alone that soar above
Enjoy such liberty.” 4
In the wise words of Shakespeare,
“ All places that the eye of Heaven visits
Are to the wise man ports and happy havens.”
“ The other shape—
If shape it might be call’d that shape had none
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ;
Or substance might be call’d that shadow
seem’d,
For each seem’d either—black he stood as
night,
Fierce as ten furies, terrible as hell.
And shook a dreadful dart. What seem’d
his head
The likeness of a kingly crown had on.”
Happiness indeed depends much more
on what is within than without us.
When Hamlet says that the world is “ a
goodly prison ; in which there are many
confines, wards, and dungeons; Denmark
The effect of darkness and night in
being one of the worst,” and Rosencrantz enhancing terrors is dwelt on in one of
differs from him, he rejoins wisely, “ Why the sublimest passages in Job—
then, ’tis none to you : for there is
“ In thoughts from the visions of the night,
nothing either good or bad, but thinking
When deep sleep falleth on men,
makes it so : to me it is a prison.”
Fear came upon me, and trembling,
Which made all my bones to shake.
“All is opinion,” said Marcus Aurelius.
Then a spirit passed before my face ;
“ That which does not make a man worse,
The hair of my flesh stood up :
how can it make his life worse ? But
It stood still, but I could not discern the form
death certainly, and life, honor and dis
thereof:
An image was before mine eyes,
honor, pain and pleasure, all these things
1 King Alfred’s translation of the Consola
tions of Boethius.
2 Wordsworth.
3 Plutarch.
4 Lovelace.
There was silence, and I heard a voice, saying,
Shall mortal man be more just than God ? ”
Thus was the terror turned into a lesson
of comfort and of mercy.
�88
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
We often magnify troubles and diffi
culties, and look at them till they seein
much greater than they really are.
Dangers are often “ light, if they once
seem light; and more dangers have
deceived men than forced them: nay,
it were better to meet some dangers
half way, though they come nothing
near, than to keep too long a watch
upon their approaches ; for if a man
watch too long, it is odds he will fall
asleep.” 1
Foresight is wise, but fore-sorrow is
foolish ; and castles are at any rate better
than dungeons, in the air.
It happens, unfortunately too often,
that by some false step, intentional or
unintentional, we have missed the right
road, and gone astray. Can we then
retrace our steps ? can we recover what
is lost ? This may be done. It is too
gloomy a view to affirm that
“ A sigh too much, or a kiss too long,
And there comes a mist and a weeping rain,
And life is never the same again.” 2
There are two noble sayings of Socrates,
that to do evil is more to be avoided
than to suffer it; and that when a man
has done evil, it is better for him to be
punished than to be unpunished.
We generally speak of selfishness as
a fault, and as if it interfered with the
general happiness. But this is not alto
gether correct. The pity is that so many
people are foolishly selfish ; that they
pursue a course of action which neither
makes themselves nor any one else happy.
Is there not some truth in Goethe’s
saying, though I do not altogether agree
with him, that “ every man ought to begin
with himself, and make his own happiness
first, from which the happiness of the
whole world would at last unquestionably
follow” ? This is perhaps too broadly
stated, and of course exceptions might be
pointed out : but assuredly if every one
would avoid excess, and take care of his
own health ; would keep himself strong
and cheerful; would make his home
1 Bacon.
2 G. Macdonald.
PART II
happy, and’give no cause for the petty
vexations which often embitter domestic
life ; would attend to his own affairs and
keep himself sober and solvent; would,
in the words of the Chinese proverb,
“sweep away the snow from before his
own door, and never mind the frost upon
his neighbour’s tiles”: even though it
were not from the nobler motives, still,
how well it would be for his family,
relations, and friends. But, unfortunately,
“ Look round the habitable world, how few
Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue.”1
It would be a great thing if people
could be brought to realise that they can
never add to the sum of their happiness
by doing wrong. In the case of children,
indeed, we recognise this ; we perceive
that a spoilt child is not a happy one;
that it would have been far better for
him to have been punished at first and
thus saved from greater suffering in after
life.
The beautiful idea that every man has
with him a Guardian Angel is true in
deed : for Conscience is ever on the watch,
| ever ready to warn us of danger.
No doubt we often feel disposed to
complain, and yet it is most ungrateful:
‘‘ For who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts that wander through Eternity ;
To perish rather, swallowed up, and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated thought! ” 2
But perhaps it will be said that we are
sent here in preparation for another and
a better world. Well, then, why should
we complain of what is but a preparation
for future happiness ?
We ought to
“ Count each affliction, whether light or grave,
God’s messenger sent down to thee ; do thou
With courtesy receive him ; rise and bow ;
And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave
Permission first his heavenly feet to lave ;
Then lay before him all thou hast; allow
No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow,
Or mar thy hospitality ; no wave
Of mortal tumult to obliterate
1 Dryden.
2 Milton.
�LABOUR AND REST
CHAP. X
and joy”; and if properly understood,
would enable us “ to acquiesce in the
present without repining, to remember
the past with thankfulness, and to meet
the future hopefully and cheerfully with
out fear or suspicion.”
The soul’s marmoreal calmness : Grief should
be
Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate ;
Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free ;
Strong to consume small troubles ; to commend
Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts
lasting to the end.” 1
Some persons are like the waters of
Bethesda, and require to be troubled
before they can exercise their virtue.
“We shall get more contentedness,”
CHAPTER X
says Plutarch, “ from the presence of all
LABOUR AND REST
these blessings if we fancy them as absent,
and remember from time to time how
“ Through labour to rest, through combat to
people when ill yearn for health, and victory.”
Thomas a Kempis.
people in war for peace, and strangers
and unknown in a great city for reputa Among the troubles of life I do not, of
tion and friends, and how painful it is to course, reckon the necessity of labour.
Work indeed, and hard work too, if
be deprived of all these when one has
once had them. For then each of these only it be in moderation, is in itself a
blessings will not appear to us only great rich source of happiness. We all know
and valuable when it is lost, and of no how quickly time passes when we are
value when we have it. . . . And yet it well employed, while the moments hang
makes much for contentedness of mind to heavily on the hands of the idle. Occupa
look for the most part at home and to our tion drives away care and all the small
own condition ; or if not, to look at the troubles of life. The busy man has no
case of people worse off than ourselves, time to brood or to fret.
and not, as people do, to compare our
“ From toil he wins his spirits light,
selves with those who are better off. . . .
From busy day the peaceful night ;
But you will find others, Chians, or
Rich, from the very want of wealth,
Galatians, or Bithynians, not content
In Heaven’s best treasures, peace, and
health.” 1
with the share of glory or power they
have among their fellow-citizens, but
This applies especially to t^e labour of
weeping because they do not wear sena the field and the workshop. Humble it
tors’ shoes ; or, if they have them, that may be, but if it does not dazzle with the
they cannot be praetors at Rome; or if promise of fame, it gives the satisfaction
they get that office, that they are not of duty fulfilled, and the inestimable
consuls ; or if they are consuls, that they blessing of health. As Emerson reminds
are only proclaimed second and not first. those entering life, “ The angels that live
. . . Whenever, then, you admire any one with them, and are weaving laurels of life
carried by in his litter as a greater man for their youthful brows, are toil and truth
than yourself, lower your eyes and look and mutual faith.”
at those that bear the litter.” And again,
Labour was truly said by the ancients
“ I am very taken with Diogenes’ remark to be the price which the gods set upon
to a stranger at Lacedaemon, who was everything worth having. We all admit,
dressing with much display for a feast. though we often forget, the marvellous
‘ Does not a good man consider every day power of perseverance; and yet all Nature,
a feast ? ’ . . . Seeing then that life is down to Bruce’s spider, is continually
the most complete initiation into all these | impressing this lesson on us.
things, it ought to be full of ease of mind J Hard writing makes easy reading ;
1 Aubrey de Vere.
.
1 Gray.
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
9°
Plato is said to have rewritten the first
page of the Aepit&Zic thirteen times ; and
Carlo Maratti, we are told, made three
hundred sketches of the head of Antinous
before he brought it to his satisfaction.
It is better to wear out than to rust
out, and there is “ a dust which settles on
the heart, as well as that which rests upon
the ledge.”1
At the present time, though there may
be some special drawbacks, we come to
our work with many advantages which
were not enjoyed in olden times. We
live in much greater security ourselves,
and are less liable to have the fruits of
our labour torn violently from us.
But though labour is good for man,
it may be, and unfortunately often is,
carried to excess.
Many are wearily
asking themselves
“ All why
Should life all labour be ? ” 2
There is a time for all things, says
Solomon, a time to work and a time to
play : we shall work all the better for
reasonable change, and one reward of
work is to secure leisure.
It is a good saying that where there’s
a will there’s a way ; but while it is all
very well to wish, wishes must not take
the place of work.
In whatever sphere his duty lies, every
man must rely mainly on himself. Others
can help us, but we must make ourselves.
No one else can see for us. To profit by
our advantages we must learn to use for
ourselves
“The dark lantern of the spirit
Which none can see by, but he who bears it. ”
It is hardly an exaggeration to say that
honest work is never thrown away. If
we do not find the imaginary treasure, at
any rate we enrich the vineyard.
“Work,” says Nature to man, “in
every hour, paid or unpaid; see only
that thou work, and thou canst not
escape the reward : whether thy work be
fine or coarse, planting corn or writing
1 Jefferies.
2 Tennyson.
part II
epics, so only it be honest work, done to
thine own approbation, it shall earn a
reward to the senses as well as to the
thought: no matter how often defeated,
you are born to victory. The reward
of a thing well done is to have done
it.” 1
Nor can any work, however persever
ing, or any success, however great, exhaust
the prizes of life.
The most studious, the most successful,
must recognise that there yet remain
“ So much to do that is not e’en begun,
So much to hope for that we cannot see,
So much to win, so many things to be.”2
In olden times the difficulties of study
were far greater than they are now.
Books were expensive and cumbersome,
in many cases moreover chained to the
desks on which they were kept. The
greatest scholars have often been very
poor. Erasmus used to read by moonlight
because he could not afford a candle, and
“ begged a penny, not for the love of
charity, but for the love of learning.” 3
Want of time is no excuse for idleness.
“ Our life,” says Jeremy Taylor, “ is too
short to serve the ambition of a haughty
prince or a usurping rebel; too little
time to purchase great wealth, to satisfy
the pride of a vainglorious fool, to
trample upon all the enemies of our just
or unjust interest: but for the obtaining
virtue, for the purchase of sobriety and
modesty, for the actions of religion, God
gives us time sufficient, if we make the
outgoings of the morning and evening,
that is our infancy and old age, to be
taken into the computations of a man.”
Work is so much a necessity of exist
ence, that it is less a question whether,
than how, w’e shall work. An old saying
tells us that the Devil finds work for those
who do not make it for themselves and
there is a Turkish proverb that the Devil
tempts the busy man, but the idle man
tempts the Devil.
If we Englishmen have succeeded as a
2 W. Morris.
1 Emerson.
3 Coleridge.
�LABOUR AND REST
CHAP. X
race, it has been due in no small measure
to the fact that we have worked hard.
Not only so, but we have induced the
forces of Nature to work for us. “ Steam,”
says Emerson, “ is almost an Englishman.”
The power of work has especially
characterised our greatest men. Cecil
said of Sir W. Raleigh that he “ could
toil terribly.”
We are most of us proud of belonging
to the greatest Empire the world has ever
seen. It may be said of us with especial
truth in Wordsworth’s words that
“ The world is too much with us ; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers.”
Yes, but what world ? The world will be
with us sure enough, and whether we
please or not. But what sort of world it
will be for us, will depend greatly on
ourselves.
We are told to pray not to be taken
out of the world, but to be kept from the
evil.
There are various ways of working.
Quickness may be good, but haste is bad.
“Wie das Gestirn
Ohne Hast
. Ohne Rast
Drehe sich Jeder
Um die eigne Last.”1
“Like a star, without haste, without rest,
let every one fulfil his own best.”
Lastly, work secures the rich reward of
rest ; we must rest to be able to work
well, and work to be able to enjoy rest.
“We must no doubt beware that our
rest become not the rest of stones, which
so long as they are torrent-tossed and
thunder-stricken maintain their majesty ;
but when the stream is silent, and the
storm past, suffer the grass to cover them,
and the lichen to feed on them, and are
ploughed down into the dust. . . . The
rest which is glorious is of the chamois
couched breathless in its granite bed, not
of the stalled ox over his fodder.” 2
When we have done our best we may
wait the result without anxiety.
“ What hinders a man, who has clearly
1 Goethe.
2 Ruskin.
9i
comprehended these things, from living
with a light heart and bearing easily the
reins ; quietly expecting everything which
can happen, and enduring that which has
already happened ? Would you have me
to bear poverty ? Come and you will
know what poverty is when it has found
one who can act well the part of a poor
man. Would you have me to possess
power1? Let me have power, and also
the trouble of it. Well, banishment ?
Wherever I shall go, there it will be well
with me.” 1
“We complain,” says Ruskin, “of the
want of many things—-we want votes, we
want liberty, we want amusement, we
want money. Which of us feels, or
knows, that he wants peace ?
“ There are two ways of getting it, if
you do want it. The first is wholly in
your own power; to make yourselves
nests of pleasant thoughts. . . . None of
us yet know, for none of us have yet been
taught in early youth, what fairy palaces
we may build of beautiful thought—proof
against all adversity. Bright fancies,
satisfied memories, noble histories, faith
ful sayings, treasure-houses of precious
and restful thoughts ; which care cannot
disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor
poverty take away from us—houses built
without hands, for our souls to live in.”
The Buddhists believe in many forms
of future punishment; but the highest
reward of virtue is Nirvana—the final
and eternal rest.
Very touching is the appeal of Ashmanezer to be left in peace, which was
engraved on his Sarcophagus at Sidon.2
“ In the month of Bui, the fourteenth
year of my reign, I, King Ashmanezer,
King of the Sidonians, son of King
Tabuith, King of the Sidonians, spake,
saying : ‘ I have been stolen away before
my time—a son of the flood of days.
The whilom great is dumb ; the son of
gods is dead. And I rest in this grave,
even in this tomb, in the place which I
have built. My adjuration to all the
Ruling Powers and all men : Let no one
1 Epictetus.
2 Now in Paris.
�9*
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
open this resting-place, nor search for
treasure, for there is no treasure with us ;
and let him not bear away the couch of
my rest, and not trouble us in this
resting-place by disturbing the couch of
my slumbers. . . . For all men who
should open the tomb of my rest, or any
man who should carry away the couch of
my rest, or any one who trouble me on
this couch : unto them there shall be no
rest with the departed : they shall not be
buried in a grave, and there shall be to
them neither son nor seed. . . . There
shall be to them neither root below nor
fruit above, nor honour among the living
under the sun.’ ” 1
The idle man does not know what it is
to enjoy rest, for he has not earned it.
Hard work, moreover, tends not only to
give us rest for the body, but, what is
even more important, peace to the mind.
If we have done our best to do, and to
be, we can rest in peace.
“ En la sua voluntade e nostra pace.” 2
In His will is our peace ; and in such
peace the mind will find its truest delight,
for
“When, care sleeps, the soul wakes.”
In youth, as is right enough, the idea
of exertion, and of struggles, is inspiriting
and delightful; but as years advance the
hope and prospect of peace and of rest
gain ground gradually, and
“ When the last dawns are fallen on gray,
And all life’s toils and ease complete,
They know who work, not they who play
If rest is sweet.” 3
1 From Sir M. E. Grant Duff’s A Winter in
Syria.
2 Dante.
3 Symonds.
PART II
CHAPTER XT
RELIGION
“ And what doth the Lord require of thee,
but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk
humbly with thy God ? ”—Micah.
“Pure religion and undefiled before God and
the Father is this, to visit the fatherless and
widows in their affliction, and to keep himself
unspotted from the world.”—James i.
“The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.”
2 Corinthians.
It would be quite out of place here to
enter into any discussion of theological
problems or to advocate any particular
doctrines. Nevertheless I could not omit
what is to most so great a comfort and
support in sorrow and suffering, and a
source of the purest happiness.
We commonly, however, bring together
under the name of Religion two things
which are yet very different: the religion
of the heart, and that of the head. The
first deals with conduct, and the duties of
Man ; the second with the nature of the
supernatural and the future of the Soul,
being in fact a branch of knowledge.
Religion should be a strength, guide,
and comfort, not a source of intellectual
anxiety or angry argument. To persecute
for religion’s sake implies belief in a
jealous, cruel, and unjust Deity. If we
have done our best to arrive at the truth,
to torment oneself about the result is to
doubt the goodness of God, and, in the
words of Bacon, “ to bring down the Holy
Ghost, instead of the likeness of a dove,
in the shape of a raven.” “ The letter
killeth, but the spirit giveth life,” and it
is a primary duty to form the highest
possible conception of God.
Many, however, and especially many
women, render themselves miserable on
entering life by theological doubts and
difficulties. These have reference, in
ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, not
to what we should do, but to what we
should think. As regards action, con-
�RELIGION
CHAP. XI
science is generally a ready guide; to
follow it is the real difficulty. Theology,
on the other hand, is a most abstruse
science ; but as long as we honestly wish
to arrive at truth we need not fear that
we shall be punished for unintentional
error. “For what,” says Micah, “doth
the Lord require of thee, but to do justly,
to love mercy, and to walk humbly with
thy God.” There is very little theology
in the Sermon on the Mount, or indeed
in any part of the first three Gospels ; and
the differences which keep us apart have
their origin rather in the study than the
Church. Religion was intended to bring
peace on earth and goodwill towards men,
and whatever tends to hatred and perse
cution, however correct in the letter, must
be utterly wrong in the spirit.
How much misery would have been
saved to Europe if Christians had been
satisfied with the Sermon on the Mount!
Bokhara is said to have contained more
than three hundred colleges, all occupied
with theology, but ignorant of everything
else, and it was probably one of the most
bigoted and uncharitable cities in the world.
“ Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth.”
We must not forget that
“ He prayeth best who lovetli best
All things both great and small.” 1
Theologians too often appear to agree that
“ The awful shadow of some unseen power
Floats, though unseen, among us ” ; 2
and in the days of the Inquisition many
must have sighed for the cheerful childlike
religion of the Greeks, if they could but
have had the Nymphs and Nereids, the
Fays and Faeries, with Destiny and Fate,
but without Jupiter and Mars.
Sects are the work of Sectarians. No
truly great religious teacher, as Carlyle
said, ever intended to found a new Sect.
Diversity of worship, says a Persian
proverb, “ has divided the human race
into seventy-two nations. From among
all their dogmas I have selected one—‘ Di
vine Love.’ ” And again, “ He needs no
1 Coleridge.
2 Shelley.
93
other rosary whose thread of life is struug
with the beads of love and thought.”
There is more true Christianity in some
pagan Philosophers than in certain Chris
tian theologians. Take, for instance,
Plato, Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, and
Plutarch.
“ Now I, Callicles,” says Socrates, “ am
persuaded of the truth of these things,
and I consider how I shall present my
soul whole and undefiled before the judge
in that day. Renouncing the honours at
which the world aims, I desire only to
know the truth, and to live as well as I
can, and, when the time comes, to die.
And, to the utmost of my power, I exhort
all other men to do the same. And in
return for your exhortation of me, I
exhort you also to take part in the great
combat, which is the combat of life, and
greater than every other earthly conflict.”
“As to piety towards the Gods,” says
Epictetus, “you must know that this is
the chief thing, to have right opinions
about them, to think that they exist, and
that they administer the All well and
justly; and you must fix yourself in this
principle (duty), to obey them, and to
yield to them in everything which
happens, and voluntarily to follow it
as being accomplished by the wisest
intelligence.”
“ Do not act,” says Marcus Aurelius,
“ as if thou wert going to live ten
thousand years. Death hangs over thee.
While thou livest, while it is in thy
power, be good. . . .
“ Since it is possible that thou mayest
depart from life this very moment, regu
late every act and thought accordingly.
But to go away from among men, if there
be Gods, is not a thing to be afraid of,
for the Gods will not involve thee in
evil; but if indeed they do not exist, or
if they have no concern about human
affairs, what is it to me to live in a
universe devoid of Gods, or without a
Providence. But in truth they do exist,
and they do care for human things, and
they have put all the means in man’s
power to enable him not to fall into real
�94
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
evils. And as for the rest, if there was
anything evil, they would have provided
for this also, that it should be altogether
in a man’s power not to fall into it.”
And Plutarch : “ The Godhead is not
blessed by reason of his silver and gold,
nor yet Almighty through his thunder
and lightnings, but on account of know
ledge and intelligence.”
It is no doubt very difficult to arrive
at the exact teaching of Eastern Moralists,
but the same spirit runs through Oriental
Literature.
For instance, in the Toy
Cart of King Sudraka, the earliest
Sanskrit drama with which we are ac
quainted, when the wicked Prince tempts
Vita to murder the Heroine, and says
that no one would see him, Vita declares
“ All nature would behold the crime—
the Genii of the Grove, the Sun, the
Moon, the Winds, the Vault of Heaven,
the firm - set Earth, the mighty Yama
who judges the dead, and the conscious
Soul.”
There is indeed a tone of doubting sad
ness in Roman moralists, as in Hadrian’s
dying lines to his soul—
“Animula, vagula, blandula
Hospes, comesque corporis
Qua nunc abibis in loca :
Pallidula, rigida, nudula,
Nec, ut soles, dabis jocos.”
PART II
than to say that Plutarch is a man in
constant, fickle, easily moved to anger,
revengeful for trifling provocations, vexed
at small things.”
Many things have been mistaken for
religion ; selfishness especially, but also
fear, hope, love of music, of art, of pomp ;
scruples often take the place of love, and
the glory of heaven is sometimes made to
depend upon precious stones and jewellery.
Many, as has been well said, run after
Christ, not for the miracles, but for the
loaves.
In many cases religious differences are
mainly verbal. There is an Eastern tale
of four men, an Arab, a Persian, a Turk,
and a Greek, who agreed to club together
for an evening meal, but when they had
done so they quarrelled as to what it
should be. The Turk proposed Azum,
the Arab Aneb, the Persian Anghur,
while the Greek insisted on Staphylion.
While they were disputing
“ Before their eyes did pass
Laden with grapes, a gardener’s ass.
Sprang to his feet each man, and showed,
With eager hand, that purple load.
‘ See Azum,’ said the Turk ; and ‘ see
Anghur,’ the Persian ; 1 what should be
Better.’ ‘Nay Aneb, Aneb ’tis, ’
The Arab cried. The Greek said, 'This
Is my Staphylion.’ Then they bought
Their grapes in peace.
Hence be ye taught.” 1
The same spirit is expressed in the
It is said that on one occasion, when
epitaph on the tomb of the Duke of Dean Stanley had been explaining his
Buckingham in Westminster Abbey—
views to Lord Beaconsfield, the latter
replied, “ Ah 1 Mr. Dean, that is all very
“ Dubins non improbus vixi
Incertus morior, non perturbatus ;
well, but you must remember,—No dog
Humanum est nescire et errare,
mas, no Deans.” To lose such Deans as
Deo confido
Stanley would indeed be a great misfor
Omnipotent! benevolentissimo :
tune ; but does it follow ? Religions, far
Ens entium miserere mei.”
from being really built on Dogmas, are
Take even the most extreme type of too often weighed down and crushed by
difference. Is the man, says Plutarch, them. No one can doubt that Stanley
“ a criminal who holds there are no gods ; has done much to strengthen the Church
and is not he that holds them to be such of England.
as the superstitious believe them, is he
We may not always agree with Spinoza,
not possessed with notions infinitely more but is he not right when he says, “ The
atrocious 1 I for my part would much first precept of the divine law, therefore,
rather have men say of me that there indeed its sum and substance, is to love
never was a Plutarch at all, nor is now,
1 Arnold. Pearls of the Faith.
�RELIGION
CHAP. XI
God unconditionally as the supreme good
—unconditionally, I say, and not from
any love or fear of aught besides ” ? And
again, that the very essence of religion is
belief in “ a Supreme Being who delights
in justice and mercy, whom all who would
be saved are bound to obey, and whose
worship consists in the practice of justice
and charity towards our neighbours ” ?
“ Theology,” says the Master of Balliol,
“is full of undefined terms which have
distracted the human mind for ages.
Mankind have reasoned from them, but
not to them; they have drawn out the
conclusions without proving the premises ;
they have asserted the premises without
examining the terms. The passions of
religious parties have been roused to the
utmost about words of which they could
have given no explanation, and which
had really no distinct meaning.” 1
Doubt is of two natures, and we often
confuse a wise suspension of judgment
with the weakness of hesitation. To pro
fess an opinion for which we have no
sufficient reason is clearly illogical, but
when it is necessary to act we must do so
on the best evidence available, however
slight that may be.
Why should we expect Religion to
solve questions with reference to the origin
and destiny of the universe ? We do not
expect the most elaborate treatise to tell
us as yet the origin of electricity or of
heat. Natural History throws no light
on the origin of life. Has Biology ever
professed to explain existence ?
Simonides was asked at Syracuse by
Hiero, who or what God was, when he
requested a day’s time to think of his
answer. On subsequent days he always
doubled the period required for deliber
ation ; and when Hiero inquired the reason,
he replied that the longer he considered
the subject, the more obscure it appeared.
The Vedas say, “In the midst of the
sun is the light, in the midst of light is
truth, and in the midst of truth is the
imperishable being.” Deity has been
defined as a circle whose centre is every1 Jowett’s Plato,
95
where, and whose circumference is no
where ; but the “ God is love ” of St.
John appeals more forcibly to the human
soul.
“ Love suffereth long, and is kind ;
Love envieth not;
Love vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up,
Doth not behave itself unseemly,
Seeketh not her own,
Is not easily provoked,
Thinketh no evil;
Rejoieeth not in iniquity, but rejoiceth in the
truth ;
Beareth all things, believeth all things,
Hopeth all things, endureth all things.
Love never faileth ; but whether there be pro
phecies, they shall fail : whether there be tongues,
they shall cease ; whether there be knowledge,
it shall vanish away. ... Now abideth Faith,
Hope, Love, these three ; but the greatest of
these is Love.” 1
The Church is not a place for study or
speculation. Few but can sympathise
with Eugenie de Guerin in her tender
affection for the little Chapel at Cahuzac,
where she tells us she freed herself from
“ tant de miseres.”
Doubt does not exclude faith.
“ Perplext in faith, but pure in deeds,
At last he beat his music out.
There lives more faith in honest doubt,
Believe me, than in half the creeds.” 2
Unfortunately many have attempted
to compound for wickedness of life by
purity of belief; a vain and fruitless
effort. To do right is the sure ladder
which leads up to Heaven, though the
true faith will help us to find and to
climb it.
“ It was my duty to have loved the highest,
It surely was my profit had I known,
It would have been my pleasure had I seen.” 3
But though religious truth can justify no
bitterness, it is well worth any amount of
thought and study.
If we must admit that many points are
still, and probably long will be, involved
in obscurity, we may be pardoned if we
indulge ourselves in various speculations
both as to our beginning and our end.
1 St. Paul,
2 Tennyson.
3 Ibid.
�&
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
‘ ‘ Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting:
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star,
Hath had elsewhere its setting,
And cometh from afar :
Not in entire forgetfulness,
And not in utter nakedness,
But trailing clouds of glory do we come
From God, who is our home.” 1
I hope I shall not be supposed to
depreciate any honest effort to arrive at
truth, or to undervalue the devotion of
those who have died for their religion.
But surely it is a mistake to regard
martyrdom as a merit, when from their
own point of view it was in reality a
privilege.
Let every man be persuaded in his own
mind
“Truth is the highest thing that man may
keep.” 2
It is impossible to overvalue the power
“ which the soul has of loving truth and
doing all things for the sake of truth. ” 3
To arrive at truth we should spare our
selves no pains, but certainly inflict none
on others.
We may be sure that quarrels will
never advance religion, and that to per
secute is no way to convert. No doubt
those who consider that all who do not
agree with them will suffer eternal tor
ments, seem logically justified in persecu
tion even unto death. Such a course, if
carried out consistently, might stamp out
a particular sect, and any sufferings which
could be inflicted here would on this
hypothesis be as nothing in comparison
with the pains of Hell. Only it must be
admitted that such a view of religion is
quite irreconcilable with the teaching of
Christ, and incompatible with any faith
in the goodness of God.
Moreover, the Inquisition has even
from its own point of view proved gener
ally a failure. The blood of the martyrs
is the seed of the Church.
“ In obedience to the order of the
Council of Constance (1415) the remains
of Wickliffe were exhumed and burnt to
1 Wordsworth.
2 Chaucer.
3 Plato.
TART II
ashes, and these cast into the Swift, a
neighbouring brook running hard by, and
thus this brook hath conveyed his ashes
into Avon ; Avon into Severn ; Severn
into the narrow seas ; they into the main
ocean. And thus the ashes of Wickliffe
are the emblem of his doctrine, which
now is dispersed all the world over?’1
The Talmud says that when a man
once asked Shamai to teach him the Law
in one lesson, Shamai drove him away in
anger. He then went to Hillel with the
same request. Hillel said, “Do unto
others as you would have others do unto
you. This is the whole Law ; the rest,
merely Commentaries upon it.”
Collect from the Bible all that Christ
thought necessary for His disciples, and
how little Dogma there is. Christianity
is based, not on Dogma, but on Charity
and Love.
“ By this shall all men
know that ye are my disciples, if ye have
love one to another.” “ Suffer little
children to come unto me.” And one
lesson which little children have to teach
us is that religion is an affair of the heart
and not of the mind only. St. James
sums up as the teaching of Christ that
“Pure religion and undefiled is this, to
visit the fatherless and widows in their
affliction, and to keep himself unspotted
from the world.”
The Religion of the lower races is
almost as a rule one of terror and of
dread. Their deities are jealous and
revengeful, cruel, merciless, and selfish,
hateful and yet childish. They require
to be propitiated by feasts and offerings,
often even by human sacrifices. They are
not only exacting, but so capricious that,
with the best intentions, it is often
impossible to be sure of pleasing them.
From the dread of such evil beings
Sorcerers and Witches derived their
hellish powers. No one was safe. No
one knew where danger lurked. Actions
apparently the most trifling might be
fraught with serious risk : objects ap
parently the most innocent might be fatal.
In many cases there were supposed to
1 Fuller.
�RELIGION
CHAP. XI
97
be deities of Crime, of Misfortunes, of we were to show them a near, visible,
Disease. These wicked Spirits naturally inevitable, but all-beneficent Deity, whose
encouraged evil rather than good. An presence makes the earth itself a heaven,
energetic friend of mine was sent to a I think there would be fewer deaf children
district in India where smallpox was sitting in the market-place.”
specially prevalent, and where one of the
But it must not be supposed that those
principal Temples was dedicated to the who doubt whether the ultimate truths of
Goddess of that disease. He had the the Universe can be expressed in human
people vaccinated, in spite of some opposi , words, or whether, even if they could,
tion, and the disease disappeared, much we should be able to comprehend them,
to the astonishment of the natives. But undervalue the importance of religious
the priests of the Deity of Smallpox were ' study. Quite the contrary. Their doubts
not disconcerted ; only they deposed the , arise not from pride, but from humility :
Image of their discomfited Goddess, and ! not because they do not appreciate divine
petitioned my friend for some emblem of . truth, but on the contrary because they
himself which they might install in her doubt whether we can appreciate it
stead.
' sufficiently, and are sceptical whether the
We who are fortunate enough to live (infinite can be reduced to the finite.
in this comparatively enlightened century
We may be sure that whatever may be
hardly realise how our ancestors suffered ■ right about religion, to quarrel over it
from their belief in the existence of must be wrong. “ Let others wrangle,”
mysterious and malevolent beings; how said St. Augustine, “I will wonder.”
their life was embittered and overshadowed
Those who suspend their judgment are
by these awful apprehensions.
not on that account sceptics, and it is
As men, however, have risen in civilisa often those who think they know most,
tion, their religion has risen with them; who are especially troubled by doubts
they have by degrees acquired higher and anxiety.
and purer conceptions of divine power.
It was Wordsworth who wrote
We are only just beginning to realise
“ Great God, I had rather
that a loving and merciful Father would A Pagan suckled in some ereed outworn ;he
not resent honest error, not even perhaps So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
the attribution to him of such odious Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn.”
injustice. Yet what can be clearer than
In religion, as with children at night, it
Christ’s teaching on this point.
He
is darkness and ignorance which create
impressed over and over again on his
disciples, that, as St. Paul expresses it, dread ; light and love cast out fear.
In looking forward to the future we
“ The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth
may fairly hope with Ruskin that “the
life.”1
“If,” says Ruskin, “for every rebuke charities of more and more widely ex
that we utter of men’s vices, we put forth tended peace are preparing the way for
a claim upon their hearts; if, for every a Christian Church which shall depend
assertion of God’s demands from them, neither on ignorance for its continuance,
we should substitute a display of His nor on controversy for its progress, but
kindness to them; if side by side, with shall reign at once in light and love.”
every warning of death, we could exhibit
proofs and promises of immortality ; if,
in fine, instead of assuming the being of
an awful Deity, which men, though they
cannot and dare not deny, are always
unwilling, sometimes unable, to conceive :
1 2 Cor. in. 6.
H
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART II
because they fancied that pain was ordained
under certain circumstances.
CHAPTER XII
We are told that in early Saxon days
Edwin, King of Northumbria, called his
THE HOPE OF PROGRESS
nobles and his priests around him, to dis
cuss whether a certain missionary should
“ To what then may we not look forward, when
a spirit of scientific inquiry shall have spread be heard or not. The result was doubtful.
through those vast regions in which the progress But at last there rose an old chief, and said
of civilisation, its sure precursor, is actually —“You know, 0 King, how, on a winter
commenced and in active progress ? And what evening, when you are sitting at supper
may we not expect from the exertions of powerful
minds called into action under circumstances in your hall, with your company around
totally different from any which have yet existed you, when the night is dark and dreary,
in the world, and over an extent of territory far when the rain and the snow rage outside,
surpassing that which has hitherto produced the when the hall inside is lighted and warm
whole harvest of human intellect ?”
with a blazing fire, sometimes it happens
Herschel,
that a sparrow flies into the bright hall
There are two lines, if not more, in out of the dark night, flies through the
which we may look forward with hope to hall and then out at the other end
progress in the future. In the first place, into the dark night again. We see him
increased knowledge of nature, of the for a few moments, but we know not
properties of matter, and of the pheno whence he came nor whither he goes in
mena which surround us, may afford to the blackness of the storm outside. So is
our children advantages far greater even the life of man. It appears for a short
than those which we ourselves enjoy. space in the warmth and brightness of
Secondly, the extension and improvement this life, but what came before this life,
of education, the increasing influence of or what is to follow this life, we know not.
Science and Art, of Poetry and Music, If, therefore, these new teachers can en
of Literature and Religion,—of all the lighten us as to the darkness that went
powers which are tending to good, will, we before, and the darkness that is to come
may reasonably hope, raise man and make after, let us hear what they have to teach
him more master of himself, more able us.”
It is often said, however, that great
to appreciate and enjoy his advantages,
and to realise the truth of the Italian and unexpected as recent discoveries
proverb, that wherever light is, there is have been, there are certain ultimate
problems which must ever remain un
joy.
One consideration which has greatly solved. For my part, I would prefer to
tended to retard progress has been the abstain from laying down any such limita
floating idea that there was some sort of tions. When Park asked the Arabs what
ingratitude, and even impiety, in attempt became of the sun at night, and whether
ing to improve on what Divine Providence the sun was always the same, or new each
had arranged for us. Thus Prometheus day, they replied that such a question was
was said to have incurred the wrath of foolish, being entirely beyond the reach
Jove for bestowing on mortals the use of of human investigation.
M. Comte, in his Cours de Philosophic
fire ; and other discoveries only escaped
similar punishment when the ingenuity of Positive, as recently as 1842, laid it down
priests attributed them to the special as an axiom regarding the heavenly bodies,
favour of some particular deity. This that’“we may hope to determine their
feeling has not even yet quite died out. forms, distances, magnitude, and move
Even I can remember tlie time when ments, but we shall never by any means be
many excellent persons had a scruple or able to study their chemical composition
prejudice against the use of chloroform, or mineralogical structure.” Yet within a
�CHAP. XII
THE HOPE OF PROGRESS
few years this supposed impossibility has
been actually accomplished, showing how
unsafe it is to limit the possibilities of
science.1
It is, indeed, as true now as in the time
of Newton, that the great ocean of truth
lies undiscovered before us. I often wish
that some President of the Royal Society,
or of the British Association, would take
for the theme of his annual address “ The
things we do not know.” Who can say
on the verge of what discoveries we are
perhaps even now standing ! It is extra
ordinary how slight a barrier may stand
for years between Man and some import
ant improvement. Take the case of the
electric light, for instance. It had been
known for years that if a carbon rod be
placed in an exhausted glass receiver, and
a current of electricity be passed through
it, the carbon glowed with an intense
light, but on the other hand it became so
hot that the glass burst. The light, there
fore, was useless, because the lamp burst
as soon as it was lit. Edison hit on
the idea that if you made the carbon
filament fine enough, you would get rid
of the heat and yet have abundance
of light.
His right to a patent has
been contested on this very ground. It
has been said that the mere introduction
of so small a difference as the replacement
of a thin rod by a fine filament was so
slight a change thaf it could not be
patented. The improvements by LaneFox, Swan, and others, though so import
ant as a whole, have been made step by
step.
Or take again the discovery of anaes
thetics. At the beginning of the century
Sir Humphry Davy discovered laughing
gas, as it was then called. He found that
it produced complete insensibility to pain
and yet did not injure health. A tooth
was actually taken out under its influence,
and of course without suffering. These
facts were known to our chemists, they
were explained to the students in our
jreat hospitals, and yet for half a century
1 Lubbock.
Fifty Years of Science.
99
the obvious application occurred to no
one. Operations continued to be per
formed as before, patients suffered the
same horrible tortures, and yet the bene
ficent element was in our hands, its divine
properties were known, but it never oc
curred to any one to make use of it.
I will only give one more illustration.
Printing is generally said to have been
discovered in the fifteenth century ; and
so it was for all practical purposes. But
in fact printing was known long before.
The Romans used stamps; on the monu
ments of the Assyrian kings the name of
the reigning monarch may be found duly
printed. What then is the difference ?
One little, but all-important step. The
real inventor of printing was the man
into whose mind flashed the fruitful
idea of having separate stamps for each
letter, instead of for separate words.
How slight seems the difference, and
yet for 3000 years the thought occurred
to no one. Who can tell what other
discoveries, as simple and yet as farreaching, lie at this moment under our
very eyes !
Archimedes said that if he had room
to stand on, he would move the earth.
One truth leads to another; each dis
covery renders possible another, and,
what is more, a higher.
We are but beginning to realise the
marvellous range and complexity of Na
ture. I have elsewhere called attention
to this with special reference to the prob
lematical organs of sense possessed by
many animals.1
There is every reason .to hope that
future studies will throw much light on
these interesting structures. We may,
no doubt, expect much from the improve
ment in our microscopes, the use of new
reagents, and of mechanical appliances ;
but the ultimate atoms of which matter is
composed are so infinitesimally minute,
that it is as yet difficult to foresee any
manner in which we may hope for a final
solution of these problems.
1 The Senses of A nimals.
�ICO
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
Loschmidt, who has since been con
firmed by Stoney and Sir W. Thomson,
calculates that each of the ultimate atoms
of matter is at most •y0';b 00,000 °f an
inch in diameter. Under these circum
stances we cannot, it would seem, hope
at present for any great increase of our
knowledge of atoms by improvements in
the microscope. With our present in
struments we can perceive lines ruled on
glass which are 90,000' °f an inch apart ;
but owing to the properties of light itself,
it would appear that we cannot hope to
be able to perceive objects which are
much less than y 0 q*0 0 0 °f an inch in
diameter.
Our microscopes may, no
doubt, be improved, but the limitation
lies not merely in the imperfection of
our optical appliances, but in the nature
of light itself.
Now it has been calculated that a
particle of albumen son) 00
an inch
in diameter contains no less than
125,000,000 of molecules. In a simpler
compound the number would be much
greater ; in water, for instance, no less
than 8,000,000,000. Even then, if wre
could construct microscopes far more
powerful than any which we now possess,
they could not enable us to obtain by
direct vision any idea of the ultimate
organisation of matter. The smallest
sphere of organic matter which could be
clearly defined with our most powerful
microscopes may be, and in all proba
bility is, very complex ; it is built up of
many millions of molecules, and it follows
that there may be an almost infinite
number of structural characters in organic
tissues which we can at present foresee
no mode of examining.1
Again, it has been shown that animals
hear sounds which are beyond the range
of our hearing, and I have proved that
they can perceive the ultra-violet rays,
which are invisible to our eyes.2
Now, as every ray of homogeneous
1 Lubbock. Fifty Years of Science.
2 Ants, Bees, and Wasps.
PART II
light which we can perceive at all, appears
to us as a distinct color, it becomes
probable that these ultra-violet rays must
make themselves apparent to animals as
a distinct and separate color (of which we
can form no idea), but as different from
the rest as red is from yellow, or green
from violet. The question also arises
whether white light to these creatures
would differ from our white light in con
taining this additional color.
These considerations cannot but raise
the reflection how different the world
may—I was going to say must—appear
to other animals from what it does to us.
Sound is the sensation produced on us
when the vibrations of the air strike on
the drum of our ear. When they are
few, the sound is deep; as they increase
in number, it becomes shriller and shriller ;
but before they reach 40,000 in a second,
they cease to be audible. Light is the
effect produced on us when waves of
light strike on the eye. When 400
millions of millions of vibrations of ether
strike the retina in a second, they give
the sensation of red, and as the number
increases the color passes into orange,
then yellow, green, blue, and violet. But
between 40,000 vibrations in a second
and 400 millions of millions we have no
organ of sense capable of receiving an
impression.
Yet between these limits
any number of sensations may exist. We
have five senses, and sometimes fancy
that no others are possible. But it is
obvious that we cannot measure the in
finite by our own narrow limitations.
Moreover, looking at the question from
the other side, we find in animals complex
organs of sense, richly supplied with
nerves, but the function of which we are
as yet powerless to explain. There may
be fifty other senses as different from ours
as sound is from sight; and even within
the boundaries of our own senses there
may be endless sounds which we cannot
hear, and colors, as different as red from
green, of which we have no conception.
These and a thousand other questions
remain for solution. The familiar world
�CHAP. XII
THE HOPE OF PROGRESS
which surrounds us may be a totally
different place to other animals. To them
it may be full of music which we cannot
hear, of color which we cannot see, of
sensations which we cannot conceive. To
place stuffed birds and beasts in glass
cases, to arrange insects in cabinets, and
dried plants in drawers, is merely the
drudgery and preliminary of study ; to
watch their habits, to understand their
relations to one another, to study their
instincts and intelligence, to ascertain
their adaptations and their relations to
the forces of Nature, to realise what the
world appears to them ; these constitute,
as it seems to me at least, the true interest
of natural history, and may even give us
the clue to senses and perceptions of which
at present we have no conception.1
From this point of view the possi
bilities of progress seem to me to be
almost unlimited.
So far again as the actual condition of
man is concerned, the fact that there has
been some advance cannot, I think, be
questioned.
In the Middle Ages, for instance,
culture and refinement scarcely existed
beyond the limits of courts, and by no
means always there. The life in English,
French, and German castles was rough
and almost barbarous. Mr. Galton has
expressed the opinion, which I am not
prepared to question, that the population
of Athens, taken as a whole, was as
superior to us as we are to Australian
savages. But even if that be so, our
civilisation, such as it is, is more diffused,
so that unquestionably the general Euro
pean level is much higher.
Much, no doubt, is owing to the greater
facility of access to the literature of our
country, to that literature, in the words
of Macaulay, “ the brightest, the purest,
the most durable of all the glories of our
country ; to that Literature, so rich in
precious truth and precious fiction; to
that Literature which boasts of the prince
of all poets, and of the prince of all
1 Lubbock.
The, Senses of Animals.
IOI
philosophers; to that Literature which
has exercised an influence wider than
that of our commerce, and mightier than
that of our arms.”
Few of us, however, make the most of
our minds. The body ceases to grow in
a few years ; but the mind, if we will let
it, may grow almost as long as life lasts.
The onward progress of the future will
not, we may be sure, be confined to mere
material discoveries. We feel that we
are on the road to higher mental powers ;
that problems which now seem to us
beyond the range of human thought will
receive their solution, and open the way
to still further advance. Progress, more
over, wre may hope, will be not merely
material, not merely mental, but moral
also.
It is natural that we should feel a
pride in the beauty of England, in the
size of our cities, the magnitude of our
commerce, the wealth of our country, the
vastness of our Empire. But the true
glory of a nation does not consist in the
extent of its dominion, in the fertility of
the soil, or the beauty of Nature, but
rather in the moral and intellectual pre
eminence of the people.
And yet how few of us, rich or poor,
have made ourselves all we might be. If
he does his best, as Shakespeare says,
“ What a piece of work is man ! How
noble in reason ! How infinite in faculty !
in form and movement, how express and
admirable ! ” Few indeed, as yet, can be
said to reach this high ideal.
The Hindoos have a theory that after
death animals live again in a different
form ; those that have done well in a
higher, those that have done ill in a lower
grade. To realise this is, they find, a
powerful incentive to a virtuous life.
But whether it be true of a future life or
not, it is certainly true of our present
existence. If we do our best for a day,
the next morning we shall rise to a higher
life ; while if we give way to our passions
and temptations, we take with equal
certainty a step downwards towards a
lower nature.
�y -y. #;■ '
u? UV ' “■ ■
ZAL? PLEASURES OF LIFE
102
It is an. interesting illustration, of the
Unity of Man, and an encouragement to
those of us who have no claims to genius,
that, though of course there have been
exceptions, still on the whole, periods of
progress have generally been those when
a nation has worked and felt together ;
the advance has been due not entirely to
the efforts of a few great men, but of their
countrymen generally; not to a single
genius, but to a national effort.
Think, indeed, what might be.
“All ! when shall all men’s good
Be each man’s rule, and universal Peace
Lie like a shaft of light across the land,
And like a lane of beams athwart the sea,
Thro’ all the circle of the golden year ? ”1
Our life is surrounded with mystery,
our very world is a speck in boundless
space ; and not only the period of our
own individual life, but that of the whole
human race is, as it were, but a moment
in the eternity of time.
We cannot
imagine any origin, nor foresee the con
clusion.
But though we may not as yet perceive
any line of research which can give us a
clue to the solution, in another sense we
may hold that every addition to our
knowledge is one small step towards the
great revelation.
Progress may be more slow, or more
rapid. It may come to others and not to
us. It will not come to us if we do not
strive to deserve it. But come it surely
will.
“ Yet one thing is there that ye shall not slay,
Even thought, that fire nor iron can affright?’2
The future of man is full of hope, and I
who can foresee the limits of his destiny ?'
1 Tennyson.
2 Swinburne.
PART II
CHAPTER XIII
THE DESTINY OF MAN
“For I reckon that the sufferings of this
present time are not worthy to be compared
with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”—
Romans viii. 18.
But though we have thus a sure and
certain hope of progress for the race, still,
as far as man is individually concerned,
with advancing years we gradually care
less and less for many things which gave
us the keenest pleasure in youth. On the
other hand, if our time has been well
used, if we have warmed both hands
wisely before the fire of life, we may gain
even more than we lose. As our strength
becomes less, we feel also the less necessity
for exertion. Hope is gradually replaced
by memory : and whether this adds to
our happiness or not depends on what our
life has been.
There are of course some lives which
diminish in value as old age advances ; in
which one pleasure fades after another,
and even those which remain gradually
lose their zest; but there are others which
gain in richness and in peace all, and
more than, that of which time robs them.
The pleasures of youth may excel in
keenness and in zest, but they have at the
best a tinge of anxiety and unrest ; they
cannot have the fulness and depth which
may accompany the consolations of age,
and are amongst the richest rewards of
an unselfish life.
For as with the close of the day, so
with that of life ; there may be clouds,
and yet if the horizon is clear, the evening
may be beautiful.
Old age has a rich store of memories.
Life is full of
“Joys too exquisite to last,
And yet more exquisite when past.” 1
Swedenborg imagines that in heaven
the angels are advancing continually to
1 Montgomery.
�CHAP. XIII
THE DESTINY OF MAN
103
Is it not extraordinary that many men
will deliberately take a road which they
, know is, to say the least, not that of
happiness ? That they prefer to make
others miserable, rather than themselves
happy ?
Plato, in the Phsedrus, explains this
by describing Man as a Composite Being,
“ Age cannot wither nor custom stale
Their infinite variety.”
having three natures, and compares him
“ When I consider old age,” says Cicero, to a pair of winged horses and a charioteer.
“I find four causes why it is thought “ Of the two horses one is noble and of
miserable : one, that it calls us away from noble origin, the other ignoble and of
the transaction of, affairs ; the second, ignoble origin ; and the driving, as might
that it renders the body more feeble ; the be expected, is no easy matter.” The
third, that it deprives us of almost all noble steed endeavours to raise the
passions j the fourth, that it is not very chariot, but the ignoble one struggles to
far from death. Of these causes let us drag it down. As time goes on, if the
see, if you please, how great and how charioteer be wise and firm, the noble
part of our nature will raise us more
reasonable each of them is.”
To be released from the absorbing and more.
“Man,” says Shelley, “is an instru
affairs of life, to feel that one has earned
a claim to leisure and repose, is surely in ment over which a series of external and
internal impressions are driven, like the
itself no evil.
To the second complaint against old alternations of an ever-changing wind
age, I have already referred in speaking over an JEolian lyre, which move it by
their motion to ever-changing melody.”
of Health.
The third is that it has no passions.
Lastly, Cicero mentions the approach
“ 0 noble privilege of age I if indeed it of death as the fourth drawback of old
takes from us that which is in youth our age. To many minds the shadow of the
greatest defect.” But our higher aspira end is ever present, like the coffin in the
tions are not necessarily weakened ; or Egyptian feast, and overclouds all the
rather, they may become all the brighter, sunshine of life.
being purified from the grosser elements
But ought we to regard death as an
of our lower nature.
evil ? Shelley’s beautiful lines,
“Single,” says Manu, “is each man
born into the world; single he dies j
“ Life, like a Dome of many-coloured glass,
Stains the white radiance of Eternity ;
single he receives the reward of his good
Until death tramples it to fragments,”
deeds ; and single the punishment of his
sins. When he dies his body lies like a
fallen tree upon the earth, but his virtue contain, as it seems to me at least, a
accompanies his soul. Wherefore let Man double error. Life need not stain the
harvest and garner Virtue, that so he white radiance of eternity ; nor does
may have an inseparable companion in death necessarily trample it to fragments.
Man has, says Coleridge,
that gloom which all must pass through,
and which it is so hard to traverse.”
“Three treasures,—love and light
Then, indeed, it might be said that
And calm thoughts, regular as infants’ breath ;
“ Man is the sun of the world ; more And three firm friends, more sure than day and
than the real sun. The fire of his
night,
wonderful heart is the only light and Himself, his Maker, and the Angel Death.’
heat worth gauge or measure.” 1
Death is “the end of all, the remedy
1 Emerson.
the spring-time of their youth, so that
those who have lived longest are really
the youngest; and have we not all had
friends who seem to fulfil this idea ? who
are in reality—that is in mind—as fresh
as a child : of whom it may be said with
more truth than of Cleopatra that
�THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
104
of many, the wish of divers men, deserv
ing better of no men than of those to
whom she came before she was called.” 1
After a stormy life, with death comes
peace.
‘ ‘ Duncan is in his grave ;
After life’s fitful fever he sleeps well;
Treason has done his worst: nor steel, nor poison,
Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing,
Can touch him further.”'2
If death be final, then no one will
ever know that he is dead.
It is often, however, assumed that the
journey to
‘ ‘ The undiscovered country from whose bourne
No traveller returns ”
must be one of pain and suffering. But
this is not so. Death is often peaceful
and almost painless.
Bede during his last illness was trans
lating St. John’s Gospel into AngloSaxon, and the morning of his death his
secretary, observing his weakness, said,
“ There remains now only one chapter,
and it seems difficult to you to speak.”
“It is easy,” said Bede ; “take your pen
and write as fast as you can.” At the
close of the chapter the scribe said, “ It
is finished,” to which he replied, “ Thou
hast said the truth, consummatum est.”
He asked to be placed opposite to the
place where he usually prayed, said
“Glory be to the Father, and to the
Son, and to the Holy Ghost,” and as he
pronounced the last word he expired.
Goethe died without any apparent
suffering, having just prepared himself
to write, and expressed his delight at
the return of spring.
We are told of Mozart’s death that
“ the unfinished requiem lay upon the
bed, and his last efforts were to imitate
some peculiar instrumental effects, as he
breathed out his life in the arms of his
Wife and their friend Sussmaier.”
Plato died in the act of writing;
Lucan while reciting part of his book on
the war of Pharsalus ; Blake died sing
1 Seneca.
Shakespeare.
PART II
ing ; Wagner in sleep with his head on
his wife’s shoulder. Many have passed
away in their sleep. Various high
medical authorities have expressed their
surprise that the dying seldom feel either
dismay or regret. And even those who
perish by violence, as for instance in
battle, feel, it is probable, but little
suffering.
But what of the future 1 There may
be said to be now two principal views.
Some believe in the immortality of the
soul, but not of the individual soul: that
our life is continued in that of our
children would seem indeed to be the
natural deduction from the simile of St.
Paul, as that of the grain of wheat is
carried on in the plant of the following
year.
So long as happiness exists, it is selfish
to dwell too much on our own share in
it. Admit that the soul is immortal, but
that in the future state of existence there
is a break in the continuity of memory,
that one does not remember the present
life ; will it in that case matter to us
more what happens to the soul inhabiting
our body, than what happens to any
other soul ? And from this point of
view is not the importance of identity
involved in that of continuous memory ?
But however this may be, according to
the general view, the soul, though de
tached from the body, will retain its
conscious identity, and will awake from
death, as it does from sleep ; so that if
we cannot affirm that
“ Millions of spiritual creatures walk the Earth,
Unseen, both when we wake, and when we
sleep,” 1
at any rate they exist somewhere else in
space, and we are indeed looking at them
when we gaze at the stars, though to our
eyes they are as yet invisible.
In neither case, however, can death be
regarded as an evil. To wish that health
and strength were unaffected by time
might be a different matter.
1 Milton.
�THE DESTINY OF MAN
CHAP. XIII
“But if we are not destined to be
immortal, yet it is a desirable thing for a
man to expire at his fit time. For, as
nature prescribes a boundary to all other
things, so does she also to life. Now old
age is the consummation of life, just as of
a play : from the fatigue of which we
ought to escape, especially when satiety is
superadded.” 1
From this point of view, then, we need
“ Weep not for death,
’Tis but a fever stilled,
A pain suppressed,—a fear at rest,
A solemn hope fulfilled.
The moonshine on the slumbering deep
Is scarcely calmer. Wherefore weep ?
105
“ We are such stuff
As dreams are made of, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.” 1
According to the more general view
death frees the soul from the encumbrance
of the body, and summons us to the seat
of judgment. In fact,
“ There is no Death ! What seems so is transi
tion ;
This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of that life elysian,
Whose portal we call Death.” 2
We have bodies, we are spirits. “ I am
a soul,” said Epictetus, “ dragging about
a corpse.” The body is the mere perish
able form of the immortal essence. Plato
“ Weep not for death !
! concluded that if the ways of God are to
The fount of tears is sealed,
be justified, there must be a future life.
Who knows how bright the inward light
To those closed eyes revealed ?
To the aged in either case death is a
Who knows what holy love may fill
release. The Bible dwells most forcibly
The heart that seems so cold and still.”
on the blessing of peace. “ My peace I
Many a weary soul will have recurred give unto you : not as the ■world giveth,
give I unto you.” Heaven is described
with comfort to the thought that
I as a place where the wicked cease from
“ A few more years shall roll,
| troubling, and the weary are at rest.
A few more seasons come,
But I suppose every one must have
And we shall be with those that rest
asked himself in what can the pleasures
Asleep within the tomb.
of heaven consist.
“ A few more struggles here.
A few more partings o’er,
A few more toils, a few more tears,
And we shall weep no more.”
“ For all we know
Of what the blessed do above
Is that they sing, and that they love.” 3
By no one has this, however, been
It would indeed accord with few men’s
more grandly expressed than by Shelley. ideal that there should be any “struggle
for existence ” in heaven. We should then
“ Peace, peace ! he is not dead, he doth not be little better off than we are now. This
sleep 1
world is very beautiful, if we would only
He hath awakened from the dream of life.
enjoy it in peace. And yet mere passive
’Tis we who, lost in stormy visions, keep
With phantoms an unprofitable strife,
existence—mere vegetation—would in
He has outsoared the shadows of our night.
itself offer few attractions.
It would
Envy and calumny, and hate and pain,
indeed be almost intolerable.
And that unrest which men miscall delight,
Again, the anxiety of change seems
Can touch him not and torture not again.
From the contagion of the world’s slow stain inconsistent with .perfect happiness ; and
He is secure, and now can never mourn
I yet a wearisome, interminable monotony,
A heart grown cold, a head grown gray, in
1 the same thing over and over again for
vain—”
ever and ever without relief or variety,
Most men, however, decline to believe I suggests dulness rather than delight.
that
1 Cicero.
1 Shakespeare.
2 Longfellow.
3 Waller.
�106
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART II
“For still the doubt came back,—Can God misconceiving us, or being harassed by us :
provide
—of glorious work to do, and adequate
For the large heart of man what shall not
faculties to do it—-a world of solved
pall,
problems, as well as of realised ideals.”
Nor through eternal ages’ endless tide
On tired spirits fall ?
| Cicero surely did not exaggerate when
he said, “ 0 glorious day ! when I shall
depart to that divine company and assem
blage of spirits, and quit this troubled and
polluted scene. For I shall go not only
to those great men of whom I have spoken
“ What shall the eyes that wait for him survey
When his own presence gloriously appears before, but also to my dear Cato, than
whom never was better man born, nor
In worlds that were not founded for a day,
But for eternal years ? ” 1
more distinguished for pious affection;
whose body was burned by me, whereas,
Here Science seems to suggest a on the contrary, it was fitting that mine
possible answer : the solution of problems should be burned by him. But his soul
which have puzzled us here; the acqui not deserting me, but oft looking back, no
sition of new ideas ; the unrolling the doubt departed to these regions whither it
history of the past; the world of animals saw that I myself was destined to come.
and plants; the secrets of space; the Which, though a distress to me, I seemed
wonders of the stars and of the regions patiently to endure : not that I bore it
beyond the stars. To become acquainted with indifference, but I comforted myself
with all the beautiful and interesting spots with the recollection that the separation
of our own world would indeed be some and distance between us would not con
thing to look forward to—and our world tinue long. For these reasons, O Scipio
is but one of many millions. I some (since you said that you with Laelius were
times ■wonder as I look away to the stars accustomed to wonder at this), old age is
at night whether it will ever be my tolerable to me, and not only not irksome,
privilege as a disembodied spirit to visit but even delightful. And if I am wrong
and explore them. When we had made in this, that I believe the souls of men to
the great tour fresh interests would have be immortal, I willingly delude myself:
arisen, and we might well begin again.
nor do I desire that this mistake, in
Here then is an infinity of interest which I take pleasure, should be wrested
without anxiety. So that at last the only from me as long as I live ; but if I, when
doubt may be
dead, shall have no consciousness, as some
narrow-minded philosophers imagine, I do
“ Lest an eternity should not suffice
To take the measure and the breadth and not fear lest dead philosophers should
height
ridicule this my delusion.”
Of what there is reserved in Paradise
Nor can I omit the striking passage
Its ever-new delight.”2
in the Apology, when, defending himself
I feel that to me, said Greg, “ God has before the people of Athens, Socrates says,
promised not the heaven of the ascetic “ Let us reflect in another way, and we
temper, or the dogmatic theologian, or of shall see that there is great reason to hope
the subtle mystic, or of the stern martyr that death is a good ; for one of two
ready alike to inflict and bear ; but a things—either death is a state of nothing
heaven of purified and permanent affec ness and utter unconsciousness, or, as men
tions—of a book of knowledge with eternal say, there is a change and migration of
leaves, and unbounded capacities to read the soul from this world to another.
it—of those we love ever round us, never Now if you suppose that there is no con
sciousness, but a sleep like the sleep of
him who is undisturbed even by dreams,
1 Trench.
2 Ibid.
“ These make him say,—If God has so arrayed
A fading world that quickly passes by,
Such rich provision of delight has made
For every human eye,
�CHAP. XIII
THE DESTINY OF MAN
107
death will be an unspeakable gain. For' to death for asking questions1; assuredly
if a person were to select the night in not. For besides being happier in that
which his sleep was undisturbed by world than in this, they will be immortal,
dreams, and were to compare with this if what is said be true.
the other days and nights of his life, and ’ “ Wherefore, O judges, be of good cheer
then were to tell us how many days and about death, and know of a certainty
nights he had passed in the course of his that no evil can happen to a good man,
life better and more pleasantly than this either in life or after death. He and his
one, I think that no man, I will not say a are not neglected by the gods ; nor has
private man, but not even the Great my own approaching end happened by
King, will find many such days or nights, mere chance. But I see clearly that to
when compared with the others. Now, die and be released was better for me;
if death is like this, I say that to die is and therefore the oracle gave no sign.
gain ; for eternity is then only a single For which reason, also, I am not angry
night. But if death is the journey to with my condemners, or with my accusers ;
another place, and there, as men say, they have done me no harm, although
all the dead are, what good, 0 my they did not mean to do me any good ;
friends and judges, can be greater than and for this I may gently blame them.
The hour of departure has arrived, and
this ?
“ If, indeed, when the pilgrim arrives in we go our ways—I to die and you to
the world below, he is delivered from the live. Which is better God only knows.’’
professors of justice in this world, and , In the Wisdom of Solomon we are
finds the true judges, who are said to promised that—
give judgment there,—Minos, and Rhada“ The souls of the righteous are in the
manthus, and yEacus, and Triptolemus, hand of God, and there shall no torment
and other sons of God who were righteous touch them.
in their own life,—that pilgrimage will
“ In the sight of the unwise they
indeed be worth making. What would seemed to die ; and their departure is
not a man give if he might converse with taken for misery.
Orpheus, and Musseus, and Hesiod, and
“ And their going from us to be utter
Homer ? Nay, if this be true, let me die destruction ; but they are in peace.
again and again. I myself, too, shall have
“ For though they be punished in the
a wonderful interest in there meeting and sight of men, yet is their hope full of
conversing with Palamedes, and Ajax the immortality.
son of Telamon, and other heroes of old,
“ And having been a little chastised,
who have suffered death through an unjust they shall be greatly rewarded : for God
judgment ; and there will be no small proved them, and found them worthy for
pleasure, as I think, in comparing my own himself.”
sufferings with theirs. Above all, I shall
And assuredly, if in the hour of death
then be able to continue my search into the conscience is at peace, the mind need
true and false knowledge ; as in this I not be troubled. The future is full of
world, so also in that ; and I shall find doubt, indeed, but fuller still of hope.
out who is wise, and who pretends to be
If we are entering upon a rest after the
wise, and is not. What would not a man struggles of life,
give, O judges, to be able to examine the ,
leader of the great Trojan expedition; |
“ Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest,”
or Odysseus or Sisyphus, or numberless ;
others, men and women too 1 What in
that to many a weary soul will be a
finite delight would there be in conversing
with them and asking them questions.
1 Referring to the cause of his own condemna
In another world they do not put a man tion.
�108
THE PLEASURES OF LIFE
PART II
welcome bourne, and even then we may read and enjoyed, but those also whom
say,
we have loved and lost; when we shall
“ 0 Death ! where is thy sting ?
leave behind us the bonds of the flesh and
0 Grave ! where is thy victory ? ”
the limitations of our earthly existence ;
On the other hand, if, trusting humbly when we shall join the Angels, the Arch
but confidently in the goodness of an angels, and all the company of Heaven,—
Almighty and loving Father, we are then, indeed, we may cherish a sure and
entering on a new sphere of existence, certain hope that the interests and
where we may look forward to meet not pleasures of this world are as nothing,
only those Great Men of whom we have compared to those of the life that awaits
heard so much, those whose works we have us in our Eternal Home.
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Victorian Blogging
Description
An account of the resource
A collection of digitised nineteenth-century pamphlets from Conway Hall Library & Archives. This includes the Conway Tracts, Moncure Conway's personal pamphlet library; the Morris Tracts, donated to the library by Miss Morris in 1904; the National Secular Society's pamphlet library and others. The Conway Tracts were bound with additional ephemera, such as lecture programmes and handwritten notes.<br /><br />Please note that these digitised pamphlets have been edited to maximise the accuracy of the OCR, ensuring they are text searchable. If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk.<br /><br /><span><img src="http://www.heritagefund.org.uk/sites/default/files/media/attachments/TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" width="238" height="91" alt="TNLHLF_Colour_Logo_English_RGB_0_0.jpg" /></span>
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Conway Hall Library & Archives
Date
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2018
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Conway Hall Ethical Society
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Dublin Core
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Title
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The pleasures of life
Description
An account of the resource
Place of publication: London
Collation: 108, [4] p. ; 22 cm.
Notes: Publisher's list and advertisements on unnumbered pages at the begining and end. Paper covers. Pictorial cover - portrait of author. Includes bibliographical references. Printed in double columns. Advertisements on preliminary pages and unnumbered pages at the end.
Contents: Part 1: The duty of happiness -- The happiness of duty -- A song of books -- The choice of books -- The blessing of friends -- The value of time -- The pleasures of travel -- The pleasures of home -- Science -- Education. Part 2: Ambition -- Wealth -- Health -- Love -- Art -- Poetry -- Music -- The beauties of nature -- The troubles of life -- Labour and rest -- Religion -- The hope of progress -- The destiny of man.
Creator
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Lubbock, John
Date
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1899
Publisher
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Macmillan and Co. Limited
Subject
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Philosophy
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<img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /><br /><span>This work (The pleasures of life), identified by </span><span><a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a></span><span>, is free of known copyright restrictions.</span>
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G2829
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application/pdf
Type
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Text
Language
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English
Conduct of life
Education
Health
Life
Work