1 10 1552 https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/40717b9cdc2c32f9c50fdb2a95ecb2ee.tif?Expires=1773878400&Signature=aDT5-tKoC5RFPZ36xeLBk7Hn4TNl6Sq3FPPLzQMLaB5nJtPe-ScISCrRldB2zUi9wPv2rVjbSFlJesdS%7EWHG9vDBBT7qHF8%7ERcOHpqCQ%7ETTG0wCZOgvEjdaNvHyvwy4Aidm95Wyw0L6rvvKfLC-PFQjdREhhhX5cKZPKotOw9JriKllca5buKdwylbRTPRTkA4Gy4FDdwF5UL0Np6VGrHllMi0cZW%7EedJcADrjzKGS6f2UVjVkHUBxsPLJQXom9%7EFOlZlbNgb0xhlQOAn-wOQeSPaBRElVpstC6EegRCft9BCUXko-9wmyZzZI9vm8xL0w8GZzTH223LjPSKw6jSDA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 91a0d3b852bf44c7b01ef9ed09a87ca7 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource National Secular Society archival collection Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1875 - 1898 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Owned by the National Secular Society, held by Conway Hall Library and Archives Language A language of the resource English Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Charles Bradlaugh, Annie Bessant Description An account of the resource The four earliest surviving volumes of the National Secular Society’s Executive Committee minutes, 1875 - 1898. Two illuminated manuscripts presented to Charles Bradlaugh, 1874 and 1887. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Illuminated manuscript Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource NSS/7/36 Charles Bradlaugh illuminated address 1887 Description An account of the resource Illuminated address presented to Charles Bradlaugh MP, by the Secularists of Glasgow, 1887. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1887 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NSS/7/37 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource image/jpeg https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/6dc535fa9535d2223dc009d2499716fb.tif?Expires=1773878400&Signature=go3eHTIXZCVgjz9%7E9mfP06qLJzBpDP6qdJ-JKvI48jFaUj0gv1rl8djAvmU%7E-mkrOfIKS5C2pwVPPkNKI6D%7EvPx3NqdCAXM6UDHJt1cMWiedFO7zMmVdm9FhlO3uZSs-%7EpTb%7EVFoxsLIj5kJrtCjd8P3Zynl2U6pF94Vhpvb7V-A1GgRnc4oSyNk3pBh9BBzFI2EeA7QFNeBxZEtGJLMBc3PcV0RHLzN6VYPlTA2r6Ziisth1GHL6trUnAfFnw1Wr1a-S12jGtcCMS71yLeR-WRFwqlJuWDqzKOJbEB0-kCsVS7bdCU9SP8uxk87B1eEI13wsKX3ezL-dMn3lCYJRA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM e71980cb8402eee09579f4444afcea62 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource National Secular Society archival collection Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1875 - 1898 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Owned by the National Secular Society, held by Conway Hall Library and Archives Language A language of the resource English Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Charles Bradlaugh, Annie Bessant Description An account of the resource The four earliest surviving volumes of the National Secular Society’s Executive Committee minutes, 1875 - 1898. Two illuminated manuscripts presented to Charles Bradlaugh, 1874 and 1887. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Illuminated manuscript Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource NSS/7/37 Charles Bradlaugh illuminated address 1874 Description An account of the resource Illuminated address presented to Charles Bradlaugh (1833-1891) by the industrial inhabitants of Northumberland on his visit to Blyth, 1874. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1874 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NSS/7/36 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource image/jpeg https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/f7b8a122b3ecaf549eb315be6028e8dd.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=b4hmrY7bIIdfD9czVjwC0QL5RtvHgsVaQw-9xj-aIloxDhL4XdNulj4lcVm3HvgB-pJ0C8JMuWviHk4Yb9wc%7E43qMyGVhzVa%7EDY0YLR8Y8klN3rvbteAELue4xzTAs9KUEzOBQ-VDHFqd0Zlbqo2GTDnnoR3A79m02YpLytU7Uf3orIA5Bj6aeMQeSg1JyCMgmPtJwv6xrLLEi3WVNWPOo9-j0MQsY8LCJpw6kL3XBLHPw7eXbUo5NfXA%7ExGmju1mKf7aNrACT390eSZWyhbRiSzxECtOrqjudlr4GTomt9TjA0-wexIBTcfo3F%7ERNc2B14g5o-06EcoaecP6oH9bw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 8615709090de1bcad0e87f4934181ddf PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource National Secular Society archival collection Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1875 - 1898 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Owned by the National Secular Society, held by Conway Hall Library and Archives Language A language of the resource English Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Charles Bradlaugh, Annie Bessant Description An account of the resource The four earliest surviving volumes of the National Secular Society’s Executive Committee minutes, 1875 - 1898. Two illuminated manuscripts presented to Charles Bradlaugh, 1874 and 1887. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Paper notebook Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource NSS/1/20 National Secular Society Executive Committee minute book 1891- 98 Description An account of the resource A notebook containing handwritten minutes and notes from the National Secular Society's meetings, 1891 - 1898 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1891 - 1898 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NSS/1/20 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/717809b49a98c3237c0aee2611663596.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=mi6M2MdJWIhnQC6r3fTsaPWgJqAKUnOJSShx5imYYAtRu2nabTzDrxifxYGn7f-XzpQNVdOtcy%7EdBh62kN0x0TBprw0MtBWWK5iovDpGxZb5eADe-vXh7W5aRvmcQg7GDe8gW%7ETAYx2FAcIBX1DsvNotasiN%7Ez0iJo%7EZAG5a%7EE4Ykz0pNEcnUlqnWsPDBMtKN57eAssZSw6anxhQfmqpbzxgMunkugLj2BgPKIG6J%7EmgPeBpap7z3YfgqQ8hpFN77XX5fdbhHBA%7E6ka6ypUqW-tvSz4zqCqg0C40kGyvFDvmud96JeelpcxwBY2QvNdTD%7E2CNL02%7ELOdnwpgMsaiOw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM eefe487c50534f570794b22e3cc3593a PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource National Secular Society archival collection Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1875 - 1898 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Owned by the National Secular Society, held by Conway Hall Library and Archives Language A language of the resource English Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Charles Bradlaugh, Annie Bessant Description An account of the resource The four earliest surviving volumes of the National Secular Society’s Executive Committee minutes, 1875 - 1898. Two illuminated manuscripts presented to Charles Bradlaugh, 1874 and 1887. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. 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Title A name given to the resource NSS/1/2 National Secular Society Executive Committee minute book 1878 - 80 Description An account of the resource A notebook containing handwritten minutes and notes from the National Secular Society's meetings, 1878 - 1880 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1878 - 1880 Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NSS/1/2 https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/f62a4b2a2090db5d9cbe6334d561cd1a.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=W09Kvn50mqNs02pRQfFpTNTbbJt-4g0KC7tjA-A7fkcMfcRzOfpesuEHNViP7IlsyTRcSQcMjv8oKYbeYvr1wW4f8I6Mviffd1rL8f2cROixH1Y5Q2P8LEQ%7Eo-A9I23DBBvFGNQiHey3Sb4P7GwTkduIcHLtSh9K7cs6mbIEGg1b6sqB0K2REMl6-KKLPluqvXlckeGBi50Ow71tgqKFAxqceeMaHf3hLSP1INRocUDqpBtG4bqBfEV28NU3CnwPfkLS7Q7zQC5qzIzeijdebXSltreqxvO-1TL0QZt9uvJRDlHe7i2235uYy%7EnJtxaGiy5z1maYTfewbHbQkjDzLg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 5757db49b4f3f49efd6893bcfcc6ba69 PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource National Secular Society archival collection Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1875 - 1898 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Owned by the National Secular Society, held by Conway Hall Library and Archives Language A language of the resource English Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Charles Bradlaugh, Annie Bessant Description An account of the resource The four earliest surviving volumes of the National Secular Society’s Executive Committee minutes, 1875 - 1898. Two illuminated manuscripts presented to Charles Bradlaugh, 1874 and 1887. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Paper notebook Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource NSS/1/3 National Secular Society Executive Committee minute book 1886 - 91 Description An account of the resource A notebook containing handwritten minutes and notes from the National Secular Society's meetings, 1886 - 1891 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1886 - 1891 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NSS/1/3 https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/65b96fcc6de4b6e0c3fbef2e321a8098.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=qR9ycRIKNFOhuMn45tEXucl4CrMwATYDEheGGZKbH84bEXK0NYK5%7Ej5ViJXc9j%7EE1AQHuPvRBSyLYq-EBzEhEafvqEeu2lCTFwjwuCKbNyeXwdze0JYypQqYb%7EHfg4HWsG5nN4cRb0bKJhYPA4By46X-5KhsWptah0RUSqabHz0YJawxhWM2VLnKWeHvRvze7zE%7ExyBFGAHLuIeyTotV9UtEjis7DTa91o02HFSKNWl1zq%7ENLwCJgk5EwKo4stuosq-o5GkvVKoicLwu3pr9Nv%7EMD8m1crjsHDyHy0wPDvBgYnYFpfr%7E%7EGmhJSSoo0SRQN2fqFLdY6%7E99WZ45nABCg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 105c380b1370e1c0bc153577ae71792e PDF Text Text �� Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource National Secular Society archival collection Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1875 - 1898 Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource Owned by the National Secular Society, held by Conway Hall Library and Archives Language A language of the resource English Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Charles Bradlaugh, Annie Bessant Description An account of the resource The four earliest surviving volumes of the National Secular Society’s Executive Committee minutes, 1875 - 1898. Two illuminated manuscripts presented to Charles Bradlaugh, 1874 and 1887. Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Paper notebook Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource NSS/1/1 National Secular Society Executive Committee minute book 1875-78 Description An account of the resource A notebook containing handwritten minutes and notes from the National Secular Society's meetings, 1875 - 1878. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource National Secular Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1875 - 1878 Type The nature or genre of the resource Collection Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NSS/1/1 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/318bee7a1769c3d0e6555b0e14377dc6.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=vXAfEOFUeJOyIqe4ZJxRMoUQiqRtQj29ZExKQJf8l2H6KVZCBRiHTDf2x79ZK2VgKTy-RQ-%7Espf-L%7E4Q3SKxRnos%7Ei-MlHpZkQsf5711bHBbwPK-piAbftrGpurUyW5769yDU7RoMeHqtTi291oIHSMDz2-11lNeEpzu18EQjH6g5n3p3ACk1ntjnghqNQKmrV-oVSceeIdnrTnWnLQDalp0bW8Z8W%7Eh-gCcFuYBtOtMdluEanxdsvXgXGweYxmZeSrJNkbOG0jSSsoIE6TwLTZ%7E8Xn2kDsEgSBaSWz0%7Eslhzpa2YuTRqbXA3AcwIluTDtWWWnFcYGJaRHGh1SXltA__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM e6502a8de5ef391d8162c310cc7a29bd PDF Text Text THE SOUTH PLACE MAGAZINE: A MONTHLY-RECORD OF THE WORK OF ~be $outb Vol. 1., No. 1. ~[ace lBtbical $ociet\? APRIL, 1895. 2d. Montbly; liB. Od. Annually. post free. TWO HISTORICAL SOUTH PLACE EDITORS . By MONcuRE D. CONWAY, M .A . The large sects with their militant journals may smile at the small size and scope of the South Place Magazine, but the Society may find some reason for satisfaction in its unpretending dimensions and aims. Some record and indication of the ociety's large and varied work has been found ?esirable, but the general periodical literature of the country ~s sufficiently pervaded by rational ideas and liberal principles, Its pages sufficiently open to free expression of every opinion, to render unnecessary any such separate representative of a ~ociety essentially unsectarian, and aiming only to diffuse a hberalleaven in the world . This was not always the case . For fifty years after the foundation of the Society (February 14th, 1793), its ministers were also editors, and during the long reign of terror for English liberalism, which followed !he brief reign of terror in France, they did valiant service 111 keeping alive the traditions of constitutional liberty. 'Ye can now hardly realise the heavy price paid by our fathers for the freedom we enjoy. "From the beginning of the century to the death of Lord Liverpool," wrote idney Smith, '~ was an awful period for anyone who ventured to maintain h?eral principles. He was sure to be assailed with all the blllingsgate of the French Revol uti on : 'J acobin,' , Leveller,' , Atheist,' 'Incendiary,' , Regicide,' were the gentlest terms used, and any man who breathed a syllable against the senseless bigotry of the Georges was shunned as unfit for social life. To say a word against any abuse that a rich man inflicted, and a poor man suffered, was bitterly and steadily re ented, and in one year 12,OOO persons were committed for offences against the game laws." Leigh Hunt was among the first who began the paper-and- �2 I1 11 type siege against this British Bastille built on ruins of the constitution . In 1808 he and his brother John founded the Examiner, to "promote parliamentary reform, liberality of opinion in general," and especially "freedom from superstition." It took only five years to lodge these brave brothers in prison . At a Saint Patrick's day dinner the toa t to the Prince Regent was coldly received, and Sheridan was hissed while trying to say a good word for the Prince. Next day the Morning Post described the Prince Regent as " the Mecrenas of the Age," and as an" Adonis of loveliness, attended by Honour, Virtue and Truth." The Examiller placed beside this flattery the prosaic facts, and therefore, despite Lord Brougham's able defence, the brothers Hunt were sentenced to two years imprisonment in separate prisons and a fine of £500 each . The Government offered to pardon both if the Examiner would promise to abstain from criticisms of the Prince Regent and his actions, but the brothers declined these terms and underwent their full penalties. The Examiner, edited from Surrey goal, acquired, of course, increased popularity and became a power in the land. Thomas Carlyle told me that among his early recollections was the excitement caused in Scotland by this journal. In his native village, Ecclefechan, the place of its delivery was eyery week besieged by an eager crowd, and its columns furnished the town talk till another number came. Among thof>e stirred by these events was William J ohnson Fox, who soon after Leigh Hunt's release from prison (I IS), became the minister of the Society which some years later erected its chapel in South Place. A warm friendship, founded in their common principles, was formed between these two men, and for many years they were fellow sowers scattering the seed of liberal ideas through various journals and magazines. Leigh Hunt was nearly two years older than Fox, aDd his fine literary culture and polish were of much service to the minister in enlarging his relation to the intellectual world, while, sitting at the feet of the impassioned orator in his chapel, he himself gained increase of that religious sentiment which touches us in his "Abou ben Adhem." After Fox had been for some years editing the Monthly Repository as an organ of the Unitarian denomination, he purchased it (1831), and transformed it from a theological publication into an organ of political and social reform, and of literary and dramatic criticism . In this work his chief helper and frequent contributor was Leigh Hunt, who, in 1837, succeeded him as the Editor. These veteran comrades �3 sur:,ived into a generation which little realized how much of Its harvest of liberty had been sown by their unwearied labours, but they enjoyed a happy old age together, and to th.e last were surrounded by a loving circle ·of those who had wItnessed their struggles and the triumph of their principles. It will interest our South Place people to read the subjoined letters exchanged between -these our noble forerunners In their old age-the occasion being the death of Leigh Hunt's son Vincent. 3 Sussex Place, Regent's Park, 7th November, 1852. DEAR HUNT,-Experience might have hardened me to it by this time, but I still have a melancholy surprise at seeing ~ow greatly my juniors take precedence of me in the final Journey. Both feelings came strongly over me when I read a late announcement as to one in whom, what little I saw of him (some years ago), made me take a lively interest in him, for his own sake as well as yours. Forgive the sympathy of a fellow veteran in this battle of life, if it expresses itself inopportunely during the season of your domestic calamity. ~ou and I have lived through the same stormy and changeful tJ~es, we have fought under the same banner, though you wIth finer weapons, and winning the more enduring wreaths; and it may probably be about the same time that we both make the" great experiment." Allow, therefore, the mourn~ul hand-shake of an old comrade, whose sympathy for you In this trial will not be satisfied with entire quiescence. I will say no more, for you know quite as well as myself all that is to be said on such sad events. Ever yours affectionately, W. J. Fox. Kensington, 11th N ovembel', 1852. Most welcome was your letter, my dear friend, though I have not had the courage to open it until this moment. I felt the letter like your presence, and wrung your hand, as it were, looking away from you . There is only one point in it with which I can differ, and that concerns yourself; but how can I do anything but thank you for it, and love you the more, and consider it a new bond for the remainder of life between us. I cannot proceed for tears; but you have helped to make them sweeter. He was all you fancied him. God bless you a.nd yours, my kind friend, prays your grateful and affectIOnate LEIGH HUNT. �6 I. ' my tical, utterly opposed to the inflexible theology of the Protestantism of Ulster. Let England take to Ireland half as good a God as St . Patrick, and there may be a little chance of its conversion. But a deity like Patrick has his drawbacks . He directs the eyes of his worshippers backwards in tead of concentrating them on the things of today. There is too much of clan in his cult and not enough universal brotherhood, but there are no hard dogmas, nor Puritanical ab baths. He demands no long faces, nor sacrifice ; he is the intercessor, guardian, friend, providence, the dispenser of good things. The thorn of superstition, always growing, blossoms in the hand of the gentle St. Patrick. THE FORCES OF IRRELIGION . On Sunday, March 24th, Mr. Conway's discourse was on "The Forces of Irreligion ." Religion, he said, means restraint; it connotes spiritual obligation-something beyond personal advantage, and is essentially unsectarian. There is no balancing of chances or barter in religion, and the nun who renounces this world for the next is not really rcligieuse . It is partly in the increase of religious institutions that the decline of true religion is observable. What sacrifices are these organizations making? What secular advantages are they giving up? The compulsory human sacrifice of the ab bath is due chiefly to their craving.for full congregations, and by the Leeds judgment Sunday is still under the benighted reign of George Ill. They suppress that text of St . Luke, well-known to scholars: "And He came to a place and saw one working on the abbath . And he said unto him : '0 man, if thou knowest what thou art doin a , blessed art thou; if thou knowest not, thou art a transgressor.'" The extra sanctity of one day is irreligious, and so is the extra sanctity of one Book. That Book is known to contain thousands of errors, and though some of the wor t are corrected in the Revised Version, no religious organization has sanctioned its use. They prefer the responsibility of circulating proved falsehoods to an admission that they have been mistaken, and Truth is sacrificed to their prestige . True religion is shown in the relinquihing of adventitious secular advantages. \\That Church has done this? Their excuse is that the pious frauds of the Bible and present worldly advantages are a great help in saving mankind from a fearful de tiny, so that they are forces of irreligion with religion on their lips, and man is �7 left among those forces without a religion . Religion is ebbing away from Theology and cutting new channels for itself. Forty years ago one heard onLy the din of the strife of Theological controversy; now Theology is almost as extinct as the dodo. A very hopeful sign of to-day is the diffusion of genius, so that the mountain peaks are lost in the general elevation, and we have no great leaders. Heroes are not needed now, for most Hydras are dead, and the Hero is often in the way after he has slain his Hydra. Public interest now centres in social questions; the crucifixion of the Jesus of London is being stopped. He is to be fed, clothed, educated, made healthy and moral; but if we are not careful we shall only equip him with powers to attain selfish ends. He must also have character, self-control, and the subtle alchemy, like the spiritual love of worshippers, by which the mud may be changed into the lily. We must see our own nature in all its fulness . Nothing will so bind us to mankind in love as the idea that there also is the same potential beauty. A Zoroastrian seer visited Paradise and saw a youth who had just died meet a maiden and ask her: "V/ho art thou? fairer than any on earth." She replied, "0 youth, I am thine own thoughts, words, and actions, I am thyself! " SOWERS OF SEEDS AND TARES. Mr. Conway began his discourse on March 3Ist by describing in detail a fine allegorical painting he had seen, representing the Devil sowing gold coins round the Cross; but he pointed out that money is not tares any more than it is wheat; it is power, both for good and evil. He mentioned incidentally that Benjamin Flower, the philanthropic editor of the" Arena," who has just published a book about the power of money, is a grandson of the father of Eli za Flower who was for so long an active member of this Society; and went on to say that man is the sowel" and it behoves him to sow truth, to cultivate carefully and well so that the tares of superstition, ignorance, and vice may be choked out of existence by its exuberant growth . The problem is not one concerning evil in the abstract, but how to deal with each individual injurious thing. The evils of the world are the ~ymptoms of the world's malady. Everyone is reaping what others have sown and is sowing for others to reap . The tares of superstition, of race prejudice, of cynical ideas concerning man or woman may be planted in us by others and bear fruit, degrading our moral nature. An eastern �8 proverb says" No seed will die," and this is absolutely true of moral seed. Jesus taught that the best way to plant the seed was deep in the earth, not on the stones, or cast up to the unfertilizing heavens. The seed in its growth evolves or changes character in response to the pressure of outside conditions . The germ of opposition to slavery, and silent meetings, is to be found in the teaching of George Fox, the founder of the Quakers; the evolution of which is seen in the adoption of the silent meeting as one of their distinctive characteristics, and their enthusiastic abolitionism. " As you sow, so shall you reap," is not accurate, it should be-as you sow, so shall others reap . S UNDAY S CHOOL. On March 3rd Mr. W . Varian spoke to the Combined Class on "A great Dog." On the following Sunday Mr. H. Crossfield told" The story of Lafayette." On the three succeeding Sundays, March 17th, 24th, and 3 1St, Mr. F . J. Gould, superintendent of the East London Ethical Sunday School, kindly addressed the children on "Anthropology." By the help of many illustrations the addresses were made very entertaining and instructive. SUNDAY AFTERNOON FREE LECTURES. The course on Industries was brought to a satisfactory close by Mr. Sidney Webb on Sunday, March 31st . We are compelled to hold over till next month the account of this lecture, and those deliver~d on the two preceding Sundays. During the last two years forty-eight lectures have been given, nearly all by workers on their own Industries, and though some trades may not have been represented, the course has covered pretty well all those of the London district. On March 3rd, Mr. Samuel Wood, M.P., lectured on "Coal Miners ar:d Coal Mines," and his twenty-two years' personal ex. perience as a collier much added to the interest of his lecture. Opening with a graphic description of the surroundings and general appearance of a coal-mine, he then entered into details concerning the mode of working, and the relative remuneration received by the miner and mine owner. He stated that 600,000 men are employed in coal mines, about 1,000 lives are lost annually, and that in 1891 185 millions of tons of coal were produced . On March loth Herbert Burrows lectured on the Civil Service. The lecturer, who met with a very cordial reception, after carefully �9 tracing its origin and gradual transition from the reign of Charles n. to the present time pointed out that up to 1855 the various positions were filled by nominees of the Crown and 'its Ministers, creating a direct incentive to corruption and abuse; whereas now the lower Division is supplied by candidates who have gained the most marks in an open competitive examination . Even in the higher Division although a nomination is necessary the candidate is subject to a difficult examination before receiving any appointment. After pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of the Service, the lecturer said that taking into consideration the monotony of the work and the little prospect for any material advance for the majority of those who entered the ranks, he did not know another body of servants who on the whole could 'claim to be more conscientious or loyal to the nation 's interest. In conclusion Mr. Burrows aJluded to the increased tendency of the Crown to employ more and more women, and could never understand why they were paid on a lower scale than men, realising as he did that it threw many men out of employment. Without offering any solution of the problem he wished to warn his hearers the difficulty would press more and more heavily as time went on and sooner or later would have to be grappled with. SOUTH PLACE SUNDAY POPULAR CONCERTS . An event of unusual importance and interest in the history of the above occurred on March 17th, when the two-hundredth Concert was given. As by a happy coincidence this event feIJ on St. Patrick's Day, it was decided to arrange an Irish Concert, for which the active help of Dr. C. ViJliers Stanford was secured, and the co-operation of so eminent an Irish musician served to give special prominence to this" second century" concert. He took the Pianoforte part in his own Sonata in D minor for Piano and Violoncello, and also in his Quintet for Piano and Strings, his a sociates being Messrs. Arthur Bent, Wall ace utcliffe, Alfred Hobday, and Paul Ludwig. Our friend Mr. Herbert Thorndike sang a number of Irish songs with excellent taste and expressIOn . The other Concerts during March have included two appearances of Mr. John Saunders's tring Quartet Party, whose masterly performances have included such fine works as Beethoven's Quartet in F minor, and Dvorak's Quartet in E flat. On March 31st the Misses Annie and Amy Grimson, Miss Ethel Rooke, Mr. Philip A. Rooke, and Mr. H. Wildman, were the instrumentalists, the four first named making their first appearances at our Concerts. ExceJlent performers they proved themselves to be, and the very enjoyable concert included capital renderings of Gade 's charming String Quintet in E minor (a !10velty to our audience), and Dvorak's fine and favourite Quintet 111 A, for Piano and Strings. Mrs. Helen Trust sang in her most �10 artistic manner; those who know this lady's performances will consequently feel no surprise on hearing that the delighted audience was most enthusiastic, and insisted on an encore. Special attention is called to the fact that on the afternoon of April 7th, Miss Josephine Troup will lecture on ., Beethoven ," with vocal and instrumental illustrations, and in the evening of this day a special Beethoven Concert will be given in connection with the lecture. This concert will be the twenty-seventh and final one of the present (ninth) season, and the Concert Committee hope the support on this interesting occasion will be such as to enable them to clear off the deficit with which they are at present troubled . Every previous season has closed free from debt, and it is hoped this one will not be an unpleasant exception to the rule. TUES D AY EVENING LECT URES_ Mr. Richards, B.A., concluded on March I2th the very instructive and important course of Lectures on Greater Britain that has occupied the spring session. The main purpose or theme has been to impress upon the audience the significance of the expansion of England that has taken place during the last two centuries. The lecturer, while sometimes severely critical of the methods by which much of t h is came about, yet in large degree considered that the forward policy was inevitable under the peculiar circumstances in which England was placed. The final lectures dealt more particularly with the condition of the colonies in the nineteenth century and the prospects in the immediate future of the British Empire as a whole. The problems created by the contact of the native races with the colonists were touched upon, though they were necessarily left with little more than hints as to their solution . Probably the facts were too strange and conflicting for any profitable generalization to be made at present. The progress of the colonies towards the democratical ideal was criticised and the process led at once to an intensely interesting speculation as to whether the several dependencies would as in the case of America proceed to an independent polItical existence; whether, on the other hand, the sentiments that sprin~ from a common language, literature, traditions, and character will prove a sufficiently stron cr bond to unite the remainder of the Englishspeaking race. Several other interesting questions were also glanced at in the concluding lectures, such as the religious prospects in the colonies and the possibIlities of im perial federation. This course, which was Illustrated throughout by lantern slides, was instructive and suggestive in a more than ordinary degree, and it is to be regretted that it was not better attended . �II SATURDAY AFTERNOON RAM BLES. The Rambles for the season commenced on March 2nd, and although, in consequence of there being m'uch illness amon g our members, many tickets have been returned, the attendance at each excursion has equalled the limit and peen very large, BRITISH MUSEUM LIBRARY. - The ramblers to the British Museum Library on March 2nd were most fortunate in having as conductor Mr. J. Macfarlane, whose bright geniality and clear explanations added greatly to the interest of the visit. Pausing first by some of the glass cases he pointed out early examples of printing from wood blocks, and many fine specimens of French, German, and Italian work, some of the latter being most beautifully executed. On entering the private rooms of the library the comprehensive detail of the great catalogue was demonstrated by reference to the works of Bunyan, which alone occupied several pages in one of its volumes. Many rare books were also shown, including a first edition of Shakspere and the daintily embroidered church-going outfit of a dame of the cavalier period. After traversing part of the three miles of book cases we entered the Reading Room, and that being closed for repairs, we had an exceptional opportunity of admiring its fine proportions and magnificent dome, second only to that of the Parthenon. THE GUILDHALL.-When Gog and Magog hear the clock strike one they come down from their high position and go to dinner. But they were not seen to do so on the 2nd March when the Ramblers paid a visit to the Guildhall, its library, and museum . The Ramblers got there too late, for it was past two o'clock before they assembled. They (Gog and Magog) were too exalted on their pedestals to take notice of even such distinguished g uests, so instead Mr. Charles Welch, F.S.A ., the principal librarian, very kindly received the South Place visitors in his beautiful room, and gave an account of the history of the Guildhall a nd the gradual growth of the library and museum. On the table were ma ny choice books, ancient and modern, arranged for their inspection. They were then escorted through the readin g room, down into the now well-lit museum, which contains much of interest relating to the past history of London from prehistoric times onward; it is particularly rich in Roman antiquities. In one case is displayed one of the few existing signatures of Shakspere. Clever people are usually bad writers. If Shakspere's great genius were a matter of dispute, this one specimen of his caligraphy ought surely once for all to settle the qu estion in his favour. From the museum the party went into the Guildhall crypt and almost sniffed the savoury smell of real turtle soup. In the Guildhall itself, Mr. Welch gave a graphic description of the brilliance of the great banquet on Lord Mayor's D ay. The beautiful timber roof of the hall was also pointed out. Before leaving, the Ramblers were taken into the New Chamber for the �12 meetings of the Common Council, the Court of Aldermen's Ro:) m and the Old Common Council Chamber, which is likely soon to be demolished, the slte then serving a more useful purpose. NATIONAL GALLERY .- On Saturday, March 9th, Mr. Charles Holroyd, F.R.S.P.E., conducted a number of ramblers through the Sienese, Tuscan, Italian, and Venetian Rooms of the National Gallery. The sun was not so kind and considerate as Mr. Holroyd, for while he threw all the light on the subject whlch long study and enthusiastic interest enabled him to do, the sun retired into private life and refused to glve his help in showing the wonderful coloring of pictures painted centuries ago. Visions of Fra Angelico's lovely Angels, the "Madonna and Chlld" of Sandro Bottlcelli, with roses in the background, "drawn as none is likely to draw for many a day," says Ruskin, the Raphaels, the grand Titians (sketched many of them by Michael Angelo's hand), and the works of hundreds of magnificent artists crowded together in one's mind more or less clearly after two and a half hours of Mr. Holroyd's delightful talk. Would it not be well now to visit the Gallery by ourselves and see how much or how little we have carried away of the information, suggestions, and ideas given us so generously by Mr. Holroyd ? LAMBETH PALAcE.- On Saturday, March 9th, in spite of the inclement weather, we had an enjoyable and instructive ramble over Lambeth Palace, the Archbishop of Canterbury's to"vn house. We were shown over by the Porter, who evidently took a pride in the historic buildings in his charge. We first enter the Library, a fine hall, rebuilt from the original design after the Civil War by Bishop Juxon . Here every ten years is held the Pan-Anglican Conference, consisting of Bishops from all parts of the world. From the Library we went by a winding corridor, after visiting the old Guard Chamber-now the Dining Hall-to the Chapel, a handsomely fitted-up building, and then to the socalled Lollards' Tower, though our guide took great pams to convince us the Lollards had nothing to do with it. In the top story of this tower prisoners have often been confined, especially during the Civil Wars. One cavalier prisoner escaped by means of a rope through a window in this tower, his wife waiting for him in a boat on the river beneath. It its related that, the rope being too short, the unfortunate man fell into the boat and broke both his legs . Our visit was finished by inspecting the exterior of some of the buildings, our guide pointing out a mark some feet above the ground, which shows the height the tide used sometimes to reach before the construction of the embankment. In those days they were forced to keep the water out by filling up the space between the bottom of the gate and the ground with clay, and for this purpose our guide said his predecessor had often been called up at night. vVe are reluctantly compelled through pressure on the space at �13 our disposal to hold over interesting accounts of several other Rambles in March. MONTHLY SOIREE. It was unfortunate that the very bad weather prevented a larger attendance at the March Soiree,-which was most interesting, Mrs. Theodore Wright giving readings from Ibsen's "Doll's House" and" Ghosts ." In the readings from" Ghosts " she. was most ably assisted by Mr. Acton Bond, who gave full effect to Pastor Mander's horror on discovering that Fru Alvig's whole married life had been one long struggle to keep her wrongs from the world and to bring up her son in ignorance of his father's vices. Mrs. Wright as Fru Alvig read excellently. As Nora in the" Doll 's House," Mrs. Wright was delightful, and many of those present wished it were possible to see her act that part in the play. She so thoroughly realtzed the depth and stren gth of the character, and the contrast with the priggishness of Helmer was so vivid that the audience were charmed and, like Oli ver, wished for more . Mrs. Bunn and Mr. Morressy gave some piano duets, and so a very pleasant evening came to an end. THE LENDING LIBRARY. The Hon. Librarian would be glad to receive additions to the list of books which members are willing to lend. Books can be obtained from the Lending Library every Sunday morning and at the Monthly Soirees. It is proposed to announce in the Magazine from time to time any additions to the Library. SOUTH PLACE DISCUSSION SOCIETY. A Debate on "Capital Punishment" was opened by Mrs. H. Bradlaugh Bonner on Wednesday evening, March 13th, Mr. ]. Hallam 111 the chair. Mrs. Bonner, in her opening address, expressed the opinion that Capital Punishment is at once too severe and too lenient; too severe in that the punishment provokes compassion and can never be remitted; too lenient in that the whole suffering is confin ed to the brief period of, at most, three weeks. Mrs. Bonner confessed to grave doubts about advocating the total abolition of Capital Punishment, as in it she sees the most effective means of coping with those cases of hereditary criminality which not infrequently occur. The points upon which the discussion was rai sed were mostly minor ones, Mr. Read's being the only chal lenge offered to the general views expressed by Mrs. Bonn er, wh o , in her reply, did not fail to deal with every item of contention in a lucid and comprehensive mann er. The second Discussion of the month was upon "Banks, Breakable and Unbreakable," opened by Mr. A. E. Porter on �Wednesday evening, March 27th, Mr. W. J. Reynolds in the chair. The pa per bein g somewhat len gthy, the time left for criticism was consequently short. Mr. Porter, after describing the evils of the present system of " Breakable" Banks, proceeded to point out how, in his opinion, under Free Currency a perfect system of " Unbreaka ble" Banks would be established. He did not succeed, however, in satisfying his opponents, who maintained a lively discussion. A NEW HALL FOR SOUTH PLACE. Althou gh there is no further development of the re-building scheme since the appointment of the Special Sub-Committee to thresh out the matter, we would still urge the members, in the words of George Meredith, to .. Keep the young generations in hail, And bequeath them no tumbled house I" MEMBERS' "AT HOMES." On March 15th Mr. & Mrs. Tait and Miss Christie gave an" At Home " for m embers at 54 Fellows Road, Hampstead. About thirty-five guests were present and a most delightful time was spent. Miss Beatrice Gough and Miss Amy Carter sang some charming duets, and other friends played, sang and recIted. Everyone seemed so pleased to meet and had so much to talk about that not a dull moment was spent. The evening was thoroughly enjoyed, several friends saying that this was one of the most ag reeable ways of meeting that South Place had ever inaugurated. During the month Miss Bristed (241 West Green Road, N .), Dr. and Mrs. Newton Parker (10 Tollington Park, Holloway), and Mr. and Mrs. Wm. Rawlings (406 Mare Street, Hackney), also gave" At Homes" to the members in their respective districts. A lady who was present at Mrs. Rawlings 's writes ;_ " It was an exceedingly pleasant one." WHAT MAN CAN OBTAIN FROM THE LAND. On Tuesday , March 19th, Prince Kropotkin kindly delivered a lecture in aid of the fund for paying off the debt on the building, his subj ect bein g " What Man can obtain from the Land." Mr. Sidney Webb , L.C.C., presided. The lecture was full of practical suggestions for the greater utility of the land and was listened to throughout with marked appreciation. On the proposition of Mr. ]. H allam, seconded in a humorous speech by Miss A. C. Morant (Chiswick) , and carried with acclamation, a cordial vote of thanks was given to the lecturer for his services. The net proceeds of the lecture amounted to more than £5. We shall endeavour in a future number of the South Place �15 Magazine to deal at greater length with this valuable contribution on an important question . Meanwhile, those intere~ted in the subject will find in the Library copies of twO small works by Mr. \Villiam E. Bear, from which Prince Kropotkin quoted, i.e. " A Study of Small Holdings," and" The British Farmer and his Competitors." . ANNUAL BOOK SALE. The Annual Book Sale in aid of the Debenture Redemption Fund has been arranged to take place on Tuesday and Wednesday, May 14th and 15th, and the Committee would now be pleased if members will forward any intended gifts as soon as possible to facilitate the necessary preparations. As a two days' sale requires a very much larger selection than in 1894, and many members having probably given all their surplus publications last year, the Committee are now seeking contributions outside as well as from the members . The Committee will gladly receive all descriptions of books, music, prints, &c. (which should be sent to the Institute, marked Book Sale), feeling confident from last year's experience that they can turn every gift to advantage. CONCERT ON GOOD FRIDAY EVENING. A Concert, in aid of the Sunday Afternoon Free Lectures, will be given at South Place on Good Friday, commencing at 8 o'clock. The programme will include Beethoven's "Kreutzer Sonata" for pianoforte and violin. The vocalists will be Miss Louise Phillips, Mr. W . A. Hamilton, and Mr. Arthur Walenn: and the instrumentalists Miss Josephine Troup (pianoforte) ; Messrs. Hans Wessely, Percy Miles, and Erwin Bank (violin); and Miss Kate Augusta Davies (accompanist). Tickets may be had at the Institute: Prices, threepence, sixpence, and one shilling. MEMS. ABOUT MEMBERS. Miss Mildred Conway, the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Moncure Conway, was married at New York on Wednesday, February 6th, to Mr. Sawyer, an architect, of that City. She carries with her into her new life the heartfelt good wishes of every member of the Society, which is moreover testifying its love for the bride and her parents by the presentation of a cheque as a little marriage Souvenir. That every good and sweet influence may follow the young couple in their married life is the earnest wish of their many friends at South Place. The South Place Sewing Meetings of the season have just �16 finished. Nearly 100 flannel gowns for the Royal Free Hospital represent the praiseworthy industry of these benevolent ladies. A prospective new member of South Place has arrived in the person of Dorothy Muriel Crawshay, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Waiter Crawshay. We ought all to be grateful to Mrs. Dixon; the Soirees under her active superintendence are unvarying successes, and she has recently added to her other responsibilities the Joint-Secretaryship of the Members' Committee, thereby ensuring similar success for the Members' "At Homes." Mr. and Mrs. Gibson will have the sympathies of all members of South Place in their grievous trouble owing to the serious illness of one of their daughters. We are pleased to learn that Mrs. Harold Hunns has now quite recovered. Mr. Morris with his usual generosity has arranged to give the Ramblers an extra Dance at Armfield's on April 20th, the invitations for which are out. Mr. Mudie is happily quite restored to health, after his severe attack of influenza, by his visit to Wych Cross. The genial face of Mr. Todd has recently been missed from South Place. He is with his family recruiting in Brighton. Miss N. Hickson and Miss Gova have been travelling in Italy durin <Y the winter. Miss Gova has been laid up with influenza in a Fior nce hotel. On dtt that two members of South Place will be married this month. Mr. J. A. Lyon, a South Place Veteran, whose recollections of the South Place ociety go back to the time when the Chapel was not yet built, and who remembers Mr. Fox's predecessor, Mr. Vidler, completed his eighty-sixth year on March 23 rd . On the evening of that day he presided, with the vigour of a man of fifty, at a meeting of the Discu sion Class connected with the South London Ethical Society, and assisted in the discussion, which was on the thrilling theme of" Bimetallism." ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS. W. M.-(Discllssion Society) . In our next number the subject of your letter will receive attention. REMOVALS. Members who have moved since the issue of the last Annual Report should notify their present address for insertion in the Magazine. KENNY & Co., Printers, 25 Camden Road, London, N. w. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Ethical Record Description An account of the resource The Ethical Record is the journal of Conway Hall Ethical Society. The journal began in 1895 and has primarily provided abstracts and edited essays of the Society’s Sunday Lectures. Over time, it developed into a showcase journal of the Society’s activities and events at Conway Hall. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Ethical Society Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Conway Hall Ethical Society Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1895 - 2020 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Subject The topic of the resource The Ethical Record is the journal of Conway Hall Ethical Society, previously the South Place Ethical Society. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource All copyright held by Conway Hall Ethical Society. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Ethical Record Volume 1, April 1895 Description An account of the resource The South Place Magazine: A monthly record of the work of the South Place Ethical Society. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource South Place Ethical Society Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource Moncure Daniel Conway Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource April 1895 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available South Place Ethical Society Subject The topic of the resource The South Place Magazine: A monthly record of the work of the South Place Ethical Society. Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource All copyright Conway Hall Ethical Society Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/916b0db2b8afd4a7934ab45c172655ca.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=ri%7ExtVEI0taH1FmyZBOR2--aYs-7CuTPK-E8EhDsnuMoY%7E469JvOW4A9AzoO9xNFctwU3n8aM-gxuV-LFt2rxnQ0H-RJF%7EX7WhpcGsossUTqhSNPeHkhqdZmu6FC-h1-gIamHLRT9jTrs3UhZF12cfZtabwXeZVMO0hGiqIF%7EmALj4Mh9kw7jRxnKdDUXcQLweaUEhmANcidW%7EzA3qP-8OFavKehtRQxbqIR6xt2AYSZLtdDsS7bdjnTwkHlctq9R8VBUUlkH6b0O9oZyNTTtq6cBqfo-4UJmPbrSV3Wmp1PzRjac9WljQu%7EwkLf30s43MnPKgk6-csl2rndHx7iOw__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM a5e3b59fa24c2be7e96b3ebec36ed244 PDF Text Text ESSAYS ON CHAUCER, His Words and Works. PART II. III. Practica Chilindri : or, The Working of the Cylinder, by John Hoveden. Edited, with a Translation, by Edmund Brock. IV. The use of final -e in Early English, and especially in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. By Professor Joseph Payne. V. Elizabeth Barrett Browning on Chaucer. “ English Poets,” ed. 1863. From her VI. Specimen of a critical edition of Chaucer’s Compleynte to Fite, with the Genealogy of its Manuscripts. By Prof. BernHARd Ten-Brink, PUBLISHED FOR THE CHAUCER SOCIETY BY N. TRUBNER & CO., 57 & 59, LUDGATE HILL, �Smnir 9. JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS. �III. PRACTICA CHILINDRI: OR THE WORKING OF THE CYLINDER, BY JOHN HOVEDEN. EDITED WITH A TRANSLATION BY Edmund Brock ��57 PREFACE. By the kindness of Mr Frederick Norgate, we are now able to lay before the reader another short treatise on the cylinder. How it was found, and what it contains, may be learnt from the following notice, which we reprint from Notes and Queries, 4th Series, III, June 12, 1869. “CHILENDBE: (‘ SCHIPMANNES TALE, 206.’) "We have to thank the Chaucer Society for the publica tion of a very early tract on the ‘ Chilindre,’ removing to a great extent the difficulty about the meaning of this word, which for ages has puzzled all the commentators on the Canterbury Tales. This little tract is devoted almost exclusively to information as to the construction of the in strument in question, with only a few brief rules at the end for its use. I have recently been so fortunate as to discover another MS. which may be a useful and interest ing supplement to that which Mr Brock has edited for the above-named society; and before describing its contents, let me mention the strange way in which I found it. Looking through the Index of Authors at the end of Ayscough’s Catalogue of the Sloane MSS. (not thinking at the time of Chaucer or anything relating to him), my attention was arrested by the name ‘ Chilander,’ and on turning to the page referred to, I found Chilander noted as the author of a work entitled Practica Astrologorum, fyc. Hereupon I determined on taking the first opportunity of examining the MS. itself, and having done so, to my surprise I found, instead of Practica Astrologorum, with Chilander for its author, a tract entitled Practica Cliilindri secundum magistrum Johannem Astrologum 1 The MS. is of the beginning of the fourteenth century, neatly written (on vellum), and differs from that which the Chaucer Society has brought to �58 PREFACE. light, inasmuch as it is devoted exclusively to instructions for using the instrument. “ The whole is comprised in six pages, closely written, and in a small but neat hand. The titles of the several chapters are as follows1:— 1. Primum capitulum est de horis diei artificialis inueniendis. 2. De gradu solis inueniendo. 3. De altitudine solis et lune, et vtrum fuerit ante meridiem uel post. 4. De linea meridiei inuenienda et oriente et occidente. 5. Quid sit vmbra versa, quid extensa. 6. De punctis vmbre verse et extense similiter. 7. De altitudine rerum per vmbram uersam. 8. De declinacione solis omni die, et gradu eius per declinacionem inueniendo, et altitudine eius omni hora anni. 9. De latitudine omnis regionis inuenienda. 10. De inuenienda quantitate circuitus tocius orbis et spissitudine eius. “ The colophon is as follows :— ‘ Explicit practica chilindri Magistri Iohannis de Houeden astrologi.’ Fred. Norgate. “ Henrietta Street, Covent Garden." This tract, with the former, will give a tolerably clear idea of the nature and uses of the instrument; but there is much more on the subject which we have no space to print, and we must therefore be content with giving the reader references, which will enable those who care to read more about the cylinder, to do so. 1. Compositio horologiorum, in piano, muro, truncis, anulo, con[uexo], concauo, cylindro & uarijs quadrantibus, cum signorum zodiaci & diuersarum horarum inscriptionibus : autore Sebast. Munstero. Basileae, 1531. Composi tio cylindri, hoc est, trunci columnaris. Caput xxxix. 2. Horologiographia, post priorem seditionem per Se bast. Munsterum recognita, & plurimum aucta atqwe locupletata, adiectis multis nouis descriptionibus & figuris, in piano, concauo, conuexo, erecta superficie &c. Basileae. 1533. Compositio cylindri, hoc est, trunci columnaris. Caput xliii. 1 The table is printed according to the MS, from which Mr Norgate’s copy deviates in one or two cases. �PREFACE. 59 3. Set / Dber Sonnen vpren / $imftft$e Sefdjvetfcung / wt'e btefelfcigen nad) mantyerley aprt an bte SDlauren / Sffienbte / (Bme / fie fepen Stgenbe / Sluffgertc^fet / @d;reg / audf auff S'lonbe I Slu^gepolte vnb fonft alter $anbt ^nftrument / Sluf^uretffen / 2)urc^ Sebafitanum STOunfter. 23afel, 1579. 2Ste man etnen timber @ircu* Iteren vnb jurtc^ten foil. ®ad rrrvj. daptlel 4. Dialogo della descrittione teorica et pratica de gli horologi solari. Di Gio: Batt. Vimercato Milanese. In Ferrara, per Valente Panizza Mantouano Stampator Ducale. 1565. In gual modo per pratica operatione si possono fabricare i Cilindri. Capitolo xi. 5. Gnomonice Andrese Schoneri Noribergensis, hoc est: de descriptionibils horologiorum sciotericorum omnis generis, proiectionibns circulorum Sphaericorum ad superficies, cum planas, turn conuexas concauasqwe, Sphsericas, Cylindricas, ac Conicas : Item delineationibus quadrantum, annulorum, &c. Libri tres. Noribergse, 1562. The second book treats of spherical, cylindrical, and conical dials. 6. Io. Baptistae Benedicti Patritij Veneti Philosophi de Gnomonum umbrarumqwe solarium usu liber. Augustae Taurinorum. 1574. De examinations pensilium horologio rum, § de nouo horologio circulari. Cap. lxxviii. 7. Horarii Cylindrini Canones, 1515. Eeprinted in Opera Mathematica Ioannis Schoneri, fol. Norinbergae, 1551. This, like Hoveden’s treatise, consists of rules for using the cylinder. 8. Histoire de l’Astronomie du Moyen Age par M. Delambre, Paris. 1819, 4to. The third book, entitled Gnomonique, gives an account of the cylindrical dial (padran cylindrique') of the Arabians as treated of by Aboul-Hhasan (pp. 517—520), and of Sebastian Munster’s (pp. 597, 598). There is a large cut of the cylinder on page 166 of Munster’s Compositio Horologiorum, page 269 of his Horologiographia, and page 125 of Der Horologien Beschreibung; a smaller one on the title-page and page 131 of Horologiographia. In Vimercato’s treatise, page 165, is a cut show ing the separate parts of the cylinder. In Cotton MS. Nero C ix, leaves 195—226, we find eight Latin poems by John Hoveden, chaplain of Queen Eleanor, mother of King Edward. There can be little doubt that this writer is the same as the author of the present treatise. We here give the beginnings and endings of these poems. �60 PREFACE. I. Incipit meditacio Iohan?iis de houedene, clerici regine anglie, matris regis Edwardi/ de natiuitate, passione, et resurreccione domini saluatoris edita, ut legentis affeccio in christi amore profici[a]t et celerius accendatur / hoc opus sic incipzt: Aue verbum ens in principi'o. & sic finitur. & uoluzt editor quod liber medffa&onis illius philomena uocaretur. Begins : Ave uerbum ens in principio, Caro factum pudoris gremio; Fac quod fragreif presens laudaczo. Ends : Melos tzfei sit et laudacio, Salus, honor, et iubilacio, Letus amor lotus in lilio, Qui es verbum ens in principio. Explicit libellus rigtmichus1 qui philomena uocatur, que meditacio est de natiuitate, passione, et resurrecti’one, ad honorem domini noshi iesu christi saluatoris edita, a Iohanne de houedene, clerico Alianore regine anglie, matris edwardi regis anglie. II. Incipiunt .xv. gaudia virgznis gloriose, edita a Magistro Iohanne houedene Clerico. Begins : Virgo vincens vernancia Carnis pudore lilia. Ends : Et nocteni lianc excuciens, Ducas ad portum pahie. Amen. Expliciunt .15. gaudia beate virgznis, edita ritmice2 ex dictamine Iohannis de Houedene. III. Hie scribitnr meditacio Iohannis de Honedene, edita ad honorem domini saluatoris, et ut legentes earn proficiant .in amore diuino: et vocatur hec meditacio cantica .50. quod in .50. canticis continetur. The first canticle begins : In laude nunc wpirituo omnis exultet, Et leta mens do?nini laude sustollat. The last one ends : Et ut nouella cantica cumulentur, In laude nunc spmYuc omnis exultet. Amen. Explicit meditacio dicta cantica 50*?, edita a Iohanne de Houedene ad honorem domini saluatoris. IV. In honore domini saluatoris incipit meditacio, edita a Iohanne de houedene, clerico Alianore regine anglie, matr/s regis Edwardi / faciens mencionem de saluatoris redolentissima passione; et amoris christi suaue??i inducit affecturn. Hec meditacio uocatur cythara eo quod verbzs amoriferis, 1 So in MS. 2 MS. ricunce. �PREFACE. 61 qnaszquibwsdam cordis musice, ad delectacionemspmTualem legentes inuitat. Begins : I mi vena du'lcedinis, Proles pudica numinis, Verbum ens in principio, Fructns intacte virginis. Ends : Verbum ens in principio, Et des ut gost has semitas Nos foueat et felicitas In celebri coliegio. Amen. Explicit laus de domino saluatore uel meditacio que cythara nominator, a Iohanne de Houedene, edita ut legent is affectus in amore diuino proficiat et celerius accendator. V. Incipiunt 50^ salutaczones beafe virgwiis, quibns inseritor memoria domznice passionis, edita. a lohanne de houedene ad honorem virginis matris, & laudem domzni saluatoris. Begins : Ave stella maris, Virgo singularis, Vernans lilio. Ends : Fer michi remedia, Vt in luce qua lustraris Michi dones gaudia. Amen. Expliciunt 50^ salutaciones beate marie, edite a Iohanne de Houedene. VI. Incipit laus de beata virgine,. que uiola uocatur, edita a Iohanne de Houedene. Begins : Maria stella maris, Fax sum mi luminaris, Kegina singularis. Ends : Penas mittigatura, Assis in die dura, Maria virgo pura. Explicit uiola beate virginis, a Iohanne de Houedene edita. VII. Incipit lira extollens virginem gloriosam. Begins : 0 qui fontem gracie Captiuis regeneras, Celos endelichie.1 Ends ; Quos expiat sic puniat, Vt vices quas variat, i Alternis sic uniat, ne lira deliret. Explicit lira NLagistri Iohannis houedene. So in MS. �62 PREFACE. VIII. Canticu?n amoris quod composuit Iohannes de Houedene. Begins : Princeps pacis, proles puerpere, Hijs te precor labris illabere, Vt sincere possim disserere Laudem tuam, et letus legere. End lost from : Eius claui punctura perea?n, Cum superstes magis inteream. There is a copy of the first of these poems in the Lambath MS. 410, and another in Harleian MS. 985 with the heading : Incipit tractates metricus N. de lion dene, de processu cliristi & redempcfonis nostre, qui aliter dicitur philomena. At the end are merely these words : Explicit liber q?zi uocatwr philomena. It appears from Nasmith’s Catalogue that there is a French version of the poem in Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, MS. 471, intitled, Li rossignol, ou la pensee Iohan de Hovedene, clerc la roine d’Engleterre, mere le roi Edward de la neissance et de la mort et du relievement et de 1’ascension Iesu Crist et de l’assumpcion notre dame. It is perhaps worthy of mention that Hoveden’s Plulo''trte.na has long been confounded by the catalogue-writers with a wholly different composition, by another writer, and beginning: Philomena preuia temporis ameni, Que recessum nuncians i??zbris atgrne ceni, Dum demulces animos tuo cantu leni, Auis predulcissima, ad me queso veni. End : Quicquid tamen alij dicant, frafer care, Istam novam martirem libens imitare; Cumque talis fueris, deum deprecare Vt nos cantus martiris faciat cantare. Amen. Copies of this poem are contained in Cotton MS. Cleo patra A xii., Harleian MS. 3766, and Royal MS. 8 G vi., from the first of which the above lines are taken. A late hand has written the following mistaken heading over it in the Cotton MS.: philomela Canticum per Ioannem de Houedene Capellanum Alienorse Reginse matris Ed. primi. �PREFACE. 63 The Laud MS. 368 contains both these poems; the latter has the following heading: Incipit meditaczo frafris Iohawzis de peccham, qwondam cantuarze archiepz'scojh, de ordine frafrum minorww, que Nocatur philomena. The real author, however, appears to be Giovanni Fidanza, better known as Cardinal Bonaventura. The whole poem, with some additional lines at the end, is printed in his works, Mayence, 1609, vol. 6, p. 424, and Venice, 1751-56, vol. 13, p. 338. The English poem of The Nyghtyngale in Cotton MS. Caligula A ii., leaves 59-64, has no con nection with Hoveden’s Philomena, but is an imitation of Bonaventura’s poem. According to Bale’s account,1 which is followed by Pits2 and Tanner,3 John Hoveden was a native of London, doc tor of divinity, and chaplain of Queen Eleanor, but after wards parish priest at Hoveden, where he died in the year 1275. Besides the poems already mentioned, Bale, Pits, and Tanner ascribe to him the work called Speculum Laicorum ; 4 but this could not have been written till long after Hoveden’s death, since it contains mention of Henry the IVth’s reign.5 1 Bale, v. 79. 2 Pitseus, p. 356. 3 Tanner, under Hocedenus 4 See Royal MS. 7 C xv and Oxford Univ. MSS. 29 and 36. 5 In chapter 36. �64 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. [Sloane MS 1620, leaf 2.] PRACTICA CHILINDRI SEOHMD DM MAGISTRITM [iOHANNEm]1 [aJstrologum. 1. Primnm capz'bdwm ost de horis diei artificiab's inueniendis. 2. De gradu sob's inueniendo. 3. De altitudine sobs et lune, et vtrum fuerit anfe meridiem uel post 4. De linea meridiei inuenienda et oriente et, occide??te. 5. (6.)2 Qzdd sit vmbra versa, (5) qnid extensa. 6. (7.) De punctis vmbre verse, et extense similiter. 7. (8.) De altifojtb'ne rerzzm per vmbram uersam. 8. (9.) De declinaczone sob's omni die, et gradueiwsper decb’nocionem inueniendo, (10) et eMitudioo eius omni hora anni. 9. (11.) De latitudine omnis regionis inuenienda. 10. (12.) De inuefnjienda qnanti/ate circuitns tociws orbis et -spissitudine eius. DE HORIS INUENIENDIS. 1. Z^vm volueris scire horas diei, verte stilum superiorem super mensem aut signuzn in quo fueris, et super partem que preteriit de ipso; cumqne hoc feceris, 1 Nearly obliterated. 2 The numbers in parentheses correspond to those which head the sections. �65 THE WORKING OF THE CYLINDER. THE WORKING OF THE CYLINDER ACCORDING TO MASTER JOHN, THE ASTROLOGER. 1. The first chapter is on finding the hours of the artificial day. 2. On finding the sun’s degree. 3. On the altitude of the sun and of the moon; and whether it is before midday or after. 4. On finding the meridian line, and the east and the west. 6. What umbra versa is, (5) and what umbra extensa. 7. On the points of the umbra versa, and likewise of the umbra extensa. 8. On (finding) the height of objects by the umbra versa.. 9. On (finding) the sun’s declination on any day, and on finding his degree by the declination; (10) and on (finding) his altitude at any hour of the year. 11. On finding the latitude of any region. 12. On finding the extent of the circumference of the whole world, and its thickness. 1. ON FINDING THE HOURS. When you wish to know the hours of the day, turn the upper style1 over the month or sign in which you are, and over the part of it which is gone by; and when you have 1 Only one style is mentioned in the former treatise. �66 . PRACTICA CH1LJNDRI. vertes etiam inferiorezzz stiluzzz in opposituzzz stili szzperioris, et erit izzstrumezztum disposituzzz ad horas sumendas. Cumqzze volueris horas sumere, suspende chilindruzzz pez* filuzzz suuzzz ad solezzz, mouezzdo ipszzm chilindruzzz hue et illuc donee vrnbra superioris stili super chilizzdruzzz eqzzidistazzter longitudzzzi eius ceciderit; et ad qzzamczzzzzqzze horazzz peruenerit vmbra stili, ipsa est hora diei pertransita. Qzzod si ceciderit finis vmbre inter duas horas, tuzzc apparebit etiam pars hore in qua fueris, secundum quod plus uel minzzs occupauerit vmhra de ipso spacz'o qzzod est inter duas lineas horarzzzzz. Est eniro. hora spacium [cojntentuzzz inter duas lineas horarzzzzz; ipse autezzz linee szzzzt fines horarzzzzz, DE GRADU SOLIS. 2. /~^vm volueris scire in quo signo fuerit sol, et in’ quoto gradu eizze, eqzzabis solem ad meridiem diei in quo volueris hoc scire, siczz£ in lecczonibz/s tabzzlarzzzzz docetzzr, et addes ei motuzzz 8ue spere, et haftebis graduzzz solz's quesituzzz. Qzzod si volueris hoc ipszzm leuizzs scire, intra cum die mezzsis in quo fueris izz aliqzzam 4 tabzzlarzzzzz, seczzzzdzzm qzzod fuerit annzzs bissextilis uel distans ab eo ; que qzzidezzz tabzzle izztitulantzzr sic :—Tabzzle solis ad izzuezzienduzzzjlocuzzz eius in orbe decliui fixo. Et izz dirp.e.to diei cum quo intras statizzz inuenies graduzzz solzs equatum, et hoc est qzzod voluisti. Qzzod si nec has nec illas tabzzlas 1 That is, straight down the cylinder. 2 The following extract from Delamhre’s Astronomic du Moyen Age, Paris, 1819, pp. 73, 74, may serve to explain the motion of the eighth sphere :— “ Thebith ben Chorath.—Son malheureux systeme de la trepi dation infecta les tables astronomiques jusqu’a Tycho, qui, le premier, sut les en purger. Ce long succes n’a point empeche que son livre ne soit reste inedit; mais j’en ai trouve un exemplaire latin manuscrit, a la Bibliotheque du Boi, n° 7195. Ce traite a pour titre Thebith ben Chorath de motu octaves Spheres......... “ Il imagine une ecliptique fixe, qui coupe l’equateur fixe dana les deux points equinoxiaux, sous un angle de 23° 33', et une eclip tique mobile, attachee par deux points diametralement opposes a deux petits cercles, qui ont pour centres les deux points equinoxiaux �67 ON THE SUN’S DEGREE. done this, turn also the lower style into the place opposite the upper style, and the instrument will be set in order for taking the hours. And when you wish to take the hours, suspend the cylinder by its string against the sun, moving it to and fro, until the shadow of the upper style falls on the cylinder parallel to its length,1 and whatever hour the shadow of the style reaches, the same is the (last) past hour of the day. But if the end of the shadow falls be tween two hours, then will appear also the part of the hour in which you are, according as the shadow occupies more or less of that space which is between the two hour-lines. For the space contained between two hour-lines is an hour; but the lines themselves are the ends of the hours. 2. ON THE sun’s DEGREE. ' When you wish to know in what sign the sun is, and in what degree thereof, you must adjust (?) the sun to the noon of the day on which you wish to know this, as it is taught in the readings of the tables, and add to it the motion of the eighth sphere,2 and you will have the sun’s degree which you have sought. But if you wish to know the same more easily, enter with the day of the month in which you are into one of the four tables according as it is leap-year or distant from it. These tables are thus en titled :—Tables of the sun for finding his place in the fixed ecliptic, and in a line -with the day with which you enter de l’ecliptique fixe, et dont le rayon est de 4° 18' 43/z. Ces points de l’ecliptique tournent sur la circonference des deux petits cercles opposes; l’ecliptique mobile s’eleve done et s’abaisse alternativement sur l’ecliptique fixe ; les points equinoxiaux avancent ou retrogradent d’une quantite qui peut aller a 10° 45z. Ce mouve ment est commun a tous les astres ; ce mouvement est celui de la huitieme sphere, et il s’appelle mouvement d’acces ou de reces. Le lieu de la plus grande declinaison du Soleil change done continuellement, puisqu’il est toujours a 90° de l’une et l’autre intersections de l’ecliptique mobile avec l’equateur fixe. La plus grande decli naison est done tantot dans les Gemeaux et tantot dans le Cancer.” For Thebit’s treatise see Harleian MS 13, leaf 117. Incipiif thehit de motu octaue spere. Or Harleian MS 3647, leaf 88, col. 2, incipit libfr tebith bewcorat de motu octave spere. �68 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. habueris, et volueris [leaf 2, bk] aliter querere gradum solis [a]ut fere, scito qnod secwndnm compotistas xv. kalendas cuiuslibet mensis ingreditur sol nouu?n signum, sicn^ patet in kalendario. Considera ergo qnot dies transierint de mense i?z qwo fueris, et adde supe?’ eos qnindecim dies, et serua eos. Computabis ergo ab inicio signi, in qno fuerit sol, totidem gradus, et ubi finitzzs fuerit nu?nerns, ip.se est gradus solis quern queris. Qwod si nu??ze?7zs tuus excesserit xxx., tot gradus qwot excedit xxx. perambulauit sol de signo seq-"^ 0 si Deus voluerit. DE ALTIT UDINE SOLIS. 3. ZA vod si altitudinem sohs seu lune placuerit inuestiAv gare, verte stilum sn^eriorem super gradus chilindri, et stilum inferiore?n in oppositum ei-us semper; et hoc sit tz&i generale, ut uersus qwamcunqwe partem chilindri verteris stilum snperiorem, semper vertas stilum inferiorem in partem ei oppositam. Post hec opponas instrnmentmn. soli, et ad qwemcunqne gradum peruenerit vmbra, ipsa est altitudo solis, seu lune, si feceris de luna, in eadem bora. Qnod si volueris scire si fuerit ante meridiem uel post, aspice snper qnot gradns ceciderit vmbra, et expectans paulisper, iterato sumes altitudinem sobs; epuod si creuerit vmbi’a, tunc est ante meridiem. Simz'k/er qnog'we scies de luna. Et per hoc ipsnm quod dzc/nm est, scies vtrum ipsa fuerit orientals 9, meridie uel occidental^; qnia dum vmbra crescit, est in parte orientali a meridie, dum uero decrescit, est in parte occidentis. o �ON THE ALTITUDE OF THE SUN. 69 you will immediately find the sun’s degree rectified, and this is what you desired. If, however, you have neither of these tables, and wish to seek, in another way, the sun’s degree or thereabouts, know that, according to the calcu lators, the sun enters a new sign on the 15 th before the kalends of every month, as appears in the calendar. Con sider, therefore, how many days of the month in which you are have passed, and add to them fifteen days, and keep them. Reckon then the same number of degrees from the beginning of the sign in which the sun is*?&p4, when the number is completed, the same is the sun’ • gree which you seek. But if your number exceeds 30, the sun has passed through as many degrees of the next sign as it (the number) exceeds 30, if God will. 3. ON THE ALTITUDE OF THE SUN. Now if it is your pleasure to investigate the altitude of the sun or of the moon, turn the upper style over the de grees of the cylinder, and the lower style always into the opposite place. And let this be a general rule, that to whichever part of the cylinder you turn the upper style you always turn the lower style to the part opposite to it. After that .hold up the instrument against the sun, and to whatever degree the shadow reaches, the same is the altitude of the sun; or of the moon, if you are deal ing with the moon, at that hour. But if you wish to know whether it is before midday, or after, see over how many degrees the shadow falls, and having waited a little time, take the sun’s altitude again, and if the shadow has increased, then it is before midday. In like manner you will know also of the moon. And by what has been said you shall know whether she is on the east of the meridian or on the west; for while the shadow increases, she is on the eastern side of the meridian, but while it decreases, she is on the western side. CH. ESSAYS. F �70 RRACTICA CHXLINDRI. DE LINEA MERIDIEI. 4. Z~\ vod si volueris scire lineam meridiei per hoc instrwmentom, fiat circizlws in swperficie aliqwa preparata, eqizidistanter orizonti, cuiwscunqzie magnitudes volueris, non sit tamen nimis paruus; deinde sumes altitudinem soli's diligentissime, et serua earn; et suspended etiam in eaAem bora filum vnum cum aliqwo ponderoso in directo iam fetch circwli, ita u.t vmbra eins cadat omnino super centrum circuli, et attingat circumferenciam in parte opposita soli; notabisque contactum vmbre in circumferencia, et post hoc expectabis donee iterato post meridiem fiat sol in prius accepta altitudine, notabisque etiam [leafs; tunc vmbram fili super centrum ut prius transeuntem notabi's, dico, contactum eius in circumferencia in opposito soli's. Deinde diuide arcum qizi est inter duas notas vmbre per equedia, et notam iizprimes, coniungesque earn cum centro, perficiens diametrum circuli, et hoc diametrum erit linea meridiei. Quadrabis cpuoque circulum ipsum per diametra, et ha&ebis lineam orientis et occidentis, ut apparet in isto circulo. Sic etiam inuenies omnes partes orizontis, si Dews voluerit. Et nota quod hec consideracio verior et leuior est quam ilia que fit per erecci'onem stilj ortogonalis in circulo, quia vix uel nuncquam possi? ita ortogonaliter erigi, sicuZ perpendiculum dummorZo pendeat inmobiliter. SeeZ hec consideracz'o verissima erit, si sumatur in solsticialibus diebws, et hoc anZequam sol ascendat multum in ilia die. Nota quod a. et b. sunt note vmbre anta meridiem et posi ad eandern altitudinem sold ; et mediuzn inter a. et b. est meridies. Occident �ON THE MERIDIAN LINE. 4. 71 ON THE MERIDIAN LINE. And if you wish to know the meridian line oy means of this instrument, let a circle he made, of whatever size you will, only let it not he too small, on some plane pre pared (for the purpose) parallel with the horizon. Then take the sun’s altitude very accurately, and keep it; and also at the same hour hang, over the circle already made, a thread with something heavy (on it), so that its shadow falls exactly upon the centre of the circle and reaches the circumference on the side opposite to the sun; and mark the (point of) contact of the shadow with the circumference, and after this wait until the sun again arrives at the before-, taken altitude after midday; and mark then also the shadow of the thread passing as before across the centre, mark, I say, its point of contact with the circumference opposite to the sun. Then divide the arc which is between the two shadow-marks into equal parts, and impress a mark. Join it with the centre, and complete the diameter of the circle. This diameter will be the meridian line. ■Quarter the circle itself by diameters,1 and you will have the line of east and west, as appears in this circle. Thus also you will find all parts of the horizon, if God will. Note that this observation is truer and easier than that which is made by raising a rectangular style in the circle, because it can with difficulty or never be raised as rectangularly as a plumb-line, provided it (viz. the plumb-line) hangs motion less. But the observation will be truest, if it be made on the solstitial days, and that before the sun rises high on that day. West �72 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. DE VMBRA EXTENSA. 5. nVTvnc dicendus est quia! sit vmbra versa, et quid 11 sit vmbra extensa. Igitur intelligamus superfi cies quanda??! equidistautem orizonti, et super hanc super-' ficies intelligamus aliquid ortogonaliter erectus, verbi gratia, palus rectus; huius pali sic erecti cadens vmbrrf in dzcZam superficiem (iicitur vmbra extensa. Est igitur vmbra extensa rei erecte ad superficiem orizontis perpendiculariter vmbra cadens iu eades szzperficie. DE VMBRA VERSA. 6. TTem intelligamus eande?n superficies quam prius, ei JL in ipsa aliquid perpendiculariter erectus, et ab illo sic erecto iutelligasus stilus ortogonalt'Zer prominentes, sicut sunt stili qui prominent in parietibus eccZesiarus ad horas sumendas; vmbra huius stili cadens super rem orto gonaliter erectas, equidistanter s[cilicet] longitudzni eiusdes rei, dicitur vmbra versa; equidistanter, dico, cadens, quia alite?' esset vmbra irregularis. Et huiusmodi vmbra cadit in chilindro. Hec auZes vmbra versa sesper crescit vsque ad meridies, et tunc, i[d est] in meridie, est maxisa. Econuerso est de vmbra extensa, quia ilia decrescit vsque ad meridie??t, et tunc fit minima. DE PUN0T1S VMBRE. vm volue?is scire omni hora quot puncta ha&ue?'it vmbra versa, verte stilus super puncta vmb/'e, et super quot puncta ceciderit vmbra, ipsa sunt puncta vmbre quesite. Quod si volue?-is [scire] vmbra?n extensa??! ad eandes altitudinem, diuide 144 pe?' [leafs&j puncta que habueris, et exibunt puncta vmbre extense in eades hora. Et si volueris scire quot status sunt i?i vmb?‘a, diuZde puncta que 7. �ON THE UMBRA. EXTENSA AND. THE. UMBRA ' VERSA. 5. ' ON THE UMBRA EXTENSA. ' 73 - Now we must explain, -what is the umbra versa, and what the umbra extensa. Therefore let us conceive some plane parallel to the horizon, and on this plane let us con ceive something raised at right angles, for instance, a straight stake; the shadow of this stake so raised, falling on the said plane, is called umbra extensa. The umbra extensa is, therefore, the shadow of an object which is raised perpendicularly to the plane of the horizon, falling on the same plane. 6. ON THE UMBRA VERSA. Also let us conceive the same plane as before, and upon it something raised perpendicularly; and from the latter so raised let us conceive a style jutting out at a right angle, like the styles which jut out from the walls of churches for taking the hours; the shadow of this style falling upon the object raised at right angles, parallel, of course, to the length of the same object,1 is called umbra versa—falling parallel, I say, because otherwise the shadow would be irregular. And such a shadow falls on the cylinder. Now this umbra versa always increases until midday, and then, that is at midday, it is greatest; the contrary is the case with the umbra extensa, for that de creases until midday, and then becomes least. 7. ON THE POINTS OF THE SHADOW. 'When you wish to know how many points the umbra versa has at any hour, turn the style over the points of the shadow; and. as many points as the shadow falls over, the same are the required points of the shadow. But if you wish to know the umbra extensa at the same altitude, divide 144 by the points which you have, and the result will be the points of the umbra extensa at the same hour. 1 That is, straight down it.' �74 TRACTICA CHILINDRI. ha&ueris per 12, et exz'bunt states. Quod si non haZ>u[er]is 12 puzzcta, uide quota pars sint puncta de 12, et tota pars erunt puncta que haftuez’is ad vnuzn statuzn. Est autezn1 status tota longitudo cuzuslibe^ rei, et quia ozzzzzem rem quo ad vmbrazn eius sumendam diuz’dimzzs in 12 partes eqwales, propterea 12 puncta vmbre faciunt vnuzn statuzn; est eniin quodlihet punctuzn longitudznis oznnis eqwale duodecimo parti2 rei cuius est vmbra. DE ALTITUDINE RERIZM PER VMBRAAf. 8. Z~^vm volueris scire altitudinem turris per vmbrazzz V.7 versazzz que cadit in chilindro, aut altitudinem alicuz'us rei erecte, cum hoc, inquam, volueris, verte stiluzzz super puncta uznbre, et vide super quot puncta ceciderit vmbra. Deinde considera izz qua pz’oporczone se ha Sent puncta uzzzbre in chilindro ad stiluzzz, izz eadezzz proporczone se ha&et oznnis res erecta ad suazzz uzzzbrazn, hoc est, si puncta uznbre in chilindro fuerint sex, stilus duplus est ad vmbrazn, et tunc in eadezn hora erit oznnis uznbz-a extensa dupla ad suam rein ; et si uzzzbra in chilindro fuerit dupla ad stiluzn, hoc est, cum vmbra fuerit 24 punctoruzn, erzt oznnis res erecta dupla ad suazn uznbrazn ; et sic semper in qua proporczone se haZzet uznbra ‘chilindri ad stiluzzz, in eadezn proporczozze se ha Set econtrario omnis res erecta ad vmbrazzz suazzz extensazn, omnis res erecta, dico, que fecerit vmbrazn sub eadezzz solzs altiZuzfzne, in,ilia hora;.vel, si, nescieris proporczonem sumez-e, diuide 144 per puncta que ha&ueris, sicut dz’cbzm est, et exibit vmbra rei erecte que dzczYur extensa, vide ergo quot status .sint in ilia uznbra extensa, auZ quota fuerint puncta de 12, et haSebis quod voluisti. 1 Read, enim. The word vmbre is wrongly inserted after parti in the MS. �FINDING THE HEIGHT OF OBJECTS BY THE SHADOW. 75 And if you wish to know how many status are in the shadow, divide the points which you have by 12, and the status will be the result. And if you have not 12 points, see what part of 12 the points are, and the points which you have will be that part of one status. For a status is the whole length of any object; and because we divide every object into 12 equal parts whereby to take its shadow, therefore 12 points of the shadow make one status; for every point is equal to a twelfth part of the whole length of the object, whose the shadow is. 8. on (finding) the height of objects by the shadow. When you wish to know the height of a tower by the umbra versa which falls on the cylinder, or the height of any upright object—I say, when you wish this, turn the style over the points of the shadow, and see over how many points the shadow falls. Then consider : what ever proportion the points of the shadow on the cylinder hold to the style, every upright object holds the same proportion to its shadow; that is, if the points of the shadow on the cylinder be six, the style is double of the shadow, and then at the same hour every umbra extensa will be double of its object; and if the shadow on the cylinder be double of the style, that is, when the shadow is of 24 points, every upright object will be double of its shadow; and so always, whatever proportion the shadow on the cylinder holds to the style, conversely every upright object holds the same proportion to its umbra extensa., every upright object, I say, which throws a shadow under the same altitude of the sun at that hour. Or, if you do not know how to take the proportion, divide 144 by the points which you have, as was said, and the result will be the shadow which is called extensa of the upright object; see, then, how many status are in that umbra extensa, or what part of 12 the points are, and you will have what you desired. �76 PRACTICA CHIL1NDRI. DE DECLINACIONE SOLIS. vm volueris scire declinaci'onem sobs omni die anni, scias umbram uersam Arietis in regione in qua fueris, i[d est], scias ad quem, gradum chihndri proueniat vmbra stili eius in meridie, cum fuerit sol in primo gradu Arietis, et hec est mbra Arietis in gradibns chilindri in ilia regione. Qno scito, sume vmbram meridiei per chilindrum qnocunyne die volueris scire declinacionem soli's, et vide super quot gradus chilindri ceciderit umbra, et quantum plus uel minns fuerit umbra ilia qnam vmbra Arietis, tanta erit declinacio solzs in meridie illins diei. Sed si umbra tua fuerit maior quarn vmbra Arietis, erit declinacio solis [leaf 4] septemtrionalz's ; si uero minor fuerit, erzt declinacio meridiana. Qnod si volueris scire gradum solis in ilia die per eins declinacionem, intra1 in tabnlam declinacionis solzs, et quere similem declinaci'onem ei quam inuenisti per chilindrum, et aliqnis 4 graduum quem in directo eins inueneris erit gradus sob's uel fere; et scies qnis erit gradus ex ilb’s 4, vt aspicias vtrum declinaci'o fuerit meridiana uel septemtrionab's. Qnod si fuerit meridiana, erit vnns de gradibns meridionalibas, et si fuerit declinacio septemtrionalz's, erit vnns de gradibns septemtrionalibiis; ha&ent autem omnes 4 gradus eqnidistantes ab eqninoctiali eandem declinaci'onem. Cum ergo sciueris quod fuerit vnns de gradibns septemtrionis seu meridiei, scies qnis duornzn fuerit gradus soli's, ut aspicias seqnenti die declinacionem per chilindrum, et si umbra fuerit maior qnam die precedent^ fueritqne declinacio meridiana, erit gradus ille a Capricorno in Ariete?n; et si umbra tails declinaci'onis fuerit minor, erit gradus ille a Libra in Capricornum; si uero umbra creuerit, fueritqne declinacio septemtrionalis, erit gradus ille ab Ariete in Cancruzn; si uero decreuerit, a Cancro in Libram. 9. 1 MS ‘ iuxZn.’ �ON THE DECLINATION OF THE SUN. 9. 77 ON THE DECLINATION OF THE SUN. When- you wish, to know the declination of the sun on any day in the year, know the urn,bra versa of Aries in the region in which you are, that is, know to what degree of the cylinder the shadow of its style reaches at midday, when the sun is in the first degree of Aries, and this is the shadow of Aries in the degrees of the cylinder in that region. That being known, take the midday shadow by the cylinder on whatever day you wish to know the de clination of the sun, and see over how many degrees of the cylinder the shadow falls, and the declination of the sun at noon of that day, will be as great as that shadow is greater or less than the shadow of Aries. But if your shadow is greater than the shadow of Aries, the sun’s de clination will be northern, but if it is less, the declination will be southern. And if you wish to know the sun’s de gree on that day by his declination, enter into the table of the sun’s declination, and seek a similar declination to that which you have found by the cylinder, and some one of the 4 degrees, which you find on a line with it will be the sun’s degree or nearly (so); and you shall know which will be the degree out of those 4, as you look whether the declination is southern or northern ; for if it be southern, it will be one of the southern degrees, and if the declina tion be northern, it will be one of the northern degrees. But all the 4 parallel degrees have the same declination from the equinoctial. When, therefore, you know that it is one of the northern degrees orcofi the southern, you shall know which of the two is the degree of the sun, as you observe the declination on the following day by the cylinder, and if the shadow be greater than on the preced ing day and the'declination be southern, the degree will be that from Capricorn towards Aries ; and if the shadow of such declination be less, ther degree will be that from Libra towards Capricorn; but if the shadow has increased and the declination is northern, the degree will be that from Aries towards Cancer; but- if it has decreased, from Cancer towards Libra. . ' �78 - PRACTICA CHILINDRI. DE ALTITUDINE SOLIS OMNI HORA ANNI. 10. IjlT si volueris scire altiinch'nem sob's que poterit -Li esse omni bora anni, vide quantum capiet quelibei hora anni de gradibns chilindri, mensurando per circinum aut per festucam, et ipsa erit altitudo sob's ad quamlibei horam anni in regione tua, s[cilicet], snj?er qnam figurantnr hore chilindri, si Deus voluerit. DE LATIT UDLVE REGIONIS. 11. Oil volueris scire latitudinem regionis ignote ad quam veneris, tunc vertes stilum super gradus altitudz'nis, et vide ad qnot gradus peruenerit vmbra. Quod si hoc feceris in die eqninoctiali, niinue gradus qnos habueris de 90, et residuuzn er it latitudo regionis. Quod si no?z feceris hoc in eqninoctio, vide per tabnlam decb'nacionis que fuerit declinacio solis in ipsa die. Quam declinacionem, si fuerit australis, adde snper susceptam altitudinem, et hafrebis altitudinem eqninoctialis in eadem regione ; et si declinacio fuerit septemtrionalis, niinue earn de accepta altiinciine, haSebisqne altitudinem eqninoctiab's in eadem regione. Haftita autem alti/nciine eqninoctialis, minuas ipsam semper de 90, et residuum er it latitudo regionis, que est distencia cenith ab eqninoctiali. DE QUANTITATE ORBIS TERRE. 12. Oil autem volueris scire quantitatem Deaf4,bk] cirKJj cuitns terre per chilindrum, verte stilum super gradus chilindri, et scias optime gradum solis et &eelinacionem eins, et serua earn. Cumqne hoc sciueris, sumas altitudinem sob's meridianam, et serua eam; post hec autem procedas directe uersus septemtrionem uel meridiem, donee altera die, absqne augmenta[ta] uel minorata interim �ON THE LATITUDE OF A REGION. 10. ON (finding) 79 THE ALTITUDE OF THE SUN AT ANY HOUR OF THE YEAR. And if you wish to -know the sun’s altitude, which may be at any hour of the year, see how much of the degrees of the cylinder any hour of the year will take, measuring with the compasses or with a rod, and the same will he the sun’s altitude at any hour of the year in your region, that is to say, (the region) upon which the hours of the cylinder are figured, if God will. 11. on (finding) the latitude of a region. If you wish to know the latitude of an unknown region to which you have come, then turn the style over the de grees of altitude, and see to how many degrees the shadow reaches. And if you do this on the equinoctial day, sub tract the degrees which you have from 90, and the re mainder will be the latitude of the region. But if you do this not at the equinox, see by the table of declination :what is the sun’s declination on the same day; add the declination, if it be southern, to the altitude you have taken, and you will have the altitude of the equinoctial in the same region; and if the declination be northern, sub tract it from the taken altitude, and you will have the altitude of the equinoctial in the same region. Moreover, the altitude of the equinoctial being had, subtract it always from 90, and the remainder will be the region’s latitude, which is the distance of the zenith from the equinoctial. 12. ON THE SIZE OF THE WORLD. If, moreover, you wish to know the extent of the earth’s circumference by the cylinder, turn the style over the degrees of the cylinder, and know most accurately the degree of the sun and his declination, and keep it. And when you know this, take the meridian altitude of the sun, and keep it. Then after this travel directly northward or southward, until on another day, without increase or de- �80 PRACTICA CHILINDRI. declinaczone, ascendent sol in gradibus chilindri plus vno gradu quam prizzs ascendent, plus dico, si processeris versus meridiem, uel minus, si processeris uersus septemtrionem, et iam pertransisti spaciuzn in terra quod subiacet vni gradui celi. Metire ergo illud, et vide quot miliaria sint in eo. Deinde multiplica, sfcilicet], miliaria illius spacij quod haSueris per 360, qui sunt gradus circuli, et tot miliaria scias esse in circuitu mundi. Quod si volueris scire spissitudinem mundi, diuide circuitum eius per tria et septimam partem vnius, eritque hoc quod exierit diametrum terre, et medietas eius erit quantitas que est a superdcie ad centrum eius, si Deus voluerit. De inueniendis autem ascendente et ceteris domibus per vmbram satis dictum est in lecczonibus tabularum, et idea de illis nichil ad presens. Et hec de practica chilindri sufficiant. Ex plicit. ■ Explicit practica chilindri Mag is tri Houeden astrologi. Iohannis de �ON THE SIZE OF THE WORLD. 81 crease of declination in the mean time, the sun has risen one degree more in the degrees of the cylinder than he rose before; more, I say, if you have travelled south ward, or less, if you have travelled northward; and now you have traversed on the earth the space which lies under one degree of the heaven. Measure it therefore, and see how many miles are in it. Then multiply, of course, the miles in that space which you have by 360, which are the degrees of a circle, and know that there are so many mi les in the circumference of the world. But if you wish to know the thickness of the world, divide its circumfer ence by three and the seventh part of one, and the result will be the diameter of the earth, and half of it will be the distance from its surface to the centre, if God will. But on finding the ascendant and the other houses by the shadow enough has been said in the readings of the tables, and therefore nothing of them at present. And let this suffice upon the working of the cylinder. End. Here ends Master John Hoveden, the astrologer’s, Working of the Cylinder. �‘4* I 'I �83 IV. THE USE OF FINAL -e IN EAELY ENGLISH, AND ESPECIALLY IN CHAUCER’S CANTERBURY TALES. BY JOSEPH PAYNE, ESQ. �84 SYNOPSIS OF THE ARGUMENTS. The two main arguments are :— I. That in the ordinary English speech of the 13th and 14th centuries there was no recognition of the formative, and little of th6 inflexional, -e, which, chiefly for orthoepical reasons, was appended to many words employed in written composition. II. That the phonetic recognition of final -e was confined to verse composition, and only occasionally adopted by license, under rhythmical exigency, and consequently not adopted at the end of the verse where it was unnecessary. These arguments are maintained, (1.) by considerations inherent in the nature of the case, (2.) by reference to the practice of AngloNorman and Early English writers, and are supported by illus trations derived (a.) from the laws which governed the formation of words in early French, (5.) from the manner in which Norman words are introduced into ancient Cornish poems, and (c.) from the usage of old Low German dialects (especially that of Mecklenburg), in respect to words identical (except as regards final -e) with Early English words. �85 THE USE OF FINAL -e IN EARLY ENGLISH, WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE FINAL -e AT THE END OF THE VERSE IN CHAUCER’S CANTERBURY TALES. 1. STATEMENT OE THE QUESTION AT ISSUE. H' The question whether the final -e, which is so obvious a feature of numerous English words in the 13th and 14th centuries, was or was not frequently recognized as a factor of the rhythm in verse, is not the question which it is here proposed to discuss. It needs, in fact, no discussion, since there can be no doubt whatever on the point. The real question is what it meant, that is, whether it was an organic and essential element of the words in which it occurred, to be accounted for by reference to original formation, inflexion, &c., or whether it was, for the most part, an inorganic orthoepic adjunct of the spelling, and only exceptionally performed any organic function. If the former hypothesis is true, the -e was recognized in the rhythm because it was recognized in ordinary parlance as a necessary part of the pronunciation of the word, and the instances in which it was silent were excep tional and irregular. If the latter is true, the instances in which it was silent represent the regular pronunciation of the words, and those in which it is sounded an excep tional pronunciation, allowed by the fashion of the times in verse composition. It is a consequence, moreover, of the former theory that the -e, being by assumption a neces sary organic part of the word, ought to be sounded even where, as in the case of the final syllable of the verse, it is CH. ESSAYS. G �86 THE USE OF FINAL -e not required by the rhythm. By the latter theory the -e of the final rhyme, being generally an inorganic element of the orthography, not recognized in the ordinary pro nunciation and not required by the rhythm, was (with rare exceptions, such as Rome—--to me, sothe—to the, &c., in the Canterbury Tales and elsewhere) silent. These theories are obviously inconsistent with each other, the exceptions of the one being the rule of the other, and vice versa. The former is that adopted by Tyrwhitt, Guest, Gesenius, Child, Craik, Ellis, Morris, and Skeat; the latter is that maintained by the present writer, supported to some extent by the authority of the late Mr Richard Price. In anticipation of the full discussion of the various points involved, it may be here briefly remarked, that the former theory requires us to assume that such words as schame, veyne, sake, space, rose, joie, vie, sonne, witte, presse, were in ordinary parlance pronounced as scha-me, vey-ne, ro-se, joi-e, son-ne, wit-te, presse; moreover, that corage, nature, were pronounced as cora-ge, natu-re, and curteisie, hethenesse, as cwrfezsz-e, hethenesse, and that the recognition of the -e in verse as a factor of the rhythm was required to represent the true pronunciation. The second theory, on the other hand, assumes that schame, veyne, seke, joie, witte, nature, curteisie, &c., conventionally represent scham, veyn, selc, joi, wit, natur, curteisi, as the ordinary pronunciation of the words, and that the recogni tion of the -e as significant, was a rhythmical license. By way of further illustration of the difference between the two theories, it may be noted that in such verses as these: Enbrouded was he, as it were a mede—C. T. v. 89. Ful wel sche sang the servise devyne—ib. v. 122; the first theory requires mede and devyne to be pro nounced me-de, devy-ne; the second, regarding mede (== A.S. med) and devyne (= Fr. devyn) as conventional �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 87 spellings, requires them to be pronounced med and devyn. Servise (Fr. servis, service), here servi-se, is regular by the first theory, exceptional by the second.1 The main principle of the theory here adopted is that very early (probably in the 12 th century) phonetic began to supersede dynamic considerations, and, as a con sequence, to change. the significance of the originally organic -e ; and that this change was especially due to the introduction of the Norman speech and the usages of the Norman scribes into England. The Norman dialect was the simplest and purest of all the dialects of the French language, and largely exhibited the influence of phonetic laws. This influence it began to propagate on its contact with English. The first effect was to simplify the for mative English terminations of nouns. Hence in the beginning of the 12th century -a, -o, -u (as in tima, hcelo, sceamu) became -e (as in time, sceame, or schame, hele). It next acted on the grammatical inflexions, as, for in stance, in nouns, either by suppressing the -e of the oblique or dative case altogether (cf. Orrmin’s “ be word,” “bi brsed,” “o boc,” “off stan,” &c.); or by converting it from an organic to an inorganic termination, reducing it, in short, to the same category as name, shame, hele. It next affected the orthography generally by introducing an expedient of the Norman scribes (before unknown in England), which consisted in the addition of an inorganic -e to denote the length of the radical vowel, an expedient which, when adopted in English, converted, after a time, A.S. tar, ben, bed, into tare, bene, bede, without disturbing the individuality of the words, and re-acted on name, 1 In support of the assumption that sonant -e is exceptional, not regular, it may be noted that in the first 100 lines of the Pro logue (Ellesmere text) out of 160 instances of final -e only 22 occur in which it is sounded before a consonant; of the remaining 138 25 are silent before a consonant, 49 before a vowel or It, and 64 in the final rhyme where its sound is superfluous—that is to say, in 138 instances the words in -e have, it is assumed, their natural pronunciation against 22 in which, by license, the -e is reckoned as an additional syllable. �88 THE USE OF FINAL -C schame, hele, &c., by treating them (whatever they may have been before) as monosyllables. It finally acted on the versification by introducing the license, well known in early and, by descent, in modern French, of recog nizing, under rhythmical exigency, the inorganic -e (silent in ordinary discourse) as a factor of the verse. It hence appears that certain principles introduced by the Normans, and exhibited in their own tongue, affected first the spoken and then the written English, gradually superseding the organic function of the -e, by treating it as inorganic, as an orthoepic sign to guide the pronunciation of the reader; and that this great change was fundamentally due to the law of phonetic economy, which, by its tendency to simplification, gradually overpowered the original dynamic laws of the language, and ended in converting the forma tive and inflexional -e into a conventional element of the spelling. 2. OBJECTIONS WITH RESPECT TO THE VERSIFICATION CON SIDERED. I _ Two d priori objections may be taken, and indeed have been taken, against this conclusion as applied to Chaucer’s versification. The first is indicated in these words of Mr Ellis,1 “that Chaucer and Gdthe'used the final -e in precisely the same way,” and in these of Pro fessor Child,2 “that the unaccented, final -e of nouns of French origin is sounded in Chaucer as it is in French verse,” by which assertions it is affirmed that the laws of modern German and French versification are identical with those of Chaucer. The full answer to this objection will be found in the subsequent investigation, but for the present it may be urged, without pressing the argument already presumptively 1 “ Early English Pronunciation,” p. 339. 2 “ Observations on the Language of Chaucer,” by Professor Child of Harvard University, a paper contributed to the “ Memoirs of the American Academy,” vol. viii. p. 461. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 89 stated, that the use of -e in German and French versifica tion is (with very rare exceptions) regular and constant, while that in Chaucer is continually interfered with hy instances of silent -<?, which, indeed, outnumber those in which it is sounded (see note, p.' 87), even -without taking into consideration the -e of the final rhyme. Then with regard to the final rhyme, the objection as applied to French versification proves too much, inasmuch as the -e at the end of a French verse is not, and probably never was, a factor of the rhythm. This argument, then, as far as it is worth anything, is for, not against, the theory here maintained. The following instances, which are typical, show that the laws of French versification are continually violated by Chaucer: And he hadde ben somtyme in chivachie.— v. 85. In hope to stonden in his lady grace.—v. 88. He sleep nomore than doth a nightyngale.—w. 97, 98. Ful semely aftui' hire mete sche raught.—v. 13-6. By cause that it was old and somdel streyt.—v. 174. Kfrere ther was, a wantoun and a merye.—v. 208. In alle the ordres foure is noon that can.—v. 210, &c. If these verses are read by the French rule they become unmetrical; it is only by ignoring it that they can be read with metrical precision. The conclusion, then, is that the only exact identity between French and early English versification consists in the silence of the -e at the end of the verse. Nor would it be difficult to show from the above and from thousands of other instances, that the strict applica tion of the laws of German versification would render Chaucer unreadable. The second'd priori argument, first put forward by Tyrwhitt, against the theory here adopted, that the -e at the end of a verse was silent, is to the effect that Chaucer intended the verse of the Canterbury Tales to be an imita tion of the Italian endecasyllabic, that of Boccaccio, &c., and, therefore, that he required the -e at the close of the �90 THE USE OF FINAL -0 line to be pronounced to make the eleventh syllable. Against this assumption, however, it may be urged that he simply adopted the decasyllabic French verse, of which there were numerous examples before his time. The metre of the Chanson de Roland, Huon de Bordeaux, Guillaume d’Orange, &c., as well as of many of the “Ballades” of his contemporary Eustache Deschamps, appears to be pre cisely that of the Canterbury Tales. The following are typical examples :— Co sent Rollenz que la mort le tresprent, Devers la teste sur le quer li descent.— Chan, de Roland. Ma douce mere jamais ne me verra.—Huon de Bordeaux. Cis las dolans, vrais dex, que devenra.—ib. Forment me poise quant si estes navres Se tu recroiz, a ma fin sui alez.— Guillaume d? Orange. En bon Anglais le livre translatas.—Eustache Deschamps. Grant translateur, noble Geoffroy Chaucier.—ib. Ta noble plant, ta douce melodie.—ib. We see, then, that there was no occasion for Chaucer to go to the Italians for a model. It may, moreover, be plausibly urged that in none of Chaucer’s earlier works is there any trace of Italian influence, whether as regards subject, general treatment, or versification.3 3. THE SECTIONAL PAUSE. Before entering on the illustration by reference to the actual usage of early French and English poets of the theory which has been already stated, some notice may be taken of a characteristic feature of early French and English verse which has an important bearing on the point at issue.1 It is that of the sectional pause, a stop made in the reading of the verse, for the sake of the sound, and having no immediate connection with the sense. This pause in decasyllabic verse (to which, however, it is by no means confined) occurred at the end of the fourth or 1 It is remarkable that scarcely any of the writers on early English versification (except Dr Guest) have noticed the sectional pause, or explained the true use of the prosodial bars or full-points found in the MSS. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 91 sixth measure, and divided the verse into two parts, which were prosodially independent of each other; that is, it made each part a separate verse. Dr Guest (History of English Rhythms, i. 181) thus states the rule generally: “ When a verse is divided into two parts or sections by what is called the middle pause, the syllable which follows such pause is in the same situation as if it began the verse.” The bearing of this point, however, on the ques tion at issue is more fully seen in the usage of early French verse, in which the effect of the pause was to silence the -e which closed the section. This usage is altogether unknown in modern French verse; a fact which of itself forms an argument against the presumed identity of the laws of early English and modern French versifica tion. The rule is thus stated by Quicherat (“Versification frangaise,” p. 325) :• “ Une preuve de Timportance que nos anciens poetes donnaient au repos de la cesure ” (he means the sectional pause) “ c’est qu'ils la traitaient comme la rime, et lui permettaient de prendre une syllabe muette, qui n'etait pas comptee dans la mesure.” This principle, in its application to early Anglo-Nor man and English, may be thus formulated :— The -e that occurred at the sectional pause (and, pre sumptively, that at the final pause closing the verse) was silent, and not a factor of the rhythm. Instances in which the -e at the pause was silent abound in early French and Anglo-Norman poems, and this usage was borrowed or imitated by English poets, as may be seen in the instances which follow. Fors Sarraguce || ki est en une muntaigne.— Chanson de Roland, v. 6. De vasselage || fut asez chevaler.—ib. v. 25. Mais ami jeune || quiert amour et amie.—Eustache Des champs, i. 122. Car vieillesse || sans cause me decoipt.—ib. ii.' 20. Desous la loi de Rome || na nule region.—Rutebeuf, i. 236. Si li cors voloit fere || ce que lame desire.—ib. i. 399. Toz cis siecles est foire || mais lautre ert paiement.—ib. i. 400. / �92 THE USE OF FINAL -6 De medle se purpense || par ire par rancour.—Langtoft (ecl. Wright), i. 4. Lavine sa bele file || li done par amour.—i&. Norice le tient en garde || ke Brutus le appellait.— ib. I rede we chese a hede || fat us to werre kan dight.—De Drvnne (ed. Hearne, i. 2). pat ilk a kyng of reame || suld mak him alle redie.—ib. i. 4. Sorow and site he made || per was non oper rede.—ib. 5. That ben commune || to me and the.—Eandlyng Synne (ed. Furnivall, p. 1). In any spyce || pat we falle ynne.—ib. p. 2. For none \>arefore || shulde me blame.—ib. On Englyssh tunge || to make pys boke.—ib. In al godenesse || pat may to prow.—ib. p. 3. pe yeres of grace || fyl pan to be.—ib. Faire floures for to fecclie || pat he bi-fore him seye.— William of Palerne (ed. Skeat), v. 26. and comsed pan to crye || so ken[e]ly and schille.—ib. v. 37. panne of saw he ful sone || pat semliche child.—ib. n. 49. pat alle men vpon molde || no mqt telle his sorwe.—ib. v. 85. but carfuli gan sche crie || so kenely and lowde.—ib. v. 152. It will be seen that in all these instances the power of the pause overrides the grammatical considerations. Alle, commune (plurals), reame, spyce, tunge, grace, molde (datives), crie (infin.), to fecche, to crye (gerundial infini tives), have the -e silent. The following examples show that Chaucer adopted the same rule :— Schort was his goune || with sleeves long and wyde.—Earl. n. 93. He sleep no more || than doth a nightingale.—ib. v. 97. Hire gretest otliex || nas but by seint Eloi.—Tyrmhitt, v. 120. Hire grettest ooth || nas | but by | seint Loi.—-Earl. v. 120. That no drope || til | uppon | hire brest.—ib. v. 131. That no drope || ne fille upon hir brist.—Ellesmere, v. 131. I durste swere || they weyghede ten pound.—Earl. v. 454. And of the feste || that was at hire weddynge.—ib. v. 885. And maken alle || this lamentacioun.—ib. v. 935. For Goddes love || tak al in pacience.—iA v. 1086. Into my herte || that wol my bane be.—ib. v. 1097. No creature || that of hem maked is.—ib. v. 1247. And make a werre || so scharpe in this cite.—ib. v. 1287. Thou mayst hire wynne || to lady and to wyf.—ib. v. 1289. Ther as a beste || may al his lust fulfille.—ib. v. 1318. 1 Othe and ooth are the same word, the inorganic -e being merely an index to the sound. This exclamation occurs in “ Nenil, Sire, par Seint Eloi ” (Theatre Frangais du Moyen Age, p. 120). Loi itself appears to be simply a contraction of Eloi, �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 93 In. the following instances the independence of the second section of the verse is shown :— Whan that Aprille || with ] hise shore | wes swoote.—• Harl. v. 1. - And whiche they were || and | of what | degree.—Elies, v. 40. In al the parisshe || wyf | ne was | ther noon.—Harl. v. 451. Sche schulde slope || in | his arm | al night.—ib. v. 3406. That wyde where' || sent | her spy | eerie.—ib. v. 4556. Than schal your soule || up | to he|ven skippe.—ib. v. 9546. For Goddes sake || think | how I | the chees.—ib. v. 10039. And with a face || deed | as ai|sshen colde.—ib. v. 13623. In view of the numerous instances given above of the silence of the -e at the sectional pause, it would seem a fortiori improbable that it would be sounded at the greater pause, that formed by the end of the verse. This argu ment, though as yet only presumptive, is held to be strongly in favour of the theory adopted by the present writer, who would therefore read, In God|des love || tak al | in pa|cience as ten syllables and no more. Even if the illustrations adduced are not admitted as decisive of the silence of -e at the end of the verse, they undoubtedly account for its silence at the sectional pause as a characteristic of Anglo-Norman and Early English versification, and confirm the general argument, that in Chaucer’s time the law of phonetic economy prevailed over what have been assumed to be the demands of word formation and grammar. 4. THE USE OF FINAL -e AS A FORMATIVE CONVENTIONAL ELEMENT OF THE SPELLING. The position to be here maintained has been already stated (see p. 87), and amounts to this, that, as a con sequence of Norman influence, the -e, which, whether 1 If the -e of where is sounded, it is probably the single instance in which it is so used, either in Chaucer or any other Early English writer. Here and there, too, are always monosyllables, and there fore Mr Child’s marking of them as dissyllables when final, as in 1821, 3502, 5222, &c., is entirely gratuitous. They will be con sidered hereafter. �94 THE USE OF FINAL -e formative or inflexional, was once organic and significant, became, as in time = turn, dede = ded, &c., simply a mark or index of the radical long vowel sound, or as in witte = wit, presse = press, a mere conventional append age of the doubled consonant which denoted the radical short vowel sound. It- is further assumed that this phonetic influence, which probably acted first on the formative -e, as in the instances just given, gradually involved with varying degrees of velocity also the inflexional -e, and therefore that the so-called oblique cases as roote, brethe, ramme, &c., and the infinitives as take, arise, telle, putte, merely repre sent in their spelling the sounds rot, breth, ram, tali, arts, tel, put, the formative and the inflexional -e being reduced to the same category. The doctrine here laid down in its largest generality involves, it is easily seen, the whole question of the cor respondence between the sound of words uttered in ordin ary speech and their orthographic representation, as far as the final -e is concerned, and is to be considered independ ently of the exceptional use of -e as, by the usage of the times, an occasional factor of the verse. If, however, it can be proved it disposes entirely of the assumption that the -e was sounded at the end of the verse, and this is the main object in view. 5. CANONS OF ORTHOGRAPHY AND ORTHOEPY APPLICABLE TO EARLY ENGLISH. The main points, then, to be proved—by reference to the nature of the case and to actual usage—are, that in the time of Chaucer and long before, final -e had become either (1) an orthoepic or orthographic mark to indicate the sound of the long radical vowel or diphthong, or (2) a superfluous letter added for the eye, not for the ear, after a doubled consonant. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 95 These conventionalities may he reduced for convenience of reference to the following Canons of orthography and orthoepy. Canon I. (1) When final -e followed a consonant or consonants which were preceded by a long vowel or diphthong, it was not sounded. Thus mede = med, rose = rds, veyne = veyn. (2) When final -e followed a vowel or diphthong, tonic or atonic, it was not sounded. Thus curteisie = curteisi, glorie = glori, weye = wey, merie = meri. Canon II. When final -e followed a doubled consonant or two different consonants, preceded by a short vowel, it was not sounded. Thus witte = wit, blisse = blis, sette = set, ende = end, reste = rest. Once more admitting that the -e in each of these cases could be made, and was made, at the will of the poet, exceptionally significant, we proceed to consider these pro positions seriatim, merely observing, by the way, that these rules—framed and adopted five or six hundred years ago— are in substance the same as those now in common use. (1.) Final -e suffixed to a consonant or consonants which were preceded by a long vowel or diphthong, as in mede, penaunce, veyne. On this point we are bound to listen to the doctrine of Mr Richard Price, contained in the preface to his edition of Warton’s History of English Poetry. Referring first to the fact that in A.S. the long vowel of a monosyllabic word was commonly marked by an accent, which in the Early English stage of the language was entirely disused, he inquires what was done to supply its place, and maintains that in such cases an -e was generally suffixed to indicate the long quantity of the preceding �9G THE USE OF FINAL -e radical vowel. “The Norman scribes,” he says, “or at least the disciples of the Norman school, had recourse to the analogy which governed the French language;”1 and, he adds, “ elongated the word or attached, as it were, an accent instead of superscribing it.” “ From hence,” he proceeds to say, “ has emanated an extensive list of terms having final e’s and duplicate consonants, [as in witte, synne, &c.,J which were no more the representatives of additional syllables than the acute or grave accent in the Greek language, is a mark of metrical quantity.” He adds in a note, “ The converse of this can. only be maintained under an assumption that the Anglo-Saxon words of one syllable multiplied their numbers after the Conquest, and in some succeeding century subsided into their primitive simplicity.” Illustrating his main position in another place,2 he observes, “ The Anglo-Saxon a was pronounced like the Danish aa; the Swedish ci, or our modern o in more, fore, &c. The strong intonation given to the words in which it occurred would strike a Norman ear as indicat ing the same orthography that marked the long syllables of his native tongue, and he would accordingly write them with an e final. It is from this cause that we find liar, sar, lidt, bat, wd, an, ban, stan, &c., written hore (hoar), sore, hote (hot), bote (boat), woe, one, bone, stone, some of 1 Mr Price makes no attempt to prove this position, but a few remarks upon it may not be out of place here. The general principle in converting Latin words into French was to shorten them, and the general rule, to effect this by throwing off the termin ation of the accusative case. Thus calic-em would become calic, which appears in Old French both as callz and callee, evidently equivalent sounds. So we find vertiz, devis, servis, surplis, graas, and in phonetic spelling ros, clios. Conversely, as showing the real sound of such words, we find in Chaucer and other English poets, trespaas, solaas, caas, faas, gras (also grasse~), las, which interpret solace, case, face, grace, lace, as words in which -e was mute, and this because it was mute in French. French words ending in -nee, as sentence, paclence, experience, were presumpt ively sounded without -e, since we find Chaucer and other English writers expressing them as sentens, paciens, experiens. See Ap pendix I “ On the final -e of French nouns derived from Latin.” 2 End of note to the Saxon Ode on the Victory of Athelstan. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 97 which have heen retained. The same principle of elonga tion was extended to all the Anglo-Saxon vowels that were accentuated; such as rec, reke (reek), lif, life, god, gode (good), scur, shure (shower); and hence the majority of those e’s mute, upon which Mr Tyrwhitt has expended so much unfounded speculation.” 1 Mr Price means to assert—what is maintained by the present writer—that an original monosyllable, as lif, for instance, was never intended by those who sub sequently wrote it life to be considered or treated, when used independently, as a word of two syllables, though when introduced into verse it might be employed as such, under the stress of the rhythm. There seems an a priori absurdity in the conception of such an interference with the individuality of a word, as is involved in denying the essential identity of lif and life. The fact, too, that in Early English, as distinguished from Anglo-Saxon so called, nearly, if not quite all, the words in question appear as monosyllables, seems strikingly to confirm the hypothesis. Thus in the Orrmulum we find boc, blod, brad, braed, cwen, daed, daef, daefy, god, so], wa, an, stan, nearly all of which are the identical A.S. forms, and were most of them in later texts lengthened out by an inorganic -e. As the pronunciation of these words was no doubt well established, there seemed no need for the scribe to indicate in any way what was everywhere known, but soon the confusion that began to arise, in writing, between long and short syllables, suggested the more general use of the orthoepical expedient in question, and accordingly we find in early English texts both forms employed. Thus along with lif, str if, drem, bot, &c., we see bede (A.S. bed), bene, bone (A.S. ben), bode (A.S. b6d), &c. The “ Early English Poems” (written before 1300, 1 Mr Price promised to resume the subject “ in a supplementaryvolume, in an examination of that ingenious critic’s ‘ Essay upon the Language and Versification of Chaucer.’ ” This promise was, however, never fulfilled. �98 THE USE OF FINAL -e in a “pure Southern” dialect1) supply us with numerous examples. The following are from “ A Sarmun ” : pe dere (A.S. deor) is nauqte (A.S. naht, nawht) pat pou mighte sle v. 24 If pou ertpr.wtfe (A.S. prut) man, of pi fleisse v. 25 pe wiked wede (A.S. wed) pat was abute v. 49 Hit is mi rede (A.S. rad, red) while pou him hast v. 61 pen spene pe gode (A.S. god) pat god ham send v. 68 His hondes, \sfete (A.S. fet) sul ren of blode v. 117 Of sinful man pat sadde pi blode (A.S. blod) v. 124 flopefire (A.S. fyr) and wind lude sul crie v. 125 And forto hir pe bitter dome (A.S. dom) V. 134 Angles sul quake, so seip pe bohe (A.S. hoc) v. 135 To crie ihsu pin ore (A.S. ar) v. 142 While pou ert here (A.S. her) be wel iware (A.S. gewar) v. 143 Undo pin hert and live is lore (A.S. lar) v. 144 Hit is to late (A.S. last) whan pou ert pare (A.S. pa*r, par, per) v. 146 For be pe soule (A.S. sawl) enis oute (A.S. ut) v. 171 he nel nojt leue his eir al bare (A.S. bser) v. 174 and helpip pai pat habip nede (A.S. nead, neod, ned) v. 186 pe ioi of heven hab to mede (A.S. med) v. 188 heven is heij hope lange (A.S. lang) and wide (A.S. wid) v. 213 In this long list of passages It will be seen that not one instance occurs in which the formative -e is phonetic, so that bede, bone, blode, boke, ore, here, lore, nede, bare, ware, wide, late, &c., are all treated as words of one syllable in which the -e is merely an orthoepical index to the sound. These instances, alone, go far to show what the ordinary pronunciation of the words in question was, and to make it appear very improbable that, except by poetical license, the -e which closes them was ever pronounced. It appears, then, clear that the A.S. words above quoted are absolutely equivalent to the corresponding Early English words ending in -e. But the principle admits of some ex tension. We find that not only A.S. words ending in a consonant assumed -e in Early English, but that the A.S. terminations -a, -o, -u, were also represented by -e. This we see in time from tima, and hele from hselo, or hselu. When 1 “ Some notes on the leading grammatical characteristics of the principal Early English dialects.” By Wm. T. P. Sturzen-Becker, Ph.D. Copenhagen, 1868. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 99 these forms were generally adopted, the next step would he to consider them as in the same category as blode, dome, &c., and to apply the same rule of pronunciation to them. Hence, except by way of license, we find in the 13th and 14th centuries no practical difference in the use of the two classes of words—crede from creda, stede from steda, care from cearu, shame from sceamu, being treated precisely as blode from blod, dome from dom, &c.; and the same remark applies to such adjectives as blithe, dene, grene, &c., which in their simple indefinite use, at least, were probably mono syllables. The position now gained is, that the -e in such English words as dome, mede, fode, mone, name, &c., was orthoepic, not organic. It is highly probable—as Mr Price appears to have believed—that Latin words became French by a si-mil ar process, and that the orthoepic expedient in question is of French origin.1 The Norman words place, grace, face, space, as interpreted in English by plas, graas, faas, spas, are found in “ Early English Poems,” and later, in Chaucer, and we also find conversely trespace, case, for the French trespas, cas. Both in Early French and English we moreover find as equivalent forms, devis, devise, and device; servis, servise, service; pris, prise, price; surplis, surplice; assis, assise.2 It will now be shown by examples, both Anglo-Norman and English, that in words containing a long vowel followed by a consonant and final -e, the -e was simply an index to the quantity of the vowel, and therefore not generally pronounced in verse composition—though under stress of the rhythm it might be. The usage in Anglo-Norman verse will first be shown generally: 1 See Appendix I. 2 The phonetic identity of -s, -sse, -ce, in Anglo-Norman and English is shown by numerous illustrations in a paper by the pre sent writer, on Norman and English pronunciation, in the Philo logical Transactions for 1868-9, pp. 371, 418-19, 440. �100 TIIE USE OF FINAL -e Quy a la dame de parays.—Lyrical Poetry of reign of Edward I. (ed. Wright), p. 1. Quar ele porta le noble enfant.—ib. De tiele chose tenir grant pris.— ib. p. 3. Vous estes pleyne de grant docour,—ib. p. 65. The word dame is derived from domin-am — domin — domn — dom — dam — dame, just as anim-am becomes anim, anm, dm, ame. In both instances the -e is inorganic. Dame frequently occurs in Chaucer, and generally, as we might expect, with -e silent.1 Examples are :— Of themperoures doughter dame Custaunce.—Harl. v. 4571. Madame, quod he, ye may be glad & blithe.—ib. v. 5152. (See also v. 4604, 7786, &c.) We may presume, then, that at the end of a line, the -e in this word would be silent, and that the -e of any word rhyming with it would therefore be silent, as of blame in And elles certeyn hadde thei ben to blame : It is right fair for to be clept madarne.—Harl. v. 378-0. We may infer, then, that English words of the same termination—as scliame, name, &c., would follow the same rule—and accordingly we find— J?e more scliame Jsat he him dede.—Ear. Eng. Poems, p. 39. We stunt noj?er for schame ne drede.—ib. p. 123. In gode burwes and \mx-fram Ne funden he non f>at dede hem sham.—Haveloh (ed. Skeat), v. 55-6. Ful wel ye witte his nam, Ser Pers de Birmingham.—Harl. v. 913 (date 1308) ; and in Wiclif’s “ Apology for the Lollards ” (Camden Society), “ in pe nam of Crist ” (p. 6); “ in nam of the Kirke” (p. 13), &c., as also “in the name" on the same page. We may therefore conclude that shame = sham, and name = ndm. Following out the principle we should conclude that 1 Professor Child, in a communication to Mi- Furnivall, in tended for publication, decides that “ dame is an exception ” from the general rule, but quotes Chaucer’s usage of fame throughout the “House of Fame ” as a dissyllable. There is, of course, no disputing the fact, but we see nothing in it beyond a convenient license. Does Mr Child pretend that fame was formed on some special principle, and for this reason employed by Chaucer as a dissyllable? �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 101 what is true of -ame would also he true of -erne, in dreme, -ime in rime, -ome in dome, -ume in coustume; and by extending the analogy we should comprehend -ene in queue, -ine in pine, as well as -ede in bede, -ete in swete, -ote in note, -ute in prute, -ere in chere, &c., and expect that the -e in all these cases would be mute. This, with exceptions under stress, is found to be the case—the Northern MSS. (as seen above) very frequently even rejecting it in the spelling. For the purpose of this inquiry it is obvious that such terminations as -ume, -ine, -ete, -ere, -age, -ance, &c., are virtu ally equivalent to monosyllabic words of the same elements. As, however, it would be quite impossible without extend ing the investigation to an enormous length, to illustrate them all, the terminations -are, -ere, -ire, -ure, -age, -ance, will be taken as types of the class. -ere. We commence -with -ere because Professor Child asserts that “ there can be no doubt -e final was generally pronounced after r,” a conclusion inconsistent with the law of formation already considered, and, as it would appear, with general usage in early Anglo-Norman and English. He farther maintains that “ the final -e of deere (A.S. deor, deore) and of cheere (Fr. chere) was most distinctly pro nounced ” [in Chaucer]. The first of these propositions evidently includes the second, and means that words in -are, as bare, in -ere, as here, in -ire, as fire, in -ore, as lore, generally have sonant -e. Now it has been shown (p. 98) that bare, here, fire, lore, were monosyllables in the 13th century. It is, therefore, extremely improbable that these words would in the 14th century put on another syllable. And if not these words, why others of the same termination, as deere and cheere ? However frequently, then, such words may appear in Chaucer, with sonant -e, the cases are exceptional, and being themselves exceptions from a general rule, cannot form a separate rjile to override the general one. CH. ESSAYS. n �102 THE USE OE FINAL -e Although, then, it were proved that Chaucer more generally than not uses deere as a dissyllable, that fact being exceptional cannot prove that here,1 prayere, frere, manere,1 matere, have the -e sonant because they rhyme with deere. The argument, in fact, runs the other way, inas much as here, which is without exception a monosyllable —manere and matere, which are almost without exception dissyllables, being themselves representatives of the general law of analogy—have a right, which no exceptional case can have, to lay down the law. When therefore we find heere and deere rhyming together, it is here, not deere, that decides the question, and proves deere in that in stance to be a monosyllable. We are indeed, in deter mining such cases, always thrown back on the formative law, which, being general, overrides the exceptions. All the instances, then, in which deere rhymes with here, manere and matere, are instances of monosyllabic deere. As to chere, on which Mr Child also relies, he seems to have forgotten that this word is very frequently written cheer (there are eight such instances in the Clerk’s Tale alone), and wherever so written confirms, and indeed proves, the contention that it was-only exceptionally a dissyllable. Every instance, then, in which deere and cheere rhyme with here, there, where, matere, manere, frere, cleere, all repre sentatives of the formative rule, is an argument against Mr Child’s partial induction. A few instances will now be given, showing the use of -are, -ere, -ire, -ore, -ure, in Anglo-Norman and English writers: -are, -ere, -ire, -ore:— ’ No instance has yet been met with in Chaucer of here, there, or manere with sonant -e. Two from Gower of manere, as a tri syllable, have been found by Professor Child. Gower however, who affected Frenchisms everywhere, being, if possible, more French than the native authorities, and in his French ballads writes in the “ French of Paris,” not Anglo-Norman—is no authority on the question. �IN EARLY ENGLISH. 103 Si fut un sirex de Rome la citet.—Alexis, v. 13. . Quant vint al fare, dune le funt gentement.—ib. v. 47. En cele manere1 Dermot le reis.— Conquest of Ireland (ed. 2 Michel), p. 6. Vers Engletere la haute mer.—ib. p. 153. En Engleter sodeinement.—French Chronicle (Cam. Soc.), Appendix. Deus le tot puissant ke eeel e terre crea.—Langtoft (ed. Wright), v. 1. Ke homme de terre venuz en terre revertira.—ib. Uncore vus pri pur cel confort.—Lyrical Poetry, p. 55. Then, for English instances : Lyare wes mi latymer.— Lyrical Poetry, p. 49. Careful men y-cast in care.—ib. p. 50. Thareiena ne lette me nomon.—ib. p. 74. Ther is [mani] maner irate—Land of Cokaygne, v. 49. On fys manure handyl J>y dedes.—Handlyng Synne, p. 5. Four manere joyen hy hedde here.—Shoreham's Poems (Percy Soc.), p. 118. And alle ine nout maner . . . Ine stede of messager.—ib. p. 119. Sire quap pis holi maide our louerd himself tok.—Seinte, Margarete (ed. Cockayne), p. 27. Fyrst of my lvyre my lorde con wynne.—Allit. Poems, i. v. 582. Bifore3 J?at spot my honde I spennd.—ib. i. v. 49. pat were i-falle for prude an hove To fille har stides pat wer ilor.—Ear. Eng. Poems, p. 13. And never a day pe dore to pas.—ib. p. 137. More j?en me lyste my drede aros.—ib. v. 181. 1 In Anglo-Norman verse of the 13th century Sire is generally a monosyllable, and is even repeatedly written Sir. See in “ Polit ical Songs ” (Camd. Soc.), pp. 66, 67, “ Sir Symon de Montfort,” “Sir Rogier,” and also in “Le Privilege aux Bretons,” a song con taining, like that just quoted from, a good deal of phonetic spelling, “ Syr Hariot,” “ Syr Jac de Saint-Calons ” and “ Biaus Sir ” (Jubinal’s “Jongleurs et Trouveres,” pp. 52—62). Writings of this kind in which words are phonetically, not conventionally, spelt, are often very valuable as showing the true sound, and illustrate a pithy re mark of Professor Massafia’s, that “ pathological examples are fre quently more instructive than sound ones.” 2 In the “Assault of Massoura,” an Anglo-Norman poem (13th century, Cotton MS. Julian A. v.), we find mere,frere, banere, arere, almost always spelt without the -e. Manere (when not final) is a dissyllable, and, when final, rhymes with banere, which in its turn rhymes with/re?’. Mester and mestere both occur, and the latter rhymes with eschapere and governere, for eschaper and governer, showing that the added -e was inorganic and merely a matter of spelling. 3 A.S. biforan became in Early English biforen, which fell under the orthoepic rule which, as in many infinitives (see infra), elided the -e in the atonic syllable -en. Biforen thus became biforn, then lost the n and received an inorganic or index letter, e, becoming bifore or before. No instance has yet been found by the present writer, of bifore as a trisyllable. � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 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. 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. <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" /> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Essays on Chaucer: his words and works. Part II Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: [3], 57-177, [2] p. ; 23 cm. Notes: From the library of Dr Moncure Conway. Printed by John Childs and Son. Published for The Chaucer Society. Publisher's series list inside and on the back over. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource [Unknown] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource [1874] Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Trübner & Co. Subject The topic of the resource Poetry Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /> This work (Essays on Chaucer: his words and works. Part II), identified by <a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a>, is free of known copyright restrictions. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5555 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Chaucer Conway Tracts Poetry Poetry in English https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/bd7476f1dfcd5742ab857e7c57fabf5e.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=XM7%7Er1ZJ3bmjoDNlzY80jDt7nvhctF6e3mAhQAJKKMLg5Sb6iGtGN8aAlxzJFxQofhuKFfetLNsXYvT4AP%7EeO4iB6-3e6IzZs6Il9BNS75OrTbmQ6A4TCXg-a-Rsq3EjfJ9zKNXtTuTPyKgK9xLPGCbRdEuqMJOw7dYi5zUGXpx5U4ztm-i6ZWk%7EWixtEjQKfE2xUJKf-6R7ba-MbQcONuhY37U7rA%7EtMuB2IF3zW2Pb4fM9fU%7E-77lfUAGttFtRfHJSCYeznshYU5pH4PzeVhMxoVM1xxtvTQ6A3rXWvWiLA0l%7E3HsYfno%7EEIoEd%7E4ZWRjgWUtz0WAV52McnaTr%7Eg__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM 7faabb94e01617967c32587c91d457fd PDF Text Text 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 your remedy has been SO BENEFICIAL in various kinds 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 If you want to preserve your hair and prevent baldness YOU MUST USE ROWLANDS’ MACASSAR OIL some kind of grease ; cold water ruins the hair, and most hair restorers dry up and wither it. All doctors will tell you that: is the most perfect restorer, preserver, and strengthener of the hair you can use, and being specially refined and purified, does not have the greasy effect of pomades o’- other oils. It prevents baldness and eradicates scurf, and is also sold in a GOLDEN COLOUR for fair and grey hair. Bottles, 3s. 6d., 7s., and 10s. 6d. Sold by Stores and Chemists. NATIONAL PROVIDENT. — INSTITUTION. FOR MUTUAL LIFE ASSURANCE. PROFITS.—The whole are divided amongst the Assured; already divided, £5,400,000. At the division in 1897 there were nearly 1000 Policies, in respect of which not only were the Premiums entirely extinguished, but Cash Bonuses were also paid, whilst in the case of many Policies the original sums assured are now more than doubled by the Bonus Additions. ENDOWMENT-ASSURANCE POLICIES ARE ISSUED, COMBINING LIFE ASSURANCE AT MINIMUM COST, WITH PROVISION FOR OLD AGE. The practical effect of these Policies in the National Provident Institution 48 is that the Member’s life is assured until he reaches the age agreed upon, and on his reaching that age the whole of the Premiums paid are returned to him, and a considerable sum in addition, representing a by no means insignificant rate of interest on his payments. Applications for Agencies invited. Gracechurch 8t., London, E.C. Arthur smither, Actuary and secretary. BOOKS OF ^Liberal IReligion. PHILIP GREEN, 5 Essex Street, Strand, W.C., will forward, post free, on application, a NEW CATALOGUE of BOOKS of LIBERAL RELIGION and ^THEOLOGY, containing Works by Dr. >hartineau, Stopford A. Brooke, R. A. Armstrong, J. Estlin Carpenter, Dr. Brooke Herford, J. W. Chadwick, M. J. Savage, and other English and American Unitarian and Liberal Religious Teachers. NO HOUSEHOLD BE Philip Green, 5 Essex St., Strand, W.C. WITHOUT SHOULD IT. THE CHEAP EDITIONS OF MRS. HENRY WOOD’S NOVELS. Crown 8vo. in green cloth, 2s. each, or in red cloth, gilt lettered, 2s. 6d. each. SALE OVER TWO MILLION AND A HALF COPIES. Trevlyn Hold. 65th Thousand. Court Netherleigh. 46 th Thousand. East Lynne. 480th Thousand. The Channings. 180th Thousand. Mrs. Halliburton’s Troubles. 150th Thousand. v."’he Shadow of Ashlydyat. 100th Thousand. Lord Oakbum’s Daughters. 105th Thousand. Verner’s Pride. 85th Thousand. Roland Yorke. 130th Thousand. | Johnny Ludlow. First Series. 50th Thousand. Mildred Arkell. 80th Thousand. 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MACMILLAN AND CO., Ltd., LONDON. 70th Thousand. ��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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Sixth Edition. Crown 8vo. Is. (Swan Sonnenschein � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 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. 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. <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" /> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource 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 An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Lubbock, John Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1899 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Macmillan and Co. Limited Subject The topic of the resource Philosophy Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /> This work (The pleasures of life), identified by <a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a>, is free of known copyright restrictions. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G2829 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Conduct of life Education Health Life Work https://d1y502jg6fpugt.cloudfront.net/25778/archive/files/a9efc2c9c72fe92da7ebcb3d6bddb903.pdf?Expires=1773878400&Signature=ILpdiuo17ncwOzXbiJkX-hKtdhlh7S8uuoDhrmkNu8rQLtGt8kVuoci8DKd-TRuwLeLUuW5SJAMjYLlBHL6RJDZQW8tMcKE-yTJm33Uwfcm1Z7qRKe-PDsSvX%7E5omPMsZiMEUNqKy6jPjxRnoCP5OtzCGO1Bfyo03qs3vAmKol%7EYHrCNZdYcj-SxBRgvaba3F-Jqwb0CViFM74jdyxv5xfchij%7EIUbhqJQ45prW07%7EmNPKURMmwNCr9MGjThPB7PWUUsqTTbfQ22tku35HhU3mTOHgNrbgnPVsMmhtdTmtN-MJsTFZZ55lkLtFi3typZmHk2dvq52%7EY5vO6gD96eog__&Key-Pair-Id=K6UGZS9ZTDSZM f8c1da73a5ec290ef8f315c0de2d243a PDF Text Text ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. AN EXAMINATION OF THE DOCTRINES HELD BY THE CLERGY OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND ON THE SUBJECT OF FUTURE PUNISHMENT. WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO THE TEACHING OF BISHOPS PEARSON AND BUTLER, ARCHBISHOP WHATELY, THE BISHOP OF OXFORD, THE BISHOP OF NATAL, THE ARCHBISHOP OF DUBLIN, DR NEWMAN, AND THE REV. F. D. MAURICE. BY PRESBYTER ANGLICANUS. [Reprinted, with Additions, from the "National ReviewNo. XXXI, for January, 1863.] WITH AN APPENDIX, CONTAINING A REPLY TO THE ARTICLE ON UNIVERSALISAT AND ETERNAL- rUNISHMENT IN THE “ CHRISTIAN REMEMBRANCER,” NO. CNN, FOR APRIL, 1863, AND SOME REMARKS ON A SERMON ON EVERLASTING PUNISHMENT, BY THE REV. E. B. PUSSY, D.D. LONDON: PRINTED BY CHARLES W. REYNELL, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET, HAYMARKET. �ê �CONTENTS. --------------SECTION I. State or Beliee with Regard to the Doctrine Punishment. oe Eternal PAGE Belief of the Clergy of the Church of England . . Tendency of Modern Thought . . . . Practical Difficulties of Missionaries . . . Their Bearing on the History of the Old Testament . Tacit Rejection of the Doctrine of Endless Punishment » Necessary Inferences from this Doctrine . . . Differences in the Expression of this Doctrine . . Its Repulsive Character, as admitted hy the Dean of St Paul’s The Appeal to Authority . . . . . The Denial of the Doctrine of Endless Punishment not necessarily Result of Lax Practice and General Unbelief . . Foundation ofWIie Doctrine of Endless Punishment . .. Extent of Belief in this Doctrine . . ‘ . . 1 .3 . 4 .5 . 6 .6 . 7 7 . 8 a .9 . 9 .12 SECTION II. Teaching of the Clergy of the Church of England of Eternal Punishment. on the Subject Two-fold Division involved in this Doctrine as drawn out by Mr Newman . . . . . . . 13 Practical Effects of this Division . . . .15 Statements of the Bishop of Oxford . . . . 15 Inferences from these Statements . . . .18 Their Bearing on the Proportion of Punishment . . . 20 The Idea that Sin may be Compensated by a Fixed Penalty . . 21 The Victory of Righteousness over Sin . . . .22 Pictures of Pandemonium . . . . . 23 Relation of the Saved to those who are Lost . . .24 Necessity of Maintaining that the Lost become wholly Evil . . 25 Theory of Archbishop Whately that the Good can shake off all thoughts of the Lost . . . . ... 26 �IV Bishop Copleston’s Inference from the Wide Prevalence of Evil . 27 Season of Probation . . . . ... 28 The Archbishop of Dublin on the Parable of the Pich Man and the Beggar . . . . . . .29 Dr Trench’s Reference to the Opinion of Bishop Sanderson on the Rich Man’s Good Things . . . . . . 31 Dr Trench’s Judgment on those who do not admit his Theory of Punishment . . . . . .31 Bishop Pearson on Endless Punishment . . . . 33 Mr Maurice on the Meaning of the Word Eternal . . 34 The Theory that Moral’ Obligation rests on the Conviction of Endless Punishment . . . . . . . 35 Experience of Human Legislators . . . .37 Archbishop Whately on the Idea of Civil Penalties . . 37 SECTION III. Philosophical Arguments Alleged in Depence Endless Punishment. of the Dogma of The Argument from Analogy as Treated by Bishop Butler . . 38 Butler’s Theory of Human Nature . . . . . 39 Contradictions between the Ethics of Butler’s Sermons and his Argu ments from Analogy . . . . .40 Butler’s Formal Notion of Government . ’ ♦ . . 41 His Argument from the Besults of Sin in this Life . . 42 Butler’s Beference to the Doctrines of Heathen Writers . . 43 Argument from Human Law . . . . .45 SECTION IV. Present State of the Controversy as Bearing Duties of the Clergy of the Church Position and England. on the of Beal Reason for the Popular Theories of Inspiration . . Contrast between Belief and Practice in the Present Day . Recent History of Beligious Belief in England . . Its Effects on the Clergy of the Church of England . Duty of the Clergy . . . . . Judgment of the Court of Arches in the Case of Fendall r. Wilson Charges of Evasion . . . . . Present State of the Controversy . . . 46 . 47 . 48 . 49 . 49 . 50 . 51 .52 �ETERNAL PUNISHMENT. --------- ♦--------- SECTION L State of Belief with regard to the Doctrine of Eternal Punishment. HE Church of England has not declared expressly that the probation, defi Tnitively with thetrial, orofeducation of man is endedmembers, close the present life. Her therefore, are free to entertain the hope or affirm their ■assurance that hereafter, as well as here, the good and the bad alike are in the hands of a righteous Father, who will so deal with them that, when the last enemy has been destroyed, God shall be all in all. Such is the decision which has roused the wrath and indignation of certain parties in the English Church, who wish to make the acceptance of their own dogmas the exclusive test of Church membership. Legally, their opponents have made good their standing ground, and may afford to pass over in silence the imputations of dishonesty or want of orthodoxy, which are thrown out against them. But they have pro voked a contest on the most vital of all questions : they have undertaken to do battle with popular conceptions of the Divine Nature ; and it would ill become them to take shelter under legal bulwarks, as though these alone consti tuted the strength of their cause. They may be safe from legal prosecutions, but they have to convince the people that, on the momentous subjects of Eternal Life and Eternal Death, a number of propositions are still commonly main tained, which are not sanctioned by the English Church, �1 Eternal Punishment. which are utterly opposed to the whole spirit of Chris tianity, and which obscure or obliterate all distinctions between right and wrong. Theological writers, who profess to define the limits of historical criticism, find it convenient to represent their position as the only foundation for Christianity itself: and it becomes indispensably necessary to declare that the real question at issue is one which will, not be set at rest, even though the history of the Exodus, were proved to be in every particular true. Behind all discussions on the authority of the Bible lies the oneabsorbing subject of human destiny. It is better and more honest to declare at qnce that on this question only one answer will ultimately satisfy the English people ; and it is no light thing that we are enabled now to assert thatthe Church of England has returned this answer. In herinterest, next only to that of truth and justice, we desireto speak. She is facing a great danger; but that danger arises from the spread, not of historical criticism, but of a feeling of doubt whether her voice is raised to proclaim unreservedly the absolute righteousness of God. Her authority is falsely claimed for a vast scheme of popular theology. Amongst her ministers, some few openly de nounce parts of this scheme, many practically ignore it, while.others uphold it by arguments which would make it indifferent whether we worship God or whether we worship Moloch. It bodes no good to a Church when the great body of its lay members suspect that the Clergy are up holding a system of dogmas, in some part of which at least they do not believe. It is a still darker sign if they come to think that these dogmas impute what, amongst men, would be called the worst injustice to a Being who is represented as infinitely merciful and loving. It becomes, therefore, a question of paramount importance to ascertain what is, in fact, the practical teaching of the Clergy on the subject of Eternal Punishment, and whether that teachingis consistent with itself and with the religion on which it professes to rest. It is impossible to put aside a subject which forces itself upon all at every turn. The course of thought and criticism at home, the practical and more urgent needs of missionaries abroad, will again and again demand answers �Eternal Punishment. 3 to questions which, all feel to be of greater moment than any other. The age which has fearlessly scrutinized the histories of Greece and Rome, which has laid down the laws by which these are to be judged, and has applied these laws with rigid impartiality to all researches or speculations whether they tell for or against the orthodox belief, will * hot be hindered from examining the grounds of the doctrines which fix the destinies of all mankind. If these doctrines seem to be opposed to ordinary human morality, little stress may for the present be laid on the inconsistency ; but when they claim to be part of a Divine Revelation which is contained in an infallible Book, it becomes a mere question of fact whether they really belong to that Revela tion, and whether the records, on which they rest, are absolutely true. It may be long before these questions are answered: but in the meanwhile the signs become daily more and more apparent, that the thoughts of men are running in this direction. The clergy, generally, are well aware of this. The old language on the subject of hell torments is not often heard at the present day; and the passing reference to them is commonly followed by the tranquil announcement of a just retribution for all sin. While the clergy in this country feel that anything more would be practically thrown away, they find it at once an easier and a more worthy task to insist on those truths which neither they nor their people in their secret hearts deny. From time to time men of greater honesty and greater courage give utterance to what is working in the minds of others, and plainly show that not merely the course of modern criticism, but- our first religious instincts make the subject of Eternal Punishment the great, question of the age. Twice, at least, within the last twelve years, something like a plain answer has been given to this question. The * The criticisms of Sir Cornewall Lewis are directed with equal severity against the reconstructed Assyrian History of Mr Rawlinson and the Egyp tology of Baron Bunsen. The former is supposed to corroborate the His tory of the Old Testament, the latter to upset it. To the historical critic either issue is wholly beside the question; but, of course, his weapons may strike that which he had no conscious intention of assailing. Minucius Felix never thought of the labours of Samson when he thrust aside those of Hercules by the famous criterion : “ Qute si facta essent, fierent; quia fieri non possunt, ideo nec facta sunt.” �4 Eternal Punishment. Theological Essays of Mr Maurice roused an opposition scarcely less vehement than ‘ Essays and Reviews ; ’ but it was comparatively an easy thing to say that the former lost half then- force by the writer’s seeming love of paradox; while the latter have been commonly regarded as the ambiguous utterances of men who felt more than they dared to put down in words. The practical needs of the missionary are not so easily set aside. It is one thing to speak in this country of heathens as being destined to torments which shall have no end, and another to insist before the heathen themselves that all sin not repented of at the hour of death will plunge the sinner into endless misery. The inconceivable fearfulness of the penalty deprives it, with many, of its force and meaning; and the greatest vehemence in depicting its terrors is followed by a deeper unbelief. It is a moral difficulty under which the missionary may console himself with reflections on the hardness of the human heart. There are other difficulties of an intellectual kind, with which, if he is an honest man, • he will find it more difficult to deal. But whether of the one kind or the other, it is far better that they should be forced on our attention from the actual wants of the heathen, than by writers whose words may be attributed to a love of restless speculation. In his commentary on St Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, the Bishop of Natal admits that the task of teaching Christian doctrine “ to intelligent adult natives, who have the simplicity of children, but withal the earnestness and thoughtfulness of men .... is a sifting process for the opinions of any teacher who feels the deep moral obligation of answering truly and faithfully and unreservedly his fellow-man looking up to him for light and guidance, and asking, 1 Are you sure of this ? ’ ‘Do you know this to be true ? ’ ‘ Do you really believe that ? ’ ” The Zulus of Southern Africa are not slow in drawing the logical inferences from the dogma of Eternal Punishment, as ordinarily understood and set before them: but they are more ready to question its justice than to adopt the belief which drove Antony and Macarius into the Nitrian desert. Many a wife in England has asked her husband in anguish of heart, how it could be right to bring children into a life which may be followed by a doom so unimaginably dreadful; �Eternal Punishment. 5 the Zulu knows well how to appreciate the sophistry which seems to satisfy the mothers of Englishmen. * Thus far his questions concerned chiefly his own per ceptions of the justness and fitness of things ; but it was impossible that they could stop short here. Bishop Colenso has had to answer others, not less searching, on the origin and earliest condition of man ; and he has answered them with equal truth and candour. He may have spoken to them, in past years, of the Fall of Man as a time when “ the vessel which God had fashioned for Himself” became polluted with sin, and when His purpose seemed “ blighted by the cunning of the Tempter;” but the questions of his people have not failed to lead him in due time to a closer scrutiny of the book from which these notions have been de rived. He had come to the plain conclusion that the Ever lasting Fire does not necessarily mean a punishment which is endless ; the same earnest examination of the popular belief respecting the Fall has led him to an equally clear conviction that no such lapse from a state of perfect goodness and purity ever took place. It is not merely that modern science has set aside statements in the Book of Genesis, and shown that physical death was not the re sult of Adam’s sin, that the serpent from its creation moved as it moves now, and that thorns and thistles sprang up from the ground ever .since vegetable substances came into being.f The fabric falls more .from its own want of cohe sion than from any assaults of modern science. If the second chapter of Genesis in almost every respect contra dicts the first, if the whole chronology of the book simply brings up a mass of insuperable difficulties, an inquiry is opened which must be followed to its results, and of which one result atTeast must be to dispel the idea that any texts * At the least, the latter can be silenced by being told that the married state has been pronounced holy, and that their children will be brought into a world where they will have full opportunity of attaining to life unless they deliberately choose death. The Zulu would probably think no answer satisfactory which did not reverse the conclusion of Sophocles : fii] (pvva.i top airavTa vitca Xtyov. t See Professor Owen’s-Lecture “On Certain Instances of the Power of God,” delivered before the Young Men’s Christian Association at Exeter Hall. Longman and Co. �6 Eternal Punishment. of the Bible can be suffered to override the plainest dictates of the human heart. These are things on which the nation at large will soon have to make up its mind. But while the doctrine of an Endless Punishment for all men dying with un repented sin is still asserted by many to be the doctrine of the Church of England, and while from time to time we have explanations of its nature which leave us in doubt of the speaker’s meaning, how are we to explain the fact that it should be less and less frequently brought before the people ? A real conviction of its truth would lead men to dwell on it to the exclusion of almost every other, to enforce it by night and by day with a vehement and untiring energy. Instead of this, the Bishop of Natal asserts, and asserts truly, that the dogma is “ very seldom stated in plain words in the presence of any intelligent congregation.” If prominently brought forward, it is generally before the ignorant and before children. Put in the simplest way, this doctrine asserts that the condition of every man is irrevocably fixed at the moment of his death, that owing to the Fall of Adam the natural doom of all his children without exception is an unending eternity of torments, that the death of Christ has, indeed, redeemed mankind, but procured salvation only for those who believe the Gospel and are baptized into His Church,— that, further, every Christian must die in a state of peni tence, and that any sin not repented of at the moment of death consigns him to endless flames. Thus a sharp line is drawn which divides all mankind into two classes, while from the number of those who are saved not only all openly evil-livers are cast out, but all heathen who, having not the Law, have not been a law to themselves, and among Christians all who have not died in the faith of Christ. Thus, again, the gates of hell close on all who may be set down as careless and indifferent, or as mere moralists, or sceptics, or philosophers,-—all, in short, who do not at the hour of death with true penitence place their conscious trust in the Great Sacrifice of Christ. This doctrine knows nothing of shades of character or degrees of guilt; it may admit the salvation of really good heathen men to whom the Gospel has never been preached, and �Eternal Punishment. 7 possibly of all children dying before the commission of natural sin. Ignorant Christians it regards as heathen, and there can be no reason to exempt them from a doom which awaits the vast mass, nay, almost the whole of the latter. This dogma may, of course, be enforced in ways indefi nitely various. It may be so put as to make God’s hatred of all sin the prominent idea, or it may be clothed with the coarseness of the most vindictive passion. It may be urged with the earnestness of the saint who is ready to die for others, or with the horrible selfishness of the blas phemer who professes to “ see the mercy of God in the damnation of infants.” But, in whatever form it may be put, the doctrine is in itself repulsive. Human nature shrinks from a penalty which it cannot comprehend, and of which it certainly cannot see the justice or purpose. In the words of Dean Milman, “ To the Eternity of Hell torments there is, and ever must be—notwithstanding the peremptory decrees of Dogmatic Theology, and the reve rential dread of so many religious minds of tampering with what seems the language of the New Testament,—a tacit repugnance.” * Doubtless there are many truths of Christianity which may at first shock or startle those who have grown up in a different philosophy. The cross of Christ may be to the Jews a stumbling block and to the Greeks an offence, but it is possible to mistake the nature of this antagonism, or to exaggerate it until it becomes a fiction. But there is no other doctrine which leaves on the mind and heart an aching sense as of irremediable pain—no other of which the real belief must throw a dark shade over all human life, and tempt the believer to gird himself with the cord of Dominic and Francis, and go forth to snatch if but a few brands from the burning. There is no other which sets the purest and most natural of human affections in direct conflict with what is held to be the Revelation of the Divine Will. If on the night of the Passover there was not a house in Egypt in which there was not one dead, there must be many dead in almost ■every Christian home, unless the terms of this dogma are iP. * Milman’s History of Latin Christianity. Book xiv., ch. 2, Vol. 6. "Rd. TT �8 Eternal Punishment. set at nought. There is no man living who has not loved those of whose conscious faith he can say nothing; there is not one who does not still love some, perhaps many such, on whose bodies the grave has closed. There is not one who will not continue to love them till he himself comes to die; and, in the meanwhile, he will vainly seek to under stand how, after that time, he will become indifferent to the doom of those whom he has loved and feels that ho must love on earth. It is clear that only the most stringent authority will bring men to believe such a doctrine as this. Their own conception of Divine Qualities and Attributes will neverguide them to it; they can only receive it on the express revelation of God Himself that it is really true. Christians have come to believe that God has actually revealed it, and that the statement of this doctrine is found in the Bible. They are conscious that it rests on nothing else, and they feel that its hold on the human mind will be lost if the authority of the -Book is assailed. They have to believe that all morality falls to the ground if the endless ness of hell torments is called in question; and hence to all such doubts, however faint and however calmly urged, the great barrier prescribed is the bulwark of Plenary Inspiration. The very vehemence with which all doubts are denounced as impious, seems itself to show that there must be something which can only be maintained by the exclusion or suppression of all doubts. The Roman Church is under no necessity to assert the absolute truth even of all doctrinal statements in the Old Testament or the New ; she has not shown her wisdom when she has done so. The dogmatic Protestant, who does not admit the existence of any living infallible expositor of Truth, is compelled to rest everything on the authority of a book ; and on this he must take his stand the more obstinately, if he feels that there is any one doctrine which only on such authority he would himself maintain. The tendencies of modern thought are sufficiently clear. Wild notions receive utterance and are abandoned in rapid succession. The Positivist may look forward to something not quite so attractive as the Nirvana of the Buddhist. New schools of Psychology may main tain that conscience and morality are the mere result of �Eternal Punishment. 9 education and experience ; but it is manifestly against the truth of facts to suppose that the tendency to a general unbe lief is greater now than it was fifty years ago, or so great. But although it may be true that the wants and yearnings of the human heart are leading or will lead men to a belief in the Incarnation, the Trinity in Unity, or any other Truth flowing out of these, there are other dogmas from which the very same wants and yearnings, the same perceptions of the essential agreement between Divine and human goodness, will altogether repel them. The strong arm of Ecclesiastical authority, or the dictates of temporal interest, or a dread of public opinion may lead men to profess belief in them ; but if the doctrine of End less Punishment were suffered to rest on the grounds which have led some, who denied it before, to believe that Jesus Christ is God and Man, no one can doubt that the great mass of Englishmen would thankfully and indignantly reject it. Nor would this rejection arise simply or at all from merely selfish fears. Undoubtedly a doctrine which makes the eternal doom of man dependent on the accident of his condition at the time of death, and by which the sin of a day, not repented of, nullifies the earnest obedience of a whole life, may well make every man tremble for himself. Still the main thought in the minds of the most sincere believers will be not for themselves but foi’ others; nay, the feeling of thankfulness at being rid of the dogma will be the more intense, because now they can really and without any sophistry or equivocation “ vindicate the ways of God to man.” The charge that they who will not allow the Everlasting Fire and Endless Punishment to mean and to be the same thing, do so because they wish to introduce a wild licence and crush all sense of law and duty, is an idle slander or a childish dream. The Roman Catholic consigns to the remedial fires of purgatory all who, though dying penitent, have made little advance towards Chris tian perfection; the Protestant, who in theory condemns to endless perdition all but the few of whose faith and goodness there can be no question, can hardly in practice bring himself to speak of any as undergoing the pains of hell. At the least he cannot so think of those whom hehas himself known and loved. He may have misgivings �IO Eternal Punishment. as to the depth or sincerity of his friend’s faith and the earnestness of his religious life ; but very large proofs of actual vice will be needed to repress the confident assertion that he has “ gone to Heaven.” Each Protestant, at least in England, is loud in maintaining that all sinners are con signed to Endless Punishment; each is equally anxious to express his belief that his own friends are not to suffer such a doom. Clearly then he, and not they who reject his doctrine are making the laws of God of none effect, and tampering with His absolute and unswerving justice. By his system, they who are utterly unfit for so immediate a change are transferred from the feeblest and most im perfect Christian life here to the full blessings of the Saints who have surrendered their will wholly to the will of God. It is the orthodox Protestant and not his opponent who is undermining the convictions of men that God is of a truth the righteous judge. There is not the faintest evidence that they who insist on gradations of punishment are lessening “ the terrors of the Lord,” far less that they are upholding any theories of what is called Univer salism. They have learnt, and their hearts tell them that God hates all sin, and that all sinners must sooner or later be brought face to face with his Everlasting Wrath. They know that a man may shut his ears to the voice of conscience here, but that the Undying Worm, “ which writhed at times within him,” even in this life, will then “ be commissioned to do thoroughly the work which is needed.”* With the question of amount or duration they resolutely decline to deal. The Wrath of God must burn so long as there is any resistance to be overcome; and to say that the soul will be delivered after undergoing simply a certain fixed amount of painf is to defeat the Justice of God and to impugn his Righteous ness almost as much as it is impugned by consigning all sinners to one and the same lot. They cannot in terms deny that the resistance of the sinner may be infinite, or presume in such case to determine the issue ; but they maintain most strenuously that the Wrath of God will be felt by all who need it without exception. “ The most saintly character, when viewed in the light of God’s * Colenso on the Epistle to the Romans. P. 216. f lb., p. 262. �Eternal Punishment. ii Holiness, will have manifold imperfections, spots, and stains, which he himself will rejoice to have purged away, though it may be ‘by stripes,’-—by stripes not given in anger or displeasure, but in tenderest love and wisdom, by Him who dealeth with us as with sons.”* Nay, it would seem impossible that the condition even of the sincere penitent should have no reference to the condition of others. “ When we consider how many of those who have died in penitence may have been guilty themselves of cor rupting and ruining others who have run a short course of sin and been cut off in impenitence, have we no reason to believe that, in some way or other, those who were once the cause of this defacement of God’s image in the persons of their fellow men or women, may likewise have a share assigned to them in the work of restoration,—may never attain (and, indeed, it is inconceivable that they should attain, if the things of this world are at all remem bered in the next, as we suppose they will be) their own full joy, until the evil they have done shall have been, by God’s Mercy, undone, and the powers of Hell vanquished and swallowed up in life ?”f Thus, in the present aspect of theological controversy, we have a strange sight. Almost every science wins ultimately into collision with some one or more state ments of the Bible, and so calls into question indirectly its general authority. The science of geology seems utterly to contradict the cosmogony of the Book of Genesis; astronomy knows nothing of any pause in the course of the earth round the sun. The science of language appears not altogether to favour the idea of an original unity of mankind, while the analysis of the speech and still more of the mythology of the great Aryan race furnishes no proof whatever that man started with high blessings which he forfeited by sin. Meanwhile, they, who uphold the ■orthodox belief, know well that these sciences, carried to their utmost limits, are not likely to set aside, to use Dean Milman’s words, “ the primal and indefeasible truths of Christianity.” J They know that the keenest * Colenso on the Epistle to the Romans. P. 202. t lb., p. 218. j Latin Christianity. Book xiv, ch. 10. �12 Eternal Punishment. scientific criticism cannot endanger the doctrine of that Eternal Life, which belongs to all who do the will of God. If these were the only truths to be defended, perhaps the questions of Justification and Authority might be discussed more calmly. But there remains the one dogma of endless punishment, which, if any flaw is found in the popular theory of inspiration, must straightway fall; and its defenders fight therefore with a vehement intolerance only to be excused by their strange conviction that a denial of it removes the ground-work of all morality. In a few years the contrast will be more startling than it is now. There yet live many who do not shrink from putting forth this doctrine in its extremest and most un compromising form. Men of great power, the spell of whose eloquence has not yet been broken, draw out the picture in its minutest outlines, well knowing that its strength lies in concrete images and not in unsubstantial generalities. There yet remain some, who seem (it can scarcely be that they really are) eager to maintain that “ utter unspeakable misery shall be the portion for endless ages, for ever and ever ; alike for all, who are not admitted at first into the realms of infinite joy,—that there shall be no hope in the horrible outer darkness, for the ignorant young child of some wretched outcast, who has been noted by the teachers of the Ragged or the Sunday school as having contracted some evil habit, it may be, of lying, stealing, swearing, or indecency, any more than for the sensual libertine, who has spent a long life in gratifying hislusts and has been the means of that child and others like' it being born in guilt and shame, and nursed in profligacy.”* Such, of course, are the logical results of the dichotomy which severs all men at the hour of death into two classes, and fixes accordingly their irrevocable doom. But when Bishop Colenso asks, “ In point of fact, how many thoughtful Clergy of the Church of England have ever deliberately taught, in plain outspoken terms, this doctrine, -—how many of the more intelligent laity or Clergy do really, in their heart of hearts, believe it ?” the answer mustbe given that some whose names stand among the highest in the land have set it forth in more glaring colours and * Colenso on the Epistle to the Romans. P. 207. �Eternal Punishment. *3 with more terrific minuteness than he has himself ventured to imagine. It becomes nothing less than the duty of any who know this from their own experience to show simply under what forms this doctrine is presented to English men and women, and still more to children, and what are the conclusions boldly drawn and vehemently denounced from axioms which utterly contradict them. The examples shall be either from published works or else from oral teaching, which doubtless the preacher would not care to disavow. SECTION II. Teaching of the Clergy of the Church of England on the Subject of Eternal Punishment. Nowhere, perhaps, is the severance of all men into two fixed classes at the hour of death more clearly and forciblv stated than in a Sermon of Dr Newman on the Individuality of the Soul. * Even over a dogma, to which, in Dean Milman’s words, all have “ a tacit repugnance,” his singlehearted earnestness sheds some light and comfort, if not for the dead, yet for the living. Knowing well that for the good and the wicked Eternal Life and Eternal Death are already here begun, he insists that the sinner is at present under God’s Eternal Wrath, and not merely that he will be so at some future time. Yet he shrinks not from complying with the inexorable demands of his system. The invisible line divides all mankind into these two classes ; and at the moment of their death all who die unsanctified and unre conciled to God pass at once into a state of endless misery.f But he did not fail to see how little men generally believed “that every one who lives or has lived is destined for endless bliss or torment,” J and how the popular convictions of Protestants opened the door of hope far more widely than the purgatory of the Church of Rome. “Let a person who is taken away have been ever so notorious a sinner, ever so confirmed a drunkard, ever so neglectful * Parochial Sermons. Vol iv., Serm. 6. f Ib.} p. 103. J lb., p. 100. �14 Eternal Punishment. of Christian ordinances, and though they have no reason for supposing anything hopeful was going on in his mind, yet they will generally be found to believe that he has gone to heaven; they will confidently talk of his being at peace, of his pains being at an end, and the like.”* If a theology so lax rises in part from their inability to “conceive it possible that he or that they should be lost,” he does not forget that it is partly accounted for by natural affection. “Even the worst men have qualities which endear them to those who come near them;”f and therefore they cling to the memory of the past and derive from it a vague hope, which they do not care to sift too strictly. But death not merely fixes the doom of the sinner; it changes his nature, not in degree only, but in kind. “ Human feelings cannot exist in hell.” J Others have not shrunk from drawing out the many inferences involved in their axiom; Mr Newman drew from it simply a warning to fight the Christian’s battle more earnestly, and to hate the sin against which the wrath of God is eternally burning. In that Church, where he professes to have found both refuge and solace, he has to propound a more merciful doctrine. The two classes § remain, but the way of peni tence and of hope is opened to vast numbers who, in the strict belief of Anglicans, would be shut up' with the sinners. Thus far in his new home he has been removed some steps at least from “ the house of bondage.” * Parochial Sermons. Vol. iv., Serm. 6. P. 103. f lb. 103. J lb., 104. § The tests laid down by Mr Newman, the Bishop of Oxford, and others, are clear enough. The only question is as to their application. This exhaustive classification has reference to the tares and wheat, the sheep and the goats, in the parables of Our Lord. Mr Jowett (on the Epistle to the Romans, &c., vol. i., p. 416, Essay on Natural Religion) will not say in which of these two divisions we should find a place for the majority of mankind, “ who have a belief in God and immortality,” but “ have nevertheless hardlv any consciousness of the peculiar doctrines of the Gospel,” who “have never in their whole lives experienced the love of God or the sense of sin, or the need of forgiveness,” but who are often “ remarkable for the purity of their morals,” for their “strong and disinterested attachments,” and their “quick human sympathies,” and of whom “ it would be a mistake to say that they are without religion.” The orthodox theologians would not share his hesitation. These men confessedly, although members of the Church outwardly, do not die consciously in the faith of Christ; and they must therefore be shut out for ever from the presence of God. But they are just the men of whom Protestants speak as having gone to Heaven, although their theory consigns them to a very different doom. �Eternal Punishment. *5 The full meaning of Dr Newman’s axiom cannot be comprehended until we bring before ourselves the various shades of character which are included under the class of impenitent sinners. One effect of such theology is to paralyse the will for action where action is most of all needed. If such a line of severance exists, there must be those in heaven who were very nigh to hell, and some in hell who were very near to heaven. To tell the young that there are thousands in endless torment who have failed in sight of the goal, thousands who have only not won the prize, thousands who have been all saved, is not likely to supply the readiest motive to be up and doing. The hardness of the conflict is yet further increased by theories on post-baptismal sin, which tend practically to put it almost beyond the reach of pardon; and faults which, if committed before receiving the Sacrament of Regenera tion, would be of but little moment, avail to crush down the soul of the baptized for ever. But as long as the exaggeration consists in making still more narrow the strait road which leads to Life, no other difficulty arises than the thought that God, who is All-merciful and Loving, lays on his weak creatures a burden which they are scarcely able to bear. When, however, we compare the teaching of one man with that of others on the subject of Eternal Punishment, we begin to see that tlieir doctrines not merely represent the Divine Being as implacably revengeful and utterly unjust, but rest on axioms which entirely contradict each other, as well as certain articles of faith in which all alike profess their belief. Dr Newman grounded his description of the doom of sinners on the maxim that hell is not the habitation of any human affections ; the teaching of the Bishop of Oxford on this subject rests or rested on a very different idea. Both would, of course, admit that God awards to every man according to his work. In a Sermon preached in the Parish Church of Ban bury, on the 24th of February, 1850, the Bishop of Oxford dramatised the Day of Judgment. He was preaching especially to the young, to the boys and girls who had on that day been confirmed by him; and he judged rightly that nothing could enable them to realise the state of the lost more vividly than a series of portraits representing �i6 Eternal Punishment. the several classes of impenitent sinners in judgment. * But, inasmuch as the example of the worst sort of mankind would be of little practical use, he sought his warnings •chiefly from those on whom the world would be disposed to look favourably. The poet, the statesman, the orator, the scholar and philosopher, the moralist, the disobedient child, the careless youth, were in their turn described as standing before the judgment seat. No touch was wanting in each case to complete the picture ; and if the object was to arouse the passion of fear, the preacher’s effort could fail of success only with those who saw that that picture was inconsistent with the constantly recurring statement, that Hell contains nothing but what is simply and utterly bad. As addressed to the young, it was, of course, neces sary that his words should not do violence to a sense of right and wrong, probably in most of them sufficiently weak, or tend to lower or confuse ideas respecting the Divine Nature, which were already sufficiently inadequate. How far the Sermon was likely to produce such a result, may perhaps be determined by taking a few of the examples brought forward. After describing the death of the im penitent, sometimes in torment, sometimes in indifference, more often in self-deceit, the Bishop depicted them before the judgment seat still possibly deceiving themselves until the delusion is dispelled for ever by the words which bid them depart into the lake of fire. “What,” he asked, “will it be for the scholar to hear this, the man of refined and * A discourse, addressed specially to children on their confirmation, may be more fitly alleged as a specimen of ordinary parochial teaching than a Sermon preached before a University audience. Yet the two Sermons oil “ The Revelation of God the Probation of Man,” preached by the Bishop of Oxford before the University in 1861, are entitled to all the credit due to the Sermon at Banbury for plainness of speech. We cannot even enter on an examination of the equivocal sophistry which runs through these Sermons. We content ourselves with remarking that, on evidence which has been much called in question, he makes a young man of great promise, and much simplicity of character, die “ in darkness and despair''' before he had reached the fulness of earliest manhood. The alleged cause is indul gence in doubts,—of what kind, we are not told. Yet there is some difference between the promulgation of an impure Manicheism and doubts on the accu racy of the Mosaic cosmogony. Unquestionably, the Bishop is referring to doubts of the latter kind ; and we need only say, that to condemn to endless torments a young man of good life because he doubted whether the sun and moon really stood still at Joshua’s bidding, is far worse than to consign to the same fate the school-girl of the Banbury Sermon. �Eternal Punishment. 17 elegant mind, who nauseates everything coarse, mean, and vulgar, who has kept aloof from everything that may annoy <or vex him, and hated everything that was distasteful. Now his lot is cast with all that is utterly execrable. The most degraded wretch on earth has still something human left about him; but now he must dwell for ever with beings on whose horrible passions no check or restraint shall ever be placed.” 11 How, again is it with many, of whom the world thinks highly, who are rich and well to do, sober and respectable, benevolent and kind ? Such an one has been esteemed as an excellent neighbour ; he has had a select circle of friends whom he has bounti fully entertained: he has prided himself on discharging well the duties of a parent, host, and neighbour; and when he dies there is a grand funeral and it is put upon his tombstone that he was universally lamented, and that society had suffered in him a real loss. What is the ScriptufA comment on all this ? ‘ In hell he lifted up his eyes being i\~? torments.’ ” He placed his hearers by the death bed of the rfpk nian. “ See in the house of Dives there are hurrying step,? and anxious faces; Dives is sick and his neighbours are son’/ because he has been a good neighbour to them, polite and nCsPdable and ever ready to interchange the amenities of life. J’ives is sick, and his brothers are sorry, because he has been & kind brother to them, and now they must lose his care and ^assistance and see him no more. Soon all is over. The b^ 'd^ bes in state. His friends come together and attend it tomb, and then place the recording tablet stating him to be a very paragon of human virtues. Tor some months they speak of their poor neighbour, how he would have enjoyed their present. gaiety, how they miss him at his accustomed seat; until at length he is forgotten. And while all this is going on upon the earth, where is Dives himself ? Suffering in torments because in his life time he had received his good things.” But more terrible still, and chiefly as being addressed to children, was the picture of a school-girl cut off at the age of thirteen or fourteen. In her short life on earth she had not seldom played truant from school, had told some lies, had been obstinate and disobedient. Now she had to bid farewell to heaven and c �18 Eternal Punishment. to hope, to her parents, her brothers, and sisters ; and thenfollowed her parting words to each. What was her agony of grief, that she should never again look on their kind and gentle faces, never hear their well known voices ? All their acts of love return to her again,—all the old familiar scenes, remembered with a regret which no words can describe, with a gnawing sorrow which no imagination can realise. She must leave for ever that which she now knew so well how to value, and be for ever without the love for which she had now so unutterable a yearning. She must dwell for ever among beings on whom there is no check or restraint, and her senses must be assailed with all that is utterly abominable. The worst of men are there, with every spark of human feeling extinguished, without any law to moderate the fury of their desperate rage. To com plete the picture, the lost angels were mingled with thisb awful multitude, in torment themselves and the instyd. ments of torturing others. They stood round their auman victims, exulting in their misery and increasing perpetually the sting of their ceaseless anguish. T^e bodies of men as well as them souls were subjected 'w their fearful sway, and had to suffer all that fiend; ^ hatred.could suggest. , .e /y11 ar iey seized tortured by the instrument ? • ?S ?eran?eK lustful man by the instrument of hrs lust, the tyrant > the instrument of his tyranny.” ver consi to' xP^ons involve some curious, and not o-es't th^18 conclusions ; but chiefly, perhaps, they sugteent1 J ^ie (H®}rences between the ninth and the ninea centuries are not very great after all. The dsemono,gy of the Bishop of Oxford is almost more minute and elaborate than that of Bede or William of Malmesbury. ' * But, leaving this, we have to mark that in this scheme, asin that of Mr Newman— 1. All mankind are divided into two classes at the hour of death. 2. That hell is the abode of nothing that is not utterly abominable. * Bede, iii. 19; Malmesbury, ii. 2. It must be remarked that the details of personal bodily torment imply physical contact of daemons, and run into images which have their ludicrous as well as their fearful side.—See Mil man’s Latin Christianity, Book xiv., ch. 2. �Eternal Punishment. x9 Bui it goes beyond the teaching of Mr Newman in asserting— 3. That hell is a chaos of unrestrained passion, from which all check of law and order has been permanently withdrawn. 4. That all the inhabitants of hell are mingled together, so that any one may attack another whenever he pleases, and 5. That all, of whom we should be disposed to judge most leniently, retain their better characteristics, remain ing, in short, precisely what they had been on earth. This last axiom seems scarcely to harmonize with those which precede it. On a subject of such fearful moment every statement should be sifted with all sobriety and earnestness. It might be not difficult to present illustrations, such as have now been noticed, even under a ludicrous aspect; but it is more seemly to ask calmly how, if these things are so, each man is to be rewarded according to his works. The brutal murderer and the blood-thirsty despot remain what they were ; their cruelty is not lessened, their physical force seemingly not abated. The philosopher and moralist, the man of learning and elegant tastes, the child who has died almost in infancy, remain also what they were ; and all, murderers, philosophers, and children, are hurled together into an everlasting chaos. The strong can choose out vic tims who cannot resist them : the weak can find none to torment in their turn, and, according to the supposition, they have no wish to torment any one. Hell is not the habitation of any human affection: yet the child carries thither her love for her parents, her brothers, her teachers, (the remembrance of good and holy lessons, which now she has learnt to value, and for valuing which she must be the better) nay, she yearns for their blessedness not only be cause it is a condition free from torment, but because they are with their Loving and Most Merciful Father. The sceptical philosopher whose life was a pattern of moral strictness, the man of refined habits, of ready bene volence, and good feelings remain likewise what they were, and they are to be punished by being thrown with those who never had a thought or care whether for elegance, �20 Eternal Punishment. philosophy, or morality. The school-girl may be tormented by Ahab or Caesar Borgia, Shelley may find himself as sailed by Jonathan Wild or Commodus. It may well seem * profane thus to put names together ; but if such a theory be true, the conclusion is perfectly justifiable, and we are justified further in maintaining (1) that on this supposi tion the punishment is wholly unequal, unless all have committed the same amount of sin, and are equally steeped in guilt (which yet they are admitted not to be) or unless all become equally fiendish (which it is asserted that they do not). (2.) In either case the less guilty are the greater suf ferers. If all are made equally diabolical by the mere passing from this world into the next, still, in undergoing this change, some will have lost much more good than others, many losing very little, others losing a great deal. And if they do not all become equally bad, then the sensi tive and refined, the benevolent and honourable man will be trampled on by furious beings, who will lead an endless carnival of violence, and whom he can by no possibility resist. (3.) The latter class would scarcely be punished at all. The remorse of conscience they may with whatever success put aside, and on their passions there is to be, by the hypothesis, no check whatever. Even while on earth, they had shown only the faintest signs of good, and hacl approached as nearly as possible to a delighting in evil for its own sake. To take a number of the most hardened criminals, and leave them shut up by themselves to their own devices, would scarcely be called punishment in any human code. To coop up with these other criminals of quite a different stamp, weak, sensitive, and specially open to softer and finer feelings, would indeed be punishment, but it would be confined wholly to the latter, while it would give a zest to the horrible passions of the former. But further,—(4.) Evil, on this hypothesis, is to increase and mul • To raise an objection on the score of mentioning names is to betray a doubt as to the individual existence of all human souls after death ; nor did Mr Newman fail to discern and to denounce all such hidden unbelief. See more especially the Sermon already cited. (Vol. IV, Sermon 6.) �Eternal Punishment. 21 tiply for ever. Bishop Butler’s Sermon on Resentment will show clearly enough the course of that passion when uncontrolled, even on earth. But here all check, divine and human, is to be removed for ever. In some way or other we are to suppose that all will feel the sting of remorse ; but, according to this idea, they will at the same time have the will and the power to repeat the sins for which, they suffer, nay, to add to them sins incomparably more tremendous. (5.) But this notion puts almost wholly out of sight the Undying Worm, and the Everlasting Fire of Divine wrath. It represents the lost as preying on each other, but it pictures none of them as brought face to face with the Anger of God against all Sin. It reduces the punish ment inflicted on sinners to mere vindictiveness, from which even the idea of a stern though just retribution is shut out. In other words, the sentence of an infinitely Perfect Judge has nothing whatever moral about it. It is a mere physical banishment, where sinners may or may not feel the sense of an irreparable loss. The degree to which they feel it has no reference to any action of God on their hearts, but is determined wholly by the tenor of their life on earth. In comparison with the sensitive moralist, the ruffian will feel none ; and, in short, the Divine Hatred for Sin will never be really brought home to him. Yet further, the popular theology of the day leads the mind to fasten on an utterly mistaken idea of the nature of Eternal Punishment ■ it has led those who have indulged themselves in framing theories of Universalism, to hold that sin may be compensated by a fixed amount of punish ment, like the definite penalties of human law. They who maintain that all sinners suffer endless torment do so on the ground that endless torment alone can be an adequate recompense for any sin; it is no matter of surprise that their opponents should believe in a deliverance from the Eternal Fire after it has been endured for “ a sufficient time. Fixed penalties have no necessary tendency to produce a change of character. “ It is true that human laws, which aim more at prevention of crime than amend ment of the offender, do mete out in this way, beforehand, a certain measure of punishment for a certain offence. �11 Eternal Punishment. The man who covets his neighbour’s property may, if he like, obtain it dishonestly, at a certain definite expense. He knows that he may possibly escape altogether; or, at the worst, he can only suffer this or that prearranged penalty, after suffering which he may remain (so far as the effect of the punishment itself is concerned, and unless other influences act upon him) as bad and as base a villain as before. But God’s punishments are those of a Bather. . . . We have no ground to suppose that a wicked man will at length be released from the pit of woe, when he has suffered pain enough for his sins, when he has suffered time enough, a 4 certain time appointed by God’s Justice.’ But we have ground to trust and believe that a man in whose heart there is still Divine Life, in whom there lingers still one single spark of better feeling, the gift of God’s Spirit, the token of a Father’s still continuing Love, will at length be saved, not from suffering, but from sin.”* But the orthodox theology, which severs all men into two classes, to be fixed at the moment of their death, still maintains that the final cause of the Divine Government of the world is the Victory of Righteousness over sin. It still asserts that when the last enemy has been destroyed God shall be all in all. Yet, according to the hypothesis of the Bishop of Oxford, the vast majority of the whole human race of all times and countries, all wicked heathen, all wicked Christians, all children who die with faults not repented of, all mere moralists, all men of indifferent or negative characters, depart into a realm where Lawlessness reigns supreme, and from which all external check has been deliberately withdrawn. In this anarchy is involved the permission and the power to sin afresh perpetually in infinitely increasing ratio. Here undoubtedly the calcula tion of numbers may, or rather it must, come in. The children of Adam may be beyond any earthly census, but they are not innumerable. As Mr Newman cautiously and reverently expressed it, that which gives especial solemnity to the thought of death “ is that we have reason to suppose that souls on the wrong side of the line are far more numerous than those on the right.”f It is dishonest and * Colenso on Romans, p. 263. f Sermons, Vol. IV (Serm. 6), p. 101. �Eternal Punishment. 23 ■cowardly to palter and dally with such a subject as this. If the words of the Bishop of Oxford are true, then Satan, who is the lord of this lawless realm, has for ever severed nine tenths, possibly nineteen twentieths, possibly more, of the whole human race from the Love and the Law of God. Brom this vast Kingdom he has banished God; and in it he may exult in the endless aggrandizement of sin. Some very indisputable proof is needed for the belief that the Victory of God means nothing more than this; and, ungu^stionably, no man COLCOfi would ever speak thus of any earthly King who had lost nineteen-twentieths of his Kingdom, over which he had been obliged to abandon all control. We might give him all the credit which a qualified success deserves; we might say that he had put bounds to rebellion, and prevented the rebels from harming those who had not joined them; but it would be an absurd mockery to say that he had overthrown and destroyed his enemies and recovered all his ancient power. If popular theologians speak truly, the Victory of God would be even more partial, and Ahriman will indeed have triumphed over Ormuzd. We may dismiss from our thoughts such Pandemoniums of unbounded ferocity. The most intense conviction of the ■endlessness of hell torments does not call for them., The penalty of an undying remorse rather implies that they who are lost shall not be suffered to torment each other. The supposition that they are so permitted involves a per petual miracle to keep such torture within due bounds, if any pretence of justice in the measure of punishment is to be maintained. It involves further the very strange idea that they have the Divine Licence to commit a certain amount of sin, and add perpetually each to his own amount of guilt. The best form of the popular theology sweeps .away all such monstrous absurdities, and interprets the Undying Worm as an unavailing agony of remorse, an indescribable and fruitless yearning after a Righteousness .and Love which they have learnt too late to value. But if it gets rid of some folly, it fails to meet or to remove the .serious moral difficulties involved in the doctrine. It asserts the strict apportionment of penalty according to each man’s deserts; it leaves no room for any such just �24 Eternal Punishment. proportion. The very essence of proportion is the idea of gradation; but “ can there be any possible gradation of endless, infinite, irremediable woe ? . . . The very essence of such perdition is utterly, and for ever and ever, to lose sight of the Blessed Eace of God. . . . What would alL bodily or mental pain whatever be, compared with theanguish of being shut out for ever and ever from all hopeof beholding one ray of that Light ? And even bodily or mental pain, however diminished, yet if continued without cessation or relief for ever and ever, how can this be spoken bi aS ‘ fe'W stripes ’ ”* for any to whom few stripes are to be apportioned ? It supposes the sinner to undergo .an agony to which it will be impossible for him to realise any increase ; to such an one the announcement that his neigh bour’s sufferings are greater must appear only an idle and malicious mockery. At the utmost he will only be able to take in the difference by an intellectual effort. Is the Divine Justice not concerned with convincing the sinner of its own reality ? But the orthodox theology has also to deal with the relation of those who are saved to those who are lost. Once, at least, they all meet for recognition before the Throne of Judgment. There parents are to look on children once loved and cherished, now appointed for the burning ; there the husband is to see the wife whom he loved to the last borne away into the lake of fire; there brothers, whose love was one but whose lot is now different, are to take their farewell, and to see each other again no more. That the sinners shall mourn for the blessings which they have lost, and. that their anguish should be increased by the very consciousness that they who loved them once are blessed, still, need perhaps in such a scheme present no great diffi culty ; but the happiness of the righteous must not be disturbed, and some solution must be found for the huge perplexities so produced. No theologian ventures to assert that we are to hate all sinners in this life ; rather, our love should be deepened by the consciousness of their sin and need. The miserable wretches who haunt the filthy courts of crowded cities are to be sought out with the more tenderness and. Colenso 'on Romans, pp. 199, 200. �Eternal Punishment. 2$' zeal, because they are exasperated against an order which, to them, appears thoroughly iniquitous. Their blasphemies are not to deter us from seeking to do them good; after a few years are past, they will prevent God from so doing. In some way or other, the Righteous in Heaven are to acquiesce in a necessity which is laid on the Divine Being Himself. We do not hate them now, but we shall hate them hereafter nay, those who are lost shall retain their love for us long after the last lingering feeling has been extinguished in ourselves.. We may struggle to escape from the labyrinth of unintel ligible contradictions, but the conclusion remains that the assurance of our own salvation will enable us to look with serene indifference on the departure of lost friends into hell. At the least, that conscientiousness will not be allowed to interfere with our bliss. This can only be done by one of two suppositions,—either we shall come to hate all sinners because we detest sin, or we shall be able to forget sin and sinners altogether. But if it be impossible (as for men in this life at least it would seem to be impossible) to feel an unmixed hatredfor any being not wholly evil, then the mere comfort of those who are saved demands that all who are lost shall cease to retain the least affinity with good. Hence it became a logical necessity to maintain that hell is the habitation of no human affections, or in other words that the accident of death rendered wholly wicked those who had been only partially wicked before. But if some writers have discerned in the parable or history of the rich man and the beggar, the evidence of this sweeping change, the idea of hell torments enforced by the Bishop of Oxford implies that over some at least no change has passed unless it be one for the better. The philosopher and the moralist retain their refined and kindly feelings ; the very essence of their torture is that they do retain them and must retain them for ever. The school-girl, who died with a lie on her lips, still loves her kinsfolk and her friends, or, rather, she has learnt to set on their love a value of which she had not dreamed on earth. She has been taught to mourn over her banishment from those who are good, over the thought that she cannot with them share the love of God. The’ case may be put even more forcibly. According to �26 Eternal Punishment. Archbishop Whately, the terrors of the Day of Judgment will be felt only by those “ who will then, for the first time, have a faithful and tender conscience.”* That men should have such consciences, is the special desire of the Divine Spirit; and in this theory the Day of Judgment at once accomplishes the victory of righteousness over sin by ■changing the hearts of all sinners. It is to this, then, that the good have to look forward; and, if memory survives in Heaven, it must tell them that the gates of hell have closed -on faithful and tender consciences. The prospect may be bewildering ; the retrospect would be intolerable. In two ways only can men, during this life, deal with the thoughts so forced upon them. All other feelings may here be swallowed up in a fierce vehemence to save the souls of ■others and our own. The idea of endless vengeance may send us forth to drive men into Heaven with the ecstatic fervour of Knox or Loyola; or else our efforts may be ■centred on ourselves. The one aim of life may be to force our way through gates which can be opened but to few. We may learn to crush all natural feeling, and the selfish ness so acquired we may carry into Heaven. The very intensity of our joy may lie in the thought that we have escaped the fires which are tormenting those whom we had known on earth. Archbishop Whately shrinks from this idea of a triumph worthy of Mahomet or Montanus. In his belief, we shall be able in Heaven to do effectually what we can only in part accomplish here. On earth a good man, “ in cases where it is clear that no good can be done by him, strives, as far as possible, though often without much success, to withdraw his thoughts from evil which he cannot lessen, but which still, in spite of his effort, will often cloud his mind. We cannot, at pleasure, ■draw off our thoughts entirely from painful subjects which it is in vain to meditate about,—the power to do this com pletely would be a great increase of happiness.” The blessed “ will be able, by an effort of the will, completely to banish and exclude every idea that might alloy their happiness.”f It might have been an easier, perhaps a more merciful, solution to extinguish at once and for ever the * Scripture Revelations of a Future State, p. 158. t Scripture Revelations of a Future State, pp. 282, 283. �Eternal Punishment. 27 memory of their life on earth. The theory of Archbishop Whately is one which not a few good men would reject for themselves in this life, and which the great founders of the Mendicant Orders would have indignantly thrust aside. It was the first characteristic of these merciful teachers, that they could not and would pot dismiss from their minds the thought of evil which they could not remedy. They needed not the modern casuistry which takes “ the wide prevalence of evil in the world as a proof that God cannot -expect us to harass ourselves incessantly in resisting it.” To Bishop Copleston it was the most difficult of questions to determine “ with what degree of evil existing under our eyes we might fairly indulge a feeling of complacency and a desire for repose and enjoyment.”* They knew nothing of repose and enjoyment, for beings who all their life long must walk on the very verge of hell. They believed what they professed: and they lived, therefore, unlike those who are able to dismiss a mere dogma from their mind. It may be more difficult for the comfort loving theologians of the present day to explain how it is that good men on earth rise above the selfishness of heaven. Teachers of a sterner, if not a better school, find in the dogma of eternal reprobation the paramount need of crushing these instinctive or acquired longings for ease and comfort: and as long as the penalty is regarded solely with reference to ourselves, it serves most effectually to point the warning and enforce the lesson. If the whole proba tion of the sons of men is bounded to their life on earth, then it is indeed fitting that our days here should know nothing’ of feasts and merriment. If things go smoothly with us, it is our business to make them go roughly. The philosophy of Amasis and Poly crates is fully justified by the conditions of the Christian’s life ;t and they who accept these conditions, must feel it in truth a very small part of their duty not to let the whole year go round “ without a break and interruption in its circle of pleasures.The case is altered when, from ourselves, we look on others; * Bishop Copleston’s philosophy was probably right. It assumes the aspect of a frightful apathy only when taken along with the dogma of end less punishment, which there is no evidence that he did not hold. f Newman’s Parochial Sermons. Vol. VI, Serra. 2, p. 27. J Ibid. �28 Eternal Punishment. and it presents difficulties yet more grave when we come to dwell on the method of Divine Government itself. In some way or other the Justice of God who appoints an end less torment for all who die with any sin not repented of, must be consistent with an order of things in which the time of trial may be cut short by an accident. If natural feeling struggles against the' idea of an infinite penalty for the sin of a mortal life, it demands still more imperatively that, in such case, all should have the same amount of trial. But the child is cut off at school; the old man lives to heed or disregard warnings repeated through the life time, perhaps, of three generations. Kay, the sloth or thoughtlessness of mortal man may be the whole cause which determines the endless torture of the unbaptised * infant. Some live until they appear to love evil for its own sake; others are cast into the lake of fire, when, as theologians admit, they were all but fit for heaven. The moment of death changes all alike into beings of unqualified evil. The loss of some is as nothing compared with that of others ; and the doom may come after a thousand warnings, or without any. Yet the theology which maintains all this insists also that God is infinitely merciful and loving. It must, at the least, be admitted that, if in spite of all authority, they who profess to believe these dogmas have to overcome a natural repugnance, some among them at least have in this task achieved no mean success. But they have to persuade others to accept their own convictions. The decrees of Councils, or the language of Canons and Articles, may suffice for themselves ; but some attempt must be made to show that their belief is enforced by passages of the Old Testament or the New which seem to make against it. Men do not at the first glance see how an endless punish ment for all can be consistent with the few and the many stripes, how others can suffer torments less tolerable than those appointed for the men of Sodom and Gomorrha, if * The theology of Augustine was almost more uncompromising. An unbaptised infant lay sick: a convert, sincerely penitent, desired baptism on his deathbed. The priest, when summoned, was asleep or at dinner, or he would not go. It was the result of a Divine Decree that the child and the convert should be damned. f Colenso on Romans, p. 211. �Eternal Punishment. 29 it be impossible to conceive of any increase to the latter. If hell is the habitation of no human affections, it is hard to understand why the rich man in Hades should appear to be changed for the better rather than the worse. The necessities of a theological position have provided the solution; but the firmest believer would probably admit that it will not generally suggest itself to the natural mind. To men who have not received a higher illumination, the rich man appears to be represented not as blaspheming or even murmuring, not as hating God or exulting in the ruin of others, but as anxious ’ that his brothers may not fail to win the blessings which he has lost. To such it would seem that our Lord assumed “ that even in the place of torment there will be loving, tender thoughts in a brother’s heartand they may be tempted to reason further, that “ if there can be such, as they can not come from the Spirit of Evil, they must be believed to come from the Spirit of all Goodness. While there is life, there is hope. In fact, the rich man is represented as less selfish in the flames of hell than he was in this life. The Eternal Fire has already wrought some good result in him.”* But they who maintain the dogma of endless ven geance can afford to look down on notions so crude as these ; rather they feel it their duty to insinuate that none but men of unclean lives can ever entertain them. To them the prayer of the rich man to Abraham is simply the blasphemous expression of a desperate irony, while his life on earth was the result and token of a conscious and definite unbelief in the existence of an unseen world. During his mortal life he may have been sinful; now he is * utterly fiendish and diabolical. The teaching of the Bishop of Oxford seems to involve conclusions not quite consistent with these positions of the Archbishop of Dublin,f yet both assert strenuously the endlessness of future punishment. The former may countenance the notion that the greater sin has the lesser penalty ; the latter appears to set aside the ordinary meaning of words. According to Dr Trench, the narrative was aimed * Colenso on Romans, p. 214. f Notes on the Parables, p. 454, &c. &c. �30 Eternal Punishment. against the Pharisees, and especially at their unbelief. The rich man, or, if we must so call him, Dives, had fairly brought himself to believe that the unseen world had really no existence, and he calmly adopted and.clung to a course of life consistently springing out of this cool intellectual * conviction. The discovery of its reality, he made only when it was too late. It may be. so; but the statement seems to involve the conclusion that men cannot act as the. rich man acted, with a clear knowledge of the consequences. Yet the drunkard deliberately persists in his habit, knowing not only that sobriety is a duty, but that his vice is ruinous alike to his body and his soul. The settled purpose to commit sin may coexist with a keen perception of the misery of sin. Men may be, as Bishop Butler has insisted, most unselfish in their viciousness, most disinterested in deliberately putting aside what they know to be their highest good.f The rich man in the parable may have acted like Balaam ; but to assert that his unbelief arose from his mental process of examination and rejection is as much an assumption as the ascription to him of some human feeling can possibly be. We are not told that his actions were prompted by his belief; it is not implied that he knew any thing about the beggar who lay sick at his gate ; and many have fastened on his ignorance as conveying the most fearful of all warnings to the thoughtless.^ The narrative seems to represent him simply as putting aside the thought of all responsibility, not as going through a mental process in order that he may deny its existence, or as persevering in the process until he has worked himself into full convic tion. If it is not easy to see how a parable addressed chiefly to Pharisees should dwell on extravagance rather than covetousness, it is still more strange that an intel lectual unbelief in an unseen world should be attributed to men who believed a resurrection both angel and spirit. But a closer scrutiny of the narrative will be rewarded with further discoveries. It may teach us that the rich man’s good things were “ good actions or good qualities • Trench on the Parables, p. 456. + Sermon on the Character of Balaam. j See especially Cope and Stretton, Visitatio Infirmorum, Office for a careless sick person. �Eternal Punishment, 3® which, in some small measure, Dives possessed, and for which he received in this life his reward.”* Dr Trench is not prepared to reject the belief of Bishop Sanderson, that “ God rewardeth those few good things which are in evil men with these temporal benefits, for whom, yet in his justice, he reserveth eternal damnation.” Bor nine days Eblis feasted in his hall the beings who had bidden adieu to hope ;f it was reserved for a Christian theologian to assert that God bestows the means of a little sensual enjoyment for the good qualities or deeds of the unconverted. If Dr Newman urges sinners during Lent “ to act at least like the prosperous heathen, who threw his choicest trinket into the water that he might propitiate fortune,the Archbishop of Dublin has been taught that “ the course of an unbroken prosperity is ever a sign and augury of ultimate reproba tion.” Doubtless the heart knows its own bitterness, and there may be many breaks in a life of outwardly uninter rupted success; but Dr Trench’s axiom might afford a grim satisfaction to those who, in the midst of want and wretchedness, regard the rich and the powerful as unquestionably in the enjoyment of “ unbroken prosperity.” There are probably not wanting those who may think that this dangerous condition is fulfilled in Archbishop Trench himself. When a writer lays down such a criterion on his own authority, it is hard to abstain from retorts and insinuations: but the mere sense of truth and fairness must sometimes call on us to speak, when we might have chosen rather to keep silence. If Dr Trench is at a pinch to explain how the sight of the lost, whom they are not suffered to help, can fail to cast a shade on the happiness of the blessed, it is simply because he has not availed himself of the ready solution of his predecessor, Dr Whately. When he asserts that the rich man’s request to Abraham is “ a bitter reproach against God and against the old economy,” it might be enough to reply that the narrative does not say so. But the case is altered when Dr Trench proceeds to judge of * Trench on the Parables, p. 474. f Beckford’s Vathek. $ Sermons, Vol. VI, p. 27. Dr Newman should rather have said “ appease the jealousy of God <j>0ovep'ov to baip.oviov was the keynote of the philosophy of Herodotus. �32 Eternal Punishment. the inward life of those who differ from himself. He has a keen perception that, if suffering was already doing- its work in the rich man, sufferings must be not “ vindicative,” but “ corrective.” Such a doctrine, he believes, “ will always find favour with all those who have no deep insight into the evil of sin, no earnest view of the task and responsibilities of life, especially when, as too often, they are bribed to hold it by a personal interest, by a lurking consciousness that they themselves are not earnestly striving to enter in at the strait gate, that their own standing in Christ is insecure or none.”* Dr Trench is,' of course, not obliged to believe or to assert that such a fear lies at the root of the convictions expressed by Mr Maurice, or Mr Wilson, or the Bishop of Natal; but he does most distinctly and unequivocally deny to them “ any deep insight into the evil of sin, any earnest view of the task and responsibilities of life.” The verdict of Dr Trench might fairly justify us in rejecting the criterion that a tree is known bv its fruits, or in questioning the truth that charity thinks no evil. He seems to agree with Aquinas that while the rich man asked that his brethren might not come into his place of torment he was really longing for their damnation. If his request was nothing but a blas phemous scoff, Dr Trench can hardly think otherwise. Yet surely he could not have alleged this opinion of Aquinas; except from the mere necessity of maintaining a foregone conclusion. It is impossible to conceive of a condition of heart more thoroughly diabolical. In short, the being who can indulge in such a wish must be wholly and intensely bad. But absolute iniquity shuts out the idea of remorse, and leaves no room for any suffering except that which is physical, or any mental feelings except those of violent and furious rage ; and these leave no place for that aching void, that unavailing agony of sorrow for a good irrecoverably lost, which is generally asserted to be the special sting in the misery of the wicked. Nay, more; this idea that all men become devils in hell, wild in their own unbounded wickedness, alone constitutes the logical necessity for the physical tortures of fire and brimstone, as well as for the * Notes on the Parables, p. 478. �Eternal Punishment. agency of demons to inflict those outward stripes for which only, on this hypothesis, any feeling will be left. This logical necessity was clearly present to the mind of Bishop Pearson. If it was certain that the pains of hell were simply vindictive, and the same measure of endless duration was the portion of all the lost, then the punish ment of sinners must be regarded as something different from the righteous wrath of God against all sin. If the punishment was endless, the wicked must live through endless time to suffer it. “ Otherwise there would be a punishment inflicted and none endured, which is a contra diction.”* Bishop Pearson had a quick eye for the incon sistencies of his opponents ; on his own side he can see none. He is careful to assert that punishment shall be strictly apportioned to sin, “ so that no man shall suffer more than he hath deserved.”f He insists also that they shall be “ tormented with a pain of loss, the loss from God, from whose presence they are cast out, the pain from them selves in a despair of enjoying Him, and regret for losing Him.” Modern theology has substituted a savage delight in tormenting each other in place of this endless remorse. Bishop Pearson was scarcely concerned with examining an idea which probably never entered his mind. But the diffi culty involved in the enormous differences between one man and another at the time of death, belongs to all ages and countries alike. Bishop Pearson knew, as the Bishop of Oxford knows now, that young children have died in sin. It is cowardly to evade the irresistible conclusion. The little children are doomed, not less than the Devil himself, to a punishment which “ shall not be taken off them by any compassion.” These, the sinners of a day, whose sins lay in playing truant and telling a lie to hide it, shall no more than the great Tempter of Mankind .live to pay the utter most farthing. They, not less than Herod or Alexander VI., or Agathocles or Danton (it matters not whom we take), shall suffer the endless “ horror of despair,” because “ it were not perfect hell if any hope could lodge in it.” It needs some special illumination to enable ordinary men to see how these children suffer no more than they deserve. * Pearson on the Creed, Art. xii., p. 463. f lb., p. 467. D �34 Eternal Punishment. The time has come when the whole subject must be met calmly and fearlessly. There may be sophistry and evasion on both sides. Orthodox theologians have not withheld both these imputations from Mr Maurice, whose worst fault is an indistinctness of expression which some times assumes an air of paradox. Something’ of this ambiguity lies at the root of his reluctance to extend the idea of time into that of eternity. It may be true that “ the continual experiments to heap hundreds of thousands of years on hundreds of thousands of years,” do not put us even on the way to the idea; but it seems not less certain that we cannot conceive of existence except as an extension of duration. * It is better to say plainly and honestly that the idea of any end to the life of the righteous involves also the idea of the most dis interested injustice,—an injustice the more horrible in pro portion to the greater advance of the good in conformity to the Divine will. It is well to say not less honestly that the idea of an end to the misery of the wicked involves no such imputation, if at the same time it is maintained that so long as there remains any resistance, so long must the sinner abide under the burning wrath of God. Án infinite resistance implies an infinite chastisement; nor can we allege anything to prove that the wicked cannot prolong their resistance for ever, except the difficulty of believing that the Divine Will cannot finally subdue the disobedience of every enemy.f Nor is it of much use to dwell on verbal arguments drawn from the words which in our English Bibles are represented by everlasting punishment and the unquenchable fire. J But it is more than ever necessary to * Christian Berrem' rancer, January 1854, p. 225. Art., Maurice’s Theo logical Essays. This article presents the arguments for the doctrine of endless punishments with perhaps as much force as they can be expressed ; but the reviewer was apparently mistaken in thinking that Mr Maurice’s main objections were merely verbal. f It was this difficulty which led Scotns Erigena to affirm the final restoration of the Devil himself, and to cite Origen and others in support of this belief.—See Milman’s Latin Christianity, Book xiv., ch. 2. J Probably not much will be gained by efforts to determine whether the writers of the New Testament attached a distinct idea of duration to the word anários, which, as coming from the root i, to go, originally ex pressed the simple idea of motion. It is of the utmost importance to bear in mind th:s first restricted and sensuous meaning of the word. (See Max Müller, Lectures on the .Science of Language, Second Series, pp. 67, 249, �Eternal Punishment. 35 meet assumptions by plain denials. Bishop Pearson may rest his own belief on the fact that the same adjective is applied in the Greek Testament to the state of the wicked and the good; but it becomes a mere question of fact, to be determined manifestly by each man’s judgment, when it is asserted that the texts of Scripture declaring the endless punishment of the wicked “ are so decisive and plain, that they must be taken to mean what they appear to do, unless some positive ground of reason or morals can be shown against it.”* Such ground can be shown, and a man must indeed have thrown dust into his own eyes, if he can think that a sweeping assertion can put aside the distinction of the few and the many stripes, of the more tolerable punishment of Gomorrha than of Capernaum, of the fire which is to save the men whose work of hay or stubble it shall nevertheless consume. It is a profound casuistry which sees nothingbut diabolical blasphemy and rage in what is admitted to be the only full picture given in the Gospels of the state of the impenitent after death. One or two phrases of the New Testament at the most may be wrested into the asser tion that all those who die impenitent are tormented for ever ; a far greater number appear altogether to contradict it, and these must be taken to mean what they appear to rnean, “ unless some positive ground of morals or reason can be shown against it.” Morals and reason would appear to be decisive against a dogma which issues in a labyrinth of in explicable and almost ludicrous contradictions, and which seems to impute to the Merciful God an intensity of vindic tiveness which the human mind is utterly unable to realise. But it is asserted that reason and morals call for the maintenance of this dogma from another point of view. It is urged that “ the release from the notion of Eternal Punishment would be felt by the great mass as a relief 336, 527.) But it may be more tempting to lay a stress on the word KÓAatris, which, according to Aristotle, is essentially temporary, end to maintain that the English translators were not warranted in rendeiing 7rdp &(ri3e<rTov by fire that never shall be quenched. The verbal adjective can at best express mere quality or capacity. But it seems idle to apply such subtleties to the Greek of the New Testament. If it were not so, . something might be made of the term fiicravos., as applied to sickness and plagues; but it seems to be used precisely as we use the word trial without reference to any intended effect on the sufferer. * Christian Remembrancer, January 1854, p. 225. �36 Eternal Punishment. from the sense of moral obligation, and, relying on the certainty that all would be sure to be right at last, men would run the risk of the intermediate punishment, what ever it might be, and plunge into self-indulgence without hesitation.”* The reviewer of Mr Maurice knew of course that men do so now in spite of this doctrine, and further “ that there is no limit to the powers of imagination by which men can suppress the reasonable certainty of the future, and make the present everything.” But he thinks that “ the belief in endless punishment is the true and rational concomitant of the sense of moral obligation ” and that “ a general relaxation of moral ties, a proclama tion of liberty and security, the audacity of sins which had before been abashed, carelessness where there had been hesitation, obstinacy where there had been faltering, and defiance where there had been fear, would show a world in which the sanctions of morality and religion had been loosened, and in which vice had lost a controlling power, and got rid of an antagonist and a memento.”f It is im possible to regard with indifference the least possible risk of weakening the sense of moral obligation; but it is a mere question of fact, and human experience may carry us some little way towards deciding it. Men are, undoubtedly, able to suppress the reasonable certainty of the future ; but they are also able to heap sin on sin in spite of a penalty of which they have almost an ever present dread. Hell is emphatically the Italian’s bugbear. The Englishman can talk about it, and dismiss it from his mind; but it haunts the Italian by day and by night. His flesh creeps and his blood runs cold in the silence of his secret chamber, and the first temptation which crosses his path is followed by his submission. But there are more sweeping methods of evading this belief. The Church of Rome modifies the dogma by the purgatorial fire: the popular belief of Pro testants dispenses with purgatory altogether, and sends all men practically to heaven. At the least, it answers the question, whether there are few saved, by the implied assertion that very few, indeed, are lost. Hence the belief in endless punishment may be the rational concomitant of * Christian Remembrancer, January 1854, p. 233. f Christian Remembrancer, lb. p. 234. �Eternal Punishment. 37 a sense of moral obligation; but its effects are practically nullified, and its removal would only widen a little more the road which is now held to lead to heaven those who live the common life of all men. * Dean Milman admits that there is a natural revolt against the doctrine: men wish to evade it, and they consolidate their sophistry into a system. None, or at the most but few, really maintain now that all who do not die in the active Love of God remain for ever face to face with His Anger. There would be no such scruple in believing- that in all, without respect of persons, the Eternal Eire will continue to purge away the dross from the pure ore as long as any dross remains. The check on sin would be increased in power, and the sense of moral obligation quickened, because it would be set free from a belief which to natural human instinct appears self-contradictory and immoral. But what is the experience of legislators in all ages and countries ? If men will not be deterred by any penalty short of endless damnation, that is to say, a penalty than, which they can conceive none higher, then clearly all apportionment of civil punishment must merge in the one penalty of death. The idea is a very old one ; but, whether in England or at Athens, it has simply defeated its own ends, if that end be the diminution of crimes. Diodotos warned the Athenians that they might punish all their enemies with death, but they would only induce them still more to run the chances of escape.f The same gambling spirit runs into things spiritual. The same doctrine which tells the good man that if he dies with any sin not repented of he will sink into hell still leaves it possible that the wicked man may live to repent. Thou sands believe with Balaam that the mere wish to die thedeath of the righteous man will somehow or other issue in its fulfilment. There remains yet the fact, which it is impossible to ignore, that the mitigation of a penalty is not necessarily followed by the multiplication of the offences for which it is inflicted. When Cleon proposed to punish the revolted Mitylenteans by an indiscriminate massacre of all the men, * Jowett on the Epistle to the Romans, Vol. I, n. 417, &c. t Thucydides, iii. 45. �38 Eternal Punishment. he was carrying out a theory of punishment which seems to have been heartily accepted by Archbishop Whately. In his belief, as in that of the Athenian demagogue, “the object proposed by human punishment is the prevention of future crimes by holding out a terror to transgressors.”* Both alike put a part for the whole ; and, if the theory were true, it would relieve judges from all duty of appor tioning punishments for offences. English judges of the present day feel this task of apportionment more and more to be a very strict duty; and it would seem that people do not steal more sheep and handkerchiefs because they no longer run the risk of being hanged for the crime. Undoubtedly, if there is but the one penalty of death for almost all offences, the task of legislation is wonderfully simplified. It implies no exalted idea of Divine justice if we believe that its penalties are fixed by the same kind of vindictive indolence. The legislation of England is more and more making the reformation of the offender a co ordinate object with the prevention of crime. According to the popular theology, it has already risen to a higher idea than is exhibited in the Justice of an all-merciful God. SECTION III. Philosophical Arguments alleged in Defence Dogma of Endless Punishment. of the But from the contradictory theories and notions of popular preachers and commentators, or even from the positive state ments of Creeds, Articles, and Canons, we may pass into the calmer regions of philosophical argument. The conditions of our life here may teach us something about that which shall be hereafter: and, if we believe that one and the same God rules over all worlds, it is impossible to ignore and foolish to depreciate the force of this argument from analogy. But the name even of Bishop Butler must not tempt us to * Scripture Revelations of a Future State, p. 219. �Eternal Punishment. 39 draw a single inference which it does not fully warrant. Every question connected with or arising out of it is, as Butler liimself admits, a mere question of fact. We may or may not be able to determine it; but on those which we fail to answer we must be content to suspend all judgment. It matters little whether Butler took a high or a low view of religion ; but it can never be useless to show, if it can be shown, that he lias in any instance overstepped the bounds which must be set to all reasoning from analogy. The most stringent scrutiny is needed to ensure that the alleged dogmas of revealed religion shall not draw from the con ceptions of natural religion an aid which the latter cannot logically afford. If the argument is to carry any weight as addressed to unbelievers, this rigid indifference becomes an indispensable duty. The Analogy of Butler may be as wearisome as a long journey through deep sand; and we may miss in it “not only distinct philosophical conceptions but a scientific use of terms.”* It is of more moment to remark that the science of the Analogy does not altogether harmonize with the science of the great Sermons which have done more to preserve his fame. The account given in the latter of human nature may appear to allow but little scope for a fervent or an ecstatic piety; but it asserts unequivocally that the happiness or the misery of man is the direct and inseparable result of his actions and his habits. Man stands in an immediate relation to his Maker, not merely as being the work of His hands, but as possessing affections and desires which can have their complete satisfaction in nothing less than God Himself. His work is to see that the several parts of his nature are kept in due proportion to each other, as well as in subordination to that higher principle of reflexion which ought to be absolute in power as it is supreme in authority. And throughout it follows, that by the very necessity of His Nature, God, who cannot ■change, must regard with love every creature which seeks so to conform its will to the Divine will, must acknowledge them and draw them towards Himself, in proportion as they thus strive to do their proper work. Hence the final cause * Essays and Reviews. Ninth Edition, p. 293. �4o Eternal Punishment. of man is conformity with absolute Righteousness and unfailing Love. This conformity may also involve his hap piness, but in the order of ideas it precedes it. The Analogy introduces us to views of a very different kind. In the Sermons the constitution of man involves the need of conformity with the Divine Nature: in the Analogy God annexes certain results to certain acts. In the former Virtue is the natural condition of man,—implying a necessary communion with the Source of all Truth and Goodness : in the latter it is something which God has promised to reward and which may yield to its pos sessor a “ secret satisfaction and sense of security.” In the Sermons the Love of God is represented as the direct and necessary complement of human nature; in the Analogy the idea of God as a master and governor is the first to occupy the mind of man. In the formcr by the very necessity of His Nature, God loves the creatures whom he has made capable of being kindled by his Love ; in the latter “ the true notion, or conception of the Author of nature is that of a master or governor prior to the consi deration of his moral attribute.”* The whole method of Divine government becomes a complex machinery, admi rably adapted, it may be, for its special purpose, but imply ing the exercise of an arbitrary will which has prede termined certain results without reference to an Eternal and Unchangeable Law.f The Sermons speak of the con stitution of a man as flowing directly from the nature of God; the Analogy seems rather to separate the goodness of virtuous men from the goodness of God, and to make them independent centres of righteousness. Erom the Sermons it follows, of necessity, that the end of human life is not happiness but a conformity to the Divine Nature; in the Analogy we are taught that God has * Butler’s Analogy. Part I, ch. ii., p. 3S. t It is as well to remember how rapidly this recognition of power as the basis of the Divine nature may pass into a mere Baal worship. Congrega tions have not unfrequentlv been edified and comforted by the assurance that they .are in the hands of an all-powerful Being who happens also to be verv merciful, and by the contrast of their fortunate position with the conceiv able wretchedness of creatures made bjr a Deity whose delight lay simply in tormenting them. Such talk might be dismissed at once, except as illus trating the sort of argument which is sometimes used to reconcile the idea of mercy with that ot an endless punishment of all sinners. �Eternal Punishment. 4i annexed pleasure to some actions and pain to others, and that men “ act altogether on an apprehension of avoid ing’ evil or obtaining good.” To use Butler’s favourite phrase, God governs the world by a system of rewards and punishments ; and apart from any dogmas of revealed * religion this conclusion is forced upon us by the analogy of civil government. Many probably, when they read that “ the annexing pleasure to some actions and pain to others in our power to do or forbear, and giving notice of this appointment beforehand to those whom it concerns, is the proper formal notion of government,” t will wonder whence Butler derived his knowledge. That English legislation in his day was not slow in inflicting pain for a vast number of actions, few would care to deny ; it would not be so easy to give a list of actions to which it annexed a feeling of pleasure. But to what code of any age or people could this axiom ever bo applied ? A paternal despotism in its palmiest days might possibly exhibit some faint approach to such a system; but otherwise human law contents itself mainly with pro tecting persons and property and inflicting pains or penal ties on those who injure either the one or the other. It is careful to punish whatever it holds to be an offence; it admits no obligation to reward all that men may regard as generous or honourable. The very idea of equal govern ment is, that it leaves good citizenship to be its own reward, while it showers its rewards on a few, not because they are better or more righteous than their neighbours, but because they have had it in their power by whatever means to do the state more service. It expects all citizens to do their duty, without even telling them that they ought * The Reviewer of Mr Maurice’s “Theological Essays” in the ‘ Christian Remembrancer,’ Jan. 1854, p. 209, earnestly denies that “analogy is Butler’s primary argument for the truth of religion.” This is, of course, quite true, if the Sermons and. the Analogy are taken together. Then, undoubtedly his full system is grounded “ on an appeal to our consciousness of a certain moral nature within us in the first place,” and “an immediate inference from that moral nature in the next.” But the Analogy is pro fessedly addressed to those who do not admit this consciousness of a certain moral nature ; and for the time the argument from Analogy becomes his primary argument. The result is a contradiction between the system propounded in the Analogy and the Sermons. t Analogy. Part I, ch. ii., p. 37. �42 Eternal Punishment. to feel pleasure in doing it, and certainly without caring whether they feel the pleasure, or whether they do not. The Athenian rose to a higher idea when he obeyed the laws of his country, not because they might reward him or give him pleasure, but from a simple sense of duty, which rested neither on punishment nor reward. To lay a special stress on these was at once the evidence of a mind more or less degraded. Men of slavish natures might be guided by pleasure and pain, and if they broke the law might be chastised by those pains which are directly con trary to the pleasures which they lose. The formal notion * of government was with Pericles something very different from this. It may, of course, be said that good citizenship must bring pleasure ; but it does so by no appointment of human law, and thus far the analogy is not conclusive. Still there remains the general course of earthly things ; and to Butler the popular belief of endless reprobation, perhaps, appeared to be warranted by the physical effects of wickedness in this life. A careful survey of them taught him that there was no apparent proportion between the sin and its conse quences, that the latter are frequently delayed till long after the actions which occasioned them are forgotten, and that after such delay they come “ not by degrees but suddenly, with violence and at once.” It taught him that, though after a certain amount of folly, it was often in the power of men to retrieve their affairs, or recover their health and character, yet real reformation was in many cases of no avail towards preventing the miseries, sickness, and infamy, annexed to folly and extravagance beyond that degree. It further showed him (and on this he laid a still greater stress) that “ neglects from inconsiderateness, want of attention, not looking about us to see what we have to do, are often attended with consequences altogether as dreadful as any active misbehaviour from the most extravagant passion.” There is something specious in the supposed analogy ; but neglect and want of attention may arise, and very often do arise, as much from weak mental power as from an ill-regulated life; and their ill effects are * Aristotle, Etbic. Nicom. X, 9,10. This great thinker expressly affirms human punishment to be a process of healing, lb. II, 2, 4. �Eternal Punishment. 43 quite as disastrous in the fomer case as in the latter. But while the latter is morally worse as well as unfortunate, we cannot assert this of the other. The results in this case are external or physical, and will cease to affect the man as soon as he is removed into a different condition of things. Even with the other, some distinction must be drawn between the will of the sinner and the physical conse quences of his sin. The struggle of the will may begin when the body has lost the power of obeying it. The effects of intemperance last much longer than the seasons of drunkenness ; and may be first felt in all their horrors when the body has lost the power of resistance. The widest inference from this cannot warrant the belief that these exter nal results will be carried into a life which will not be physi cal. We may feel absolutely certain that the opium-eater can never regain a healthy condition of body ; but we cannot deny that his will might at once begin to act effectually, if the physical derangement in the lining- of his stomach were * removed. The reason of the thing- can never prove that the bodily misery so produced must accompany a man into his future life. The physical results of sin may have been on earth irremediable ; but Butler has allowed that many who yet suffer them are reaKy penitent. At the utmost w e * cannot, on the grounds of such analogy, deny that the incapable will of the drunkard may recover its power when the physical impediment has been removed ; and we cannot possibly prove that it may not be removed by death. From the analogy of the present order of things, Butler passes to the sentiments of heathen writers on the subject of future punishment. This subject, he rightly insists, belongs most evidently to natural religion ; but he adds at the same time that, “ Gentile writers, both moralists and poets, speak of the future punishment of the wicked, both as to the duration and degree of it, in a like manner of expression and description as the Scripture does.”f It is hard to deal with a sentence which, with a hundred others, proves how little Butler aimed at “ a scientific use of terms.” * Archdeacon Hare, in his “Mission of the Comforter,” refers to this belief of Coleridge, that the loss of power in the will may be the punish ment of such vices. f Analogy. Part I, ch. ii., p. 42. Note. �44 Eternal Punishment. He has left us well-nigh to guess the meaning which he attached to Scripture, Revelation, and Religion. The first may mean a part of the Old and New Testament, or the whole ; the second appears sometimes to mean the Bible, sometimes a supposed communication made to Adam before the fall or after it; the third is used to express sometimes the law of God written on a man’s heart, and at others to mean nothing more than the declarations of a particular book in the Bible. But on the subject of future punishment it seems useless to allege any argument in the statements of heathen writers (supposing that all these had spoken alike) with the statements of Scripture, when these are held by antagonistic theological schools to prove directly opposite conclusions. If, however, it be meant that Gentile writers as a body maintain the endless punishment of all sinners without reference to the measure of their sin, the statement is not true. * The belief of almost all was at the best shadowy and vague enough. Not a few refused to extend their thought to any life beyond the present, or, if at times they suffered their minds to rest upon it, it was to doubt whether any but the noblest souls would be allowed to live at all.f A still smaller number spoke out more clearly, but it is impossible to wrest their words in support of the doc trine of Bishop Pearson. Socrates does, indeed, draw a distinction between pardonable and unpardonable sins, or rather between sins which can and those which cannot be healed; J but they who have committed the former are purified without reference to their repentance before death. It is the magnitude of the sin, not the disposition of the sinner, which shuts him out from all hope of recovery. But the class of sinners who are not benefited by their sufferings is manifestly a very small one. It does not take in the lying or dishonest little child, it pointedly excludes * Due stress must be laid on the vast numbers among the heathen who accepted the doctrines of Epicurus; and the full extent to which these doctrines were carried is well shown in the fragments of Philodemus, recently recovered amongst the Herculanean Papyri.—See the ‘ Edinburgh Review,’ October 1862, page 346. f “ Si non cum corpore extinguuntur magnae animre.’’ The doubting hope of Tacitus was far too general not to weaken greatly the force of Butler’s argument. t icGma agapr^gara. Plato. Gorg. lxxxi. �Eternal Punishment. 45 those who lead the common life of all men, it rejects those ■whom Dante would only not have thrust down into the lowest dungeons of hell. Tyrants and kings and princes are amongst them,—Tantalos, Sisyphos, and Tityos; but the lot of Thersites is the happiest. It seems to be hard, if not impossible, for a private citizen to enrol himself in * the company of transgressors who had sinned beyond all hope of cure. The course of human life on earth will show that sins of the flesh produce physical consequences which may last indefinitely longer than the time spent in committing them. Ordinary experience teaches us that actions tend to create habits, and that habits retain over us a strong and per manent hold. Human legislation claims to visit certain acts with pains and penalties, and demands obedience to Law without promise of recompense or reward. In some countries it rises to a higher level, and, while more carefully apportioning punishment, seeks in a greater degree to reform the offender, and, so far as may be practicable, to lessen rather than to raise the penalty. There is no analogy between such a state of things and an endless torment of all sinners without regard to their spiritual condition. Such an idea can challenge belief on grounds of authority alone ; and out of the whole cycle of Christian doctrines it is the only one which rests wholly on this foundation.-]" * Socrates is represented as inclining to the latter opinion, ou yap, olpat, ¿iftv aura>. Mr Wilson, in “Essays and Reviews,” p. 206 (9th Ed.), says that the Greek “ could not expect the reappearance in another world, for any purpose, of a Thersites or an Hyperbolus.” The words attributed to Socrates seem to imply not so much that such men are not among the inhabitants of the other world, as that they are not aviaroi. Hence they come under the class of men who are benefited by their sufferings ; Tantalos and Sisyphos represent the few who have sinned too deeply to leave their torments any purgatorial power. f If any exception must be made, it would seem to be that of the Fall. But a denial of the fact that Adam fell leaves the question of a “ taint or corruption naturally engendered in his offspring,” with all its consequences just where it was before. The question of the Fall itself leads us into a mythological inquiry, on which we cannot enter here. Some remarks bearing on the subject will be found in M. Michel Breaks admirable analysis of the myth of Hercules and Cacus. Paris: Durand. 1863. �46 Eternal Punishment. SECTION IV. Present State of the Controversy as bearing on the Position and Duties of the Clergy of the Church of England. Hence it is that, in spite of the antagonism of modern science, in spite of the tacit abandonment of some parts in the narrative of the Old Testament, in spite of the acknow ledged hopelessness of defining their limits and the condi tions of inspiration, the theologians who uphold the popular belief cling to some theory of inspiration with greater tenacity, it would seem, than ever. Hence it is that the Christian world is fast splitting up into two sec tions,—the one half-tempted to believe itself in antagonism with Christianity, the other regarding the progress of modern thought with an alarm alike unreasoning and useless,—useless, because it is impossible to check the rising tide,—useless, because the flood which assails a mere tra ditional teaching does not even threaten the Body of Truth which is the real inheritance of Christendom,—useless, because this Truth will shine out with unclouded lustre when the artificial safeguards of an inconsistent theology shall have been swept away. It is, of course, possible for a man to reject and deny any truth or dogma whatsoever; but it must surely be a distorted vision which can see a growing tendency in the present day to set aside the great body of Christian doctrine. If there is more and more a revolting against theories which regard Power as the basis of the Divine nature, there is less reluctance to believe that God is dealing with men for their good. But if there be any one dogma which can produce no other sanction than that of authority, it must undergo the stringent scrutiny of an age, which, with all its shortcomings and all its sins, is bent on getting at the truth of facts. Men will not be deterred from closely sifting every argument which upholds a doctrine at variance with all natural instincts and affections. They see that the Clergy, who maintain it, do not really �Eternal Punishment. 47 believe it, that no one really believes it. They know well how to distinguish a genuine from a spurious belief. They know that the time was when men might be said to have this faith, when the thought of the broad gulf yawning to receive all sinners heightened their convictions of the essential impurity of all material things. They know how that belief displayed itself. Bernard believed it when he deliberately broke up the home which he loved ; Jerome believed it when he did battle with the fiends of hell in his cave at Bethlehem ; Francis of Assisi believed it when he took poverty for his bride and gathered round him the hosts which forswore every earthly joy to avoid the flames of hell. The forms of the Sacrifice might vary ; its essence was the same. Macarius might plunge himself naked into a morass and brave the sting of insects which might pierce the hide of a boar. Simeon on his Pillar might afflict soul and body with the heat by day and the frost by night; but in one and all, in proportion to the sincerity of their faith, there was the same vehement rejection not only of every earthly pleasure but of everything which could only be termed not a torment or a plague. The teachers of our day go about to reconcile their belief in the final ruin of almost all mankind with a natural love of ease and a feeling of self-complacency. There is much speaking, and in a few, at least, some self-sacrifice ; but the curse which they believe to rest upon the world, rests on it, it would seem, in name only. It does not lessen their liking for the world’s good things: it does not break their sleep by night, or greatly afflict their souls by day. They look on man kind as on beings of whom few can escape the day of the great vengeance; but they can mingle still in the world of science, or trade, or politics, and shape their words by the dictates of time- serving expediency. In the eyes of Benedict or Columba or Dominic no further proofs would be needed of a complete and deliberate unbe lief. But while some still insist loudly that God cannot have mercy on men after their pilgrimage here is ended, while they place in the same fire the lying child and the pitiless murderer, the greater number are content to speak in more measured words, and to tell their people that jus tice is with God the consummation, and not the contra �48 Eternal Punishment. diction, of that which is justice with men. It is impossible to deny that such is becoming more and more the teaching of the Clergy of the Church of England. The fierce denun ciations which paralyzed many hearts with terror thirty years ago are, by comparison, rarely heard now. Preachers resort less and less to the elaborate dsemonology of Dante or of Milton ; they instinctively abstain more and more from any attempts to define the method of future punish ment. Is it possible to bring together more convincingevidence that the doctrine is not really believed ? Is it possible to produce a stronger reason why they who know that these things are so should come forward boldly and honestly to declare it ? This age is one of much serious thought, and the efforts to arrive at truth for the truth’s sake are neither feeble nor insincere ; but it is not pre-eminently an age of martyrs or confessors. They who have thought most deeply and anxiously are conscious that they have passed through more than one stage of belief and faith ; and they feel that the change which is coming cannot, on the whole, be accomplished with the same weapons which fought the battle of Teutonic against Latin Christianity. No great experience is needed to show them that others have under gone, or are undergoing, the like changes. Not a few who now, if pressed to declare their belief, would assuredly refuse to accept the Bishop of Oxford’s pictures of hell torments, received their Orders with an unquestioningacceptance of all Anglican theology. Not a few passed from this state of temporary repose into a hard struggle which only did not issue in their submission to the Church of Rome. The teaching which had impressed on them the Unity of the Church and the unimaginable fearfulness of schism, justified and enforced the inquiry which was to determine whether they were in the right position them selves. It was of no avail that they led the holiest lives, if they questioned but one single point in all the faith of Catholic Christendom; it was of no avail that their faith and their lives were what they should be, if their belief was professed and their works done where they ought not to be done and professed. The rising of a doubt was the signal for flight, for to doubt and linger and to die in that �Eternal Punishment. 49 doubt, was to be lost for ever. The Church of Rome was Catholic, even by the admission of her enemies; her orders were allowed to be valid; her dogmas retained the faith of the Church in all ages, although they may have overlaid it. She could offer them security, and security was everything under a state of things in which the accident of a moment might remove the Christian beyond the reach of hope and mercy. It was hard to escape from these doubts and fears without casting aside the burden of sacerdotalism. It was hardly possible to remain withodt the pale of Rome, while the paramount necessity of Catholic Communion seemed to thrust aside every other; but it was easy to emerge from these mortal fears into the belief in a Divine kingdom embracing all ages and all lands, into a belief which did not dare to limit the mercy of God, which cared little to speak of virtue and vice, of punishments and rewards, but which placed the salvation of man in the conformity of his will to the Divine will, in a constant dependence on his Love and Grace. Such as this has been the history of many an English Clergyman during the last ten or twenty years. They may pass now by many names; they may be regarded by the world as belonging to the High Church or the Broad Church, but they who search such matters closely may see that the foundation of their faith is laid on the conscious conviction of a moral government of Righteousness, Truth, and Justice, as men with all their wickedness construe and accept those terms. It is impossible not to see whither these things are tending; it is mere hypocrisy to pretend that we do not perceive it. The sentences of Ecclesiastical Courts may possibly arrest, but they cannot turn back the course of modern thought. They do not profess to concern themselves with the Truth as such ; and the truth as such is the one end and aim to which every channel of science and research is converging. And, finally, the charge to such of the Clergy as hold a faith like this to quit their posts and set up some new sect will fall on unheeding ears. Why should they abandon a Church in the body of whose teaching their faith is deeper than ever, why yield up the posts entrusted to their charge because some choose to determine what the Church has left �5° Eternal Punishment. undefined ? Why should they leave the centime of all happy memories and all bright hopes when nowhere else can they look to find the same peace and consolation ? Why should the Bishop of Natal desert the Christian and the heathen Zulus, for whom and among whom he has so long laboured heartily and earnestly, because he will not and cannot propound to them a dogma which makes the assertion of Perfect Righteousness an unintelligible riddle ? Why should he cease from the holy work of relieving from their sadness the souls whom God had not made sad ? Why should he not assure the trembling convert that his parents are not thrust down into the lowest pit of hell simply because they happened to die before the missionary came ? * Why should he not go on to do his duty by entering his most solemn protest against falsehoods which are “ utterly contrary to the whole spirit of the Gospel,” and which operate “ with most injurious and deadening effect both on those who teach and on those who are taught” ? Plainly he would be acting wrong were he not to do so. The Church of England has accepted the task of preaching a Gospel, nor can any say that she has wholly failed in preaching it. The judgment of the Court of Arches in the case of Mr Wilson would, even if final, have availed little or nothing on the other side. Dr Lushington insisted, in the clearest language, that he was concerned not with the truth of doctrines, but simply with the fact whether they are or are not maintained by the Church of England. He accepted the rule laid down in the Gorham case that “ if the Articles of Religion are silent upon a point of doctrine, then, unless the Rubrics and Formularies clearly and distinctly deter mine it, it is open for each member of the Church to decide for himself according to his own conscientious opinion.” No one can assert that he wilfully narrowed the terms of communion ; some may think that he has suggested evasions even greater than any which had been acted on before. As * long as it is not in plain terms denied that the Holy Scrip tures contain all things necessary to salvation, any one * The Bishop of Natal cites a forcible instance of such teaching. Com mentary on Epistle to the Romans, p. 211. �Eternal Punishment. 5i might affirm that not a single book was written by the man whose name it bears, or even at the time and place to which it has been assigned. He might interpret figurative language as historical; he might resolve statements of facts into a transcendental mysticism. The judge was not concerned with questions of interpretation. He demanded no more than the admission that the books, or at least some part or parts of each book, were written “under Divine guidance.” He was ready to concede all liberty, if only the plain, literal, and grammatical sense of authoritative formularies was not contravened. So far as regards the doctrine of Eternal Punishment, they who deny that it is of necessity endless for those who undergo it might most honestly have accepted the issue. It may, of course, be said that nothing more than an accident enables the Bishop of Natal, or Mr Wilson, or Mr Maurice to accept these words of the Athanasian Creed in their plain, literal, and grammatical meaning. It may be urged that the author of that creed meant something very different, and that it is mere evasion, if they maintain their ground in the Church of England on a mere superficial agreement like this. It may be so. Yet it is an evasion not so great as those which Dr Lushington has deliberately allowed on the subject of Inspiration. But they who believe that the Divine Spirit still lives and works in the Church of England will scarcely regard as an accident that which will enable all her members and all the world to, respond heartily and unreservedly to the whole will of God. We must speak still more plainly. It may have been the belief of those who drew up the Athanasian Creed that all sinners must undergo the same endless punishment. It was a notion which might well prevail in a hard and violent age. But whether by accident or by the over-ruling Provi dence of God, Who is using the Church of England as a special instrument for preaching the whole Gospel of Christ to every creature, the notion cannot be found dis tinctly enunciated in any of her Canons, her Articles, or her Formularies. No one really and practically believes in this notion ; thousands virtually ignore it, and the highest Ecclesiastical tribunal has affirmed that such a belief is not imposed on the Clergy of the Church of England. But it �& Eternal Punishment. is time to speak out the whole truth. It is time to say that this dogma does not form part of the Gospel of Christ. It is time to reject it utterly from our teaching, and to bid all others look the question fully in the face. The Church of England has not fettered her Clergy to any definite statement on the endlessness of future punish ment ; but if such were her dogma, if she asserted clearly that all who do not die in the faith and fear of God are tormented necessarily for evei’ and ever, then it is better to say at once that that dogma must be rejected with a deeper and more vehement indignation than that with which Teutonic Christendom rose up against the worst abuses and superstitions of Latin Christianity. The coarsest development of the doctrine of Transubstantiation, the wildest absurdities of Manichean fanatics, were not more thoroughly opposed to the first principles of Justice, Law, and Truth than a dogma which makes no distinction between a perjured tyrant and a lying child. Most happily such a Reformation is not needed in the Church of England now; but if ever it be made necessary, the men who shall carry it out will not be wanting. That Reformation is sorely needed elsewhere; is it too much to hope that the Church of England may be the appointed instrument for hastening that mighty change which shall sweep away the deadly bondage of an ancient and groundless super stition ? �APPENDIX. No. I. The “ Christian Remembrancer,” in an article which has been reprinted by its author, Mr Cazenove, from the number for April, 1864, has entered elaborately on the defence of the dogma of never-ending punishment. Enough has been already said to render a detailed reply to that article altogether unnecessary ; but a few words may suffice to show how utterly futile its main arguments are to those who will not grant the assumptions with which the writer starts. We have reasoned chiefly on the basis of the authoritative statements of the Church of England as found in the xxxix articles, nor are we called on to admit any thing more than may be legally required of her Clergy. But it may at once be said that the Reviewer’s definition does not satisfy the teaching of the Bishop of Oxford, or Dr Trench, or Dr Newman, and that, if his definition be correct, the actual teaching of such men falls to the ground. “ The dogma,” says the Reviewer, “ which we have to consider is this,—that there is a degree of hardness and impenitence of heart which is fraught with everlasting evil to those who persist in it, and that sucli obdurate sinners will ultimately be banished from the presence of Gon and condemned to a state of misery that knows no end. Upon the details of this fearful condition, neither the Church of England nor the Church Universal has presumed to utter any formal or authoritative decision. The reality and the eternity of the misery is affirmed authoritatively ; the precise nature and qualities of the sufferings and the nature and locality of the place where they are to be endured, are open questions, matters of opinion, not of faith.” But, if this be so, what right has any Clergyman to draw pictures of demons torturing men by the members which were the special instruments of their sins, and point to men like Gibbon and Shelley, nay, even to lying school children, as suffering the torments of an endless hell ? What right have any to say that all who do not die in the true faith and �54 Appendix. fear of God have entered into that horrible state ? What right have they to involve themselves and others in a dilemma which would be absurd if it were not frightful ? for, repudiating (as they must) the doctrine of Purgatory, they are bound to maintain that all who are not at their death fitted for heaven must, by the very necessity of the case, enter hell, and that this must, therefore, be the lot of nineteen-twentieths of mankind. All these teachers, it must be noted, uphold a dogma which is not the same as that of the Reviewer; and what must be the worth of a doctrine which is stated philosophically by theologians in one way, and alwrays enforced by preachers in another I To speak briefly, the Re viewer in the “ Christian Remembrancer ” has made a string of assumptions, each one of w’hich calls for a distinct denial. (1.) He assumes that Clergymen (or Laymen) of the Church of England are bound to believe in the existence of many things on which its articles are wholly silent—e. g., in that of angels and of “ those fallen and apostate ones who have Satan as their head and Captain,” and to admit that the latter sinned in the very courts of heaven, that man sinned and straightway was ashamed and penitent, but the demons showed no signs of faith or con trition. This may be all very well in a treatise on Christian mythology, but that it should be gravely brought forward in a paper addressed to educated Englishmen is simply astounding. (2.) He assumes that the Bible upholds the truth of his dogma ; and very possibly it may, if we grant his principle “ of explaining obscure and doubtful passages by the light of those which are distinct and clear.” No Clergyman of the Church of England is bound to admit any such principle, and every critic would at once repudiate it, if it be meant, as here it is meant, that we may explain ambiguous passages in one author by a com parison with clear passages in another. The rule would be scouted as ridiculous if applied to Herodotus and Thucydides, Aristotle and Plato ; and St Paul and St Peter are quite as much distinct authors as any of these can be, although we may happen to have bound up their writings as part of a single volume which we call the Bible, but of which Jerome and Augustine spoke only as “ The Books.” It is, indeed, as manifest and as open to any one to say that St Paul taught unqualified Universalism as to another to affirm that the notion of an endless punishment may be found in the words of some other of the Biblical writers. It has been decided judicially that the Church of England does not sanction this notion, and the assertion that it is not to be found in the Bible at once upsets a mere assertion on the other side. (3.) The Reviewer thinks that he has found an impregnable stronghold in the alleged universality of certain beliefs. All mankind, speaking generally, believe he asserts in an endless �Appendix. 5$ punishment ; and he cites the text of Aristotle o navi ¿>okei tovt' eivai (¡>apev with the assenting comment of Cicero. To this we need only say that we are in no way bound to accept without the strictest scrutiny any statement of Aristotle, or Solomon, or Lord Bacon himself. The axiom is one of those stupendous fallacies which have led mankind in all ages to forge their own fetters. The argument from the universality of a belief proves nothing, or rather it would establish the truth of many beliefs which have been given up as horrible, disgusting, and degrading. The very belief in evil angels, which the Reviewer looks on with so much favour, exists simply as a mutilated and barren stock ; in other words, those who profess it do not really believe it. Jt did produce its legitimate fruit once, when it drove all Christen dom to believe in witchcraft, and consigned to unspeakable tortures and a frightful death, hundreds of thousands of miserable wretches who had the ill luck to be accused of an impossible crime. There has been, it would seem, a time in the history of man when every nation, tribe, and family was given over to the practice of human sacrifices ; the distrust of the mercy and love of God, the utter forgetfulness of the moral character of God, •on which that loathsome worship was founded, exists still, and is the greatest barrier in the way of true Christianity. When the ignorant peasant doubts whether God can be merciful to or love a being so worthless as himself, he is giving utterance to the same feeling which led the Carthaginian matron to drop her new born babe into the blazing mouth of the favourite god of the Hebrews. It is the reiterated warning of Jewish prophets and of Christian teachers, that this distrust is a delusion only the more horrible and fatal because it is universal. There is not an atom of foundation for it; what a mockery, therefore, of philo sophical method is it to say that it upholds one dogma while it is admitted to overthrow another ? (4.) The Reviewer argues throughout as against persons who deny the sinfulness and the misery of sin and the certainty of a righteous chastisement and discipline, who make nothing of iniquity, and set lightly by the most sacred responsibilities. He is arguing against some phantom of his own raising. The school which he anathematizes does not exist. The very essence of the teaching of those Clergymen against whom he thus insinuates or implies an utter unbelief, is that no one sin goes unpunished, and that all men in the measure in which they need it shall feel the chastening hand of God. They may be wrong : but it is simply false to say that they leave men to riot in sin, unchecked and unwarned. (5.) He endeavours to divert men from an impartial examina tion of the subject, by throwing doubts on the orthodoxy of those �$6 Appendix. who venture to question the dogma for which he is contending. Any one who does this is sure to be found wanting with respect to some cardinal doctrine of the faith (of course as these are received by the Reviewer himself). Sir James Stephen assailed it, but “ Mr Hopkins has shown his laxity and want of correct views on the Incarnation ”; Mr Maurice impugns it, but “ is Mr Maurice thoroughly trustworthy on the doctrine (z.e. the Reviewer’s doctrine) of the Atonement ” ? Such insinuations are as irrelevant as they are weak. Each of these doctrines is true or it is not true ; and it argues mere unbelief to seek to ward off from any one of them the most rigid scrutiny. What sort of reasoning is it to scare a man from looking into one dark corner of his house, by telling him that they who do so are sure to create disorder in some other quarter’ ? But it is more to the purpose to say that the Clergy of the Church of England are bound neither to the Reviewer’s dog mas nor to his tests ; and they need concern themselves very little to know wdiether he thinks them orthodox or not. To do so would argue utter childishness. The theological world of England is divided into sections, each of which impugns the other’s orthodoxy. The High Churchman brands the Low Churchman ; one school anathematises or more gently disapproves another ; and then, forsooth, they who doubt whether God will commit to hopeless pains the vast majority of his creatures, are bidden to see that they be orthodox on all other points before they pry into this one. Finally the Reviewer, in utter contradiction to the Bishop of Oxford and his followers, confines himself mostly to guarded statements, which might lead the reader to suppose that this fearful lot is reserved merely for an infinitesimally small fraction of mankind ; but his hell is, nevertheless, one which contains unbaptized infants (p. 477), and for Englishmen this is enough. Dogmas which involve such admissions are not merely untrue, but they are degrading and demoralizing to the last degree. At the recent Bristol Congress Mr Keble was pleased to repeat to the assembled Churchmen the remarks made to him by a poor old widow, who, on hearing that the Church of England no longer required her people to believe in the endless punishment of all sinners, begged him not to tell her son, as she trembled for the effect which these tidings would have upon him. Mr Keble’s inference was that the decision in the case of Messrs Williams and Wilson abolished all morality,—the plain fact being, nevertheless, that the old woman’s wicked son had somehow or other convinced himself that he would escape scot free. With such men the threat of an inconceivable and utterly disproportionate punishment is not likely to have much weight: to tell them that sin brings its own punishment and that sinners if not here yet hereafter will be �Appendix. made to feel the wrath of God, may check them iu their .course, but can never cause them to plunge deeper into sin. This is the warning which they would most certainly hear from such teachers as Mr Wilson and Mr Maurice, Dr Stanley and Mr Jowett, the Bishop of Natal and Dean Milman. Like the righteous prophets of old time, they maintain the absolute and unswerving righteousness of God, while the upholders of the popular dogma confuse the moral perceptions of mankind, and give a fatal strength to the miserable sophistry by which men cheat themselves into the idea that, be their lives what they may, they will somehow or other come to die the death of the righteous man. No. II. Remarks on a Sermon on “ Everlasting Punishment,” preached before the University of Oxford on the Twenty-first Sunday after Trinity, by E. B. Pusey, D.D. While these sheets were passing through the press, Dr Pusey has published a Sermon on which, as it misconstrues some state ments made in the foregoing pages, a few remarks must be added. It is certainly an unfortunate thing that the self-styled upholders of the Catholic Faith should in the eyes of those who differ from them appear always guilty of misconstructions or assumptions. Dr Pusey’s Sermon so abounds on both as to make any attempt at an argumentative reply mere labour lost. It is useless to reason with those who are resolved to make use of ambiguous terms, and who even themselves put on these terms more than one meaning. But although the thought of convincing Dr Pusey may be absurd, it may be of more use to arm others against his assumptions, and perhaps against the general character of his theology. If you answer the question, who is God ? what am I ? honestly, you have, says Dr Pusey, subdued every difficulty which men raise against the Faith. It may be so, if we admit that the honest answer must be Dr Pusey’s answer. A second assumption is based on a passage in the preceding paper, p. 9, from which Dr Pusey draws the conclusion that “ human reason is prepared to capitulate as to all the old difficulties which it used to be so busy in parading, the Doctrine of the All Holy Trinity or the Incarnation. ... It will even admit the mystery of the Incarnation, and allow of that ineffable mystery of God become Man, that God was born, was nourished at the breast, E 2 �Appendix. . . was nailed to the Cross, died." Dr Pusey heaps assumption on assumption. A belief in the Trinity or Incar nation is not necessarily his belief, and to the latter the Church of England has certainly not committed either her Laity or her Clergy. To the assumptions are added a few contradic tions. “ What criminal,” he asks, “ ever by nature owned the justice of the human law which condemned him ? If he admit that he was in the wrong, yet what punishment does not seem to him too severe ? ” We may perhaps be perplexed to know where Dr Pusey has amassed these astounding experiences ; but it is utterly impossible to reconcile them with the statement in the very next page (7), that man’s conscience speaks out clearly that punishment is the due reward of oui’ deeds. When he asserts that .Reformation is not the object of Divine Punishment (6), he assumes the very point in dispute, and allows his assumption to lead him into a statement which should be well noted by English men. He condemns what he calls the systematized benevolence of modern legislation. “ Reformation of the individual offender is proposed as the exclusive end of human punishment.” Dr Pusey does not like this. We must suppose, therefore, that he would like a little of the wholesome severity which Laud exer cised on the ears of Prynne and Bast wick, and perhaps, in course of time, we need not despair of restoring such pleasant exhibitions as those which graced the execution of Robert François Damiens. The next argument involves us in a discussion as to the meaning of the word Eternity, which directly involves another question,— what is Revelation ?-—a question equally assumed by Dr Pusey. “ Who revealed to us,” he asks, “ that sin ceases in the evil, when life ceases 1 ” (p. 9) ; and who revealed to us, we may ask, that it goes on ? Dr Pusey’s conviction is founded on the existence and the character of Satan ; and he must at once be told that the Church of England does not commit her Clergy to any opinion about either the one or the other, and they who reject the whole of Dr Pusey’s dæmonology are, in her eyes, quite as orthodox as he. They are not in the least bound to believe that Satan belonged to the second order of beatified Intelligences, or that he fell, or that he exists at all. Dr Pusey thinks he knows all about him, and he also knows that the whole history of man is confined to the last 6,000 years (p. 11). This is a matter in which we may leave him to be dealt with by Sir C. Lyell, or Professor Owen. But it is of little use to multiply words. Dr Pusey builds on verbal expressions in the Gospels, thus assuming again that evei-y word in those narratives forms part of an indisputable history. Dr Pusey knows that the people of England are beginning to doubt this, and he knows that the reasons brought forward in a popular shape in “ Fraser’s Maga- �Appendix. $9 zine ” for January, 1863 (on Criticism and the Gospel History) have not been answered. He cannot fail to know, further, that the rich man in Hades is represented as better and less selfish than he was on earth ; and yet he deals in pictures which would do credit to the sensuous imagination of a Mahometan. “ Gather in your mind all which is most loathsome, most revolting, the most treacherous, malicious, coarse, brutal, inventive, fiendish cruelty, unsoftened by any remains of human feeling : conceive the fierce, fiery eyes of hate, spite, phrenzied rage ever fixed on thee, glaring on thee, looking thee through and through with hate, sleepless in their horrible gaze : hear those yells of blaspheming concentrated hate, as they echo along the lurid vault of hell, every one hating every one,” &c., &c. “ A deathlessness of hate were in itself everlasting misery. Yet a fixedness in that state, in which the hardened, malignant sinner dies, involves, with out any further retribution of God, this endless misery.” (16.) Shall we ever know what the upholders of this dogma mean ? Who or what are Dr Pusey’s hardened and malignant sinners ? The Bishop of Oxford shuts up in hell the lying school-girl and the young man of excellent life who doubted whether the sun and moon stood still at Joshua’s bidding : the Reviewer in the “Christian Remembrancer” seems to think that unbap tized children are there also. Do they suppose that people will listen to them until they make their meaning plain, or rather until they exhibit some better evidence that they believe their own doctrine ? Before the Bishop and Clergy of the Diocese of Oxford Mr Disraeli has made a mock of that doctrine to point a contemptible jest against Mr Maurice and Mr Jowett ; the ribald profanity of his taunt called forth not the rebuke but the enthusiastic cheers of that reverend * assembly. We may therefore dismiss Dr Pusey’s pictures, with the bare remark that they are drawn not from the teaching of Christ oi- of St Paul, but from that Iranian dualism which made the world a battlefield between Ormuzd and Ahriman. The attitude which Dr Pusey has assumed makes it still more neces sary to assert that his teaching is not the teaching of the Church of England, which knows nothing of the Birth or Death of God. Dr Pusey is not 'wise in parading phrases which, if they have any effect, can only exasperate controversy and convert a gradual process into a violent convulsion. * Meeting of the Oxford Diocesan Society for the Augmentation of Small Livings; as reported in the ‘Times,’ November 26, 1864. Printed by C. W. Reyn ELL, Little Pulteney street, Haymarket, W. �IH i � Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. 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If you would like to view un-edited, full-colour versions of any of our pamphlets, please email librarian@conwayhall.org.uk. <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" /> Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Conway Hall Library & Archives Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 2018 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Conway Hall Ethical Society Text A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text. Original Format The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data Pamphlet Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Eternal punishment: an examination of the doctrine held by the clergy of the Church of England on the subject of future punishment Description An account of the resource Place of publication: London Collation: iv, 59 p. ; 18 cm. Notes: Donated by Mr. Garley. Includes bibliographical references. Reprinted with additions from the 'National Review' no. XXXI, for January 1863. "With an Appendix containing a reply to the author on universalism and eternal punishment in the "Christian Remembrance" no no CXX, for April 1863, and some remarks on a sermon on everlasting punishment, by the Rev. E.B. Pusey". Date of publication from KVK (OCLC WorldCat). Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource Presbyter Anglicanus Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1864 Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available Charles W. Reynell Subject The topic of the resource Church of England Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource <img src="http://i.creativecommons.org/p/mark/1.0/88x31.png" alt="Public Domain Mark" /> This work (Eternal punishment: an examination of the doctrine held by the clergy of the Church of England on the subject of future punishment), identified by <a href="https://conwayhallcollections.omeka.net/items/show/www.conwayhall.org.uk">Humanist Library and Archives</a>, is free of known copyright restrictions. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context G5126 Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource application/pdf Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Language A language of the resource English Church of England Eternal Punishment