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I 


THK  OIFT  OF 

■3.  VtW^'^&^eW 


THE 


LIBEAET  MAGAZINE 


VOL.  VI.,  THIRD  SERIES. 

JANUARY- APRl  L-1  8  8  8. 


New  York: 
JOHN  B.  ALDEN,  PUBLISHER 

1888. 


ARGYLE    PRESS, 
Printing  and  BOokbinoino, 
»*  A  tS  WOMTCR  BT.,  N.  Y. 


LIBRARY   MAGAZINE 


/ 


Vol.  Vl.-Third  Series. 

TABLE    OF    CONTENTS. 


PAGK 

The  First  Outpter  of  Generis.   Plrof .  W.  Gray 

ElmsUe 1 

Captured  Brides  in  Far  Cathay.    Blackwood^t 

Magazine 16 

The  Time  It  Takes  to  Think.    J.  McK.  Cattell..    98 
Mohammedanism  in  Africa.       B.   Boeworth 

Smith 29 

Mrs.  Mnloek  Crailc    Margaret  O.  W.  OUphant. .    64 

Catholicity  and  Reason.    St.  Geoi^Ke  Mivart 61 

Trying  the  Spirits.    ComhUl  Magtizine 78 

Count  Leo  Tolstoi's  Anna  Kar6nine.    Matthew 

Arnold '. 83 

Can  English  Literature  he  Taught  *  J.  Churton 

Collins 97 

Charles  Darwin.    Archibald  Oeikie,  F.R.S 112 

The  Actors*  Catechism.    William  Archer.  125 

Schools  of  Commerce.    Sir  PhOip  Magnus 128 

Authors  in  Court.    Augustin  Birrell 142 

The  Poverty  of  India.    WeatnUngter  Review.. . .  149 
The  Higher  Life :  How  is  it  to  be  Sustained  * 

Rev.  J.  Llewellyn  Davles 169 

Special  OoUections  in  Books.    Selah  Merrill ....  178 
An  Eskimo  *'  Igloo''  or  SnOw-hooae.    Frederick 

SefaWBtka 180 

Dethroning  Tennyson.    A.  C.  Swinburne 186 

Bight  and  Wrong.    W,  S.  Lilly 191 

Parseeism  and  Buddhism.  Merwin-Marie  SnelL  209 
The  Phyriology  of  an  Oyster.    Prof.  C.  Lloyd 

Moiigan 214 

Weather  Changes.    M.  G.  Watkins ...221 

Some  Americanisms.    Dr.  Aubrey 224 

Literary  Voluptuaries.  Bkickwood'a  Magaxine.  280 
Post-Talxnudie  Hebrew  Literature.      Part  I. 

BemhardPIck  246 

Railroads  in  China 208 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.    Matthew  Arnold 259 

Moi  B  on  the  European  Chess*board.    Heinrich 

effeken 274 

The  Hugii:  A  River  of  Ruined  Capitals.    Sir 

.  W.  Hunter 288 

The    odel.    John  Addington  Sy monds 


PAOK 

The  Inundation  in  China.    Spectator 299 

The  Progress  of  Cremation.  Sir  Henry  Thomp- 
son, M.D 802 

The  London  Unemployed  and  the  "Donna." 

Longman' B  Magaxine  817 

Canadian  ''  Habitans'*  in  New  England.  T.  B.  F.  824 

Charity  Bazaars.    Louisa  Twining 828 

Mountain  Floods.    Saturday  Review 833 

A^cultural  Distress  in  England.    Qvarterly 

Review 886 

Abraham  Lincoln.    Robert  O.  IngersoU 839 

Lithographic  Stone  Quarries.  N.  T.  Riddle ....  841 
The  Constitution  of  the  United  States.    E.  J. 

Phelps 858 

The  Mammoth  and  the  Flood.       Qvart&rly 

Review 871 

Post-Talmudic  Hebrew  Literature.     Part  H. 

Bemhard  Pick 386 

The  Higher  Education  of  Women.  Westmintter 

Review 395 

Islam  and  Christianity  in  India 4C6 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson.    Quarterly  Review 425 

Mr.  Ruskin  and  his  Works.  Edinburgh  Review.  436 
The  Struggle  for  Existence:   A  Programme. 

T.  H.  Huxley 449 

Our  Small  Ignorances.    Cornhill  Magazine 468 

Shakespeare  or  Bacon  r  Sir  Theodore  Martin . .  481 
March :  An  Ode.  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne.  499 
The  Balance  of  Power  in  Europe:  Its  Naval 

Aspect.    Blackwood^a  Magazine 602 

English  and  American  Federalism.       C.   R. 

Lowell 520 

On  a  Silver  Wedding.    Lewis  Morris 627 

Mystical  Pessimism  in  Russia.    N.  Tsakni 530 

The    Extraordinary     Condition    of     Corsica. 

Charles  Sumner  Maine 548 

The  Christian  Element  in  English  Poetiy.     M. 

V.  B.  Knox,  Ph.D 553 

Curiosities  of  Chess.  Rev.  A.  Cyril  Pearson ....  665 
Current  Thought 26,  60,  94. 156, 189,  346, 568 


\ 


1 


'■-  "  ^^  /*  r.  ^ 


INDEX. 


PAOB 

AciOBS*  CSatediism,  The.   William  Archer 125 

Africa,  C3urittlanity  In 46 

—  Mohammedan  Baces  in 83 

A^ricoltiiral  DiitreM  In  England.     Quarterly 

Review 880 

Alps,  Floods  in 884 

Americanisma,  Some.    Dr.  Aubrey .....824 

Arnold,  KaUhew.    Ck>imt  Leo  Tolstoi's  Anna 

Kardnine 83 

—  Farcy  QysBhe  Shelley. 869 

Aubrey,  Dr.   Some  Americanisms.  884 

AUTHOBS : 

Archer,  William,  Morfifan,  Prof.C.  Uoyd, 
Arnold,  Matthew,  Morris,  Lewis, 
Aubrey,  Dr.,  Oljphant,  Margaret  O. 
Birreli,  Augustin.  W., 
Cattell,  J.  McK.,  Pearson,  Rev.  A.  Cyril, 
OoOifls,  J.  Churton,  Phelps,  £.  J., 
DsTies,  Bev.  J.  Llewellyn,  Pick.  Bemhard, 
Elmslie,  Prof.  W.  Gray,  Riddle,  N.  T., 
Qeffeken,  Heinrich,  Schwatka,  Frederick, 
Hunter.  W.  W.,  Smith,  R.  Bosworth, 
logersoil,  Robert  O.,  Snell.  Merwin-Marie, 
Knox,  M.  V.  B.,  Swinburne,  A.  O., 
Lilly,  W.  8m  Symonds,     John    Ad- 
Lowell,  C.  R.,  T.  B.  F.,  [dington, 
Magnus,  Sir  FUlip,  Thompson,  Sir  Heniy, 
Maine,  uharies  Sumner,  Tsakni,  N., 
Martin,  Sir  Theodore,  Twining,  Louisa, 
Merrill,  Selah,  Watkins,  M.  G., 
Mivart,  St  George,  Wilson,  Qen.  James  A. 

Authors  in  Court.    Angustin  Birreli 148 

Bicoii  and  Shakespeare's  Plays 483 

Bible,  The,  Relations  to  Science 1 

BirreD,  Augustin.    Authors  in  Ck>urt 143 

Books,  Special  Collections  of.    Selah  Merrill. . .  178 
Buddhism,  Origin  and  Corruption 211 


Caxadias  "  Habitans"  in  New  England.  T.  B.  F. 
Cathay,  Far,  Captured  Brides  in.    Bladcwood't 

Mag€utine 16 

Catholicity  and  Reason.    St.  George  Mivart ....    61 
CatteD,  J.  McK.   The  Time  It  Takes  to  Think. .    88 

Charity  Basaara    Louisa  Twining 826 

Chess,  Curiosities  of.    Rst.  A.  Cyril  Pearson. . .  566 
C    na.  Railroads  in.    Gen.  James  A.  Wilson....  868 

-     tie  Inundation  in.    Spectator 809 

C      It,  Belief  In  Authority  of 170 

C      nSan  Element  in  English  Poetry,  The.    M. 

^B.  Knox 568 

C     eoship  in  the  United  States 868 

C     ns,  J.  Churton.    Can  English  Literature  be 

nsui^? 97 


PIOK 

Commercial  Education 1 88 

Constitution  of  the  United  States,  The.    E.  J. 

Phelps 858 

Corsica,    The     Extraordinary   Condition     of. 

Charles  Sumner  Maine 542 

Count  Leo  Tolstoi's  Anna  Ear6nlne.    Matthew 

Arnold 83 

Creation,  The  Narrative  of 4 

—  The  Process  of 9 

Cremation,  The  Progress  of.  Sir  Henry  Thomp- 
son, M.D 802 

Current  Thought 26,  60,  94, 156. 189,  845,  568 

Dakwin.  Charlss.    Archibald  Geikie,  F.R.S.. . .  112 
Davles,  Rev.  J.  Llewellyn.    The  Higher  life: 

How  is  It  to  be  Sustained  ? 159 

Donnelly,  Mr.    Great  Crsrptogram,  Theory  of . .  499 

Ed  cation,  The  Higher,  of  Women.  West- 
mintier  Review 895 

Elmslie,  Prof.  W.  Gray.  The  First  Chapter  of 
Genesis 1 

Emerson,  Ralph  Waldo.    Quarterly  Review 425 

England,  Future  of  the  Agricultural  Interest. . .  &38 

Eskimo  "  Igloo,''  or  Snow-house,  An.  Frederick 
Schwatka 180 

Europe,  The  Balance  of  Power  in :  Its  Naval 
Aspect 508 

European  Chess  Board,  Moves  on  the.  Hein- 
rich Geffeken 274 

FcDSRALisif,  English  and   American.     C.  R. 

Lowell 520 

Flood  Traditions 383 

Gkffskbn,  Heinbich.    Moves  on  the  European 

Chess  Board 274 

Geikie,  Archibald.    Charles  Darwin 1 12 

Genesis,  The  First  Chapter  of.    Prof.  W.  Gray 

Elmslie 1 

Geography,  Commercial,  The  Study  of 140 

Geology  and  Genesis 888 

Hbbrkw  Literature,  Post-Talmudic,    Bemhard 

Pick 245,  386 

Higher  Life,  The :  How  Is  it  to  be  Sustained  ? 

Rev.  J.  Llewellyn  Davies 150 

Hugli,  The :  A  River  of  Ruined  Capitals.    Sir 

W.  W.  Hunter 283 

Hunter,  W.  W.    The  Hugli :  A  River  of  Ruined 

Capitals  883 


VI 


INDEX. 


PAOX 

"  loLoo/*    See  Snow-houae 182 

Ignorances,  Our  Small.  ComhUl  Motgazine ....  468 
India,  Impediments  to  Spread  of  Christian!^..  418 

—  Islam  and  Christianity  in.     Contemporary 

Review 406 

—  The  Poverty  of .    Westminster  Review 149 

Intoxicants,  Effect  ui>on  the  Dark  Races 418 

Knox,  M.  V.  B.    The  Christian  Element  In  Eng- 
lish Poetry 553 

Lilly,  W.  8.    Right  and  Wrong IM 

Lincoln,  Abraham.    Robert  Q.  Ingeraoll 889 

I^iterary  Voluptuaries.  Blackwood^a  Magcudne.  880 
Literature,  English:   Can  it  be  Taught r     J. 

Churton  Collins 97 

Lithographic  Stone  Quarries.  N.  T.  Riddle —  841 
London  Unemployed  and  the  "  Donna,"  The. 

Longman' t  Magazine 817 

Lowell,  C.  R.    English  and  American  Federal- 
ism  690 

Maoiyus,  Sib  Philip.  Schools  of  Commerce. ...  128 
Maine,  Charles  Sumner.     The  Extraordinary 

Condition  of  Corsica 542 

Mammoth  and   the  Flood,   The.      Qwirterly 

Review 371 

March :    An   Ode.       Algernon  Charles  Swin- 
burne  499 

Martin,  Sir  Theodore.  Shakespeare  or  Bacon  ?  481 
Merrill,  Selah.    Special  Collections  of  Books. . .  ITS 

Missions  and  Missionaries  in  Africa 51 

Mlvart,  St.  Oeorge.    Catholicity  and  Reason...    61 

Model,  The.    John  Addington  Symonds 294 

Mohammedanism  in   Africa.       R.    Bosworth 

Smith 29 

Morgan,  Prof.  C.  Lloyd.    The  Physiology  of  an 

Oyster 214 

Morris,  Lewis.    On  a  Silver  Wedding.    Poem...  527 

Mountain  Floods.    Saturday  Review 833 

Mulock  Craik,  Mrs.    Margaret  O.  W.  OHphant..    64 

Kavixs  of  Europe,  The 505 

Oliphant,  Maroahbt  O.  W.  Mrs.  Mulock  Craik.  51 
On  a  Silver  Wedding.    Poem.    Lewis  Morris. . .  527 

Parseeism  and  Buddhism.  Merwin-Marie  Snell.  209 
Pearson,  Rev.  A.  CyriL  Curiosities  of  Chess. . .  565 
pessimism.  Mystical,  in  Russia.    N.  Tsakni, ....  590 


PAGE 

Phelps,  E.  J.    The  Constitution  of  the  United 

States 858 

Physiology  of  an  Oyster,  The.    Prof.  C.  Lloyd 

Morgan 214 

Pick,  Bemhard.     Post-Talmudic  Hebrew  Lit- 
erature  245,886 

Poetry,  English,  Earliest  Dawn  of 558 

Prigoony ,  a  New  Mystical  Sect  in  Russia.  538 

Piqrchology,  Experimental,  The  First  Fruits  of.    28 

Riddle,  K.  T.    Lithographic  Stone  Quarries. . . .  341 

Right  and  Wrong.    W.  8.  Lilly 191 

Ruskin,  Mr.,  and  his  Works.     Edinburgh  Re- 
view  ^. 486 

Russia,  Peculiar  Mystical  Sects  in 580 

SoHOOia  of  Commerce.    Sir  Philip  Magnus 128 

Schwatka,  Frederick.    An  Eskimo  **  Igloo,"  or 

Snow-house 180 

Shakespeare  or  Bacon  f    Sir  Theodore  Martin. .  481 

Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe.    Matthew  Arnold 250 

Smith,   R.   Bosworth.       Mohammedanism   in 

Africa 46 

Snell,   Merwin-Marie.       Parseeism  and   Bud- 
dhism  200 

Snow-house,  Construction  of 183 

Struggle  for  Existence,  The:  A  Programme. 

T.  H.  Huxley 449 

Swinburne,  A.  C.    Dethroning  Tennyson 186 

~  March:  An  Ode 409 

Symonds,  John  Addington.    The  Model 294 

T.  B.  F.    Canadian  *'  Habitans"  in   New  Eng- 
land  824 

Tennyson,  Dethroning.    A.  C.  Swinburne 186 

The  Time  It  Takes  to  Think.    J.  M(5K.  Cattell. .    28 
Thompson,  Sir  Henry.    The  Progress  of  Cre- 
mation. T 802 

Trinity,  Holy,  Doctrineof 69 

Trying  the  Spirits.    Cornkill  Magazine 78 

Tsakni,  N.    Mystical  Pessimism  in  Russia 680 

Twining,  Louisa.    Charity  Bazaars. 


Unxmplotxd  in  London,  The 818 

United   States,   The  Constitution  of.      E.   J. 
Phelps 868 

Watkiks,  M.  G.    Weather  Changes 221 

Weather  Changes.    M.  G.  Watkins Zn 

Wilson,  Gen.  James  A.     Railroads  in  China  . . .  2S8 
Women,  The  Higher  Education  of.      West- 
minster Review , . . ,  • 89Q 


THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 


THE  FIEST  CHAPTER  OF  GENESIS. 

There  is  in  many  people's  minds  a  painful  uneasiness  about  the 
relation  of  the  Bible  to  modern  science  and  philosophy.  The  appear- 
ance of  each  new  theory  is  deprecated  by  behevers  with  pious 
timidity,  and  hailed  by  sceptics  with  unholy  hope.  On  neither  side 
is  this  a  dignified  or  a  wholesome  attitude.  Its  irksome  and  intru- 
sive pressure  promotes  neither  a  robust  piety  nor  a  sober-minded 
science.  It  is  worth  while  inquiring  whetner  there  is  any  sufficient 
foundation  for  either  alarm  or  expectancy  in  the  actual  relations  of 
the  Bible  to  scientific  thought  ?  We  shall  work  out  our  answer  to 
the  question  of  the  historical  battle-field  of  the  first  chapter  of 
Genesis.  Results  reached  there  will  be  found  to  possess  a  more  or 
less  general  validity. 

There  are  two  records  of  creation.  One  is  contained  in  the  Bible, 
which  claims  to  be  God's  Word ;  the  other  is  stamped  in  the  struc- 
ture of  the  world,  which  is  God's  Work.  Both  being  from  the  same 
author,  we  should  expect  them  to  agree  in  their  general  tenor ;  but 
in  fact,  so  far  from  being  in  harmony,  they  have  an  appearance  of 
mutual  contradiction  that  demands  explanation.    In  studying  the 

})roblem  certain  considerations  must  be  borne  in  mind.  Tnere  is  a 
oose  way  of  talking  about  anta^ffonism  between  the  natural  and  the 
revealed  accounts  of  creation.  That  is  not  quite  accurate.  Conflict 
between  these  there  cannot  be,  for  they  never  actually  come  into 
contact.  It  is  not  they,  but  our  theories,  that  meet  and  collide.  The 
discord  is  not  in  the  original  sources,  but  iu  our  renderings  of  them. 
That  is  a  very  different  matter,  and  of  quite  incommensurate  im- 
portance. 

The  Bible  story  is  very  old.  It  is  written  in  an  ancient  and 
practically  dead  language.  The  meaning  of  many  of  the  words  can- 
not be  fixed  with  precision.  The  significance  of  several  fundamental 
phrases  is  at  best  little  more  than  conjecture.  Since  it  was  penned 
men's  minds  have  grown  and  changed.  The  very  moulds  of  numan 
thought  have  altered.  Current  impressions,  conceptions,  ideas,  are 
diflferent.  It  is  hard  to  determine,  with  even  probability,  what  is 
said ;  stiU  harder  to  realize  what  was  thought.  Certainty  is  impos- 
sible. No  rendering  should  be  counted  infaUible — not  even  our  own. 
Every  interpretation  ought  to  be  advanced  with  modest  diffidence. 


2  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

held  tentatively,  revised  with  alacrity,  and  adjusted  to  new  facts 
without  timidity  and  without  shame.  This  has  not  been  the  charac- 
teristic attitude  of  commentators.  The  exegesis  of  the  first  chapter 
of  Genesis  presents  a  long  array  of  theories,  propounded  with 
authority,  defended  dogmatically,  and  ignominiously  discredited  and 
deserted.  Had  a  more  lowly  spirit  presided  over  their  inception, 
maintenance,  and  abandonment,  the  list  would  perhaps  not  have  been 
shorter,  but  the  retrospect  would  have  been  less  humiliating.  As  it 
is,  we  can  hardly  complain  of  the  sting  of  satire  that  lurks  in 
Kepler's  recital  of  Theology's  successive  retreats : — 

**  In  theology  we  balance  authorities;  in  philosophy  we  weigh  reaflons.  A  holy 
man  was  Lactantius,  who  denied  that  the  eaith  was  round.  A  holy  man  was  Augus- 
tine, who  granted  the  rotundity,  but  denied  the  antipodes.  A  holy  thing  to  me  is  the 
Inquisition,  whidi  allows  the  smallness  of  the  earth,  but  denies  its  motion.  But  more 
holy  to  me  is  truth.  And  hence  I  prove  by  philosophy  that  the  earth  is  round,  inhab- 
ited on  every  side,  of  small  size,  and  in  motion  among  the  stars.  And  this  I  do  with 
no  disrespect  to  the  doctors." 

The  phvsical  record  is  also  very  old.  Its  story  is  carved  in  a  script 
that  is  often  hardly  legible,  and  set  forth  in  symbols  that  are  not 
easy  to  decipher,  xh©  testimony  of  the  rocks  embodies  results  of 
creation,  but  does  not  present  the  actual  operations.  Effects  suggest 
processes,  but  do  not  disclose  their  precise  measure,  manner,  and 
orimnation.  You  may  dissect  a  great  painting  into  its  ultimate  lines 
and  elements,  and  from  the  canvas  peel  off  tne  successive  layers  of 
color,  and  duly  record  their  number  and  order ;  but,  when  you  have 
done,  you  have  not  even  touched  the  essential  secret  of  its  creation. 
In  determining  the  first  origin  of  things  the  limitation  of  science  is 
absolute,  and  even  in  tracing  the  sub^iequent  development  there  is 
room  for  error,  ignorance,  and  diversity  of  explanation.  Of  certain- 
ties in  scientific  theory  there  are  few.  For  the  most  part,  all  that 
can  be  attained  is  probability,  especially  in  speculative  matters,  such 
as  estimates  of  time,  explanations  of  formation,  and  theories  of  causa- 
tion. As  in  exegesis  so  in  theology,  all  hypotheses  ou^ht  to  be 
counted  merely  tentative,  maintainea  with  modesty,  and  neld  open 
at  every  point  to  revision  and  reconstruction.  The  necessity  of 
caution  and  reserve  needs  no  enforcing  for  any  one  who  knows  the 
variety  and  inconsistency  of  the  phases  through  which  speculative 
geology  has  passed  in  our  own  generation.  In  this  destiny  of  transi- 
toriness  it  does  but  share  the  lot  of  all  scientific  theory.  Professor 
Huxley  was  once  cruel  enough  to  call  attention  to  the  fact,  that 
"  extinguished  theologians  lie  about  the  cradle  of  every  science,  as 
the  strangled  snates  beside  that  of  Hercules."  The  statement  is  a 
graphic,  if  somewhat  ferocious  reminder  of  a  melancholy  fact,  and 
flie  fate  of  these  trespassing  divines  should  warn  their  successors — 
as  the  Professor  means  it  should — ^not  to  stray  out  of  their  proper 
pastures.    But  has  it  fared  very  differently  witn  the  mighty  men  of 


THE  FIRST  CHAPTER  OF  GENESIS.  8 

science  who  have  essayed  to  solve  the  high  problems  of  existence 
and  to  make  all  mysteries  plain  ?  Take  up  a  nistoiy  of  philosophy, 
turn  over  its  pages,  study  its  dreary  epitomes  of  defunct  theories, 
and  as  you  survey  the  long  array  of  skeletons,  tell  me,  are  you  not 
reminded  of  the  prophet,  who  found  himself  "  set  down  in  the  midst 
of  the  valley  which  was  full  of  dry  bones :  and,  behold,  there  were 
very  many  m  the  open  valley ;  and,  lo,  they  were  very  dry  ?" 

If  it  is  human  to  err,  theologjr  and  geology  have  alike  made  full 
proof  of  their  humanity.  That  in  ItseK  is  not  their  fault  but  their 
misfortune.  The  pity  of  it  is,  that  to  the  actual  fact  of  fallibility 
they  have  so  often  added  the  foUy  of  pretended  infaUibihty.  The 
resultant  duty  is  an  attitude  of  mutual  modesty,  of  reserve  in  suspect- 
ing Gontradicition,  of  patience  in  demanding  an  adjustment,  of 
perseverance  in  separate  and  honest  research,  of  serenity  of  mind  in 
view  of  difficulties,  coupled  with  a  quiet  expectation  of  final  fitting. 
The  two  accounts  are  alike  trustworthy.  They  are  not  necessari^ 
identical  in  detail  It  is  enough  that  tney  should  correspond  in  liieir 
essential  purport.  It  may  be  that  the  one  is  the  complement  of  the 
other,  as  soul  is  to  body — ^unlike,  yet  vitally  allied.  Perchance  their 
harmony  is  not  that  oi  duplicates  but  of  counterparts.  They  were 
made  not  to  overlap  like  concentric  circles,  but  to  interlock  like 
toothed  wheels.  In  the  end,  when  partial  knowledge  has  given  away  to 

Eerf  ect,  they  will  be  seen  to  correspond,  and  nofliing  will  be  broken 
ut  the  premature  structures  of  adjustment,  with  which  men  have 
thought  to  make  them  run  smoother  than  they  were  meant  to  do. 

To  attempt  anew  a  task  that  has  proved  so  oisastrous,  and  is  mani- 
festly so  dimcult,  must  be  admitted  to  be  bold  if  not  even  foolhardy. 
But  its  very  desperateness  is  its  justification.  To  fall  in  a  forlorn 
hope  is  not  ignoble.  To  miss  one's  way  in  threading  the  labyrinth 
of  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  is  pardonable — a  thin^  almost  to  be 
expected.  If  m  seeking  to  escape  Scylla,  the  trav^er  should  fall 
into  Charybdis,  no  one  will  be  surprised — ^not  even  himself.  It  is  in  the 
most  undogmatio  spirit  that  we  wish  to  put  forward  our  reading  of 
the  chapter.  It  is  presented  simply  as  a  possible  rendering.  What 
can  be  said  for  it  will  be  said  as  forcibly  as  may  be.  It  is  open  to 
objection  from  opposite  sides.  That  may  be  not  altogether  against 
it,  since  truth,  is  rarely  extreme.  Difficulties  undoubtedly  attach  to 
it  and  defects  as  well.  At  best  it  can  but  contribute  to  tne  ultimate 
solution.  ^  Perchance  its  share  in  the  task  may  be  no  more  than  to 
show  by  trial  that  another  way  of  explanation  is  impossible.  WeU, 
that  too  is  a  service-  Every  fresh  byway  proved  impracticable,  and 
closed  to  passage,  brings  us  a  step  nearer  the  pathway  of  achieve- 
ment. For  the  loyal  lover  of  truth  it  is  enough  even  so  to  have  been 
made  tributary  to  the  truth. 
The  business  of  a  theologian  is,  in  the  first  instance  at  least,  with 


4  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE,      . 

the  Scripttiral  narrative.  To  estimate  its  worth,  and  determine  its 
relation  to  science,  we  must  ascertain  its  design.  Criticism  of  a 
church-organ,  under  the  impression  that  it  was  meant  to  do  the  work 
of  a  steam-engine,  would  certainly  fail  to  do  justice  to  the  instrument, 
and  the  disquisition  would  not  have  much  value  in  itself.  Before  we 
exact  geology  of  Genesis,  we  must  inquire  whether,  there  is  any  in  it. 
If  there  be  none,  and  if  there  was  never  meant  to  be  any,  the  demand 
is  as  absurd  as  it  would  be  to  require  thorns  of  a  vine  and  thistles  of 
the  fig-tree.  Should  it  turn  out,  for  instance,  that  the  order  of  the 
narrative  is  intentionally  not  chronological,  then  every  attempt  to 
reconcile  it  with  the  geological  order  is  of  necessity  a  Procrustean 
cruelty,  and  the  venerable  form  of  Genesis  is  fitted  to  the  ecological 
couch  at  the  cost  of  its  head  or  its  feet.  Eitlier  the  riaturS  sense  of 
the  chapter  is  sacrificed  or  the  pruned  narrative  goes  on  crutches. 
If  we  would  deal  fairly  and  rationally  with  the  ^ible  account  of 
creation,  our  first  duty  is  to  determine  with  exactness  what  it  pur- 
poses to  tell,  and  what  it  doe3  not  profess  to  relate.  We  must  settle 
with  precision,  at  the  outset  of  our  investigation,  what  is  its  subject, 
method,  and  intention.  The  answer  is  to  be  found,  not  in  ^priori 
theories  of  what  the  contents  ought  to  be,  but  in  an  accurate  and 
honest  analysis  of  the  chapter. 

The  narrative  of  creation  is  marked  by  an  exquisite  symmetry  of 
thought  and  style.  It  is  partly  produced  by  the  regular  use  of  cer- 
tain rubrical  phrases,  which  recur  with  the  rhytlimical  effect  of  a 
refrain.  There  is  the  terminal  of  the  days — "  and  there  was  evening 
and  there  was  morning,  day  one,"  etc.;  the  embodiment  of  the 
Divine  creative  will  in  the  eightfold  "  God  said  " ;  the  expression  of 
instant  fulfillment  in  the  swift  responsive  "  and  it  was  so ; ''  and  the 
declaration  of  perfection  in  the  "  God  saw  that  it  was  good,"  But 
the  symmetry  of  the  chapter  lies  deeper  than  the  wording.  It  per- 
vades the  entire  construction  of  the  narrative.  As  the  story  proceeds 
there  is  expansion,  variety,  progression.  Yet  each  successive  para- 
graph is  built  up  on  one  and  the  same  type  and  modeL  TThis 
uniformity  is  rooted  in  the  essential  structure  of  the  thought,  and  is 
due  to  tlie  determination  with  which  one  grand  truth  is  carried  like 
a  key-note  through  all  the  sequences  of  the  theme,  and  rings  out 
clear  and  dominant  in  every  step  and  stage  of  the  development.  Our 
first  duty  is  to  follow,  and  find  out  with  certainty  this  ruling 
purpose,  and  then  to  interpret  the  subordinate  elements  by  its  liglS 
and  guidance. 

The  narrative  distributes  the  operation  of  creation  over  six  davs, 
and  divides  it  into  eight  distinct  acts  or  deeds.  This  douole 
divergent  arrangement  of  the  material  is  made  to  harmonize  by  the 
assignment  of  a  couple  of  acts  to  the  third  day,  and  another  couple 
to  tiie  sixth — in  each  case  with  a  fine  and  designed  effect.    We 


THE!  FIE3T  CEAPTER  OF  GENESIS.  5 

shall  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  contents  of  these  divisions: 
The  chapter'  opens  with  a  picture  of  primeval  chaos,  out  of  which 
God  commands  the  universe  of  beauty,  life,  and  order.  Nothing  is 
said  of  its  origin.  The  story  starts  with  it  existent.  It  is  painted 
as  an  abyss,  dreary  and  boundless,  wrapped  in  impenetrable  darkness, 
an  inextricable  confusion  of  fluid  matter  destitute  of  character, 
structure,  op  value,  without  form  and  void.  It  is  the  raw  material 
of  the  universe,  passive  and  powerless  in  itself,  but  holding  in  it  the 
promise  and  potency  of  all  existence.  For  over  it  nestles,  Iflce  a  brood 
fowl,  the  informing,  warning,  life-giving  spirit  of  God  sending  through 
its  coldness  and  emptiness  the  heat  and  parental  yearnings  of  the 
Divine  heart,  that  craves  for  creatures  on  which  to  pour  out  its  love 
and  goodness.  This  action  of  the  Spirit  is,  however,  no  more  than 
preparative,  and  waits  its  completion  in  the  accession  of  a  personal 
nat  of  God's  wiU,  in  which  the  I)ivine  Word  gives  effect  and  reality 
to  the  Divine  Wish.  This  is  a  feature  of  supreme  importance,  for  in 
it  consists  the  uniqueness  of  the  Bible  narrative.  In  the  pagan 
accounts  of  creation  we  find  the  same  general  imagery  of  duU,  dead 
matter,  stirred  and  warmed  into  life  and  development  by  the  action 
of  an  immaterial  effluence  of  "  thought,''  "  love,'^  or  "  longing."  But 
in  them  the  operation  is  cosmic,  impersonal,  often  hardly  conscious ; 
in  the  Bible  it  is  ethical  and  intensely  personal  In  them  the  lan- 
guage is  metaphysical,  materiaUstio,  or  pantheistic ;  here  it  is  moral, 
human,  personal  to  the  point  of  anthropomorphism.  They  show  us 
creative  forces  and  processes ;  the  Bible  presents  to  us,  m  all  His 
infinite,  manifold,  ana  glorious  personality,  the  thinking,  living,  loving 
**  God  the  Father  ahniffhty,  maker  of  heaven  and  earth." 
The  result  of  the  first  day  and  the  first  Divine  decree  is  the 

Eroduction  of  light.  The  old  difficulty  about  the  existence  of  light 
efore  the  sun  was  made,  as  it  was  invented  by  science,  has  been 
by  science  dispelled.  The  theory  of  light  as  a  mode  of  motion, 
which  for  the  present  holds  the  field,  Imows  no  obstacle  to  the 
presence  of  light  in  the  absence  of  the  sun.  But  this  harmony  is 
not  due  to  any  prescience  of  modem  science  in  the  writer  of 
Gtenesis.  His  idea  of  light  is  not  undulatory,  and  not  scientific,  but 
just  the  simple  popular  notion  found  everywhere  in  the  Bible. 
Light  is  a  fine  substance,  distinct  from  aU  others,  and  it  appears  first 
in  the  list  of  creation  as  being  the  first  and  noblest  of  the  elements 
that  go  to  make  up  our  habitaole  world.  The  emergence  of  the  light 
is  presented  as  instantaneously  following  the  Divme  decree.  That 
is  manifestly  the  literary  effect  designed  in  the  curtness  of  the 
sequence :  "  Let  there  be  light,  and  there  was  light."  The  Ught  is 
pronounced  good,  is  permanently  established  in  possession  of  its 
special  properties  and  powers,  and  is  set  in  its  service  of  the  world 
aiid  man  by  having  assigned  to  it  its  place  in  the  "  alternate  mercy 


e  mS  ITBUARY  KA.OAZINE. 

of  day  and  ni^ht."  There  is  a  very  fine  touch  in  the  position  of  the 
declaration  ofgoodness.  It  stands  here  earlier  than  in  the  succeed- 
ing sections.  Darkness  is  in  the  Bible  the  standing  emblem  of  evil. 
It  would  have  been  discordant  with  that  imagery  to  make  God 
pronounce  it  good,  though  as  the  foil  of  light  it  serves  beneficent 
ends.  The  jarring  note  is  tacitlj  and  simply  avoided  by  inserting 
the  assertion  of  the  goodness  of  hght  before  the  mention  of  its  back- 
ground and  negation,  darkness.  The  picture  of  the  first  day  of 
creation  is  subscribed  with  the  formula  of  completeness —  "  There 
was  evening  and  there  was  morning,  one  day,"  or  "  day  first";  and 
has  for  its  net  result  the  production  of  the  element  or  spnere  of  light. 
The  second  day  and  tne  second  Divine  decree  are  aevoted  to  the 
formation  of  the  firmament.  All  through  the  Old  Testament  the 
sky  is  pictured  as  a  solid  dome  or  vaulted  roof,  above  which  roll  the 

Ermieval  waters  of  chaos.  The  motion  is  of  course  popular,  a 
gment  of  the  primitive  imagination,  istnd  quite  at  variance  with  the 
modern  conception  of  space  filled  by  an  inter-astral  ether ;  though 
it  is  well  to  remember  that  this  same  ether  is  no  more  ascertained 
fact  than  was  the  old-word  firmament,  and  is  in  its  turn  simply  an 
invention  of  the  scientific  imagination.  It  is  of  more  moment  to  note 
that  the  real  motive  and  outcome  of  the  day's  work  is  not  the  fir- 
mament. That  Is  not  an  end  but  a  means,  precisely  as  a  sea-waU  is 
not  an  object  in  itself,  but  merely  the  instrument  oi  the  reclamation 
of  valuable  land.  "What  the  erection  of  the  firmament  does  toward 
the  making  of  our  world  is  the  production  of  the  intervening  aerial 
space  and  the  lower  ^expanse  of  terrestrial  waters.  Since  this  last 
portion  of  the  work  is  not  complete  prior  to  the  separation  of  the  dry 
land,  the  declaration  of  eoodness  or  perfection  is,  with  exquisite  fine- 
ness of  suggestion,  tacitly  omitted.  The  net  result  of  tne  day  is 
therefore  the  formation  of  the  realms  of  air  and  water  as  elements 
or  spheres  of  existence. 

The  third  day  includes  two  works,  the  production  of  the  solid 
ground  and  of  vegetation.  The  dead,  inert  soil,  and  its  manifold 
outgrowth  of  plant-life,  are  strikingly  distinct,  and  yet  most 
intimately  related.  Together  they  mate  up  the  habitable  earth. 
They  are  therefore  presented  as  separate  works,  but  conjoined  in  the 
framework  of  one  day.  Two  sections  of  the  vegetable  kingdom  are 
singled  out  for  special  mention — ^the  cereals  and  the  fruit-trees.  It 
is  not  a  complete  or  a  botanical  classification,  and  manifestly  science 
is  not  contemplated.  Those  divisions  of  the  plant-world  that  sustain 
animal  and  human  life,  and  minister  to  its  enjoyment,  are  drawn  out 
into  pictorial  relief  and  prominence.  The  intention  is  practical, 
popular,  and  religious.  The  net  result  of  the  day  is  the  production 
of  the  habitable  dry  land. 

The  fourth  day  and  the  fifth  decree  call  into  being  the  celestial 


-    THE  FIRST  CHAPTER  OF  GENE8L3.  7 

bodies — ^the  sun,  moon,  and  stars.  They  are  called  luminaries ;  that 
is  to  say,  not  masses  or  aocnmulations  of  light,  but  managers  and 
distributers  of  light,  and  the  value  of  this  function  of  theirs,  for  the 
relmous  and  secular  calendar,  for  agriculture,  navigatioii,  and  the 
dai^  life  of  men,  is  formally  and  elaborately  detaited.  W  ere  this 
account  of  the  heavenly  bodies  intended  as  a  scientific  or  exhaustive 
statement  of  their  Divine  destination  and  place  in  the  universe,  it 
would  be  miserably  inadequate  and  erroneous.  But  if  the  whole  aim 
of  the  naorrative  be  not  science,  but  religion,  than  it  is  absolutely 
appropriate,  exact,  and  powerfuL  In  the  teeth  of  an  all  but  universal 
worship  of  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  it  declares  them  the  manufacture  of 
God,  and  the  ministers  and  servants  of  majL  For  this  practical, 
relimous  purpose  the  genocentric  description  of  them  is  not  an  acci< 
dent,  but  essential  It  is  not  a  blunder,  but  a  merit.  It  is  true  piety, 
not  cosmical  astronomy,  that  is  being  established.  In  the  words  of 
Calvin,  "Moses,  speaJdng  to  us  by  the  Holv  Spirit,  did  not  treat  of 
liie  heavenly  luminaries  as  an  astronomer,  but  as  it  became  a  theo- 
l(^ian,  having  regard  to  us  rather  than  to  the  stars."  The  net 
r^ult  of  the  fourth  day  is  the  production  of  the  heavenly  orbs  of 
light 

The  fifth  day  and  the  sixth  work  issue  in  the  production  of  birds 
and  fishes,  or.  more  accurately,  aU  creatures  that  fly  or  swim.  It  is 
evidently  a  classifloation  by  tne  eye — ^the  ordinary  popular  division, 
and  it  makes  no  attempt  at  scientific  pretension  or  profundity.  A& 
having  conscious  life,  tnese  new  creatures  of  God's  krve  are  blessed 
by  BSn,  and  have  their  place  and  purpose  in  the  order  of  being 
defined  and  established.  The  net  result  of  the  day  is  the  formation 
of  fowls  and  fishes. 

The  sixth  day,  like  the  third,  includes  two  works — ^the  land  animals 
and  man.  The  representation  admirably  expresses  their  intimate 
relationship  and  yet  essential  distinction.  The  animals  are  graphi- 
cally divided  into  the  domestic  quadrupeds,  the  small  creatures  that 
creep  and  crawl,  and  the  wild  beasts  oJf  the  field.  The  classification 
is  as  little  scientific  in  intention  or  substance  as  is  the  general 
arran^ment  into  birds,  fishes,  and  beasts,  which  of  course  traverses 
radically  alike  the  historical  order  of  palaeontology  and  the  physio- 
logical gro1^)ing  of  zoology.  The  narrative  simply  adopts  the  natural 
grouping  oi  omervation  and  popular  speech,  oecause  that  suffices, 
and  best  suits  its  purpose.  With  a  wonderful  simplicity,  yet  with 
consummate  effect,  man  is  portrayed  as  the  climax  and  crown  of 
creation.  Made  in  the  image  and  likeness  of  Gkd,  he  is  clothed 
with  sovereign  might  and  dominion  over  all  the  elements  and  con- 
tents of  Natura  The  personal,  conscious  counterpart  and  child  of 
God,  he  stands  at  the  other  end  of  the  chain  of  creation,  and  with 
answering  intelligence  and  love  looks  back  adoringly  to  his  great 


8  THE  LIBRART  MAGAZINE. 

Father  in  the  heayens.  Mention  is  made  of  lesser  matters,  such  as 
sex  and  food ;  but  manifestly  the  supreme  interest  of  the  delineation 
is  ethical  and  religious,  ^ience  is  no  more  contemplated  as  an 
ingredient  in  the  conception  than  prose  is  in  poetry,  "With  the 
making  of  man  tiie  circle  of  creation  is  complete,  and  the  finished 

Ejection  of  the  whole  as  well  as  the  parts  is  expressed  in  the  super- 
tive  declaration  that "  God  saw  everything  that  He  had  made,  and 
behold,  it  was  very  good."  The  net  result  of  the  sixth  day  is  the 
formation  of  the  land  animals,  and  man. 

The  six  days  of  creative  activity  are  followed  by  a  seventh  of 
Divine  repose.  On  the  seventh  day  God  rested ;  or,  as  it  is  more 
fully  worded  in  Exodus  (xxxi.  17),  God  "  rested  and  was  refreshed." 
It  IS  a  daring  anthropomorphism,  and  at  the  same  time  a  master- 
stroke of  inspired  gemus.  W  hat  a  philosophical  dissertation  hardly 
could  accomplish,  it  achieves  by  one  simple  image.  For  our 
thought  of  God,  the  idea  performs  the  same  service  as  the  institution 
of  the  Sabbath  does^or  our  souls  and  bodies.  The  weekly  day  of 
rest  is  the  salvation  of  our  personality  from  enslavement  in  material 
toiL  During  six  days  the  toiler  is  tired,  bent  and  bowed,  to  his  post 
in  the  vast  machinery  of  the  world's  work.  On  the  seventh  aU  is 
stopped,  and  he  is  free  to  lift  himself  erect  to  the  full  statui^e  of  his 
manhood,  to  expand  the  loftier  elements  of  his  bein^,  to  re-assert 
his  freedom,  And  realize  his  superiority  over  what  is  mechanical, 
secular,  and  earthly.  "What  in  the  pro^essive  portraiture  of  creation 
is  the  effect  of  this  sudden  declaration  that  the  Creator  rested? 
Why,  an  intenselv  powerful  reminder  of  the  free,  conscious,  and 
personal  nature  oi  His  action.  And  this  impression  of  such  unique 
value  is  secured  precisely  by  the  anthropomorphism,  as  no  philoso- 
phical disquisition  could  have  done  it.  The  blot  and  blemish  of  all 
metaphysical  delineation  is  that  personalities  get  obliterated  and 
swallowed  up  in  general  principles  and  impersonal  abstractions.  In 
all  other  cosmogonies  of  any  mteUectual  pretension  the  process  of 
creation  is  presented  as  passive,  or  necessitarian,  or  pantheistic,  and 
invariably  the  free  personality  of  the  Creator  becomes  entangled  in 
His  work,  or  entirely  vanishes.  By  this  stroke  of  inspired  imagiaa- 
tion  the  Kble  story  rescues  from  all  such  risks  and  degradations  our 
thought  of  the  Creator,  and  at  its  close  leaves  us  face  to  face  with 
our  Divine  Maker  as  free,  personal,  living,  loving,  and  conscious  as 
we  are  ourselves. 

We  have  now  got  what  is,  I  trust,  a  fairly  accurate  and  complete 
summary  of  the  contents  of  the  narative.  It  is  not  necessary  for 
our  purpose  to  discuss  its  relations  to  the  pagan  cosmogonies.  From 
the  sameness  everywhere  of  the  human  eye,  mind,  and  fancy,  certain 
conceptions  are  common  property.  There  is  probably  a  special  kin- 
ship between  the  Biblical  and  the  Babylonian  and  "PhoBiiician  ac- 


THE  FIBST  CHAPTER  OF  GENE818,  9 

counts.  But  with  all  respect  for  enthusiastic  decipherers,  we  make 
bold  to  believe,"  with  more  sober-minded  critics,  that  the  first  chapter 
of  Genesis  owes  very  little  to  Babylonian  mythologj,  and  very  much 
indeed  to  Hebrew  thought  and  the  revealing  Spirit  of  God.  The 
chapter  strikingly*  lacks  the  characteristic  marks  of  myth,  and  is  on 
the  face  of  it  a  masterpiece  of  exquisite  artistic  workmanship  and 

Srof  ound  reli^ous  inspiration.  Proof  of  this  has  appeared  in  plenty 
uring  our  brief  study  of  its  structure  and  contents.  Let  us  proceed 
to  use  the  results  of  analysis  to  determine  some  more  general  char- 
acteristics of  its  structure  and  design. 

The  process  of  creation  is  portrayed  in  six  great  steps  or  stages. 
Is  this  order  put  forward  as  corresponding  with  tiie  physical  course 
of  events  ?  ana,  further,  does  it  tally  with  Qie  order  stamped  in  the  re- 
cord of  the  rocks  ?  Replying  to  the  second  question  first,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted ihBi^prvtndfacie^  the  Bible  sequence  does  not  appear  to  be  in 
unison  with  the  geological.  Of  attempted  reconciliations  there  is 
an  almost  endless  variety,  but,  unfortunately,  among  the  harmonies 
themselves  there  is  no  harmony.  At  the  present  moment  there  is 
none  that  has  gained  general  acceptance:  a  few  possess  each  the  alle- 
giance of  a  handful  of  partisans ;  the  greater  number  command  the 
confidence  only  of  their  respective  aufliors,  and  some  not  even  that. 
It  is  needless  to  discuss  these  reconciliations,  because  if  geology  is 
trustworthy  in  its  main  results,  and  if  our  interpretation  of  the  mean- 
ing of  Genesis  is  at  all  correct,  correspondence  in  order  and  detail  is 
impossible.  If  the  order  of  Genesis  was  meant  as  science,  then  geo- 
logy and  Gtenesis  are  at  issue;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  if  the  sequence 
in  Genesis  was  never  meant  to  be  physical,  the  wrong  lies  witn  our- 
selves, who  have  searched  for  geology  where  we  shomd  have  looked 
for  reUgion,  and  have,  with  the  best  mtentions,  persisted  in  trying  to 
turn  the  Bible  bread  of  life  into  the  arid  stone  of  science.  !Now,  we 
venture  to  suggest  that  in  drafting  this  chapter  the  ruling  formative 
thought  was  not  chronology.  It  must  be  remembered  that  the  nar- 
rative was  under  no  obligation  to  follow  the  order  of  actual  occurrence, 
unless  that  best  suited  its  purpose.  Zoology  does  not  group  the  ani- 
mals in  the  order  of  their  emergence  into  existence,  but  classifies  and 
discusses  them  in  a  very  different  sequence,  adopted  to  exhibit  their 
structural  and  functional  affinities.  If  the  design  of  Genesis  was 
not  to  inform  us  about  historical  geology,  but  reveal  and  enforce  re- 
ligious truth,  it  might  well  be  that  a  hterary  or  a  logical,  and  not  a 
chronological,  arrangement  might  best  serve  its  end.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  order  chosen  is  not  primarily  historicaL  Another  quite 
different  and  very  beautiful  idea  has  fashioned,  and  is  enshrined  in, 
the  arrangement. 

Looking  at  our  analysis  of  their  contents,  we  perceive  that  the  six 
days  fall  mto  two  parallel  sets  of  three,  whose  members  finely  cor- 


10  THE  LIBRAET  MAGAZINE. 

respond.  The  first  set  presents  ns  with  three  vast  empty  tenements 
or  habitations,  and  the  second  set  furnishes  these  with  occupants. 
The  first  day  gives  us  the  sphere  of  light;  the  fourth  day  tenants  it 
with  sun,  moon,  and  stars.  The  second  dav  presents  the  realm  of  air 
and  water;  the  fifth  day  supplies  the  inhabitants~<-birds  and  fishes. 
The  third  day  produces  the  habitable  dry  land;  and  the  sixth  day 
stocks  it  with  the  animals  and  man.  The  idea  of  this  arrangement 
is,  on  the  face  of  it,  literary  and  logical  It  is  chosen  for  ite  com- 
prehensive, all-inclusive  completeness.  To  declare  of  every  part  and 
atom  of  Kature  that  is  the  making  of  God,  the  author  passes  in  pro- 
cession the  great  elements  or  spheres  which  the  human  mind  every- 
where conceives  as  making  up  our  world,  and  pronounces  them  one 
by  one  God's  creation.  Tnen  he  makes  an  inventory  of  their  entire 
furniture  and  contents,  and  asserts  that  all  these  likewise  are  the 
work  of  God.  For  his  purpose — ^which  is  to  delare  the  universal 
creatorship  of  God  and  the  uniform  creaturehood  of  all  Nature — ^the 
order  and  classification  are  unsurpassed  and  unsurpassable.  With  a 
masterly  survey  that  marks  everything  and  omits  nothing,  he  sweeps 
the  whole  category  of  created  existence,  collects  the  scattered  leaves 
'into  six  conffruous  groups,  encloses  each  in  a  compact  and  uniform 
binding,  and  then  on  the  back  of  the  numbered  ana  ordered  volumes 
stamps  the  great  title  and  declaration  that  they  are,  one  and  aU,  in 
every  jot,  and  tittle,  and  shred,  and  fragment,  the  works  of  their  Al- 
mighty  Author,  and  of  none  beside. 

"With  the  figment  of  a  supposed  physical  order  vanishes  also  the 
difficulty  of  the  days.  Their  use  is  not  literal,  but  ideal  and  pictorial 
That  the  author  was  not  thinking  of  actual  days  of  twenty-four  hours, 
with  a  matter-of-fact  dawning  of  morning  and  darkening  of  evening, 
is  evident  from  the  fact  that  ne  does  not  bring  the  sun  (the  lord  of 
the  day)  into  action  till  three  have  already  elapsed,  and  later  on  he 
exhibits  the  sun  as  itself  the  product  of  one  of  them.  Neither  is  it 
possible  that  the  days  stand  for  geological  epochs,  for  by  no  wrenching 
and  racking  can  they  be  made  to  correspond.  Morever,  it  is  quite 
certain  that  the  author  would  have  revolted  against  the  expansion  of 
his  timeless  acts  of  creative  omnipotence  into  long  ages  of  slow  evolu- 
tion, since  the  keynote  of  the  literary  significance  and  sublimity  of  his 
delineation  is  its  exhibition  of  the  created  result  following  in  instant- 
aneous sequence  on  the  creative  fiat.  The  actual  meaning  underlying 
the  use  of  the  days  is  suggested  in  the  rubrical  character  of  the  re- 
frain, as  it  appears  rouncSng  oflf  and  ending  each  fresh  stage  of  the 
narration — "And  there  was  evening,  and  Qiere  was  morning — day 
one,  day  two,  day  three,"  and  so  on.  The  great  sections  of 
Nature  are  to  be  made  pass  in  a  panorama  of  pictures,  and  to  be  pre- 
sented, each  for  itself,  as  the  distinct  act  of  God.  It  is  desirable  to 
enclose  each  of  these  pictures  in  a  frame,  clear-cut  and  complete. 


THE  FmST  CEAPTEB  OF  0BNB8I8,  11 

The  natural  unit  and  division  of  human  toil  is  a  day.    In  the  words 
of  the  poet) 

"Each  morning  sees  some  task  begin. 
Each  evening  sees  it  close.*' 

In  Old  Testam^it  parlance,  any  great  achievement  or  outstand- 
ing event  is  spoken  oi  as  ^^  a  day.  '  A  decisive  battle  is  known  as 
"  flie  day  of  Midian. "  God's  intervention  in  human  history  is  "  the 
day  of  tne  Lord. "  When  the  author  of  the  first  chapter  oi  Genesis 
would  present  the  several  elements  of  Kature  as  one  and  all  the 
outcome  of  Gtxi's  creative- energy,  the  successive  links  of  the  chain 
are  depicted  as  days.  Where  we  should  say  "  End  of  Part  I., "  he 
says  "  And  there  was  evening  and  there  was  morning — day  one. " 
Moreover,  it  is  needless  to  point  out  how  finely  from  this  presenta- 
tion of  the  timeless  fiats  of  creation  in  a  framework  of  days  emerges 
the  majestic  truth  that,  not  in  the  dead  order  of  nature,  nor  in  9ie 
mere  movement  of  the  stars,  but  in  the  nature  and  will  of  God,  who 
made  man  in  His  image,  must  be  sought  the  ultimate  origin,  sanc- 
tion, and  archetype  of  that  salutary  law  which  divides  man's  hfe 
on  earth  into  fixed  periods  of  toil,  rounded  and  crowned  by  a  Sab- 
bath of  repose. 

If  this  understanding  of  the  structural  arrangement  of  the  chap- 
ter be  correct,  we  have  reached  an  unportant  and  significant  con- 
clusion regarding  the  author's  method  and  design.  He  does  not 
suppose  hmiself  to  be  giving  the  matter-of-fact  sequence  of  creation's 
stages.  His  interest  does  not  lie  in  that  direction.  His  sole  concern 
is  to  declare  that  Kature,  in  bulk  and  in  detail,  is  the  manufacture 
of  God.  His  plan  does  not  include,  but  vp^o  facto  excludes  con- 
formity with  the  material  order  and  process.  He  writes  as  a  theolo- 
gian, and  not  as  a  scientist  or  historian.  Starting  from  this  fixed 
Eoint,  let  us  note  the  outstanding  features  and  engrossing  interest  of 
is  delineation.  We  shall  find  them  in  the  phrases  that,  like  a  re- 
frain, run  through  the  narrative  and  form  its  keynotes,  and  finally 
in  the  resultant  impression  left  by  its  general  tenor  and  purport. 

The  recurrent  kevnotes  of  the  narrative  are  three :  God's  naming 
His  works,  His  declaration  of  their  goodness,  and  the  swift  formula 
of  achievement — "  and  it  was  so. "  The  naming  is  not  a  childish 
triviality,  nor  a  mere  graphic  touch  or  poetical  ornament.  It  does 
not  mean  that  God  attached  to  His  works  the  vocables  by  which  in 
Hebrew  they  are  known.  Its  significance  appears  in  the  definition 
of  function  mto  which  in  the  latter  episodes  it  is  expanded.  Name 
in  Hebrew  speech  is  equivalent  to  Nature.  When  tne  story  pictures 
(Jod  as  naming  His  works,  it  vividly  brings  into  relief  the  fixed  law 
and  order  that  pervade  the  universe.  And  by  the  picturesque — if 
you  will,  anthropomorphic — fashion  of  the  statement,  it  attams  an 
effect  bcgrond  science  or  metaphysics,  inasmuch  as  it  irresistibly 


11  TEE  LIBRAUY  MAGAZINE, 

portrays  this  order  of  Nature  as  originatiiig  in  the  personal  act  of 
God,  and  directly  inspired  by  and  informed  wiSi  His  own  effluent  love 
of  what  is  good  and  true  and  orderly.  Thus  the  great  truth  of  the 
fixity  of  Nature  is  presented,  not  as  a  fact  of  science  or  a  quality  of 
matter,  but  as  rooted  in  and  reflecting  a  majestic  attribute  of  the 
character  of  God.  The  interest  is  not  scientific,  but  reli^ous.  In 
like  fashion,  the  unfailing  declaration  of  goodness,  thou^  it  might 
seem  a  small  detail, is repfete  with practicaiand reli^ous significance. 

The  pa^an  doctrines  of  creation  are  all  more  or  &ss  contaminated 
by  dualistio  or  Manichean  conceptions.  The  good  Creator  is  baffled, 
thwarted,  and  impeded  by  a  brutish  or  mali^ant  tendency  in 
matter,  which  on  the  one  hand  mars  the  perfection  of  creation,  and 
on  the  other  hand  inserts  in  the  physical  order  of  things  elements  of 
hostility  and  malevolence  to  man.  It  is  a  thought  that  at  once 
degrades  the  Creator  and  denudes  Nature,  as  man's  abode,  of  its 
beauty,  comfort  and  kindliness.  How  different  is  it  in  the  Bible 
picture  of  creation  I  This  God  has  outside  Himself  no  rival,  ex- 
periences no  resistance  nor  contradiction,  knows  no  failure  nor  im- 
perfection in  His  handiwork ;  but  what  He  wishes  He  wiUs,  and 
what  He  commands  is  done,  and  the  result  answers  absolutely  to 
the  intention  of  His  wisdom,  love  and  power.  In  its  relation  to  its 
Maker,  the  work  is  free  from  any  flaw.  In  its  relation  to  man,  it 
contains  nothing  malevolent  or  maleficent.  It  is  good.  And,  once 
again,  mark  wim  what  skiU  in  the  delineation  the  light  is  thrown, 
not  on  the  work,  but  on  the  Worker,  and  the  goodness  of  creation 
becomes  but  a  mirror  to  drink  in  and  flash  forth  the  infinite  wis- 
dom, might,  and  goodness  of  its  Divine  Maker.  Here  also  the  in- 
terest is  not  metaphysical,  but  practical  and  religious. 

A  third  comnuinding  aim  of  the  narrative  appears  in  the  signifi- 
cant and  striking  use  of  the  formula — "  and  it  was  so. "  With  ab- 
solute uniformity  the  Divine  fiat  is  immediately  followed  by  the 
physical  fulfillment.  There  is  no  painting  of  the  process,  no  ddinea- 
tion  of  slow  and  gradual  operations  of  material  forces.  Not  once  is 
there  any  mention  of  secondary  causes,  nor  the  faintest  suggestion 
of  intermediate  agencies.  The  Creator  wiUs ;  the  thing  is.  In  this 
exclusion  from  the  scene  of  all  subordinate  studies  there  is  artistic 
design — ^profound  design.  The  picture  becomes  one,  not  of  scenery, 
but  of  action.  It  is  not  a  landscape,  but  a  portrait.  The  canvas 
contains  but  two  solitary  objects,  the  Creator  and  His  work.  The 
effect  is  to  throw  out  of  sight  methods,  materials,  processes,  and  to 
throw  into  intense  relief  the  aet  and  the  Actor.  And  the  supreme 
and  ultimate  result  on  the  beholder's  mind  is  to  produce  a  quite 
overpowering  and  majestic  impression  of  the  glorious  personality  of 
the  Creator. 

Here  we  have  reached  the  sovereign  theme  of  the  narrative,  and 


THE  FIRST  CHAPTER  OF  GENESIS,  18 

have  detected  the  false  note  that  is  struck  at  the  outset  of  every 
attempt  to  interpret  it  as  in  any  degree  or  fashion  a  physical  record 
of  creation,  In  very  deed  and  truth  the  concern  of  the  cnapter  is  not 
creation,  but  the  chai*acter,  being,  and  glory  of  the  Ahnighty  Maker. 
If  we  excerpt  God's  speeches  and  the  rubrical  formulas,  the  chapter 
consists  of  one  continuous  chain  of  verbs,  instinct  with  life  and 
motion,  linked  on  in  swift  succession,  and  with  hardly  an  exception 
the  subject  of  every  one  of  them  is  God.  It  is  one  long  adoring 
delineation  of  God  loving,  yearning,  willing,  working  in  creation.  Its 
interest  is  not  in  the  work,  but  the  W  orker.  Its  subject  is  not  creation, 
but  the  Creator.  What  it  gives  is  not  a  world,  but  a  God.  It  is  not 
geology.    It  is  theology. 

Why  do  we  so  assert,  pccentuate,  and  reiterate  this  to  be  the  cen- 
tral theme  of  the  chapter  ?  Because  through  the  scientific  trend  and 
bias  of  modem  inquiry  the  essential  design  of  the  chapter  has  got 
warped,  cramped,  and  twisted  till  its  majestic  features  have  been 
pushed  almost  clean  out  of  view,  and  all  attention  is  concentrated  on 
one  trivial,  mean,  and  unreal  point  in  its  physiognomy.  Its  claim  to  be 
accounted  an  integral  part  oi  a  real  revelation  is  made  to  hinge  on 
its  magical  anticipation  of,  and  detailed  correspondence  with,  the 
chan^ful  theories  of  modem  geology.  The  idea  is,  in  our  humble 
but  decided  opinion,  dangerous,  baseless,  and  indefensible.  The 
chapter  may  not  forestall  one  single  scientific  discovery.  It  may  not 
tally  with  one  axiom  or  dogma  of  geology.  JSTevertheless,  it  remains 
a  unique,  undeniable,  and  glorious  monument  of  revelation,  second 
only  m  worth  and  splendor  to  the  record  of  God's  incarnation  of  His 
whole  heart  and  being  in  the  person  of  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord  and 
Kedeemer. 

Consider  what  this  chapter  has  actually  accomplished  in  the  world, 
and  set  that  against  all  theories  of  what  it  ought  to  be  doing.  For 
our  knowledge  of  the  true  God  and  the  realization  of  mankind's 
higher  life  it  nas  done  a  work  beside  which  any  question  of  corres- 
pondence or  non-correspondence  with  science  sinks  into  unmention- 
able insignificance.  Place  side  by  side  with  it  the  chief  est  and  best 
of  the  Pagan  cosmogonies,  and  appreciate  its  sweetness,  purity,  and 
elevation  over  against  their  grotesqueness,  their  shallowness,  and  their 
degradation  alike  of  the  human  and  the  Divine.  Realize  the  world 
whose  darkness  they  re-echo,  the  world  into  which  emerged  this 
radiant  picture  of  God's  glory  and  man's  dignity,  and  think  what  it 
has  done  for  that  poor  world.  It  found  heaven  filled  with  a  horde 
of  gods — monstrous,  impure,  and  horrible,  gigantic  embodiments  of 
brate  force  and  lust,  or  at  best  cold  abstractions  of  cosmical  princi- 
ples, whom  men  could  fear,  but  not  love,  honor,  or  revere.  It  found 
man  in  a  world  dark  and  unhomelike,  bowing  down  in  abject  wor- 
ship to  beasts  and  birds,  and  stocks  and  stones,  trembling  with 


14  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

craven  cowardice  before  the  elements  and  forces  of  Nature,  enslaved 
in  a  degrading  bondage  of  physical  superstition,  fetishism,  and  poly- 
theism. With  one  sweep  oi  inspired  might  the  truth  enshrined  m 
this  chapter  has  changed  all  tnat,  wherever  it  has  come.  It  has 
cleansed  the  heaven  of  those  foul  gods  and  monstrous  worships,  and 
leaves  men  on  bended  knees  in  the  presence  of  the  one  true  God,  their 
Father  in  heaven,  who  made  the  world  for  their  use,  and  then  for 
Himself,  and  whose  tender  mercies  are  over  all  His  works.  From 
moral  and  mental  slavery  it  has  emancipated  man,  for  it  has  taken 
the  physical  objects  of  his  fear  and  worship,  and,  dashing  them  down 
from  their  usurped  pre-eminence,  has  put  them  all  under  nis  feet,  to  be 
his  ministers  and  servants  in  working  out  on  earth  his  eternal  destiny. 
These  conceptions  of  God,  Man,  and  Nature  have  been  the  regen- 
eration of  humanity;  the  springs  of  progress  in  science,  invention, 
and  civilization ;  the  charter  of  the  dignity  of  human  life,  and  the 
foundation  of  liberty,  virtue,  and  reEgion.  The  man  who  in  view 
of  such  a  record  can  ask  with  anxious  concern  whether  a  revelation, 
carrying  in  its  bosom  such  a  wealth  of  heavenly  truth,  does  not  also 
have  concealed  in  its  shoe  a  bird's-eye  view  of  geology,  must  surely 
be  a  man  blind  to  all  literary  likelihood,  destitute  or  any  sense  of 
congruity  and  the  general  fitness  of  things,  and  cannot  but  seem  to 
us  as  one  that  mocks.  The  chapter's  title  to  be  reckoned  a  revelation 
rests  on  no  such  magical  and  recondite  quality,  but  is  stamped  four- 
square on  the  face  of  its  essential  character  and  contents.  Whence 
could  this  absolutely  unique  conception  of  God,  in  His  relation  to  the 
world  and  man,  have  been  derived  except  from  God  Himself? 
Whence  into  a  world  so  dark,  and  void,  ana  formless,  did  it  emei^ 
fair  and  radiant  ?  There  is  no  answer  but  one.  God  said,  "  Let 
there  be  light ;  and  there  was  light." 

The  specific  revelation  of  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  must  be 
sought  in  its  moral  and  spiritual  contents.  But  may  there  not  be,  in 
addition,  worked  into  its  material  framework,  some  anticipation  of 
scientific  truths  that  have  since  come  to  light?  What  were  the  good 
of  it,  when  the  Divine  message  could  be  wioUy  and  better  expressed 
by  the  sole  use  of  popular  language,  intelligible  in  every  age  and  by 
all  classes?  It  is  dignified  to  depict  the  spirit  of  inspiration  stand- 
ing on  tiptoe,  and  straining  to  speak,  across  the  long  millenniums 
and  over  the  head  of  the  world's  childhood,  to  the  wise  and  learned 
scientists  of  the  nineteeth  century?  It  is  never  the  manner  of 
Scripture  to  anticipate  natural  research,  or  to  forestall  human 
industry.  God  means  men  to  discover  physical  truth  from  the 
great  took  of  Nature.  What  truth  of  science,  what  mechanical  in- 
vention, what  beneficent  discovery  in  medicine,  agriculture,  navigsr 
tion,  or  any  other  art  or  industry,  has  ever  been  gleaned  from  study 
of  the  Bible?    Not  one.      These  things  lie  outside  the  scope  of 


THE  FIB8T  CHAPTER  OF  GENE81B.  15 

revelation,  and  Gk)d  is  \h4  Gkxi  of  order.  Moreover,  in  Scripture  it- 
self the  framework  of  the  ohapter  is  not  counted  dogmatic  nor  uni- 
formly adhered  to.  In  the  second  chapter  of  Genesis,  in  Job,  in  the 
Psahns,  and  in  Proverbs  there  are  manifold  deviations  and 
variations.  The  material  setting  is  handled  with  the  freedom  appli- 
cable to  the  pictorial  dress  of  a  parable,  wherein  things  transcend- 
ental are  depicted  in  earthier  symbols.  In  truth,  this  is  essentially 
the  character  of  the  composition. 

We  have  seen  that  the  delineation,  classification,  and  arrangement 
are  not  scientific  and  not  philosophical,  but  popular,  practical,  and 
religious.  It  is  everywhere  manifest  that  the  mterest  is  not  in  the 
process  of  creation,  but  in  the  fact  of  its  origination  in  God.  While 
science  Ungers  on  the  physical  operation,  &enesis  designedly  over- 
leaps it,  for  the  same  reason  that  tne  Gospels  do  not  deign  to  suggest 
the  material  substratum  of  Christ's  miracles.  Creation  is  a  compos- 
ite process.  It  be^ias  in  the  spiritual  world  and  terminates  in  the 
material  It  is  in  its  first  stage  supernatural ;  in  its  second,  natural. 
It  originates  in  God  desiring,  decreeing,  issuing  formative  force ;  it 

Eroceeds  in  matter,  moving,  cohering,  moulding,  and  shaping.  Reve- 
ttion  and  science  regard  it  from  opposite  ends.  The  one  looks  at 
it  from  its  beginning,  the  other  from  its  termination.  The  Bible 
shows  us  Grod  creating ;  geology  shows  us  the  world  being  created. 
Scripture  deals  solely  with  the  first  stage,  science  solely  with  the 
second.  Where  Scripture  stops  there  science  first  b^ns.  Contra- 
diction, confiict,  collision  are  impossible.  In  the  wor£  of  the  Duke 
of  Argyll : — 

"The  first  chapter  of  Genesis  stands  alone  among  the  traditions  of  mankind  In  the 
wonderful  simplicity  and  grandeur  of  its  words.  Specially  remarkable — miraculous, 
ft  reaUy  seems  to  me— is  that  character  of  reserve  whidi  leaves  open  to  reason  all.that 
reason  mav  be  able  to  attain.  The  meaning  of  these  words  seems  always  to  be  a 
meaning  anead  of  science,  not  because  it  antidpates  the  results  of  science,  but  because 
it  is  independent  of  them,  and  runs,  as  it  were,  round  ^e  outer  margin  of  all  possible 
diflcovery." 

May  we  not  safely  extend  this  finding  to  the  entire  Bible,  and  on 
these  lines  define  its  relation  to  modem  thought?  Its  supernatural 
revelation  is  purely  and  absolutely  ethical  and  spiritual.  In  questions 
physical  and  metaphysical  it  has  no  concern  and  utters  no  voice. 
With  the  achievements  of  science  it  never  competes,  nor  can  it  be 
contradicted  by  them.  It  encourages  its  researches,  ennobles  its 
aspirations,  crowns  and  completes  its  discoveries.  Into  the  dead 
bcKiy  of  physical  truth  it  puts  the  living  soul  of  faith  in  the  Divine 
Autnor.  Like  the  blue  heaven  surrounding  and  spanning  over  the 
green  earth,  revelation  over-arches  and  encircles  science.  Within 
mat  infinite  embrace,  beneath  that  spacious  dome,  drawing  from  its 
azure  depths  light  and  life  and  fructifying  warmth,  science,  unhamp- 
ered and  unhindered,  works  out  its  majestic  mission  of  blessing  to 


16  THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

men  and  glory  to  God.  Collision  there  can  be  none  tiU  tlie  earth 
strike  the  sky.  The  messsage  of  the  Bible  is  a  message  from  God's 
heart  to  ours.  It  cannot  be  proved  by  reason  nor  can  it  be  dispi*oved. 
It  appears,  not  to  sight,  but  to  faith,  and  belongs  to  the  realm  of 
spirit,  and  not  to  that  of  sense.  Science  may  have  much  to  alter  in 
our  notions  of  its  earthly  embodiment,  but  its  essential  contents  it 
cannot  touch.  That  is  not  theorjr,  but  reality.  It  is  not  philosophy, 
but  life ;  not  flesh,  but  spirit.  It  is  the  living,  breathing,  leeUng  love 
of  God  become  articulate.  It  needs  no  evidence  of  sense.  In  the 
immutable  instincts  of  the  human  heart  it  has  its  attestation,  and  in 
a  life  of  responsive  love  it  finds  an  unfailing  verification.  It  rests 
on  a  basis  no  sane  criticism  can  undermine  nor  solid  science  shake. 
Happy  the  man  whose  faith  has  found  this  fixed  foundation,  and. 
whose  heart  possesses  this  adamantine  certainty:  "He  shall  be 
likened  unto  a  wise  man,  which  buUt  his  house  upon  a  rock :  And 
he  rain  descended,  and  the  floods  came,  and  the  winds  blew,  and 
beat  upon  that  house ;  and  it  fell  not :  for  it  was  founded  upon  a 
rock.  ^' —  Pbof.  W.  Gray  Elmslie,  in  The  Contemporary  Review. 


CAPTUEED  BRIDES  IN  FAE  CATHAY. 

History  tells  us  that  there  are  almost  as  many  ways  of  marrying 
a  wife  as  there  are  roads  to  Eome.  When  the  world  was  young, 
capture  was  the  form  which  commended  itself  to  young  Inen  in  the 
older  continents,  just  as  at  the  present  day  Austrahan  youths  depend 
on  the  strength  oi  their  right  arm  for  their  supply  of  consorts.  But 
the  advance  of  civilization  has  changed  aU  that,  and  by  a  constant 
succession  of  progressive  stages,  the  rite  has  reached  the  highest 
pitch  of  development,  in  which  the  liberty  of  choice  is  allowed  its 
fullest  latitude.  But  there  is  yet  some  old  leaven  remaining;  and  as 
traces  of  ancient  sun-worship  are  still  unconsciously  preserved  in  ec- 
clesiastical architecture,  so  in  the  most  complex  marriage  rite  of 
modem  days,  a  survival  of  the  primitive  practice  of  capture  is  plain- 
ly observable.  The  bridegroom  takes  his  ''best  man" — ^that  is  to  say, 
the  strongest  and  most  oaring  among  his  associates — and  goes  to 
carry  off  nis  bride  in  defiance  of  her  protecting  bridesmaids,  who,  in 
these  degenerate  days,  exhaust  their  energies  by  hurling  satin  shoes 
at  the  retreating  but  triumphant  bridegroom. 

"Lo.  how  the  woman  once  was  wooed  I 
Forth  leapt  the  savage  from  his  lair. 
He  felled  her,  and  to  nuptials  rude 
He  dragged  her,  bleeding,  by  the  hair, 
From  that  to  Chloe's  dainty  wiles, 
And  Portia's  dignified  consent, 
What  distance?'^ 


CAPTURBD  BRIBES  IN  FAB  CA  TEA  F.  17 

Ay,  so  great  a  distance,  that  we  Westerns  can  scarcely  recognize 
in  the  modem  rite  of  holy  Mother  Church  the  root  from  which  it 
sprang  but  m  the  East,  that  treasury  of  antiquities,  we  find  the  stages 
in  Uielong  road  which  separates  the  two  extremes  clearly  marked  out 
and  still  serving  as  halting<places  for  the  people  who  are  j)erpetu- 
ally  marching  onward  to  a  mgher  goal.  The  Kirghis,  for  instance, 
are  stiU  at  the  end  only  of  the  mst  lap  in  the  race.  The  wild  savagery 
of  the  primitive  assault  has  disappeared,  and  a  preliminary  under- 
standing between  the  friends  of  the  bride  and  her  suitors  nas  been 
arrived  at,  but  still  Uie  prize  has  to  be  won  by  capture;  and  so  on 
the  wedding  day  the  bride  mounts  a  swift  horse  and  starts  from  the 
door  of  her  father's  tent,  pursued  by  all  the  young  men  who  make 
pretensions  to  her  hand.  The  one  who  catches  her  claims  her  as  his 
own;  and  as,  in  addition  to  the  protecting  fleetness  of  her  horse,  she 
has  the  right  of  defending  herself  with  her  whip  against  unwelcome 
suitors,  the  invariable  result  follows  that  the  favored  lover  is  the 
successful  one. 

On  a  par  with  these  dwellers  in  the  desert  are  certain  tribes  of 
Lolos  of  Western  China,  among  whom  it  is  customary  for  the  bride 
on  the  wedding  mominff,  to  perch  herself  on  the  highest  branch  of 
a  large  tree,  while  tJie  elder  female  members  of  her  family  cluster  on 
the  lower  limbs,  armed  with  sticks.  When  aU  are  duly  stationed, 
the  brid^room  clambers  up  the  tree,  assailed  on  all  sides  by  blows, 
pushes,  and  pinches  from  tne  dowagers;  and  it  is  not  until  he  has 
broken  through  their  fence  and  captured  the  bride,  that  he  is  allowed 
to  carry  her  off.  Similar  difficulties  assail  the  brideffroom  among 
the  Mongolian  Koraks,  who  are  in  the  habit  of  celebrating  their 
marriages  in  large  tents,  divided  into  numerous  separate  but  com- 
municating compartments.  At  a  e;iven  signal,  so  soon  as  the  guests 
are  assembled,  the  bride  starts  oflf  throuffh  the  compartments,  follow- 
ed by  her  wooer,  while  the  women  of  the  encampment  throw  every 
possible  inmediment  in  his  way,  "tripping  up  his  unwary  feet,  hola- 
ing  down  the  curtains  to  prevent  his  passage,  and  applying  willow 
and  alder  switches  unmercifully  as  he  stoops  to  raise  them."  As 
with  the  maiden  on  the  horse,  and  the  virgin  on  the  tree-top,  the 
Eorak  bride  is  invariably  captured,  however  much  the  possibilities 
of  escape  may  be  in  her  favor. 

The  capture  assumes  another  and  a  commoner  form  among  other 
Lolo  tribes  of  China,  by  whom  the  rite  is  ordinarily  spread  over  sev- 
«pal  days.  During  the  long-drawn-out  function,  alternate  feasting 
and  lamentation  are  the  order  of  the  day — a  kind  of  antiphonal  chant 
beinfir  kept  up  at  intervals  between  the  parents  and  their  daughter. 
Mr.  E.  C.  Baber,  in  lu9  Tra/veU  and  Be9eQ/rche9  in  th^  Interior  of 
ChvMk^  says; 


18  THE  LIBBAJRT  MAGAZINE, 

"A  crisis  of  toarfulness  ensues,  when  suddenly  the  brothers,  cousins,  and  friends 
•f  the  husband  burst  upon  the  scene  with  tumult  and  loud  shouting,  seize  the  almost 
distraught  maid,  place  her  pick-a-back  on  the  shoulders  of  the  'best  man,'  carry  her 
hurrie^y  and  violently  away,  and  mount  her  on  a  horse,  which  gallops  off  to  her  new 
home.  Violence  is  rather  more  than  simulated;  for  though  the  male  friends  of  the 
bride  only  repel  the  attacking  party  with  showers  of  flour  and  wood-ashes,  the  attend- 
ants are  armed  with  sticks,  which  they  have  the  fullest  liberty  to  wield." 

Traces  of  the  same  primitivie  custom  are  observable  in  the  mar- 
riages of  the  Miao  tribes  in  south-western  China.  The  women  of 
one  tribe,  without  waiting  for  the  attack,  simulated  or  otherwise,  of 
their  wooers,  go  through  the  wedding  ceremonies,  such  as  they  are, 
with  disheveled  hair  and  naked  feet.  Other  branches  of  the  same 
people  dispense  with  every  form  of  marriage  rite.  "With  the  return 
of  each  spring  the  marriageable  lads  and  lasses  erect  a  "devil's  staflf," 
or  May-pole,  decked  with  ribbons  and  flowers,  and  dance  round  it 
to  the  tune  of  the  men's  castanets.  Choice  is  made  by  the  young 
men  of  the  particular  maids  who  take  their  fancy,  and  if  these  re- 
ciprocate the  admiration  of  their  wooers,  the  pairs  stray  off  to  the 
neighboring  hills  and  valleys  for  the  enjoyment  of  a  short  honey-moon, 
after  which  the  husbands  seek  out  their  brides'  parents,  and  agree  as 
to  the  amount  in  kind  which  they  shall  pay  them  as  compensation 
for  the  loss  of  their  daughters.  Among  other  clans  the  young  people 
repair  to  the  hillsides  in  the  "leaping  month,"  and  play  at  catch  with 
colored  balls  adorned  with  long  strings.  The  act  of  tying  two  balls 
together,  with  the  consent  of  the  owners  of  both,  is  considered  a 
sumcient  preliminary  for  the  same  kind  of  aZ  fresco  marriage  as  that 

J'ust  described.  In  the  province  of  Kwang-se  a  kind  of  omcial  sano- 
ion  is  given  these  spontaneous  alliances.  The  young  men  and  wom- 
en of  the  neighboring  aboriginal  tribes  assemble  on  a  given  day  in 
the  courtyards  of  the  prefects'  ya/muns,  and  seat  themselves  on  the  . 
ground,  tne  men  on  one  side  oi  the  yards  and  the  women  on  the 
other.  As  his  inclination  suggests,  each  young  man  crosses  over  and 
seats  himself  by  the  lady  of  his  choice.    He  then,  in  the  words  of  the  I 

Chinese  historian,  "breathes  into  her  mouth;"  and  if  this  attention 
is  accepted  in  good  part,  the  couple  pair  off  without  more  ado.  The 
act  thus  described  is  probably  that  of  kissing;  but  as  that  form  of 
salutation  is  entirely  unknown  among  the  Chmese,  the  historian  is 
driven  to  describe  it  by  a  circumlocution. 

In  the  province  of  Yunnan  the  native  tribes  have  adopted  much 
of  the  Chinese  ceremonial,  though  they  stiU  preserve  some  of  their 

Eeculiar  customs.  By  these  people  much  virtue  is  held  to  be  in  the 
ath  taken  by  the  bride  on  her  wedding  mominff,  and  in  the  imctu- 
ous  anointment  of  her  whole  body  with  rose-maioes  which  succeeds 
the  ablution.  But  among  the  Kakhyens  on  the  Burmese  frontier, 
the  relics  of  capture  become  again  conspicuous.  When  the  day  which 


CAPTUEED  BRIDES  IN  TAR  QATRA  T.  19 

18  to  make  a  £akli;^en  joxxng  man  and  maiden  one  arrives,  we  are  told 
by  Dr.  Anderson,  in  his  Mmdelay  to  Monson — 

' '  Five  young  men  and  girls  set  out  from  the  bridegroom's  village  to  that  of  the  bride, 
where  they  wait  tiU  nightfall  in  a  neighboring  house.  At  dusk  the  bride  is  brought 
thither  by  one  of  the  stranger  girls,  as  it  were,  without  the  knowledge  of  her  parents, 
and  told  that  these  men  have  come  to  claim  her.  They  all  set  out  at  once  for  the 
bridegroom's  village.  In  the  morning  the  bride  is  placed  under  a  closed  canopy  out- 
side the  bridegroom's  house.  PresenUy  there  arrives  a  party  of  youne  men  from  her 
village,  to  search,  as  they  say,  for  one  of  their  ^Is  who  has  been  stolen.  They  are 
invited  to  look  under  the  canopy,  and  bidden,  if  thev  wish,  to  take  the  girl  away;  but, 
they  reply,  'It  is  well;  let  her  remin  where  she  is.'  " 

This  practice  is  identical  with  the  custom  which  prevailed  among 
the  Maoris  of  New  Zealand  before  they  learned  from  our  country- 
men that  there  were  other  and  more  civilized  ways  of  entering  the 
state  of  matrimony. 

The  Le  people  of  Hainan,  like  the  Sollgas  of  India  and  the  Kookies 
of  Ohittagong,  have  no  marriage  ceremony.  A  mutual  inclination 
is  aU  that  is  considered  necessary  to  constitute  a  union,  though  su- 
preme importance  is  attached  to  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  the 
contract.  The  man,  to  mark  the  bride  as  his  own,  tattoos  her  face 
with  a  pattern  which  may  be  described  as  his  coat  of  arms,  it  being 
the  insignia  of  his  family;  and  with  the  same  tracery  he  covers  her 
hands. 

Among  the  lowland  Formosans  there  is  an  approach  in  some  mat- 
ters to  tne  Chinese  ritual.  The  happy  pair  constitute  themselves 
man  and  wife  by  pouring  out  hbations  to  heaven  and  earth,  and  by 
worshiping  at  their  ancestral  shrines;  but  in  the  preliminary  stage 
they  are  unhampered  by  any  such  civiHzed  custom.  The  young  man 
having  fixed  his  affections  on  a  particular  maid,  serenades  her  with 
all  the  music  at  his  command,  and  she,  if  she  favors  his  suit,  allows 
herself  to  be  enticed  by  the  melody  in  x)  his  company.  But  after  the 
manner  of  the  Turkomans,  so  soon  as  the  marriage  ceremony  is  over 
the  bride  returns  to  her  father's  house,  and  the  husband  is  only  per- 
mitted to  hold  communication  with  her  by  stealth,  going  at  nigntf  all 
to  her  home,  and  returning  at  early  dawn,  until  he  has  reached  the 
age  of  forty,  or  until  her  first  child  is  born.  After  either  of 
these  events  she  assumes  her  natural  place  as  mistress  of  his  house- 
hold. 

Although  one  and  all  of  these  customs  are  held  in  supreme  con- 
tempt by  orthodox  Chinamen,  they  themselves  preserve  in  their 
marria^  rites  many  traces  of  the  ancient  usage  which  these  sjrmbol- 
ize.  lor  instance,  a  Chinese  groom  always  sends  a  company  of  men 
for  his  bride,  and  very  commonly  at  night,  as  though  to  make  his 
assault  easier  and  a  rescue  more  difficult,  as  used  to  be  the  case  in 
Sweden,  where  marriages  were  commonly  celebrated  at  night  and 
under  the  protection  oi  armed  men*.    But  at  tho  foundation  of  the 


\ 


20  THE  LIBBABT  MAGAZINE. 

Chinese  maxriage  oode  is  the  law  which  forbids  a  man  to  marry  a 
bride  of  the  same  surnamo  as  himself.  As  each  surname  is  supposed 
to  represent  a  clan,  this  law  of  exogamy  points  backward  to  a  time 
when  even  the  ceremcHiial  Chinaman  captured  his  bride  from  a 
f ore^n  tribe,  as  possibly  the  existence  of  female  infanticide  may  be 
a  reaction  of  a  tune  when  the  Chinese  found  their  daughters  objects 
of  attack  and  their  sons  sources  of  strength.  It  is  a  snggestive  fact 
aJsOj  that  the  symbol  representing  the  word  Sin^ — ^a  "  tm)e,  clan,  or 
surname" — ^is  composed  of  two  parts,  which  mean  "bom  of  a 
woman."  This  plainly  has  reference  to  a  time  before  the  institution 
of  marriage,  when,  on  account  of  promiscuity  of  intercourse,  or  of  the 
custom  of  polyandry,  kinship  was  reckoned  through  the  females, 
and  not  through  the  males.  Another  feature  among  the  Chinese, 
which  may  possibly  point  to  a  polyandrous  origin,  is  the  fact  that,  as 
among  the  Tamul  and  Telusu  people  of  Southern  India,  paternal 
uncles  are  usually  called  f  atners,  the  eldest  being  Pohfu^v  Tafu^ 
"eldest  father^'  or  "great  father,"  and  the  younger  Slmhfu^  or 
"younger  father."  But  a  still  further  piece  of  evidence  is  furnished 
by  the  circmnstance that  cousins  are  called  Tang  hiung-U^  or  ^^ome 
brothers,"  showing  that  the  sons  of  brothers  were  at  one  time  reckoned 
as  brothers  to  each  other. 

As,  however,  orthodox  Chinese  history  beeins  at  a  period  when 
the  rites  of  marriage  were  in  full  force,  it  is  omy  by  these  faint  echoes 
of  a  stiU  earlier  period  that  we  can  tmce  back  the  ritualistic  China- 
man to  the  level  of  less  civilized  races.  But  even  in  Chinese  history 
we  find  references  to  ancient  sages  whose  mothers'  names  only  were 
recognized,  their  fathers'  being  unknown  even  to  tradition,  in  this 
difficulty,  the  annalists  have  had  resort  to  the  dev^exmcbchindj  com- 
monly pnxluced  to  explain  any  fact  unintelligible  to  them,  and  teU 
us  that  to  miracle  must  be  ascribed  the  event  which  has  dropped  out 
of  history.  Thus  Fuh-he  fs.  o.  3852-2737),  the  legendary  founder  of 
Chinese  civilization,  is  said  to  have  been  conoeivea  in  consequence  of 
his  mother  treading  in  the  footstep  of  a  god  when  wandering  on  an 
island  in  the  western  river.  But  it  was  by  this  fatherless  Puh-he 
that  the  marriage  rite  was,  according  to  tradition,  first  instituted ; 
and  the  light  in  which  it  was  anciently  regarded  may  be  gathered 
from  the  symbols  which  at  an  early  penod  were  adopted  to  express 
the  words  signifying  "to  marry"  as  applied  respectively  to  the 
marriage  of  the  man  and  of  the  woman.  The  man  is  saiS  to  Ts^u 
his  bride — ^that  is  to  say,  in  accordance  with  the  gloss  put  on  the  ex- 
pression by  the  symbol,  "to  seize  on  the  woman ;"  while  the  lady  is 
said  to  JJ^,  or  "  woman  the  household  "  of  her  husband. 

The  ceremonies  employed  in  Chinese  marriages  differ  widely  in 
the  various  provinces  and  districts.  In  all,  however,  a  "  go  between" 
is  ingaged  to  find,  in  the  first  mstance,  a  fitting  bride  for  the  would- 


OAPTXmED  BRIDES  IN  PAR  CATEAY.  21 

be  bridegroom ;  to  conduct  the  prelimmary  proceeding  of  bringing 
the  parents  to  terms ;  and  to  see  to  the  casting  of  the  horoscopes  and 
the  exchange  of  presents.  The  gifts  presented  are  of  infinite  variety ; 
but  in  almost  every  case  a  goose  and  a  gander,  the  recognized  emblems 
of  conjugal  fidelity,  figure  conspicuously  among  the  offerings  made 
by  the  bridegroom.  The  choice  of  these  birds  is  so  strange,  that  one 
is  apt  to  consider  it  as  one  of  the  peculiar  iffkcomes  of  the  topsy- 
turvy Chinese  mind,  which  regards  the  left  hand  as  thd  place  of 
honor,  and  the  stomach  as  the  seat  of  the  intellect.    But  this  is  not 

Juite  so,  for  we  find  from  George  Sand  that  at  the  marriage  of 
'rench  peasants  in  Berry,  a  goose  was  commonly  borne  in  the  bride- 
groom's procession. 

For  several  davs  before  the  wedding  the  Chinese  bride  and  her 
companions  go  through  the  form  of  uttering  cries  and  lamentations 
at  the  prospect  of  the  fate  in  store  for  her ;  but  it  may  be  safely 
assumed  that 

"  What  she  thinks  from  what  she^U  say. 
Lies  fdr  as  Scotland  from  Catliay." 

And  certainly,  as  a  rule,  on  the  marriage-mom  no  traces  of  ffrief 
mar  the  features  of  the  victim.  So  soon  as  the  arrival  of  the  ^n)est 
man"  is  announced,  a  large  red  silk  wrapper  is  thrown  over  the 
bride's  head  and  face,  and  thus  veiled  she  is  conducted  by  the  ^^  best 
man"  to  the  wedding  sedan-chair  in  waiting.  Accompanied  by 
music,  and  escorted  by  forerunners  and  followers,  she  is  carried  to 
the  door  of  her  new  house.  As  the  chair  stops,  the  bridegroom 
comes  out  and  taps  the  door  with  his  fan,  upon  which  it  is  opened 
by  the  bridesmaids,  who  help  the  bride  to  abght.  She  is  not,  how- 
ever, allowed  to  enter  the  house  in  the  ordinary  way,  but  is  carried 
across  the  threshold  on  the  back  of  a  servant,  and  over  a  charcoal 
fire.  The  act  of  carrying  her  into  the  house,  wrapped  in  her  red 
silk  covering;,  suggests  the  idea  that  the  practice  may  be  a  survival 
of  some  such  custom  as  that  still  in  vofi^e  on  such  occasions  among 
the  Ehonds  of  Orissa.  On  this  point  General  Campbell,  in  his 
Personal  Na/mxtvce  of  Service  m  Khondista/Tiy  writes : — 

*'Isawaman  bearing  away  upon  his  back  something  enveloped  in  an  ample 
covering  of  scarlet  cloth;  he  "was  surrounded  by  twenty  or  thirty  young  fellows,  and 
by  them  protected  from  the  desperate  attacks  made  upon  him  by  a  party  of  youns 
women.  On  seeking  an  explanation  of  this  novel  scene,  I  was  told  that  the  man  haa 
just  been  married,  and  his  precioufl  burden  was  his  blooming  bride,  whom  he  was 
conveying  to  his  own  village." 

What  may  be  the  meaning  of  lifting  the  bride  over  a  charcoal  fire 
it  is  difficult  to  say.  It  has  oeen  suggested  that  it  may  either  be  an 
aot  of  purification,  or  the  fire  may  possibly  have  been  originally  in- 
tended to  serve  as  a  bar  against  the  rescuing  force,  and  to  prevent 
the  possibility  of  escape  on  the  part  of  the  bnde.    But  having  once 


n 


TBE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINE. 


been  safely  deposited  in  the  reception  hall,  the  lady  prostrates  her- 
self before  her  husband,  and  submits  to  have  her  rea  veil  lifted  by 
her  lord  with  a  fan — a  custom  which,  again,  finds  a  parallel  among 
the  peasants  of  Berry,  where,  we  are  toM,  '*  On  assayait  trois  jeunes 
filles  aveo  la  marine  sur  un  banc,  on  les  couvrait  i'un  drap,^t,  sans 
les  toucher  autrement  qu'aveo  une  petite  baguette,  le  marie  devait, 
du  premier  coup  d'l^il,  deviner  et  designer  sa  femmeo''  Worshiping 
heaven,  earth,  and  their  ancestors,  followed  by  a  mutual  pledge  in 
wine,  completes  the  ceremony,  after  which,  amone  the  well-to-do 
classes,  the  voung  people  take  up  their  abode  in  the  household  of 
the  husband's  parents.  In  some  parts  of  the  Canton  province,  how- 
ever, it  is  the  custom,  as  also  among  the  Formosans,  for  the  bride  to 
return  to  her  father's  house  immediately  on  the  conclusion  of  the 
marriaee  ceremony.  In  such  cases  the  husband  is  for  three  years 
only  aUowed  to  gain  stolen  interviews  with  his  wife,  and  it  is  only 
at  the  end  of  that  period  that  she  becomes  part  of  his  household. 

The  adoption  of  these  more  permissive  forms  of  marriage  has  had 
the  unexpected  effect  of  encoura^g  young  girls  to  prot^t  against 
the  evils  .arising  from  the  prevailing  system  of  concubinage,  by  re- 
belling against  marriage  altogether,  and  the  result  has  been  the  for- 
mation in  parts  of  the  Conton  province  of  large  and  increasing  anti- 
matrimonial  associations. 

*'  The  existence  of  the  Amazonian  League  has  long  been  known,  but  as  to  Its  rules 
and  the  number  of  its  members,  no  definite  infonnation  has  come  to  hand.  It 
is  composed  of  young  widows  and  marriageable  girls.  Dark  hints  are  given 
as  to  the  methods  used  to  escape  matrimony.  The  sudden  demise  of  betrothed  hus- 
bands, or  the  abi*upt  ending  of  the  newly  married  husband's  career,  suggest  unlawful 
means  for  dissolving  the  bonds.  *' 

Even  when  compelled  to  submit  to  marriage,  says  Mr.  B.  C.  Henry 
in  his  Lma-na/m;  or  Interior  Views  of  Southern  Cliina^  "  they  still 
maintain  their  powers  of  will.  It  is  a  conmion  sajring  that  wnen  a 
man  marries  a  bai-tsin  woman,  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  submit  to 
her  demands.  The  same  characteristics  are  said  to  prevail  among 
the  women  of  Loong-Kong,  the  next  large  town  to  the  south,  one 
of  their  demands  bemff  that  the  husband  must  go  to  the  wife's  home 
to  live,  or  else  live  without  her  company."  The  effect  produced  by 
this  petticoat  rebellion  upon  local  society  has  been  to  reduce  it  toite 
original  elements — a  condition  of  things  which,  in  the  old  world, 
would  have  suggested  the  necessity  of  marriage  by  capture  in  it« 
most  primitive  form. — Blackwood? 8  Maga&me. 


THE  TIME  IT  TAKES  TO  THINK,  d8 


THE  TIME  IT  TAKES  TO  THINK. 

All  science  is  paxtly  descriptive  and  partly  theoretical.  Care 
must,  however,  be  taken  lest  too  much  theory  be  built  up  without 
sufficient  foundation  of  fact,  or  there  is  dan^r  of  erecting  pseudo- 
scionces,  such  as  astrology  and  alchemy.  The  theories  oi  tne  con- 
servation of  energy  and  of  the  evolution  of  species  are  more  interest- 
ing to  us  than  the  separate  facts  of  physics  and  biology,  but  facts 
should  be  gathered  before  theories  are  naade.  The  way  of  truth  is  a 
long  way,  and  short  cuts  are  apt  to  waste  more  time  than  they  save. 
Psychology  is  the  last  of  the  sciences,  and  its  present  business  seems 
to  be  the  investigation  of  the  facts  of  consciousness  by  means  of 
observation  and  experiment.  Everywhere  in  science  experiment  is 
worth  more  than  observation ;  it  is  said  that  the  evidence  in  path- 
ology is  so  contradictory,  that  almost  anything  can  be  proved  by 
clinical  cases.  Psychology,  owing  to  its  very  nature,  must  always 
depend  lar^ly  on  observation  for  its  facts,  and  some  progress  lias 
been  made  m  spite  of  the  difficulties  lying  in  the  way  of  mtrospection 
and  the  correct  interpretation  of  the  actions  of  others.  The  applica- 
tion of  experimental  methods  to  the  study  of  mind  is,  however,  an 
important  step  in  advance,  and  would  seem  to  be  a  conclusive  answer 
to  those  who,  with  Kant,  hold  that  psychology  can  never  become  an 
exact  science.  I  propose  explaining  nere  how  we  can  measure  the 
time  it  takes  to  think,  and  hope  this  example  may  show  that  the  first- 
fruits  of  experimental  psychology  are  not  altogether  insignificant  or 
uninteresting.  Just  as  the  astronomer  measures  the  distance  to  the 
stdrs  and  the  chemist  finds  atomic  weights,  so  the  psychologist  can 
determine  the  time  taken  up  by  our  mental  processes.  It  seems  to 
me  the  psychical  facts  are  not  less  important  than  the  physical ;  for 
it  must  be  borne  in  mind  that  the  faster  we  think,  the  more  we  live 
in  the  same  number  of  years. 

It  is  not  possible  directly  to  measure  the  time  taken  up  by  mental 
processes,  for  we  cannot  record  the  moment  either  of  their  beginning 
or  of  their  end.  We  must  determine  the  interval  between  the  pro- 
duction of  some  external  change  which  excites  mental  processes,  and 
a  movement  made  after  these  processes  have  taken  place.  Thus,  if 
people  join  hands  in  a  circle,  and  one  of  them,  A,  presses  the  hand  of 
nis  neighbor,  B,  and  he  as  soon  as  possible  afterward  the  hand  of  C, 
and  so  on  round  and  round,  the  second  pressure  will  be  felt  by  each 
of  the  persons  at  an  interval  after  the  first,  the  time  depending  on 
the  number  of  people  in  the  circle.  After  the  hand  of  one  of  the 
persons  has  been  pressed  an  interval  very  nearly  constant  in  length 
"passes  before  he  can  press  the  hand  of  his  neighbor.  This  interval, 
which  we  may  caJl  the  reaction-time,  is  made  up  of  a  number  of 


24  THE  LIBRARY  MAOAZTNS. 

factors.  A  period  elapses  before  the  pressure  is  changed  into  a  ner- 
vous message  or  impulse.  This  time  is  very  short  m  the  case  of 
touch;  but  light  workin£f  on  the  retina  seems  to  effect  chemical 
changes  in  it,  and  these  take  up  some  little  time,  probably  about  one- 
fiftietn  of  a  second.  After  a  nervous  impulse  has  been  generated  it 
moves  along  the  nerve  and  spinal  cord  to  the  brain,  not  traveling 
with  inmiense  rapidity  like  light,  but  at  the  rate  of  an  express  train. 
In  the  brain  it  must  move  on  to  a  center  having  to  do  with  sensation, 
where  changes  are  brought  about,  through  which  a  further  impulse 
is  sent  on  to  a  center  having  to  do  with  motion,  and  a  motor  impulse 
having  been  prepared  there  is  sent  down  to  the  hand.  Another 
pause,  of  from  one  two-hundreth  to  one-hundreth  of  a  second  now 
occurs,  while  the  muscle  is  being  excited,  after  which  the  fingers  are 
contracted  and  the  reaction  is  complete.  The  entire  time  required  is 
usually  from  one-tenth  to  one-fifth  of  a  second.  The  reaction-time 
varies  in  length  with  different  individuals  and  for  the  several  senses, 
but  as  long  as  the  conditions  remain  the  same  the  times  are  very  con- 
stant, only  varvinff  a  few  thousandths  of  a  second  from  each  other. 
One  may  wonaer  how  it  is  possible  to  measure  such  short  times  and 
with  such  great  accuracy.  It  would  not  be  easy  if  we  had  not  the 
aid  of  electricity ;  but  when  it  is  called  to  mind  that  a  movement 
made  in  London  is  almost  instantaneously  registered  in  Edinburgh, 
it  will  not  seem  inconceivable  that  we  can  record  to  the  thousandth 
of  a  second  the  instant  a  sense-stimulus  is  produced  and  the  instant 
a  movement  is  made.  The  time  passing  between  these  two  events 
can  b^  measured  by  letting  a  tuning-fork  write  on  a  revolving  drum. 
The  toning-f  ork  can  be  regulated  to  vibrate  with  great  exactness,  sav 
five  hundred  times  a  second ;  it  writes  a  wavy  line  on  the  drum,  each 
undulation  long  enough  to  be  divided  into  twenty  equal  parts,  and 
thus  time  can  be  measured  to  the  ten-thousandth  of  a  second. 

The  psychologist  is  chiefly  interested  in  what  goes  on  in  the  brain 
and  mina.  It  seems  that  about  one-half  of  the  entire  reaction-time 
is  spent  while  brain  changes  take  place,  but  we  know  very  little  as  to 
these  changes,  or  as  to  how  the  time  is  to  be  allotted  among  them. 
It  is  probable  that  in  the  case  of  the  simple  reaction  the  movement 
can  be  initiated  before  the  nature  of  the  impression  has  been  per- 
ceived. We  can,  however,  so  arrange  the  conditions  of  experiment 
that  the  observer  must  know  what  he  has  seen,  or  heard,  or  felt, 
before  he  makes  the  movement.  He  can,  for  example,  be  shown  one 
of  a  number  of  colors,  and  not  knowing  beforehand  which  to  expect, 
be  recjuired  to  lift  his  finger  only  when  red  is  presented.  By  making 
certain  analyses  and  subtracting  the  time  of  tne  simple  reaction  from 
the  time  in  the  more  complex  case,  it  is  possible  to  determine  with 
considerable  accuracy  the  time  it  takes  t^percevve^  that  is,  the  time 
passing  from  the  moment  at  which  an  impression  has  reached  oon-* 


THB  TIM^  IT  TAKES  TO  THINK.  *  25 

sciousness  until  the  moment  at. which  we  know  what  it  is.  In  my 
own  case  about  one-twentieth  of  a  second  is  needed  to  see  a  white 
light,  one-tenth  of  a  second  to  see  a  color  or  picture,  one-eighth  of  a 
second  to  see  a  letter,  and  one-seventh  of  a  second  to  see  a  word.  It 
tsikes  longer  to  see  a  rare  word  than  to  see  a  common  one,  or  a  word 
in  a  foreign  language  than  one  in  our  native  tongue.  It  even  takes 
longer  to  see  some  Mters  than  others. 

Tne  time  taken  up  in  choosing  a  motion,  the  "  will-time, "  can  be 
measured  as  well  as  the  time  taKen  up  in  perceiving.  If  I  do  not 
know  which  of  two  colored  lights  is  to  be  presented,  and  must  lift 
my  right  hand  if  it  be  red  and  my  left  hand  if  it  be  blue,  I  need 
about  one-thirteenth  of  a  second  to  initiate  the  correct  motion.  I 
have  also  been  able  to  register  the  sound  waves  made  in  the  air  by 
speaJdng,  and  thus  have  determined  that  in  order  to  call  up  the 
name  belonging  to  a  printed  word  I  need  about  one-ninth  of  a 
second ;  to  a  letter  one^dxth  of  a  second ;  to  a  picture  one-fourth  of 
a  second ;  and  to  a  color  one-third  of  a  second.  A  letter  can  be  seen 
more  quicklv  tiian  a  word,  but  we  are  so  used  to  reading  aloud  that 
the  process  has  become  quite  automatic,  and  a  word  can  be  read 
with  greater  ease  and  in  less  time  than  a  letter  can  be  named.  The 
same  experiments  made  on  other  persons  give  times  differing  .  but 
little  from  my  own.  Mental  processes,  however,  take  place  more 
slowly  in  children,  in  the  aged,  and  in  the  uneducated. 

It  IS  possible,  further,  to  measure  the  time  taken  up  in  remember- 
ing, in  formiufir  iC  judgment,  and  in  the  association  oi  ideas.  Though 
familiar  with  German,  I  need  on  the  average  one-seventh  of  a  second 
longer  to  name  an  object  in  that  language  than  in  English.  I  need 
about  one-fourth  of  a  second  to  tranSate  a  word  from  German  into 
English,  and  one-twentieth  of  a  second  longer  to  translate  in  the 
reveree  direction.  This  shows  that  foreign  Lmguages  take  up  much 
time  even  after  they  have  been  learned,  and  may  lead  us  once  more 
to  weigh  the  gain  and  loss  of  a  polyglot  mental  life.  It  takes  about 
two-fifths  of  a  second  to  call  to  mind  the  country  in  which  a  well- 
known  town  is  situated,  or  the  language  in  whicn  a  familiar  author 
wrote.  We  can  think  of  the  name  of  next  month  in  half  the  time 
we  need  to  think  of  the  name  of  last  month.  It  takes  on  the  aver- 
age one-third  of  a  second  to  add  numbers  consisting  of  one  digit, 
and  a  half-second  to  multiply  them.  Such  experiments  give  us  con- 
siderable insight  into  the  mmd.  Those  used  to  reckoning  can  add 
two  to  three  m  less  time  than  others ;  those  familiar  with  literature 
can  remember  more  quickly  than  others  that  Shakespeare  wrote 
Hamlet.  In  the  cases  whicn  we  have  just  been  considering  a  ques- 
tion was  asked  admitting  of  but  one  answer,  the  ment^  process 
being  simply  an  act  of  memory.  It  is  also  po^ible  to  ask  a  ques- 
tion that  aUowB  of  several  answers,  and  in  this  case  a  little  more 


26 


TEE  LtBBART  MAGAZINE, 


time  is  needed ;  it  takes  longer  to  mention  a  month  when  a  season 
has  been  given  than  to  sa^  to  what  month  a  season  belongs.  The 
mind  can  also  be  given  still  further  liberty ;  for  example,  a  quality 
of  a  substantive,  of  a  subject  or  object  for  a  verb,  can  be  required. 
It  takes  about  one-tenth  of  a  second  longer  to  find  a  subject  than  to 
find  an  object ;  m  our  ordinary  thinking  and  talking  we  go  on  from 
the  verb  to  the  object.  If  a  particular  example  of  a  class  of  objects 
has  to  be  found,  as  "Thames  '  when  " river ''^ is  given,  on  the  aver- 
age a  little  more  than  a  half-second  is  needed.  In  this  case  one 
nearly  always  mentions  an  object  immediately  at  hand,  or  one 
identified  with  one's  early  home ;  this  shows  that  the  mind  is  apt  to 
recur  either  to  very  recent  or  to  early  associations.  Again,  I  need 
one  second  to  find  a  rhyme,  one-fifth  of  a  second  longer  to  find  an 
aUiteration.  The  time  taken  up  in  pronouncing  an  opinion  or  judg- 
ment proved  to  be  shorter  than  I  had  expected;  I  need  only  about 
a  halfsecond  to  estimate  the  length  of  a  line,  or  to  say  which  of 
two  eminent  men  I  think  is  the  greater. 

Our  thoughts  do  not  come  and  go  at  random,  but  one  idea 
suggests  another,  according  to  laws  which  are  probably  no  less 
fixed  than  the  laws  prevauing  in  the  physical  world.  Conditions 
somewhat  similar  to  those  of  our  ordinary  thinking  are  obtained, 
if  on  seeing  or  hearing  a  word  we  say  what  it  suggests  to  us. 
We  can  note  the  nature  of  the  association  and  measure  the  time  it 
takes  up,  and  thus  get  results  more  definite  and  of  greater  scientific 
value  than  would  be  possible  through  mere  introspection  or  observa- 
tion. By  making  a  large  number  of  experiments,  data  for  laws  of 
association  can  be  collected.  Thus  if  a  thousand  persons  say  what 
idea  is  suggested  to  them  by  the  word  "  Art, "  the  results  may 
be  so  classified  that  both  the  nature  of  the  association  and  the 
time  it  occupies  throw  much  light  on  the  way  people  usually 
think.  Such  experiments  are  useful  in  studying  the  d!evelopment 
of  the  child's  mmd;  they  help  us  to  underetand  the  differences 
in  thought  brought  about  by  various  methods  of  education  and 
modes  of  life,  and  in  many  ways  they  put  the  facts  of  mind 
into  the  great  order,  which  is  the  world. — i.  McK.  Cattell.,  in  The 
Nineteenth  Cent/ary. 


CUREENT  THOUGHT. 


KiNGL^Kic's  "  Invasion  of  the 
Crimea." — The  Crimean  War  lasted  not 
quite  two  years,  from  September,  1854 
to  July,  1806.  It  was  by  no  means  a 
gr  at  war,  either  in  object,  execution,  or 
lesults.  Not  so  thinks  Mr.  Alexander 
William    Einglake,   who  has  been   en- 


gaged for  a  score  of  years  In  writing  the 
history  of  the  war.  After  the  prepara- 
tory labor  of  several  years,  he  put  forth 
four  volumes  in  1868;  a  fifth  volume  ap- 
peared in  1875,  and  a  sixth  in  1879. 
And  now  when  verging  upon  fourscore, 
the  author  issues  the  seventh  and  eighth 


CURRENT  THOVGHT. 


27 


volumes  of  a  work  which  he  took  in 
hand  at  the  age  of  forty-five.  Surely 
80  little  a  war  as  that  in  tne  Crimea  was 
ever  so  largely  written  about  Of  this 
work  and  its  author  the  PM  MaU  OcaeUe 
says: — 

"There  is  something  pathetic  in  the 
spectacle  which  Mr.  Kinglake  has  just 
presented  to  the  world  in  the  completion 
of  his  Hiitory  of  the  Invanan  of  the 
Crimea.  It  affords  an  instance  rare  in 
our  times  of  a  brilliant  author  conse- 
crating his  life  to  the  production  of  a 
single  work.  Mr.  Kinglake  has  written 
EciS^en,  but  he  has  put  his  life  into  his 
Intatian  of  (hs  Crimea.  The  seventh 
and  eighth  volumes,  which  have  Just 
appeared,  bringing  the  historj^  down  to 
its  close,  are  an  opportune  reminder  that 
even  in  this  age  of  journalism  and  elec- 
tricity we  are  not  lacking  in  the  famous 
type  of  the  patient  ana  laborious  stu- 
dent who  spends  with  unremitting  zeal 
his  allotted  span  of  life  in  the  production 
of  one  book.  Mr.  Kinglake's  dedication 
of  more  than  thirty  years  of  existence 
to  the  literary  task  which  he  has  just 
brought  to  its  intended  close  carries  the 
inina  back  to  the  days  when  Europe 
was  full  of  pale  and  patient  toilers  who 
in  the  seclusion  of  their  monastic  cell 
wrought  their  life  into  their  work,  de- 
voting fifty  years  to  the  illumination  of 
a  single  missal.  lAx.  Kinglake's  History 
is  not  unlike  their  work.  He  is  an  his- 
torical missal  painter,  and  he  has  ex- 
hausted upon  the  Inwuion  of  the  Critnea 
as  much  patience  and  devotion  as  ever 
enthusiast  lavished  over  the  illustration  of 
the  Gkwpcl  or  the  adornment  of  his  bre- 
viary. It  is  ended  now.  The  long  labor 
is  over,  and  Mr.  Kinglake's  work  is  done. 
It  used  to  be  said  that  he  shrank  from 
finishing  it  because  he  felt  that  when  his 
book  was  done  his  life  would  close.  We 
hope  that  brighter  days  and  better  health 
may  sUU  awut  this  literary  veteran,  but 
at  present  we  regret  to  hear  that  a^  and 
the  increasing  infirmities  which  wait  in  its 
train  give  him  but  too  much  ground  for 
feuing  that  his  melancholy  prognostic 
may  come  true.  And  yet  why  melan- 
choly ?  Nothing  seenrod  to  cause  Carlyle 
greater  regret  and  excite  more  impatient 
resentment  against  the  inscrutable  purpose 
of  tjie  Unseen  Powers  than  the  fact  that 
they  kept  him  lingering  superfluous  in 
the  world  after  his  work  was  done.  It 
may  be  no  evil  destiny,  but  a  beneficent 


Providence,  which  will  realize  Mr.  King- 
lake's  forebodings." 

The  Foukdeb  of  Habyabd  College. 
— Only  one  specimen  of  the  handwriting 
of  John  Harvard  has  been  known  to  be 
in  existence,  and  is  his  signature  to  a 
document  deposited  in  the  Registry  of  the 
Engli^  University  of  Cambrid^.  An- 
other document  containing  his  signature 
and  that  of  his  brother  Thomas,  has  just 
been  brought  to  light.  Of  this  a  corres- 
pondent ox  the  Athenaum  writes : — 

"  I  ask  a  small  portion  of  your  space 
for  the  purpose  of  recording  the  discovery 
of  an  autograph  of  John  Harvard,  and 
also  of  .his  brother  Thomas,  of  whom 
I  believe  no  other  writing  has  been  found. 
The  brothers,  as  is  known,  held  certain 
property  by  lease  from  the  Hospital  of  St. 
Katharine,  near  the  Tower  of  London. 
Communications  were,  therefore,  opened 
witii  the  present  authorities  of  the  Hos- 
pital, by  whom  tiiey  were  very  kindly 
received,  and  a  thorough  search  of  the 
very  numerous  muniments  of  the  hospital 
was  made  by  direction  of  Sir  Arnold 
White,  the  Chapter  Clerk  of  St.  Katha- 
rine's. The  result,  now  first  made  public, 
was  the  bringing  to  light  of  the  ori&ina] 
counterpart  lease  from  the  hospital  to 
'John  Harvard,  Clerke,  and  Thomas  Har- 
vard, Cittizen  and  Clothworker  of  London,' 
of  certain  tenements  in  the  puish  of  All- 
hallows.  Barking,  the  lease  bearing  date 
July  ^th,  1635,  and  the  counterpart  being 
executed  by  John  Harvard  ana  Thomas 
Harvard.  A  feature  of  no  little  interest 
IB  that  this  is  not  an  antiquarian  curiosity 
whose  history  has  to  be  traced,  with  more 
or  less  of  uncertainty  and  doubt,  from 
one  hand  to  another  during  a  period  of 
250  years,  but  a  document  which  not  only 
is  in  legal  custody,  but  in  the  selfsame 
custody  into  which  it  passed  so  soon  as  the 
ink  of  the  signatures  to  it  was  dry,  and  in 
which,  I  may  add,  it  will  remain  so  long 
as  it  shall  endure.  Custody  is  a  point  the 
supreme  importance  of  which  will  be  re- 
cognized without  the  need  of  further 
remark  from  me.  Thanks  to  permission 
courteously  given,  a  facsimile,  of  the  full 
size  of  the  original — some  17  in.  by  20  in. 
— and  in  the  very  best  style,  is  now  being 
executed,  copies  of  which  wiU  very  shortly 
be  procurable." 

Mr.  Doknellt  akd  Shakespeare. — 
The  London  Athencsum,  not  long  ago^ 


28 


THE  LIBRABT  MAOAZIJiR 


published,  as  a  bit  of  "Gbssip,"  that 
'*  in  spite  of  the  patent  absurdity  of  the 
theory,  Messrs.  Sampson  Low  &  Com- 
pany intend  to  bring  out  Mr.  Donnelly's 
volume."  To  this  Messrs.  Low  &  Com- 
pany rejoin:  — 

*'We  trust  jTou  will  allow  us  to  say, 
that  we  think  it  would  only  have  been 
fair  to  Mr.  Donnelly,  as  the  author,  and 
ourselves  as  the  publishers,  of  a  work 
T)ne-half  of  which  is  not  yet  printed, 
had  you  suspended  your  judgment  as 
to  this  'patent  absurdity,' until  the  com- 
plete volumes  had  been  in  your  handis. 
It  may  interest  some  of  your  readers  to 
be  informed  that  the  writer  of  the  ar- 
ticles in  the  Daily  Telegraph  has  not 
seen  a  sixth  part  of  the  proof-sheets  of 
the  complete  work,  and  that  only  in  de- 
tached portions;  and  yet  he,  stout  Shak- 
spearean  though  he  oertainlv  is,  has  been 
sufficiently  impressed  with  Mr.  Donnelly's 
intense  earnestness  and  honesty  to  speak 
of  his  immense  labors  and  extraordinary 
ingenuity  with  respect;  he  does  not  pro- 
nounce him  a  fool  or  a  charlatan,  as 
many  have  flippantly  done  without  any 
knowledge  whatever  of  what  he  has  really 
done.  For  ourselves,  since  you,  not 
pleasantly,  point  to  us  as  the  future  pub- 
lishers of  this  '  patent  absurdity,*  we  think 
it  is  only  necessary  to  say  that,  except 
within  certain  bounds  of  decency  and  re- 
spectability, we  cannot  be  held  responsible 
for  the  opinions  or  convictions  of  our 
authors.  It  will  be  our  endeavor  to 
put  this  work  before  the  public  as 
quickly  and  as  decently  as  we  can. 
Then  you,  and  Mr.  Donnelly,  and  the 
public  can  thresh  the  question  out  be- 
tween you,  whilst  we  stand  and  look 
on,  holding  still  to  the  old  motto,  *  Magna 
est  Veritas  et  praevalebiV  In  a  few  weeks 
the  volume  will  be  issued." 

George  Eliot's  Personal  Appear- 
ance.— Mr.  Thomas  Adolphus  Trollope 
has  certainly  seen  a  good  many  persons 
and  things  durine  the  seven-and -seventy 
years  of  his  life.  In  his  recently  publishea 


book.  What  I  Remember,  he  describes  the 
author  of  Bomola,  whom  he  seems  to  have 
known  very  well : — 

"  She  was  not,  as  the  world  in  general 
is  aware,  a  handsome,  or  even  a  person- 
able woman.  Her  face  was  long;  the  eyes 
not  large  nor  beautiful  in  color — they  were, 
I  think,  of  a  greyish  blue — the  hair,  which 
she  wore  in  old-fashioned  braids  coming 
low  down  on  either  side  of  her  face,  of  a 
rather  light  brown.  It  was  streak^  with 
grey  when  last  I  saw  her.  Her  figure  was 
of  middle  height,  lar^-boned  and  power- 
ful. Lewes  often  said  that  she  inherited 
from  her  peasant  ancestors  a  frame  and 
constitution  orieviidly  very  robust.  Her 
head  was  finely  formed,  with  a  noble  and 
well-balanced  arch  from  brow  to  crown. 
The  lipe  and  mouth  possessed  a  power  of 
infinitely  varied  expression.  George  Lewes 
once  said  to  me,  when  I  made  some  obsei^ 
vation  to  the  effect  that  she  had  a  sweet 
face  (I  meant  that  Uie  face  expressed  great 
sweetness),  '  You  might  say  what  a  sweet 
hundred  races  1  I  look  at  her  sometimes 
in  amazement.  Her  countenance  is  con- 
stantly changing.'  The  said  lips  and 
mouth  were  distinctly  sensuous  in  form 
and  fullness.  She  has  been  compared  to 
the  portraits  of  Savonarola  (who  was 
frightful)  and  of  Dante  (who,  though 
stern  and  bitter-looking,  was  handsome). 
Something  there  was  of  both  faces  in 
George  Eliot's  physiognomy.  Lewes  told 
us  in  her  presence  of  the  exclamation  ut- 
tered suddenly  by  some  one  to  whom  she 
was  pointed  out  at  a  place  of  public  enter- 
tainment: 'That,'  said  a  by-stander,  'is 
G«or&;e  Eliot. '  The  gentleman  to  whom  she 
was  Uius  indicated  gave  one  swift,  search- 
ing look  and  exclaimed,  »otio  voce,  *  Dante's 
auntr  Lewes  thought  this  happy,  and  he 
recognized  the  kind  of  likeness  that  was 
meant  to  the  great  singer  of  the  Divine 
Comedy.  She  herself  playfully  disclaimed 
any  resemblance  to  Savonarola.  But, 
although  such  resemblance  was  very  dis- 
tant— Savonarola's  peculiarly  unbalanced 
countenance  being  a  strong  caricature  of 
her»— flome  likeness  there  was." 


MOHAMMEDANISM  IN  AFRICA.  29 


MOHAMMEDANISM  IN  AFRICA. 

Ik  the  month  of  June  last,  I  received  a  pressing  and  often  repeated 
invitation  from  the  Bishop  of  Lichfield,  and  the  organizing  secretaries 
of  the  Church  Congress,  to  read  a  paper,  during  tne  October  session 
of  that  bodv,  on  the  subject  of  Mohammedanism  in  Africa.  There 
was  much  tliat  was  attractive  to  me  in  the  proposal.  It  was  a  ques- 
tion which  I  had  studied  long  and  deeply.  I  was  alive  to  its  pro- 
found interest  and  importance.  More  than  this,  I  had  published, 
thirteen  years  previously,  in  my  lectures  on  Moha/m/med  cmd  Moha/fiv- 
medanism^  certain  views  upon  the  subject,  which  had  only  dawned 
upon  me  gradually  in  the  course  of  my  inquiries,  and  were  many  of 
them,  at  that  time,  new,  or  almost  new,  to  the  Christian  world. 


They  were  truths — ^if  truths  indeed  they  turn  out  to  be — many  of 
which  had  not  then  risen  above  the  horizon.  After  much  considera- 
tion I  declined  the  invitation.  I  did  so  entirely  on  the  ground  that, 
during  the  twenty  minutes  allowed  by  the  inexorable  laws  of  the 
Congress,  it  would  be  impossible  to  give  even  the  barest  outline  of 
the  Facts  of  Mohammedan  progress  in  Africa,  much  less  to  draw  the 
inferences  which  I  should  wisn  to  draw  from  them,  and  to  hedge 
them  in  with  all  the  qualifications  and  reserves  which  so  complex  and 
so  sacred  a  subject  must  needs  suggest  to  any  serious  mind.  By 
flinging  the  bare  conclusions,  at  which  I  had  ultimately  arrived,  at 
the  neads  of  my  hearers,  without  indicating  the  processes  by  which 
I  had  arrived  at  them,  I  should  give  needless  offence.  I  should  be 
misunderstood  and  misrepresented;  and — ^what  was  much  more 
important — the  cause  whicn  I  had  most  at  heart,  the  sympathetic 
appreciation  of  a  great  and,  after  aU,  a  kindred  religion,  would  be 
retarded  rather  than  advanced. 

I  cave  up  the  project  with  much  reluctance,  and  I  am  bound  to 
say  Qiat  that  regret  was  intensified  when,  a  few  days  ago,  I  came 
across  the  report,  given  in  the  newspapers,  of  the  epigrammatic  and 
telling  paper  oy  Canon  Isaac  Taylor  of  York,  to  whom,  as  I  presume, 
the  invitation  had,  on  my  declining  it,  been  tranrferred  by  the 
authorities  of  the  Congress.  I  could  see,  at  a  glance,  that  without, 
so  far  as  appeared,  any  adequate  preparation  or  study  of  the  subject 
at  first  hana,  he  had  rushed  with  neadlong  heedlessness  upon  all  the 
dangera  which  had  deterred  or  daunted  me ;  and,  what  more  nearly 
concerned  me,  that,  while  the  views  which  he  thrust  on  a  sensitive 
and  excited  audience  were  as  nearly  as  possible  identical  with  those 
which,  thirteen  years  ago,  I  had  promulgated  in  my  book  Mohmrvmed 
and  Mohan7ymea4Mii9m^  they  were  couched  in  an  exaggerated  form, 
and  without  any  of  the  modifications  or  explanations  Tmich  I  should 
bi^Te  thought  essentiaL    Whatever  Oanon  Isaac  Taylor's  iutentionsi 


go  THE  LIBBART  MAGAZINE, 

the  net  result  of  his  paper  has  been  well  expressed  by  one  of  his 
critics,  who  has  long  hved  in  Algeria,  thus : — 

''  Canon  Taylor  has  confitructed,  at  the  expense  of  Christianity,  a  rose-colored 
picture  of  Islam,  by  a  process  of  comparison  in  which  Christianity  is  arraiffned  for 
failures  in  practice,  of  which  Christendom  is  deeply  and  penitently  conscious,  no 
account  being  taken  of  Christian  precept;  while  Islam  is  judged  by  its  better  precepts 
only,  no  account  bein^  taken  of  the  f nghtf ul  shortcomings  in  Mohammedan  practice, 
even  from  the  standard  of  the  Koran." 

One  good  result,  though  it  is  difficult,  under  the  circumstances,  for 
me  to  feel  any  gratitude  to  Canon  Taylor  for  it,  may,  no  doubt,  indi- 
rectly follow  from  the  crudities  which  he  promulgated  before  so 
influential  a  gathering.  More  attention  has  been  and  will  be  called 
to  the  subject,  and  out  of  the  heated  discussion  which  is  now  going 
on,  we  may  hope  that  the  truth  will  ultimately  emerge.  But  even 
this  advantage  has,  in  the  meantime,  its  serious  drawbacks,  for 
tlioughtless  and  vehement  eulogy  naturally  provokes  an  equally 
vehement  and  unreasoning  detraction. 

And  now  I  will  endeavor  to  do  here  what  I  could  not  have  done 
in  the  twenty  minutes  allowed  me  by  the  Church  Congress,  and  set 
forth,  in  outline  at  lea^,  what  I  conceive  to  be  the  main  facts  con- 
nected with  the  progress  of  Islam  in  Africa ;  what,  as  appears  to 
me,  it  has  done,  is  doinff,  and  can  do — ^what  also  it  cannot  do — ^f or 
the  Negro  race ;  what  Christendom  or  Christianity — for  the  two  are 
not,  as  Canon  Taylor  appears  often  to  imagine,  synonymous  and  con- 
vertible terms — have  aone,  or  not  done,  or  may  yet  do  for  them ; 
what  attitude,  in  view  of  these  facts  and  inferences,  should  be  taken 
by  Christians  in  reference  to  the  great  opposing,  and  yet  kindred, 
creed,  and  how,  in  particular,  Christian  missions  will  be  affected 
thereby.  If  I  often  appear  to  agree  with  Canon  Taylor  in  his  state- 
ments and  conclusions,  it  is  little  wonder,  for,  in  so  aoing,  I  am  only 
agreeing  with  myself,  and  seem  to  be  hearing  my  own  book  of  years 
past  read  aloud  to  me.  If  I  differ  from  him,  as  1  sometimes  shall,  it 
IS,  partly,  for  the  reasons  which  I  have  already  indicated ;  partly 
also,  because  in  the  thirteen  years  which  have  passed  since  the  first 
edition  of  my  book  appeared,  I  have,  as  far  as  possible,  amid  other 
permanent  occupations  and  special  studies,  not  shut  my  eyes  or  ears 
to  what  was  going  on  in  Africa.  As  the  result  of  what  I  then  wrote 
on  the  subject,  it  has  been  my  happiness  to  receive  many  private 
communications,  and  to  form  many  intimate  friendships  with  I^'egro 
missionaries,  Negro  philanthropists  and  Negro  princes.  In  particu- 
lar,  I  have  been  in  frequent  communication,  both  by  letter  and  in 
person,  with  Mr.  Edward  Blyden,  whom  I  regard  as  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  men,  and  whose  book,  entitled  ChrisUcmity^  Mohxim- 
medcmisTriy  and  the  Neyro  Race*  which  has  recently  appeared,  I 

*SeeX43MHT  Maqassink^  December,  1887, 


MOHAMMEDANISM  IN  AFRICA.  81 

regard,  taking  into  consideration  all  the  circumstances,  as  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  books  I  have  ever  met. 

Many  scattered  lights  have,  no  doubt,  been  thrown  upon  the  com- 

Elex  questions  connected  with  the  condition  of  Africa  ana  its  rehffious 
iiture  by  the  long  line  of  enterprising  travelers,  of  self-sacrificing 
missionaries,  of  earnest  philanthropists  who  have  visited  the  country, 
from  the  times  of  Ibn  Batuta  or  Leo  Africanus  down  to  those  of 
Mungo  Park  or  Barth,  Moffat  or  Livingstone.  These  men  have  gone 
to  .AJrica,  have  traveled  or  lived  among  the  natives,  have  studied 
their  manners,  have  endeavored  to  sympathize  with  and  understand 
them,  and  have  come  back  to  their  homes,  laden  with  the  guesses,  the 
hopes,  or  the  fears,  the  difficulties,  the  dangers,  or  the  disappoint- 
ments, which  any  attempt  to  grapple  with  so  vast  a  pjroblem  must 
needs  involve.  But,  hitherto,  no  light  has  shone,  no  voice  has  come, 
audible  at  all  events  to  the  outer  world,  from  Africa  itself.  It  is  in 
the  pages  of  Mr.  Blyden's  book  that  the  great  dumb,  dark  continent 
has,  at  last  begun  to  speak,  and  in  tones  which,  if  I  mistake  not,  even 
those  who  most  differ  from  his  conclusions  will  be  glad  to  listen  to 
and  wise  to  ponder.  The  essays  they  contain  have  been  written  at 
very  different  times  and  cover  widely  different  portions  of  the 
African  field,  but  they  are  all  inspired  by  a  common  purpose,  and 
converge  toward  the  same  conclusions,  and  in  their  pathos  and  their 
passion,  their  patriotic  enthusiasm  and  their  philosophic  calm,  their 
range  of  sympathy  and  their  genuine  reserve  of  power,  they  wUl,  I 
think,  quite  irrespective  of  the  importance  of  the  questions  which 
they  handle,  arrest  the  attention  of  even  the  most  casual  reader. 

If  ever  any  one  spoke  upon  his  special  subject  with  a  right  to  be 
heard  upon  it,  it  is  Mr.  Blyden,  and,  for  this  simple  reason,  that  his 
whole  hfe  has  been  a  preparation  for  it.  With  physical  energy,  and 
literary  ability,  and  general  intellectual  power,  which,  had  he  been 
a  European,  would  have  enabled  him  to  fill  and  to  adorn  almost  any 
public  post,  a  ffreat  traveler  and  an  accomplished  linguist,  eaually 
familiar  with  Hebrew  and  Arabic,  with  Greek  and  Latin,  witn  five 
European  and  with  several  African  languages,  he  has  deliberately 
chosen  to  consecrate  all  his  gifts  to  what  must,  once  and  again  in  his 
career,  have  seemed  to  him  an  almost  thankless  and  hopeless  task, 
the  elevation  and  regeneration  of  his  race.  A  Negro  of  the  Negroes, 
and  keenly  alive  to  their  sufferings,  their  short-comings  and  their 
vices,  he  has,  nevertheless,  an  unwavering  belief  in  their  future ;  and 
that  future,  who  can  say  how  much  his  single  efforts  may,  with  the 
help  of  those  whom  his  book  may,  now  and  hereafter,  influence, 
far  to  secure?  He  has  studied  the  Negro  wherever  he  is  to 
found — ^in  the  West  Indies,  where  he  was  himself  bom ;  in  the  United 
States,  both  before  and  since  emancipation;  in  the  English  settle- 
ment of  Sierra  Leone,  and  in  the  republic  of  Liberia,  miere  a  thin 


32  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

varnish  of  European  civilization  often  serves  only  to  mask  or  to 
destroy  his  individuality ;  and,  in  the  Muslim  and  Pagan  communi- 
ties oi  the  interior,  where  a  white  face  has  been  but  rarely  seen. 
His  book  may  make  its  way  slowly  at  first ;  but  I  venture  to  think 
it  will  form  a  new  starting-point  in  the  history  of  his  race,  and  will 
seriously  and  permanently  modify  the  views  which  Europeans  have 
hitherto  held  of  them  and  of  their  future.  I  wish  I  had  space  to 
quote  largely  from  his  pages,  but  must  content  myself  here  by  ref er- 
Tmg  those  who  are  interested  in  the  subject  to  the  work  itself ;  and, 
meanwhile,  not  content  to  say  with  Pontius  Pilate  that  "  what  I 
have  written,  I  have  written,"  and,  availing  myself  of  the  advantages 
to  which  I  have  referred,  I  would  endeavor  to  handle  again  the  sub- 
ject of  Islam  in  Africa,  modifying,  or  strengthening,  or  unsaying  any 
statements  which,  in  the  light  of  longer  study  and  a  wider  knowl- 
edge, may  appear  to  me  to  require  it. 

First,  tnen,  what  are  the  leading  facts  as  regards  the  geographical 
extent  of  Islam  in  Africa  ?  They  are  very  imperfectly  realized,  even 
now,  by  many  of  those  who  speak  and  write  upon  the  subject.  Ever 
since  the  conqueror  Akbar  swept  in  one  sweep  of  unbroken  conqTiest 
from  the  Nile  to  the  Pillars  of  Hercules,  and  spurred  his  horse  into 
the  waves  of  the  Atlantic,  indignant  that  he  could  carry  the  Koran 
no  further  in  that  direction,  Islam  has  kept  its  ffrip — ^f or  over  twelve 
hundred  years,  that  is — on  the  whole  of  the  Baroary  States ;  in  other 
words,  on  the  whole  of  the  regions  which,  in  ancient  times,  served  as 
the  only  connecting  link  between  Africa  and  the  outer  world,  the 
field  of  Egyptian  and  of  Phoenician,  of  Eoman  and  of  Vandal  civiliza- 
tion ;  the  neadquarters  of  African  and  the  birthplace  of  Latin  Chris- 
tianity, as  the  great  names  of  Tertullian  and  of  Cyprian,  of  Amobius 
and  of  Augustme,  may  well  remind  us.  Turned  southward  by  the 
bend  of  the  continent,  Islam  next  crossed  the  Great  Desert,  asserting 
its  sway  over  the  wild  nomad  races,  who  had  never  owned  any  other 
control,  moral,  political,  or  rehgious — ^the  Berbers,  the  TouaricKS,  and 
the  Tibbus.  Wherever  in  this  vast  expanse,  this  waterless  ocean, 
three  times  as  large  as  the  Mediterranean,  there  is  a  salt-mine,  a 
spring  of  brackish  water  or  a  few  palm  trees,  there  are  to  be  found 
tne  uncouth  followers  of  the  Prophet.  In  the  larger  oases  of  Aderer 
and  Agades,  Tafilet  or  Tidikelt,  Wargla  and  Ghadames,  Bilma  and 
Tibesti,  they  are  to  be  found  in  numbers,  and  the  great  caravans 
which  pass  and  repass  the  desert,  twice  in  each  year,  from  Morocco 
to  Timbuctoo,  or  from  Tripoli  to  Lake  Tchad,  exohaneing  the  hard- 
ware and  cotton  stuffs  oi  England  with  the  grouno-nuts,  or  gold 
dust,  or  ostrich  feathers,  or  slaves  of  the  8ou<mn,  are  managed  by 
Muslims  only,  and  pass  from  none  but  Muslim,  to  none  but  Muslim 
countries. 

South  of  the  Si^harai  Islam  holds  almost  exclusive  posaessioii  of  the 


MOHAMMEDANISM  IN  AFRICA.  8S 

most  fertile  and  the  most  populous  region  of  Africa,  the  enormous 
stretch  of  country  called  Negroland,  or  the  Soudan,  extending  from 
the  Niger  to  the 'Nile,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  from  the  Atlan- 
tic to  tne  Indian  Ocean,  and  including  the  powerful,  and  organized, 
or  at  least,  semi-civilized,  governments  of  Futa  JaUou,  of  Bambarra, 
of  Massena,  of  Gando,  of  Sokoto,  of  Bornu,  of  Baghirmi,  of  Wadai, 
of  Darfur,  Khordof an,  and  of  Sennaar.  Beyond  this  region,  toward 
the  Gulf  of  Guinea,  some  of  the  most  wiclely  extended  and  vigor- 
ous and  intelligent  Negro  tribes — tribes  whose  prowess  we  have  ex- 
perienced, whether  fighting  on  our  side  or  fighting  against  us,  in  the 
Ashantee  or  other  wars — ^the  Mandingoes  and  the  P  oulahs,  the  Jol- 
lofs  and  the  Haussas,  are,  to  a  man  almost  Mohammedan.  And, 
even  along  the  coast-line,  where  various  European  powers,  the 
French,  the  Portuguese,  the  Dutch,  the  Danes,  the  English,  the  Span- 
iards, or  the  Germans,  have,  at  various  times,  planted  their  commer- 
cial settlements,  and  where  they  can  boast  of  a  narrow  and  superficial 
fringe  of  Christianity  and  Civilization  as  the  result,  the  trader-mis- 
sionaries, or  missionary-traders  of  Islam — ^for,  in  Africa,  they  are, 
generally,  both  in  one — are  pushing  their  encroachments,  And  man- 
age to  make  many  converts,  alike  from  the  Pagan  und  the  semi- 
cSiristianized  natives.  Sierra  Leone  and  La^os,  the  two  chief  Eng- 
lish settlements  where  Islam  had  been,  till  within  a  few  years  ago, 
quite  unknown,  now  possess  large  and  flourishing  and  self-supporting 
Muslim  communities. 

Nor  is  this  aU.  The  great  Eastern  horn  of  Africa  has  been,  for 
centuries,  peopled  by  Mohammedan  races,  ferocious  and  fanaticial, 
such  as  the  Somalis  and  the  Gallas.  Far  to  the  south,  Mohammed- 
anism is  dominant  along  the  whole  extent  of  the  Suaheli  coast,  in  the 
Arab  Sultanate  of  Zanzibar.  The  followers  of  the  Prophet  are  set- 
tled in  considerable  numbers  in  Northern  Madagascar  and  in  Mo- 
zambique; and  far  inland — chiefly,  it  is  sad  to  say,  as  slave-traders — 
around  all  the  great  lakes,  and  along  all  the  upper  reaches  of  the 
Congo;  and,  southward  of  this  again,  they  are  to  be  found  scattered 
here  and  there,  always  anxious  to  propagate  their  creed,  even  among 
the  "unbelieving"  Kaffirs,  and,  still  further  afield,  in  Cape  Colony. 
It  is  hardly  too  much  to  say  that  one-half  of  the  whole  oi  Africa  is 
already  dominated  by  Islam,  while,  of  the  remaining  half,  one-quar- 
ter is  leavened  and  another  threatened  by  it.  Such  is  the  amazing, 
the  portentous  problem  which  Christianity  and  Civilization  have  to 
face  m  Africa,  and  to  which  neither  of  them  seems,  as  yet,  half  awake. 

And,  now,  what  is  the  character  of  the  religion  which  is  thus  ex- 
tending itself  by  leaps  and  bounds  over  the  most  backward  and  unfor- 
tunate and  ill-treated  of  all  the  continents  of  the  earth,  and  what  is 
the  nature  of  the  change  which,  speaking  with  the  necessary  breadth 
of  vieW;  it  produces  in  the  inhabitants  ?    So  persistent  ana  so  gross 


84  THB  LIBRARY  MAQAZmS, 

are  the  misconoeptions  which  cling,  like  serpents'  eggs  together,  about 
the  creed  and  the  founder  of  islam,  that,  not  even  in  the  century 
which  has  witnessed  the  birth  and  growth  of  the  Science  of  Com- 
parative Eeligion,  and  not  even  among  the  readers  of  this  Review, 
which  has  done  so  much  to  help  that  study  forward,  is  it  quite  safe 
to  assume  a  knowledge  of  even  the  simpler  and  more  salient  facts. 
And,  first,  I  would  remark  that  the  name  which  we  conmionly 
give  to  the  religion  is  a  misnomer.  To  caU  a  follower  of  the  Pro- 
phet a  "  Mohammedan  "  is  to  offer  him  the  same  kind  of  insult  that  it 
IS  to  call  a  devout  Catholic,  a  Papist.  "Is  it  Mohammed,"  cried 
Abu  Bekr,  the  most  faithful  of  the  Prophet's  followers,  to  the  fierce 
Omar,  who,  in  the  agony  of  his  grief,  swore  that  he  would  strike  off 
the  heietd  of  the  first  man  who  darea  to  say  that  the  Prophet  was  dead — 
the  Prophet  could  not  be  dead — "  is  it  Mohammed  or  the  God  of 
Mohammed  that  he  tai^ht  you  to  worship  ?  "The  creed  is  not 
Mohammedanism,"  but  "Islam" — a  verbal  noim,  derived  from  a  root 
which  means  submission  to  and  faith  in  God — and  the  believer  who 
so  submits  himself,  calls  himself  not  a  Mohammedan,  but  a  "  Mus- 
lim"— 2i  word  derived  from  the  same  root,  and  also  connected  with 
JSmlinij  peace  and  Salym  healthy. 

^^Auahu  Akbar^  God  is  most  great,  and  there  is  nothing  else 
great,"  this  is  the  Mussulman  creed ;  "Islam,"  that  is,  man  must  sub- 
mit to  God  and  find  his  greatest  happiness  in  so  doing,  this  is  the 
Mussulmam  life.  Mohammed  claimed  to  be  a  divinely  inspired 
Prophet,  who  came  to  deliver  these  two  messages  to  those  who  believed 
in  neither  one  nor  the  other ;  nothing  less,  but  nothing  more.  These 
are  the  two  doctrines  which  are  propagated  everywhere  by  the  mis- 
sionaries of  the  faith,  and  these  are  tney  which  an  African  tribe,  sunk 
in  polytheism  or  fetishism  of  the  most  degraded  kind,  with  all  its 
attendfant  superstitions  end  abominations,  accepts, 'or  professes  to 
accept,  when  it  embraces  Mohammedanism.  Oi  the  other  leading 
doctrines  of  the  Muslim  faith,  the  written  revelation  of  the  Koran, 
the  existance  of  anffels,  the  succession  of  prophets,  the  resposibility,. 
of  man,  the  future  life,  the  resurrection  and  the  final  judgment,  or 
of  its  four  chief  practical  duties,  almsgiving,  fasting,  prayer,  and  pil- 
grimage, I  have  no  space  to  give  any  account  here,  nor  is  it  necessary 
for  my  purpose.  But  two  passages  from  a  single  chapter  of  the 
Koran,  one  of  the  last  delivered  bv  the  Prophet,  and  therefore,  pro- 
bably, containing  his  deepest  and  nis  final  convictions,  I  must  quote, 
one  of  them  as  giving  the  noblest  summary  of  its  theology,  the  other 
of  its  morality : — 

"Gk)d,  there  is  no  God  but  He,  the  Livhig,  the  Eternal.  Slumber  doth  not  overtake 
Him,  neiUier  sleep ;  to  Him  beloneeth  Si  that  is  heaven  and  earth.  Who  is  he 
that  can  intercede  with  Him  but  by  His  own  permission?  He  knoweth  that  which 
is  past  and  that  which  is  to  come  unto  men,  and  they  shall  not  comprehend  anything 


MOHAHMEDAmSM  JA  AFRICA.  W 

of  His  knowledge  but  bo  far  as  He  pleasefh.  His  tiirone  is  extended  over  heaTen  and 
earth  and  the  upholding  of  both  is  no  burden  unto  Him ;  He  is  the  Lofty  and  the 
Great," 

Such  is  the  theology  of  the  Koran ;  and  here  is  its  morality : — 

"There  is  no  piety  in  turning  your  faces  to  the  East  and  the  West ;  but  he  is  pious 
who  belieyeth  in  Gk>a,  and  the  Last  Day,  and  the  Angles  and  the  Scriptures,  and  the 
Prophets ;  who,  for  the  love  of  God,  dlsburseth  his  wealth  to  his  kindred  and  to  the 
orphans,  and  to  the  needy,  and  to  the  wayfarer,  and  to  those  who  ask  aid  for  ran- 
soming, who  observeth  prayer  and  payeth  the  legal  alms,  and  who  is  of  those  who  are 
faithfm  to  their  engagements,  when  tnev  havo  engaged  in  them,  and  Is  patient  imder 
ills  and  hardships,  and  in  time  of  trouble,  these  are  they  who  are  just  and  who  fear 
the  Lord." 

It  may  be  observed  that  the  primary  message  delivered  by  Mo- 

hammed  to  the  Arabs  had  been  give  in  almost  the  same  words,  in 

almost  the  same  country,  to  a  people  in  almost  the  same  stage  of 

civilization,  by  thegreat  Hebrew  l*w-giver,  some  two  thousand  years 

earlier.    "Hear,  O  iSrael,  the  Lord  thy  God  is  One  God."    Mohammed 

never  professed  to  be  giving  what  was  new,  only  to  be  restoring  what 

waAold.    But  there  was  this  aU-important  difference  between  the 

two.    The  message  of  the  Hebrew  prophet  was  confined,  with  rare 

exceptions,  to  his  own  people ;  the  message  of  the  Arabian  prophet 

was  to  be  conveyed  by  his  hearers,  in  whatever  way  they  best  could 

to  the  world  at  larj^.    In  other  words,  the  Israelites  might  seem 

to  be  forfeiting  their  birthright,  if  they  communicated  the  message 

to  any  other  people ;  the  Arabs  forfeited  theirs,  if  they  did  not  do  so. 

Now  what  is  the  effect  politically,  socially,  morally,  and  reh^ously 

upon  a  Negro  tribe,  when  it  receives  and  embraces  the  message!  have 

described  f  Is  it  for  evil  or  for  good?    No  one  will  be  so  foolish  as  to 

suppose  that  a  tribe  throws  off  at  once  all  traces  of  its  old  beliefs,  all 

its  primeval  superstitions,  all  the  sanguinary  rites  which  the  new 

religion,  in  its  authoritative  documents,  condemns.   Such  a  revolution, 

even  if  it  were  possible— which  it  is  not— would  not  be  real  or  lasting. 

Did  the  barbarian  races  who  overran  the  fairest  portions  of  Europe, 

the  Ostro-Goths,  the  Yisi-Gt>ths,  the  Yandals,  the  Burgundians,  the 

Franks,  the  Magyars,  the  Northmen,  at  once  throw  off  their  barbarism 

when  they  accepted  Christianity,  and  rise  to  an  altogether  higher  life? 

""ake  two  illustrations  only,     when  the  fierce  warrior  Clovis  first 

eard  the  story  of  the  sufterings  of  the  Saviour  on  the  cross,  it  was 

le  burning  desire  to  avenge  His  injuries,  not  to  follow  His  example, 

at  filled  nis  heart;  and  he  would  have  been  more  or  less  than 

Oman  \t  it  had  not  been  so.    When  the  body  of  Rolf  the  Ganger, 

ho  had  accepted  Neustria  and  Christianity  together,  for  himself  and 

T  his  roving  Norse  followers,  was  being  buried,  the  gifts  to  the 

onasteries  for  the  repose  of  his  soul  were  accompanied  by  a  sacrifice 

'  one  hundred  human  victims.    But,  I  am  persuaded  from  a  vast  con- 


8ft  THE  UBBART  MAGAZINE, 

sensus  of  testimony  which  has  come  to  me  in  ever-increasing  volume, 
from  native  Christian  missionaries,  whose  testimony  is  not  likely  to  be 
biased  on  the  side  of  Islam,  no  less  than  from  European  travelers 
and  officials,  that  the  moral  elevation  in  an  African  tribe  which  ac- 
cepts Islam  is  a  most  marked  one. 

The  worst  evils  which,  there  is  reason  to  believe,  prevailed  at  one 
time  over  the  whole  of  Africa,  and  which  are  still  to  be  found  in 
many  parts  of  it,  and  those,  too,  not  far  from  the  West  Coast  and 
from  our  own  settlements — cannibalism  and  human  sacrifice  and  the 
burial  of  living  infants — disappear  at  once  and  for  ever.  Natives 
who  have  hitherto  lived  in  a  state  of  nakedness,  or  nearly  so,  begin 
to  dress,  and  that  neatly ;  natives  who  have  never  wasned  before 
begin  to  wash,  and  that  frequently;  for  ablutions  are  commanded  in 
the  sacred  law,  and  it  is  an  ordinance  which  does  not  involve  too 
severe  a  strain  on  their  natural  instincts.  The  tribal  organization 
tends  to  ^ve  place  to  something^hich  has  a  wider  basis.  In  other 
words,  tribes  coalesce  into  nations,  and,  with  the  increase  of  enercy 
and  intelligence,  nations  into  empires.  Many  such  instances  comd 
be  adduced  from  the  history  of  the  Soudan  and  the  adjoining  coun- 
tries during  the  last  hunderd  years.  If  the  warlike  spirit  is  thus 
stimulated,  the  centers  from  which  war  springs  are  fewer  in  number 
and  further  apart.  War  is  better  organzied,  and  is  under  some  form 
of  restraint;  quarrels  are  not  picked  for  nothing;  there  is  less  indis- 
criminate plundering  and  greater  security  for  property  and  life.  Ele- 
mentary school^  like  those  described  by  Mungo  rark  a  century  ago, 
spring  up,  and,  even  if  they  only  teach  their  scholars  to  recite  Sie 
Aoran,  tiiey  are  worth  something  in  themselves,  and  may  be  a  step 
to  much  more.  The  well-built  and  neatly-kept  mosque,  with  its  call 
to  prayer  repeated  five  times  a  day,  its  Mecca-pomting  niche,  its 
Imam  "and  its  weekly  service,  becomes  the  center  of  the  village,  in- 
stead of  the  ghastly  fetish  or  Juju  house.  The  worship  of  one  God, 
omnipotent,  omnipresent,  omniscient,  and  compassionate,  is  an  im- 
measurable advance  upon  an ji;hing  which  the  native  has  been  taught 
to  worship  before.  Tne  Arabic  language,  in  which  the  Mussulman 
scriptures  are  always  written,  is  a  language  of  extraordinary  copious- 
ness and  beauty ;  once  learned,  it  becomes  a  ling^ia  frcmca  to  the 
tribes  of  half  the  continent,  and  serves  as  an  introduction  to  literature, 
or  rather,  it  is  a  literature  in  itself.  It  substitutes,  moreover,  a  writ- 
ten code  of  law  for  the  arbitrary  caprice  of  a  chieftain — a  change 
which  is,  in  itself,  an  immense  advance  in  civilization. 

Manufactures  and  commerce  spring  up ;  not  the  dumb  tradmg  or 
{he  elementary  bartering  of  raw  products  which  we  laiow  from  Bfero- 
dotus  to  have  existed  from  the  earliest  times  in  Africa,  nor  the 
cowrie-shells,  or  gunpowder,  or  tobacco,  or  rum,  which  still  serve  as 
a  chief  medium  of  exchange  all  along  the  coast,  but  manufactures 


MO^A^MEDANlim  IK  AFRICA,  37 

involving  considerable  skill,  and  a  commerce  which  is  elaborately 
organized ;  and  under  their  influence,  and  that  of  the  more  settled 
government  which  Islam  brings  in  its  train,  there  have  arisen  those 
great  cities  of  Negroland  whose  very  existence,  when  first  they  were 
aescribed  by  European  travelers,  could  not  but  be  half  discredited. 
Such  are  Sego,  the  capital  of  Bambarra,  a  waUed  town  of  30,000 
inhabitants,  'with  its  square  houses  and  Moorish  mosques,  its  richly 
cultivated  fields,  and  its  fleets  of  canoes  plying  for  hire  on  the  majestic 
river  Niger,  which  stirred  into  a  burst  of  admiration  and  surprise 
the  heart  of  Mungo  Park,  the  first  ^reat  traveler  in  Negroland,  a 
century  ago,  Su3i  is  Kul^  the  capital  of  Bornu,  on  Lake  Tchad, 
a  town  first  visited  and  described  by  Denham  and  Clapperton,  and, 
subsequently,  by  Barth,  and  Rohlfs,  and  Nachtigal,  and  containing  a 
population  of  60,000  souls,  Avith  its  huge  market  well  stocked,  every 
day,  with  cattle  and  horses,  sheep  and  camels,  butter  and  eggs,  wheat 
and  leather,  ivory  and  indigo — everything,  in  fact,  which  mdicates  a 
hfe  of,  at  least,  semi-civilization  and  securitv;  such  is  Kano,  the 
Manchester,  as  it  has  been  called,  of  Negrolandf,  Avith  its  manufacture 
of  blue  cotton  cloth,  1,500  camel-loads  of  which  are  transported 
annually,  on  the  backs  of  camels,  across  the  Sahara  to  the  towns  of 
Barbary;  and  such,  once  more,  among  many  others,  is  Ilorin,  in 
the  Yoruba  country,  recently  visited  by  Rohlis  in  his  venturesome 
journey  across  Africa,  with  its  60,000  inhabitants,  its  wide  streets, 
its  little  market  squares,  and  its  many  mosques. 

I  am  far  from  saying  that  the  religion  is  the  sole  cause  of  all  this 
comparative  prosperity.  I  only  say  it  is  consistent  with  it,  and  it 
encourages  it.  Climatic-  conditions  and  various  other  influences 
co-operate  toward  the  result ;  but  what  has  Pagan  Africa,  even  where 
the  conditions  are  very  similar,  to  compare  with  it  ?  As  regards  the 
individual,  it  is  admitted  on  all  hands  that  Islam  gives  to  its  new 
Negro  converts  an  energy,  a  dignity,  a  self-reliance,  and  a  self-respect 
which  is  all  too  rarely  found  in  their  Pagan  or  their  Christian  fellow- 
countrymen.  These  are  no  slight  benefits,  but  there  is  something 
more.  There  are  in  Africa  two  evils,  widely  prevalent  and  which 
are  specially  characteristic,  the  one,  of  all  those  parts  of  Africa  which 
have  been  brought,  however  superficially,  under  the  influence  of 
European  civilization,  the  other,  of  that  much  larger  part  of  it  which 
is  still  Pagan — ^Intemperance  and  the  Belief  in  Witchcraft.  Take 
Intemperance  first : — 

Wherever  the  European  trader  comes,  he  brings  his  rum-bottle ; 
he  drinks  to  excess  himself,  and,  for  his  own  selfish  purposes,  he 
encourages  the  natives  to  do  the  same.  They  fall  victims  to  this 
desolating  flood  of  ardent  spirits  with  terrible  rapidity,  and  the  trader 
thus  manages  to  introduce  into  Africa  on  an  extensive  scale,  not  only 
a  vice  which,  in  itself,  is  bestial,  but  the  innumerable  other  crimes 


88  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

and  miseries  which  follow  in  its  train.  "O  true  believers  1*'  said 
Mohammed,  "  surely  wine,  and  lots,  and  images,  and  divining  arrows 
are  an  abomination  and  the  work  of  Satan ;  therefore  avoid  them  that 
ye  may  prosper.  Satan  seeketh  to  sow  dissension  and  hatred  among 
you  by  means  of  wine  and  lots,  and  to  divert  you  from  remembering 
ferod  and  from  prayer.  Will  jq  not  therefore  abstain  from  them?" 
By  this  absolute  prohibition  in  its  Sacred  Book,  Islam  has  established, 
once  and  for  ever,  a  "  total  abstinence  association  "  in  all  the  countries 
that  owu  its  sway ;  in  other  words,  in  those  parts  of  the  world  which 
least  need  the  stimulus  of  alcoholic  liquors,  and  in  which  indulgence 
in  them  would  be  most  fatal.  In  Africa,  as  I  have  already  shown, 
this  association  now  stretches  right  across  the  continent,  from  sea 
to  sea. 

The  other  evil  is  much  more  widely  spread,  aud  far  more  deeply 
rooted — the  Belief  in  Sorcery  and  Fetishes.  What  is  this  belief?  It 
is  one  which,  not  many  centuries  ago,  was  prevalent,  in  various 
shapes,  in  many  countries  of  Europe,  and,  in  the  most  remote  dis- 
tricts, is  not  wholly  extinct  even  now ;  but  so  fast  has  the  civilized 
world  moved  on  from  the  atmosphere  in  which  such  behefs  luxuriate, 
that  it  is  difficult,  now,  either  thoroughly  to  imderstand  them  oneself, 
or  to  make  them  intelligible  to  others.  The  African  beheves  that 
there  are  everywhere  evil  spirits  who  are  amenable  to  charms  or 
incantations,  or,  as  he  calls  tn&m^  fetishes^  and  that  certain  unknown 
or  half-known  persons  whom  he  calls  wizards,  are  acquainted  with 
these  charms,  and  use  their  occult  knowledge  for  nefarious  purposes. 
He  believes,  further,  that  certain  other  persons  are  gifted  witn  the 
power  of  tracking  or  "smeUing  out"  tne  oflFenders.  So  imiversal 
is  this  belief  that  almost  every  village  of  Pagan  Africa,  particularly 
toward  the  West  Coast,  has  its  fetish-house,  a  grim  and  ghastly 
building,  often  ranged  round  with  human  skulls  in  eyevy  stage  of 
decomposition,  and  a  fetish-man  who  is  its  high  priest.  Ko  human 
being,  surely,  ever  had  a  more  terrific  power  committM  to  him,  and 
few  nave  used  it  more  unsparingly  or  unscrupulously.  The  fetish-man 
is  boimd  by  no  law ;  he  recognizes  no  rules  of  evidence.  Anything 
which  happens,  even  in  the  most  ordinary  course  of  nature,  he  majr 
pronounce  to  be  the  work  of  a  fetish  or  a  wizard,  and  to  need  his 
assistance  to  ferret  it  out.  A  heavy  rainfall  or  a  drought,  a  murrain 
among  the  cattle,  a  pestilence  or  a  conflagration,  a  cnild  devoured 
by  a  wild  animal,  an  illness  or  a  death,  each  and  all  of  these  may  be 

Sronounced  to  hQ  fetish — somebody  has  done  it,  and  he  must  be 
etected. 

So  possessed  are  the  natives  by  this  belief,  it  so  forms  part  of  their 
being,  that  it  never  occurs  to  any  one  of  them,  though  he  knows  that 
his  own  turn  may  come  next,  to  question  the  reahty  of  this  uncanny 
power ;  and,  in  tne  panic  terror  which  waits  upon  the  movementa  cf 


MOHAMMSDANiaU  IN  AFRICA.  10 

the  fetish-man  and  his  decisions,  the  ^egro  loses,  for  a  time,  some 
of  his  most  essential  and  amiable  characteristics,  his  frivolity,  his 
Ught-heartedness,  even  his  family  affection.  A  son  will  join  in  put- 
ting his  father  to  death;  a  brother  will  help  to  tear  m  pieces  a 
brother.  If  the  accused  dares  to  deny  the  charge — which  he  seldom 
does,  however  preposterous  or  impossible  it  may  be — he  has  to  sub- 
mit to  some  terrible  ordeal,  such  as  the  running  at  full  speed  under 
an  avenue  of  hooped  arches  about  half  his  heignt,  when,  if  he  stum- 
bles, or  rather,  as  soon  as  he  stumbles,  he  is  hacked  to  death ;  or  the 
drinking  of  some  deadly  decoction,  such  as  the  Casca-bark,  when  his 
one  chance  of  escape  is  handsomely  to  bribe  the  fetish-man  to  give 
him  the  exact  quantity  or  quality  which  will  make  him  desperately 
sick,  before  the  poison  has  well  begun  its  deadly  work.  In  Ashantee 
and  Dahomey,  at  Bonny  and  Calabar,  in  the  Fan  countr v  and  through- 
out Angola,  this  terrible  belief  prevails,  and,  as  may  well  be  imagined, 
it  ramifies  out  into  every  kind  of  villainy  and  crime. 

It  was  my  happiness,  last  year,  to  have  staying  with  me  at  Harrow 
a  highly  enlightened  Negro  chief,  Tetteh  Agamazong  by  name,  the 
hereditary  chief  of  Quiah,  a  region  to  the  north-east  of  Sierra  Leone, 
and  inhabited  by  a  branch  of  the  great  Timneh  tribe,  the  people  from 
whom  we  originally  purchased  the  peninsula  on  which  Free  Town 
stands,  and  who,  though  within  a  few  miles  of  our  settlements,  are 
all  Pagans  and  all,  heart  and  soul,  believers  in  the  fetish-man.  Him- 
self a  Christian,  who  had  served  the  English  government,  in  various 
capacities,  at  various  points  along  the  W  est  Coast,  he  was  about  to 
return  to  his  own  country  and  assume  the  full  sovereignty,  in  the 
hope  that  he  mi^ht  be  aole  gradually  to  introduce  some  few  ele- 
ments of  Civilization  and  Chrisfianity  among  his  people.  One  inci- 
dent, told  me,  by  him,  will  illustrate  better  than  many  pages  of 
disquisition,  the  intractable  naiture  of  this  beUef  in  fetishes,  and  the 
terrible  impediment  that  it  is  to  all  improvement : — 

His  people  believe  that  certain  of  their  number  have  the  power  of 
changing  themselves  into  crocodiles — an  animal  which  is  numerous 
and  destructive  in  the  rivers  of  his  country — and,  in  that  shape,  carry 
off  those  against  whom  they  have  any  grudge.  One  day  a  man  was 
brought  before  him  as  king,  charffed  with  this  offense : — "  I  shot  at 
and  Killed  a  crocodile  the  other  aay,"  said  the  accuser,  "  and  this 
man,  who  was  lying  asleep  in  a  hammock  near,  tumbled  out  of  it  at 
the  moment  when  1  shot.  He  must  therefore  have  been  inside  the 
crocodile,  and  must  be  put  to  death.''  In  vain  did  the  king  repre- 
sent that,  if  the  accused  was  in  the  hammock,  he  could  not  have  been 
in  the  crocodile,  and,  if  the  crocodile  was  killed  when  the  prisoner 
was  concealed  within  it,  he  must  have  been  killed  too,  and  he  could 
not  therefore  have  been,  at  the  same  time,  aUve  in  his  hammock.  It 
was  no  use.    "  Why,"  asked  the  accuser  triumphantly,  "  did*  he  turn- 


40  TSE  LlSlUnT  MAOAZlNB. 

ble  out  of  his  hammock  when  I  shot  the  crocodile,  if  he  and  the 
crocodile  were  not  one  and  the  same  ?"  And,  strangjest  thing  of  all, 
the  accused  agreed  with  the  accuser,  and  confessed  ms  guilt !  What 
could  be  done?  Hahemua  confitentem  reum.  The  kin^  could  not 
bring  himself  to  put  to  death  a  man  for  doing  that  of  which  he  knew 
him  to  be  innocent ;  nor  did  he  dare  to  acquit  him  of  having  done 
what  he  had  himself  confessed,  and  what  iais  neighbors  were  now 
more  than  ever  convinced  he  had  often  done  before.  lie  adjourned 
the  matter  till  his  visit  to  England  should  be  over,  in  the  famt,  and 
I  fear  the  forlorn,  hope  that  something  or  other  miffht,  in  the  mean- 
time, "turn  up"  to  save  the  unhappy  man.  Now  this  stubborn  and 
intractable  belief,  with  all  the  horrors  and  loss  of  life  which  follow 
in  its  train,  loss  of  life  probably  only  second  to  that  caused,  at  the 
present  day,  by  the  slave  trade  itself,  Islam  has,  somehow  or  other, 
over  a  large  portion  of  North  Africa,  succeeded  in  eradicating. 

And  here,  oef ore  I  pass  on  from  the  subject  of  the  terrible  loss  of 
life  involved  in  many  of  the  beliefs  and  customs  of  the  Pagan  Negro, 
I  must  guard  myself  against  an  inference  which  some  mieht  be 
tempted  to  draw  from  what  I  have  said,  that  there  is  any  innerent 
or  extraordinary  depravity,  any  "  double  dose  of  original  sin,"  in  the 
Negro  race  as  a  whole.  There  is  nothing  of  the  kind,  and  it  is  well 
that  it  is  not  so;  for,  while  many  other  native  races  are  dving  out 
before  the  encroacbments  or  the  mere  presence  of  the  wnite  man, 
the  Negro  gives  no  sign  of  so  doing.  His  race-vitality  is  equal  to 
that  of  any  race  in  existence,  and  he  has  many  and  marked  virtues 
of  his  own.  His  receptivity,  his  simplicity,  his  kindliness,  his  family 
affection  have  been  oorne  emphatic  testimony  to,  by  every  great 
African  traveler,  from  Adamson  or  Mungo  Park  down  to  Li^dngstone. 
The  customes  of  a  primitive  and  barbarous  people  are  not  to  be 
judffed  by  a  European  standard.  There  is  all  the  difference  in  the 
world  between  cruelty  for  the  sake  of  cruelty— the  cruelty  which  is 
an  end  in  itself — ^and  cruel  deeds  done,  as  a  solemn  duty,  in  obedience 
to  a  supposed  supernatural  sanction.  The  one  argues  original 
depravity,  the  other  does  nothing  of  the  sort ;  and  under  this  last 
head  fall  the  human  sacrifices  of  Ashantee,  and  the  annual "  customs  " 
of  Dahomey.  The  stories  circulated  by  earlj  travelers  as  to  the  wild 
Saturnalia  of  slaughter  and  canoes  swimming  in  human  blood  have 
happily  turned  out  to  be,  at  all  events,  exaggerated.  The  victims 
sacraficed  at  the  death  of  a  king  are  often  captives  or  criminals,  and 
are  supposed  to  become  his  servants  in  another  world.  Those  killed 
at  intervals  afterward  are  supposed  to  be  messengers  to 'him  from 
this.  Their  despatch  is  considered  by  each  successive  kinff  of  Daho- 
mey to  be  incumbent  upon  him  as  a  matter  of  duty  alU^e  to  iiis  father, 
to  the  state,  andlbhe  gods.  He  walks  about  among  the  messenffers, 
delivers  to  them  his  messages,  and  talks  amicably  to  each  of  tnem 


MOltAMMEDAmSM  IN  AFBIOA.  41 

upon  the  subject,  as  another  authentic  anecdote,  inunitable  in  its 
humor,  told  me  by  Tetteh  Agamazong  will  show. 

One  day,  in  going  his  rounds,  the  king  came  to  a  remarkably 
fine-looking  man,  a  native  of  the  Yoruba  country,  and  said  to  him, 
"  Well,  you  have  got  to  go ;  tell  my  father  I  am  getting  along  pretty 
weU,  and  am  governing  the  people  as  he  would  wish  me  to  do. 
'*  Yes,"  said  the  man,  "I  have  got  to  go,  but  I  want  to  tell  you  one 
thing  first."  "What  is  that  V '  aSced  the  king.  "  I  want  to  tell  you," 
replied  the  man,  "  that  I  will  not  deliver  your  message."  "  Not 
deliver  my  message  ? "  exclaimed  the  king.  "  No,  I  will  not  1 " 
"Why  not!"  asked  his  Majesty.  "First,"  rephed  the  victim, 
"  because  I  don't  want  to  go,  and  I  don't  see  why  1  should  deliver  it 
for  you ;  and,  secondly,  bSjause  I  am  a  Yoruba  man  and  he  is  of 
Dahomey,  and  the  Yoruba  people  do  not  see  or  talk  to  the  Dahomey 

Seople  here,  nor  do  they  up  there ;  therefore,  I  neither  can  nor  will 
eUver  your  message."  The  king  looked  astonished,  and  turning  to 
the  executioner,  who  was  ready  to  begin  his  bloody  work  and 
despatch  the  messenger,  if  not  the  message,  simply  said,  "  He  is  a 
bad  messenger— don't  send  him."  And  the  man  was  let  go  scot- 
free  ;  rather  a  dangerous  precedent,  one  would  think,  under  such 
circumstances,  for  tne  future! 

Are  there  any  drawbacks  to  the  great  and,  as  they  appear  to  me, 
indisputable  benefits  conferred  by  Islam  on  those  who  receive  it  ? 
I  think  that  there  are,  although  they  are  practically  ignored  in  Canon 
Taylor's  paper,  and,  probably,  for  the  simple  reason  that  it  did  not 
fall  within  the  scope  of  the  work  which  he  has  so  closely  followed, 
to  dwell  at  length  upon  them.  In  the  new-born  enthusiasm  for  a 
noble  subject,  and  under  the  influence  of  the  revelations,  which 
each  day,  when  I  was  studying  it,  seemed  to  bring  me,  I  was,  as  I 
can  now  see,  looking  back  with  older  and  sadder,  if  not  wiser  eyes, 
neither  very  able  nor  very  anxious  to  look  out  for  the  darker  spots, 
or  to  bring  into  strong  relief  the  shortcomings  which  might  nave 
been  detected  in  what  seemed  to  me  then,  and  seems  to  me  stiU, 
upon  the  whole,  to  have  been  so  beneficent  a  revival  of  Eastern  hfe, 
and  thought  and  energy.  In  any  case,  others  had  done  that  part 
of  the  work  sufficient^  before  me,  and  some  are  doing  it  stDl, 
though  in  a  much  more  temperate  spirit,  as  the  controversy  awakened 
by  Canon  Taylor's  paper  proves. 

My  subject  now,  nowever,  definitely  calls  for  an  estimate  of  the 
losses  as  well  as  the  gains  caused  by  the  spread  of  Mohammedanism 
in  Africa.  Let  me  enumerate  some  of  them,  always  bearing  in  mind 
that  it  is  easy  to  be  too  severe  on  the  shortcomings  of  a  religion 
which  deals  with  a  civilization  so  widely  different  from  our  own,  and 
that  it  is  also  easy  to  forget  how  many  of  the  misdeeds  of  Moham 


4d  THE  LIBRARY  MAQAZINM 

medan  nations  have  had  their  counterpart  among  Christians,  at  no 
distant  time. 

Fi/rat^  then  comes  the  Slave-trade,  that  "  open  sore  of  the  world," 
as  Dr.  Livingstone  called  it,  and  which  remams  open  in  Africa  still, 
chiefly  because  Mohammedan  nations  support  and  practice  it.    It  is 

;uite  true  that  no  European  nation  is  clean-handed  in  the  matter, 
t  is  also  true  that  European  nations  have  sinned  a^inst  infinitely 
greater  Ught,  and  with  infinitely  less  temptation,  and,  therefore,  any 
condemnation  which  they  may  be  inclined  to  mete  out  to  African  and 
Asiatic  nations  must  be  tempered  with  bitter  self-humiliation.  Yet 
it  is  a  matter  of  fact  that  the  slave-trade  is  now  abandoned  and  con- 
demned by  every  Christian  nation,  and,  what  is  more  important,  is 
hateful  to  every  individual  who  has  any  right  to  call  himself  a 
Christian.  It  may  be  true  again,  as  report^  by  Tradition,  that 
Mohammed  said  that  "  the  worat  of  men  was  the  seller  of  men,"  but, 
so  far,  no  sign  of  any  strenuous  or  concerted  effort  has  been  shown 
on  the  part  of  Mussulman  rulers  or  Mussulman  doctors  to  bring  the 
traffic  to  an  end.  I  am  afraid  that  they  consider,  with  however 
little  reason,  that  they  are  only  carrying  out  the  Prophet's  law,  and 
doing  what  is  inherently  right  and  for  the  good  of  both  parties,  in 
enslaving  the  unbeliever.  No  Greek  philosopher  was  ever  more 
firmlv  convinced  that  the  barbarian  was  markea  out  by  nature  to  be 
his  slave  than,  in  defiance  of  the  general  course  of  History,  is  the 
Muslim  convinced  that  such  is  the  natural  destiny  of  the  Pagan  and 
the  Christian.  What  is  the  loss  of  human  life,  the  waste  of  human 
energy,  the  sum  total  of  human  misery,  which  are  involved  in  the 
slave-trade,  some  slight  notion  may  be  obtained  from  the  works  of 
any  African  traveler,  whose  painful  duty  it  has  been  to  follow  in 
the  f oofeteps  of  the  slave-trader.  It  is  some  satisfaction,  on  the  other 
hand,  to  remember  that  the  more  Islam  spreads  over  Africa,  the 
more  is  the  area  for  slave-hunting  curtailed — for  it  is  forbidden  to 
enslave  the  true  believer — ^and  it  is  indisputable  that  the  condition 
of  the  domestic  slave  in  most  Muslim  countries  is  much  better  than 
it  used  to  be  in  most  Christian.  The  example  and  precept  of 
Mohammed  are  at  one  on  this  head.  "  See  that  ye  feed  them  with 
such  food  as  ye  eat  yourselves,  and  clothe  them  with  the  dress  ye 
yourselves  wear,  for  tney  are  the  servants  of  the  Lord  and  not  to  be 
tormented."  "  How  many  times  a  day,"  asked  a  follower  of  Moham- 
med, "  ought  I  to  forgive  a  slave  wno  displeases  me  ?"  "  Seventy 
times  a  day,"  replied  the  Prophet. 

Secondh/^  and  closely  connected  with  the  former,  Muslims,  hke 
other  people,  have  the  defects  of  their  good  qualities,  and,  if  it  be 
true  that  the  reception  of  Islim  by  a  Negro  gives  him  that  personal 
dignity  and  self-respect  on  which  I  have  enlarged,  and  enrols  him  as 
one  of  a  superior  caste,  aU  of  whose  members  are  equal  and  are 


UOBAMMEDANlaM  IN  AFRICA.  48 

equally  eligible  for  all  offices  in  the  State,  it  is  no  less  true  that  he 
tends  to  look  down  upon  all  who  are  outside  the  fold  as  so  much  dirt 
beneath  his  feet ;  they  are  Pariahs  without  the  pale,  in  almost  the 
EUndu  sense  of  the  word.  There  is,  probably,  no  scorn  which  is  so 
sublime,  and,  I  would  add,  so  withering,  and  so  anti-social,  as  that 
with  which  the  worshiper  of  the  One  God  looks  down  upon  the 
worshiper  of  the  many. 

Thirdly^  Religious  W  ars.  The  doctrine  that  it  ever  can  be  riffht 
to  use  the  sword  as  an  instrument  of  conversion  is  one  whicit  nas 
given  rise  to  the  most  terrible  wars  in  all  history.  Here,  again, 
Christian  nations  cannot  afford  to  throw  stones  at  Muslim ;  but  mere 
is  this  enormous  difference  between  the  two,  that  such  wars  are 
explicitly  sanctioned  by  the  founder  of  Islam,  they  are  explicitly  con- 
demned by  the  Founder  of  Christianity.  It  may  well  have  seemed 
to  Mohammed  that  a  war  of  religious  propagandism,  if  an  evil  at  all, 
was  a  less  evil  than  the  state  of  things  wnich  it  was  intended  to 
supersede,  and  it  may  well  seem  so  now  to  those  half -military,  half- 
reugious  geniuses,  like  Schamyl  or  Abd-el-Kader,  in  better  known 
Mussulman  countries,  or  like  Soni  Heli-Ischia  or  Omaru-al-Haj,  or, 
later  still,  like  the  Imam  Samadu  in  the  heart  of  the  Soudan,  whom 
Islam  in  aU  its  stages,  in  its  decadence  no  less  than  in  its  vigorous 
youth,  seems  capstble  of  throwing  off.  Gibbon  has  somewhere 
remarked  that  the  use  and  abuse  oi  religion  are  feeble  to  stem,  they 
are  irresistible  to  impel,  the  stream  of  national  manners.  Moham- 
med gave  a  religious  sanction  to  some  at  least  of  the  Arab  national 
proclivities — the  appetite  for  war,  for  plunder,  and  for  adventure — 
just  as,  four  centuries  later,  the  popes  enjoined  upon  the  Christian 
chivalry  of  Europe  as  a  penance,  what  they  themselves  regarded  as 
a  pastime,  the  armed  pilgrimages  to  the  lioly  Land ;  and,  in  either 
case,  the  result  was  a  sublime  outburst  of  national*  and  religious  en- 
thusiasm which  it  would  have  baffled  aU  the  cool  calculations  of  a 
philosopher  to  anticipate,  and  all  the  received  maxims  of  the  art  of 
war  to  resist.  But,  here  again,  the  fact  remains  that  religions  wars 
are  now  scouted  by  all  Christian  nations.  They  are  sanctioned,  in 
theory,  at  least,  by  all  Muslim  nations ;  and  the  theory  passes  into 
fact  whenever,  as  in  Africa,  circumstances  are  favorable.  The 
Muslim  missionaries  may  carry  the  Koran  in  one  hand,  and  many, 
perhaps  most,  of  the  conversions  to  Islam  in  Africa  are  now  effected 
by  it  alone ;  but,  potentially,  at  least,  he  carries  the  sword  in  the 
other,  and,  for  many  centuries,  Islam  has  thus  been  a  fertile  source 
of  war  in  Africa  on  a  large  scale. 

Fourthly^  and  most  important  of  all.  Polygamy  and  its  attendant 
evil&  Mohammed  did  sometlung,  according  to  his  light,  for  the 
condition  of  women ;  but  it  was  not  very  much.  The  mnitation  of 
the  number  of  authorized  wives  to  four,  does  not  go  far  if,  practically, 


44  Tmi  LIBUABY  MAQAZtNM, 

there  is  unliiuited  freedom  of  divorce,  and  if,  at  the  same  time,  th6 
whole  of  a  Muslim  master's  female  slaves  are,  by  the  Muslim  law. 
placed  at  his  absolute  disposal.  That  woman  is  regarded  as  a  chattel 
and  nothing  more,  is  painfully  evident  throughout  the  Muslim  world, 
and  chastity,  as  was  pointed  out  in  a  very  able  article  in  the  Spectator 
the  other  day,  is  not,  therefore,  in  any  higher  sense  of  the  word,  a 
Muslim  virtue.  It  is  impossible  to  discuss  the  subject  adequately 
here.  Polygamy  is  a  giffantio  evil,  corrupting  society  at  the  fountain- 
head.  How  can  society  oe  even  tolerably  pure  when  the  family,  which 
is  the  source  and  school  of  all  the  gentler,  all  the  more  saintly,  all  the 
less  self -regarding  virtues  is  tainted?  Eliminate  from  Christendom 
all  that  the  mother,  the  wife,  the  sister,  and  the  daughter  have  done 
for  it,  and  what  would  the  residuum  be  like?  The  manly  virtues, 
which  are  unquestionably  inculcated  by  Islam,  lose  half  their  value, 
and  more  than  half  their  beauty,  when  they  are  not  set  off  and 
relieved  by  the  gentler.  How  then  can  Christianity,  however  hope- 
less, at  times,  the  struggle  may  appear,  be  expected  to  retire  from 
it,  and,  contentedly,  to  acquiesce  m  the  possession  by  Islam  of  so 
large  a  portion  of  the  earth,  when  Islam  leaves  half  of  all  its  vota- 
ries— ^the  whole  female  sex,  that  is — ^almost  in  the  position  in  which 
it  found  them  ? 

I  now  pass  on  to  the  second  division  of  my  subject — ^What  Christi- 
anity has  done,  or  may  do,  for  Africa;  and  how,  in  view  of  the  above 
facts  and  influences,  sne  ought  to  regard  the  great  kindred  religion. 
And  I  shall  be  able  to  treat  this  part  of  the  subject  more  briefly  than 
I  have  done  the  first,  partly,  because  much  that  I  might  be  disposed 
to  enlarge  on,  foUows  Jiaturally  from  what  I  have  a&eady  said,  and 
partly,  because  I  have  discussed  the  whole  subject  fully,  and  in  a 
spirit  and  with  objects  from  which  I  have,  as  yet,  seen  no  good  rea- 
son to  depart,  in  my  lectures  on  Mohammed  and  MohxmiTtiedanimi. 

There  is  no  disguising  the  fact  that,  hitherto,  with  the  exception  of 
one  or  two  isolated  spots,  such  as  Abbeokuta  and  Kuruman,  Christian 
effort  has  been  anything  but  markedly  successful  in  Africa.  No 
benefits  comparable  in  extent  or  character  to  those  which  I  have 
pointed  out  as  the  result  of  Mohammedanism  have  been,  as  yet,  con- 
ferred on  Africa  by  Christianity^  and,  x)n  the  other  hand,  the  suffer- 
ings inflicted,  at  aU  events  in  past  times,  on  this  the  most  backward 
and  the  most  heavily'weightea,  by  geographical  and  other  peculiari- 
ties, of  all  the  great  divisions  of  the  world,  by  nations  calling  them- 
selves Christian,  bear  only  too  close  an  analogy  to  those  which  have 
been,  and  stUl  are,  inflicted  on  them  by  Mushms.  For  many  centu- 
ries, the  maritime  and  commercial  nations  of  Europe  have  torn  away 
tens  of  thousands  of  Africans  from  their  homes,  with  every  circum- 
stance of  atrocity,  and  carried  them  off  to  a  living  death  in  the  new 
world.    The  horrors  of  the  middle  passage  and  of  the  cotton  plan- 


MOHAMMEDANiaM  IN  AFRICA.  45 

tation  may  well  be  set  against  those  of  the  inland  slave  traffic  in  tne 
hands  of  Muslims,  and  mtemperance  in  the  matter  of  intoxicating 
liquors,  which  extends  exactly  so  far  as  European  influence  extends, 
may  be  regarded  as,  at  least,  a  partial  set-off  to  the  degradation  of 
women,  and  to  the  sensuality  wnich,  too  often,  accompanies  Moham- 
medajiisuL  Christianity  is  m  no  sense  to  blame  for  this,  but  Chris- 
tian nations  are.  If  Clmstian  philanthropy,  in  which  England  has 
taken  the  leading  part,  has,  at  last,  succeeded  in  abolisnin^  the 
Oceanic  slave-trade,  it  has  only  succeeded  in  undoing  what  Christian 
nations  themselves  began;  and,  as  our  sad  experience  m  Ireland  shows, 
it  is  easier  far  to  remove  abuses  than  to  undo  the  impression  which 
those  abuses  have  created,  and  which  has  been  bumea  into  the  souls 
of  the  sufferers.  What  wonder,  as  Mr.  Blyden  remarks,  that  no  sin- 
gle African  tribe  as  a  tribe,  and  no  leading  African  chief  as  a  chief, 
has,  as  yet,  been  converted  to  Christianity  on  the  West  Coast  of 
Africa?  Not  that  there  has  been  any  want  of  effort  during  the  last 
hundred  years.  There  is  hardly  a  nation  or  a  denomination  in 
Christendom  which  has  not  done  its  little  something  towards  wiping 
out  the  stain.  Protestant  missionaries  have  vied  with  Catholic, 
Nonconformists  of  every  type  with  Episcopalians,  Americans  with 
Swiss,  and  Scotchman  with  Englishmen.  In  no  country  in  the  world 
has  that "  enthusiasm  of  humanity"  which,  whether  it  is  acknow- 
ledged or  not,  is,  except  in  rare  and  isolated  cases,  the  result  of  Chris- 
tianity and  Christianity  alone,  manifested  itself  in  nobler  individual 
efforts  for  the  good  of  the  suffering  and  the  degraded.  Moffat  and 
Livingstone  and  Krapf  and  Eebmann  in  the  front  rank  of  aU,  and 
Bishops  Mackenzie,  and  Steere,  and  Hannington,  in  the  second,  are 
but  the  better  known  and  more  brilliant  examples  of  a  long  pucces- 
sion  of  Christian  philanthropists,  who,  filled  with  burning  love  to 
man  and  unfaltering  faith  in  God,  and  flinging  tor  the  winds  all  con- 
siderations of  wealth,  and  ease,  and  social  position,  and  worldly 
honor,  have  left  behind  them  house  and  home,  and  friends  and 
country,  and  everything  which  is  ordinarily  supposed  to  make  life 
worth  naving,  if,  naply,  they  might  help  forward  into  light  some  of 
the  inhabitants  of  the  dark  contment.  Why,  then,  has  Christianity 
failed  ?  If  we  can  discover  the  causes  of  the  failure,  then,  as  Lord 
Bacon  is  fond  of  pointing  out,  unless  the  causes  are  altogether  intract- 
able and  irremovable,  we  have  great  grounds  of  hope  for  the  future; 
and,  on  this  subject,  I  would,  once  again,  take  the  opportunity  of 
begging  every  one  who  is  interested  in  it,  to  study  the  first  three  es- 
says of  Mr.  Blyderi's  volume.  The  first  on  "  Mohammedanism  and 
the  N^o  Eace"  is  perhaps  the  most  striking  of  the  three,  and  the 
gem  of  the  whole  volume.  I  need  do  little  more,  in  this  part 
of  my  paper,  than  epitomize  and  reproduce,  m/utatis  rmttandis, 
some  of  his  points. 


46  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

First  and  foremost,  then,  Christianity  has  come  to  the  Negro — if 
I  may  use  a  phrase  which  is  all  too  familiar  to  Englishmen  at  pre- 
sent, and  witn  all  too  little  reason — in  a  "  foreign  garb. "  Moham- 
medanism, though  it  had  the  sword  to  back  it,  hrst  reached  the 
Negro  when  he  was  in  his  own  country,  when  he  was  amidst  his  own 
snrroimdings,  and  when  he  was  master  of  himself.  It  was  not  till  it 
had  acclimatized  itself  and  taken  root  in  the  soil  of  Africa,  that  it 
was  handed  on  to  others,  and  then,  no  longer  exclusively  by  Arab 
warriors  or  missionaries,  but  by  men  of  the  Negro's  own  race,  his 
own  proclivities,  his  own  color.  It  was  a  call  to  aU  who  received 
it  to  come  up  higher,  politically,  socially,  morally,  religiously;  to  ele- 
vate themselves  above  their  surroundings,  and  then,  m  turn,  to  ele- 
vate them.  It  was  able  to  accommodate  itself,  as  it  has  been  able 
amongst  other  races  who  have  embraced  it — ^the  Arabs,  the  Syrians, 
the  Persians,  the  Afghans,  the  Hindus,  the  Malays,  the  East  India 
Islanders,  the  Chinese,  the  Turks,  the  Turcomans,  the  Egyptians,  and 
the  Moors — ^to  many  of  the  customs  and  peculiarities  of  the  Negro 
race.  It  thus,  in  tmie,  became  amalgamated  with  those  customs, 
and  passed  on  to  fresh  and  ever-fresh  tribes,  with  an  ever-increasing 
momentum  and  prestige. 

Christianity,  on  the  other,  first  reached  the  Negro  when  he  was  a 
slave  in  a  foreign  land.  It  was,  or  appeared  to  be,  the  creed,  not  of 
his  friends,  his  well-wishers,  his  kindred,  but  of  his  masters  and  his 
oppressors.  His  teachers  differed  from  him  in  education,  in  manners 
in  color,  in  civilization.  An  immeasurable  gap  yawned  between  them. 
However  humane  his  purpose,  his  Christian  instructor  evidently  re- 
garded him  with  something  of  that  instinctive  feeling  of  race  repul- 
sion which  has  been  felt  even  by  the  warmest  Abolitionists,  and 
makes  itself  painfully  evident  wherever  the  black  man  comes  in  con- 
tact with  the  white.  Thus,  when  the  Negro  in  America  accepted 
Christianity,  it  was  chiefly  that  side  of  it  which  bids  men  look  to  a 
better  world  to  right  the  wrongs  and  woes  of  this ;  and  the  i)ractical 
duties  most  forcibly  impressedupon  him — as  some  of  the  still  exist- 
ing catechisms  quoted  by  Mr.  Blyden  show — ^were  those  of  humility, 
of  submission,  or  contentment  with  that  not  very  desirable  condition 
of  life,  to  which  it  was  assumed  that  it  had  pleased  God  to  call  him. 
The  other  side  of  Christianity — the  side  which  has  produced  the 
most  active  and  noblest  heroism,  side  by  side  with  the  saintly  vir- 
tues, the  horoism  of  Polycarp  and  the  monk  Telemachus,  of  St. 
Boniface  and  St.  Bernard,  of  King  Alfred  and  King  Louis  the 
Ninth,  of  Las  Casas  and  St.  Francis  Xavier^f  Gustavus  Adolphus 
and  Admiral  Cohgny,  of  Henry  Martin  and  W  illiam  Wilberf orce,  of 
Henry  and  John  Lawrence,  of  General  Gk>rdon  and  Father  Bamien 
— was  almost  a  closed  book  to  him. 

SecondlA/y  Christianity  came  to  the  Negro,  not  as  a  development 


MOHAMMEDAmSM  IN  AFRICA,  47 

from  within,  but  as  a  system  from  without.  The  white  man's  reli- 
gion W£ia  a  part  of  the  white  man's  civilization  which,  as  far  as  pos- 
sible, was  to  be  swallowed  with  it ;  and  therefore  it  is,  as  Mr.  Blyden 
points  out,  that,  everywhere  in  Christian  lands,  the  Negro  plays,  at 
the  present  moment,  the  part  of  the  slave,  the  ape,  or  the  puppet. 
His  efforts  to  conform  to  tne  canons  of  taste  suggested  indirectly  by 
Christian  art,  as  well  as  directly  by  Christian  teaching,  have  under- 
mined and  destroyed  his  individuality  and  his  self-respect,  and  made 
him  the  stunted  spiritless  creature  with  which  we  are  all  familiar. 
Thus,  Mr.  Blyden  himself  heard  a  Negro  at  one  of  those  prayer 
meetings  which  form  so  large  and  so  happy  a  part  of  the  Negro's 
life  inuie  United  States,  pray  to  the  Deity  " to  stretch  out  His  lily- 
whUe  hands"  to  his  worshipers ;  while  another,  preaching  on  the 
words  "  We  shall  be  like  Him,"  exclaimed,  "  Brethren,  imagine  a 
beautiful  white  man  with  blue  eyes,  rosy  cheeks  and  flaxen  hair,  and 
we  shaU  he  like  himP  If  ^e  idiosyncrasies  of  race  are,  as  I  believe 
them  to  be,  the  most  precious  heritage  of  man,  and,  therefore,  deserve 
to  be  guarded  with  tne  tenderest  and  the  most  jealous  care ;  if  a 
lower  development  on  the  lines  indicated  by  Nature  is  more  genuine, 
more  real,  more  lasting  than  a  higher  development  which  is,  at  the 
time,  altogether  alien  to  them,  then,  there  is  something  radically 
wrong  in  5ie  way  in  which  Christianity  has  hitherto  been  presented 
to  the  Negro  in  Christian  lands.    Mr.  Blyden  says : —  . 

"  From  the  lessons  he  every  day  receives  the  Negro  unconsciously  imbibes  the  con- 
viction that,  to  be  a  good  man,  he  must  be  like  the  white  man.  He  is  not  brought  up— 
however  he  may  deserve  it — to  be  the  companion,  the  e^ual,  the  comrade  of  the  white 
man,  but  his  imitator  and  his  parasite.  To  be  himself  m  a  country  where  everything 
ridicules  him  is  to  be  nothing — less,  worse  than  nothing.  To  be  as  like  the  white  man 
as  possible,  to  copy  his  outward  appearance,  his  peculiarities,  his  manners,  the 
arrangement  of  his  toilet,  this  is  the  aim  of  the  Christian  Negro,  his  aspiration.  The 
only  virtues  which  under  the  circumstances  he  acquires  are  the  parasitical.  Imitation 
is  not  discipleship.  The  Mohammedan  Negro  is  a  much  better  Mohammedan  than  the 
Christian  iMegro  is  a  Christian,  because  the  Muslim  Ne^  as  a  learner  is  a  disciple, 
not  an  imitator.  A  disciple,  when  freed  from  leadin^-stnngs,  may  become  a  producer ; 
an  imitator  never  rises  above  a  mere  copvist.  With  the  disciple  progress  is  from 
within  ;  the  imitator  grows  by  accretion  from  without.  The  learning  required  by  a 
disciple  gives  him  capacity ;  that  gained  by  an  imitator  terminates  in  itself ;  the  one 
becomes  a  capable  man,  the  other  is  a  mere  sciolist.  This  explains  the  difference  be- 
tween the  Mohammedan  and  the  Christian  Negro." 

ITiirdlyy  Christianity  has  hitherto  come  to  the  Negro  weighted 
with  the  shortcomings  and  the  crimes  of  its  professors.  Bum  and 
gunpowder,  supplied  in  unlimited  quantities  to  races  in  the  condition 
of  tne  West  Amcan  Negro  speai  for  themselves  and  are  a  poor 
recommendation  for  the  efforts  of  Christian  missionaries.  Selfish- 
ness, cruelty,  and  immorality  have  been  the  distinguishing  marks  of 
the  European  traders  of  all  nations  dealing  with  the  West  Coast,  and 
the  alliances  which  we  have  been  in  the  habit  of  contracting,  for 
purposes  of  our  own,  with  the  weaker  races  on  the  searboard— with 


48  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

the  Fantees,  for  instance — cutting  off  the  more  manly  races  of  th# 
interior,  such  as  the  Ashantees,  from  the  natural  outlet  for  their 
energies  and  commerce,  have  been  a  fertile  source  of  those  "  little 
wars'^'  which  are  anything  but  little  in  the  hatreds  which  they 
engender,  and  the  ill  effects  which  they  leave  behind  them.  The 
Portuguese  have  occupied  extensive  settlements  along  hundreds  of 
miles  of  coast  on  each  side  of  Africa,  for  more  than  three  hundred 
years ;  and  during  the  whole  of  that  time  they  have  not  taken  one 
single  step  to  elevate  the  natives.  As  slave  traders,  according  to  the 
explicit  and  repeated  statements  of  Dr.  Livingstone,  they  have 
shown  themselves  to  be  more  heartless  and  more  brutal  than  the 
Arabs  themselves.  Kemove  them  from  Africa  to-morrow  and,  with 
the  exception  of  a  few  fine  buildings,  not  one  beneficent  trace  of 
their  three  hundred  years  of  rule  will  they  leave  behind  them.  All 
the  world  over — in  India,  in  China,  in  the  South  Sea  Islands,  in  New 
Zealand — ^the  most  fatal  hidrance  to  the  spread  of  Christianity  is 
the  lives  of  those  who  profess  it,  and  nowhere  is  this  more  the  case — 
I  think  I  might  say,  so  much  the  case — as  on  the  coast  of  Africa. 

Fourthly^  Christianity  has,  as  yet,  been  offered,  chiefly,  to  the 
least  promising  of  the  races  of  Africa,  and  that,  too,  under  the  least 
prom^ing  physical  conditions.  How  is  this?  Ahnost  all  round 
Africa,  and,  most  markedly  so,  along  the  coast  of  Guinea,  there  runs, 
for  the  breadth  of  from  20  to  150  mues  inland  from  the  coast,  a  belt 
of  malarious  country,  consisting  of  low-lying  plains  and  vast  man- 
grove swamps,  which  are  covered  with  masses  of  decaying  vegetation. 
The  climate  is  hot  and  moist,  the  sun  beats  fiercely  down,  and  the 
foul  fog  which  it  draws  up  from  the  stagnant  waters,  is  charged 
with  death.  If  it  does  not  destroy  life  at  once,  at  least,  like  opium- 
eating,  it  slowly  saps  all  the  vital  forces.  The  nobler  beasts  of 
burden  themselves  sicken  and  die  in  this  pestilential  atmosphere. 
No  amount  of  care  enables  them  to  live  out  their  natural  term. 
Woe  to  the  European  visitor  who  leaves  his  vessel  and  incautiously 
passes  a  night  upon  the  shore!  He,  sometimes,  falls  a  victim  at  once, 
or,  worse  still,  he  carries  about,  henceforward,  a  sentence  of  death 
within  himself.  Sierra  Leone  itself  has  long  been  known  as "  the 
white  man's  grave.'^  Those  Europeans  who  manage,  somehow  or 
other,  to  acchmatize  themselves,  are  generally  the  least  favorable 
specimens  of  their  race.  It  is  not,  as  Mr.  Blyden  points  out,  the 
"fittest,"  but  the  "unfittest,"  who  survive.  The  nner  and  more 
manly  African  races  who  live  behind  the  coast  ranges  of  mountains 
and  within  the  central  plateau,  with  its  more  moderate  temperature 
and  invigorating  air,  when  they  venture  down  to  this  fever-striken 
region,  themselves  ffradualljr  degenerate,  physically  and  morally, 
even  as  did  the  hardy  Samnites  of  old,  wnen  they  pressed  down 
from  their  mountain  fastnesses  in  the  Central  Apennines  to  the 


MOHAMMEDANISM  IN  AFRICA.  49 

laxTmoQS  shores  of  Campania.  With  noble  self-devotion,  but,  it 
must  be  added^  with  strange  short-sightedness,  European  missionaries 
have  thrown  themselves  into  this  hopeless  region,  and,  with  rapidly- 
enfeebling  bodies  and  minds,  have  labored  on  among  a  people  who 
are  physically  incapacitated,  even  if  Christianized,  for  any  vigorous 
exertion,  till  death  released  them.  Not  a  single  missionary  settle- 
ment, except  the  few  struggling  stations  along  the  pestilential  Lower 
Niger,  has,  I  believe,  yet  been  planted  a  hundred  miles  from  the 
West  African  coast,  among  those  nobler  races,  such  as  the  Man- 
dingoes  or  the  Fulahs,  one  convert  from  among  whom  would  be 
worth,  as  a  center  of  new  influence,  and  as  an  omen  of  hope  for  the 
future,  any  number  of  natives  of  the  coast. 

Lastly^  and  most  important  of  all,  Christianity  has,  with  very  few 
exceptions,  hitherto  b^n  offered  to  the  Negro  by  the  European 
missionary,  not  in  its  native  simplicity,  not  as  it  must  have  appeared 
to  the  Disciples  when  they  were  following  about  their  Master  from 
place  to  place,  listening  to  His  words  oi  gentle  wisdom,  watching 
His  acts  of  mercy  and  of  love  among  the  outcast,  the  poor  and  the 
bereaved,  and  only  very  gradually  gathering — ^and  some  of  them 
not  till  the  very  end — ^truer  and  wider  notions  of  His  Divine  mission, 
but  as  a  comptex  whole,  with  the  dust  of  circumstances  and  contro- 
versies and  centuries  around  it,  with  its  Prayer  Book  and  its  Thirty- 
nine  Articles,  with  its  orders  and  degrees,  with  all  that  it  has  done 
for  civilization,  and  with  all  that  civiEzation,  for  good  or  for  evil,  has 
added  to  it.  As  such,  it  is  altogether  too  complicated,  too  mysterious, 
too  metaphysical,  too  vast  for  the  native  mind.  Would  it  not  be 
well  then  to  "  try  back,"  to  bear  in  mind  as  the  first  and  most  funda- 
mental truth  of  all,  that  meat  is  suitable  for  grown  men,  that  milk  is 
suitable  for  babes,  and  to  apply,  in  its  simple  and  far-reaching  wisdom, 
the  old  maxim  of  the  Moravian  missionaries,  that  it  was  wise  to 
teach  their  converts  to  count  the  number  three  before  they  talked 
to  them  of  the  doctrine  of  the  Trinity?  When  a  monk  of  lona,  who 
had  been  sent  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  heathens  of  Northumbria, 
had  returned  disheartened  to  nis  native  country,  reporting  that 
success  was  hopeless  among  a  people  so  stubborn  and  so  barbarous, 
"Was  it  their  stubbornness  or  your  severitv? "  asked  another  monk, 
who  was  sitting  by.  "  Did  you  forget  God's  word  to  give  them  the 
milk  first  and  uien  the  meat  I "  The  speaker  was  Aidan,  who  after- 
ward became  fiirst  Bishop  of  lindisf  ame,  and  whose  wise  maxims, 
carried  out  by  himself  and  a  generation  or  two  of  men  like  him,  were 
the  means  of  Christianizing  the  whole  of  northern  England.  ^^1 
Juvoe  mcmv  ihmas  to  Bay  tmto  you,  hut  ye  cwn/not  bear  them  tuxidP  The 
golden  rule  of  doing  to  others  as  we  would  be  done  by  can  surely 
reach  the  most  untutored  intellect.  The  Divine  beautv  of  the 
central  character  of  Christianity  can  surely  touch  the  hardest  heart. 


BO  THB  JJBBAMT  MAGAZINS, 

The  obstacles  I  have  emimerated  to  the  spread  of  Christianity 
among  the  African  Neffroes  need  only  to  be  stated,  to  make  it  clear 
that  some  of  them  no  longer  exist  to  the  extent  to  which  they  once 
did,  and  that  others  are  r^novable  or  capable  of  indefinite  modifi- 
cation, as  Christendom  becomes,  and  exactly  in  proportion  as  she 
becomes,  worthy  of  herself.  Of  course  there  are  other  and  more 
fundamental  difficulties,  such  as  the  appearance  of  Tritheism  which 
Christianity,  in  the  shape  in  which  it  is  often  presented,  must  needs 
wear  in  the  eyes  of  a  stem  Monotheist,  who  owes  his  whole  mentaT 
and  moral  elevation,  such  as  it  is,  to  his  rejection  of  the  many  and  the 
worship  of  the  One  God.  On  this  I  might  have  much  to  say,  but 
will  only  remark  here  that  the  short  chapter  of  the  Koran,  which 
Muslintis  look  upon  as  equal  in  value  to  a  third  of  the  whole, — 

"Say  there  is  one  God  alone, 
God  the  Eternal. 

He  begetteth  not  and  He  is  not  begotten. 
And  there  is  none  like  Him/' 

and  other  passages  in  which  Mohammed  fulminated  against  what  he 
supposed  to  be  the  Christian  doctrine,  are  directed  against  notions 
which  Christians,  no  less  than  Muslims,  would  reject.  For  it  has 
been  pointed  out  by  Dr.  Badger  in  an  able  article  on  my  book,  that 
the  word  Walada^  used  by  Mohammed  in  these  passages,  involves 
notions  of  sex  and  of  physical  generation  in  their  grosser  form,  and 
that  it  was  against  these  that  he  hurled  his  anathemas.  It  was 
natural  that  he  should  do  so ;  for,  in  Arabia,  the  Christian  doctrine 
of  the  Trinity  was  usually  believed  to  be  a  Trinity  of  a  father,  a 
mother,  and  a  son  I  In  one  passage  of  the  Koran,  Mohammed  re- 
presents the  Almighty  as  apostropnizing  Jesus — whom,  it  should  be 
remembered,  he  no  less  than  St.  John  calls  "  The  Word  of  God," 
and,  sometimes  also,  a  "Spirit  of  God"  with  the  question,  "Hast 
thou  indeed  said  unto  men.  Take  Me  and  My  mother  Mary  for  two 
Gods  beside  God  ?"  Once  make  this  clear  to  Christians  as  well  as 
Muslims,  and  to  Muslims  as  well  as  Christians,  and  what  a  host  of 
misconceptions  will  gradually  disappear,  and  how  much  room  be  left 
for  mutual  approximation,  or  it  may  be  "  at  last  far  oflf,  at  last  f <» 
all,"  even  for  complete  amalgamation  and  union. 

Mohammedanism  presents  special  difficulties  to  Christian  mission- 
aries everywhere,  but  some  of  these  difficulties  have  been  created,  and 
all  have  l>een  intensified  by  the  fact  that  Christians  have,  all  too  often, 
failed  to  recognize  the  true  greatness  of  the  founder  of  Islam  and 
the  vast  amount  of  good  contained  in  the  system  which  he  founded. 
This  tone  of  mind  is  now  rapidly  improving,  as  my  recollections  of 
thirteen  years  ago  convince  me.  The  case  of  Mohammedanism  in 
Africa,  is  in  many  respects,  peculiar,  and  it  affords  special  grounds 
of  hope,  if  the  right  steps  are  taken,  and  taken  soon^  that  many  of 


MOEAMMEDANISM  IN  AFRICA,  51 

those  who  now  call  themselves  Mohammedans  will  be  able  to  rise  to 
something  better.  It  is  perfectly  true,  as  Canon  Tavlor  remarks, 
that  no  Pagan  tribe  in  Axrica  which  has  accepted  Islam,  has,  ever 
yet,  fallen  back  on  Paganism,  or  has,  ever  yet,  advanced  to  Chris- 
tianity. But  this  is  only  another  way  of  stating  the  fact  that  Islam 
raises  the  natives  too  much  to  allow  of  their  reverting  to  the  one ; 
it  does  not  raise  them  high  enough  to  make  them  wish  of  themselves 
to  rise  still  further  to  the  other.  Highly  competent  observers,  like 
Mr.  Blyden,  tell  us  that  Mohammedanism  sits,  as  yet,  very  Uffhtly 
on  many  African  tribes.  It  is  not  so  stereotyped  into  the  mind  and 
character  of  the  African  as  it  always  has  been  into  that  of  the  Asi- 
atic; and  the  very  fact  that  there  are  millions  of  Negroes  in  America 
and  at  the  West  India  Islands  who  not  only  call  themselves  Chris- 
tians, but  many  of  whom  are  men  of  cultivation,  and  lead  more 
or  less  Christian  lives,  is  proof  positive  that  there  is  no  insuperable 
impedient  of  race.  Is  there  not  room  to  hope  that  many  of  these 
men,  returning  to  their  own  country  and  finding  a  unique  base  of 
operations  ready  to  their  hand  in  the  Ne^ro  and  Christian  republic 
of  Dberia,  may  be  able  to  present  Chnstianitv  to  their  fellow- 
country  men  m\  shape  in  whiSi  it  has  never  yet  been  presented-^ 
in  which  it  would  be  very  difficult  for  Europeans  or  Americans  ever 
to  succeed  in  presenting  it — to  them,  and  may,  so,  develop  a  type 
of  Christianity  and  Civilization  combined,  which  shall  be  neither 
American  nor  European,  but  African,  redolent  alike  of  the  people 
and  of  the  soil  ? 

Men  like  Mr.  Blyden  of  Liberia,  like  the  Rev.  James  Johnson  of 
Lagos,  like  the  hereditary  prince  of  Quiah,  Tetteh  Aeamazong — 
all  of  whom  it  is  my  privilege  to  know  well — and  I  miffht  add,  too, 
Bishop  Crowther  of  tne  Niger  Mission,  whom  I  do  not  imow — seem 
to  me,  in  point  of  sympathy,  of  zeal,  of  intellectual  culture,  and  of 
ardent  patriotism  to  be  the  very  type  of  men  that  is  wanted  for  the 
work.  They  are  ready  for  it ;  others  will  follow  their  example ; 
and,  under  their  teaching,  if  I  may  quote  a  few  words  that  I  have 
written  elsewhere  upon  this  subject,  I  can  see  no  reason  why  African 
Mohammedans,  whdst  they  cling  as  strongly  as  ever  to  tneir  rigid 
Monotheism,  and  to  their  unfaltering  belief  in  the  divine  mission  of 
their  Prophet,  should  not,  as  they  grow  in  knowledge  of  the  real 
character  of  the  Christian  faith,  be  able  to  recognize  mat  the  Christ 
of  the  gospels  was  something  ineffably  above  the  Christ  of  those 
Christians  from  whom  alone  Mohammed  drew  his  nations  of  Him, 
that  He  was  a  perfect  mirror  of  that  one  primary  attribute  of  the 
Eternal  of  which  Mohammed  could  catch  only  a  far-off  glance,  and 
which,  had  it  been  shown  to  him  as  it  really  was,  must  needs  have 
taken  possession  of  his  soul.  In  this  way,  and  in  this  way  best,  can 
Cbri9tianity,  at  present^  act  upon  Mohammedanism,  not  by  a  rough 


I  - 


s 


52  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINR 

and  rude  attempt  to  sweep  it  into  oblivion,  for  what  of  truth  there 
is  in  it — and  I  have  shown  that  there  is  an  immense  amount  of  truth 
— can  never  die,  but  by  gradually  and,  perhaps,  almost  impercepti- 
bly, breathing  into  its  vast  and  still  vigorous  frame  a  newer,  a  purer, 
and  a  diviner  life. 

In  any  case,  £  would  remark,  in  conclusion^  that  difficulties,  and 
dangers,  and  discouragements  have,  throughout  her  history,  served 
rather  to  stimulate  than  to  depress  the  energies  of  the  Christian 
Church ;  and,  lookinff  at  what  Christianity  has,  even  in  these  latter 
days,  in  spite  of  aU  tne  obstacles  to  which  I  have  alluded,  been  able 
to  accomplish  with  the  South  Sea  Islanders,  who  have  embraced  it 
in  large  numbers,  with  the  New  Zealanders,  with  the  Negroes  in 
America  and  the  West  Indies,  with  the  natives  of  isolated  regions 
hke  Abbeokuta  and  Bechuana  Land  in  Africa,  or  like  Tinnevelly 
and  Travancore  in  India,  I  can  see  no  reason  for  withdrawing  from 
the  contest  and  giving  it  up  in  despair.  Is  the  case  of  a  missionary 
oing,  for  the  first  time,  among  the  Ashantees  or  the  inhabitants  of 

ganda  more  hopeless,  or  are  uie  people  in  a  worse  state  of  barbar- 
ism, than  were  the  Anglo-Saxons  when  they  first  received  the  visit 
of  Augustine,  the  Suevians  the  visits  of  Columban  and  St.  Gall,  the 
Teutonic  tribes  of  St.  Boniface,  the  Bulgarians  of  Cyril  and  Me- 
thodius, the  Northmen  of  St.  Ajischar?  The  resources  of  Christi- 
anity are  not  yet  exhausted.  A  relimon  which  does  not  attempt  to 
propa^te  itself  is  only  half  alive.  It  exists,  it  does  not  live ;  and 
who  will  say  that  Christianity  is  only  half-alive,  or  that  every  hon- 
orable motive  which  leads  a  devout  ^Mussulman  to  wish  to  propa- 
gate his  Creed,  ought  not  to  operate  with  tenfold  force  in  the  oreast 
of  every  devout  Christian? 

The  resemblances  between  the  two  Creeds  are  indeed  many  and 
striking,  as  I  have  implied  throughout;  but,  if  I  may,  once  more, 
quote  a  few  words  which  I  have  used  elsewhere  in  dealing  with  this 
question,  the  contrasts  are  even  more  striking  than  the  resemblances. 
The  rehgion  of  Christ  contains  whole  fields  of  morality  and  whole 
realms  of  thought  which  are  all  but  outside  the  reUgion  of  Moham- 
med. It  opens  humility,  purity  of  heart,  forgiveness  of  injuries, 
sacrifice  of  self,  to  man's  moral  nature;  it  gives  scope  for  toleration, 
development,  boundless  progress  to  his  mmd;  its  motive  power  is 
stronger  even  as  a  friend  is  better  than  a  king,  and  love  higner  than 
obedience.  Its  reahzed  ideals  in  the  various  paths  of  human  great- 
ness have  been  more  commanding,  more  many-sided,  more  hmy,  as 
Averroes  is  below  Newton.  Harun  below  Alfred,  and  -AJi  below  St. 
Paul.  Finally,  the  ideal  life  of  all  is  far  more  elevating,  far  more 
majestic,  far  more  inspiring,  even  as  the  life  of  the  founder  of  Mo- 
hammedanism is  below  the  life  of  the  Founder  of  Chriatianitj. 

If,  then,  we^  believe  Christianity  to  be  truer  and  purer  m  itself 


MOBAMMELAmsM  IN  AFRICA.  53 

than  Islam  and  than  any  other  religion,  we  must  needs  wish  others 
to  be  partakers  of  it;  and  the  effort  to  propagate  it  is  thrice  blessed 
— ^it  blesses  him  that  offers,  no  less  than  him  who  acccepts  it;  nay, 
it  often  blesses  him  who  accepts  it  not.  The  last  words  of  a  dying 
friend  are  apt  to  linger  in  the  chambers  of  the  heart  till  the  heart 
itself  has  ceased  to  beat ;  and  the  last  recorded  words  of  the  Founder 
of  Christianity  are  not  likely  to  pass  from  the  memory  of  His  Church 
till  that  Church  has  done  its  work.  Thev  are  the  marching  orders 
of  the  Christian  army;  the  consolation  for  every  past  and  present 
failure;  the  earnest  and  the  warrant,  in  some  shape  or  other,  of 
ultimate  success.  The  value  of  a  Christian  mission  is  not,  there- 
fore, to  be  measured  by  the  number  of  its  converts.  The  presence 
in  a  heathen  or  a  Mushm  district  of  a  single  man  who,  filled  with 
the  missionary  spirit,  exhibits  in  his  preaching  and,  so  far  as  ma;y 
be,  in  his  life,  the  self-denying  and  the  Christian  virtues,  who  is 
charged  with  sympathy  for  those  among  whom  his  lot  is  cast,  who 
is  patient  of  disappointment,  and  of  failure,  and  of  the  sneers  of  the 
ignorant  or  the  irreligious,  and  who  works  steadily  on  with  a  single 
eye  to  the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  his  fellow-men,  is,  of  itself, 
an  influence  for  good,  and  a  center  from  which  it  radiates,  wholly 
independent  of  the  number  of  converts  he  is  able  to  enlist.  There 
is  a  vast  number  of  such  men  engaged  in  mission  work  all  over  the 
world,  and  our  best  Indian  statesmen,  some  of  whom,  for  obvious 
reasons,  have  been  hostile  to  direct  proselytizing  efforts,  are  unani- 
mous as  to  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  services  they  render. 

Nothing,  therefore,  can  be  more  shallow,  or  more  disingenuous, 
or  more  misleading,  than  to  attempt  to  disparage  Christian  missions 
by  pitting  the  bare  number  of  converts  whom  they  claim  against 
the  number  of  converts  claimed  by  Islam.  The  numbers  are,  of 
course,  enormously  in  favor  of  Islam.  But  does  conversion  mean 
the  same,  or  any  tning  hke  the  same,  thine  in  each  ?  Is  it  m  pari 
materia,  W  if  not,  if  the  comparisok  worth  the  paper  on  which  it 
is  written?  The  submission  to  the  rite  of  circumcision  and  the 
repetition  of  a  confession  of  faith,  however  noble  and  however  ele- 
vating in  its  ultimate  effect,  do  not  necessitate,  they  do  not  even 
necessarily  tend  toward  what  a  Christian  means  by  a  change  of 
heart.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  Mohammedanism  to  deal  with 
batehes  and  with  masses.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  Christianity  to 
speak  straight  te  the  individual  conscience.  The  conversion  of  a 
whole  Pagan  community  to  Islam  need  not  imply  more  effort,  more 
dnceritV)  or  more  vital  change,  than  the  conversion  of  a  single  in- 
dividual to  Christianity.  The  Christianity  accepted  wholesSe  by 
Clovifl  and  his  fierce  warriors,  in  the  flush  of  victory,  on  the  field  of 
battle,  or  hj  the  Russian  peasants,  when  they  were  driven  by  the 
Cofisack  whips  into  the  Dmeper,  and  baptized  there  by  force — these 


54  TBE  LIBMABr  MA&A^IKjE!. 

are  truer  parallels  to  the  tribal  conversions  to  Mohammedanism  in 
Africa  at  the  present  day.  And,  whatever  may  have  been  their 
beneficial  effects  in  the  march  of  the  centuries,  they  are  not  the 
Christianity  of  Christ,  nor  are  they  the  methods  or  the  objects  at 
which  a  Christian  missionary  of  tlie  present  day  would  dream  of 
aiming.  A  Christian  missionary  could  not  thus  bring  over  a  Pagan 
or  a  Muslim  tribe  to  Christianity,  even  if  he  would ;  he  ought  not 
to  try  thus  to  briuff  them  over,  even  if  he  could.  **  Missionary 
work,"  as  remarkeaby  an  able  writer  in  the  Spectator  the  other 
day,  "is  sowing,  not  reaping,  and  the  sowing  of  a  plant  which  is 
slow  to  bear."  At  times,  the  difficulties  and  discouragements  may 
daunt  the  stoutest  heart  and  the  most  living  faith.  But  God  is 
greater  than  our  hearts  and  wider  than  our  thoughts,  and,  if  we 
are  able  to  believe  in  Him  at  all,  we  must  also  believe  that  the  ulti- 
mate triumph  of  Christianity — ^and  by  Christianity  I  mean  not  the 
comparatively  narrow  creed  of  this  or  that  particular  Church,  but 
the  bivine  Spirit  of  its  Founder,  that  Spirit  which,  exactly  in  pro- 
portion as  they  are  true  to  their  name,  mforms,  and  animates,  and 
underlies,  and  overlies  them  all — is  not  problematical,  but  certain, 
and  in  His  good  time,  across  the  lapse  of  ages,  will  prove  to  be,  not 
local  but  universal,  not  partial  but  complete,  not  evanescent  but 
eternal. — R.  Bosworth  Smith,  in  The  Nineteenth  Centwry. 


MRS.  MULOCK  CRAIK. 

Not  long  ago  the  present  writer  sat  on  a  lovely  terrace  shaded 
by  great  trees  overloolcing  the  beautiful,  placid  Der  went  water  lake, 
which  lay  smiling  as  if  it  had  never  known  a  storm — talking  with 
Mrs.  Craik  of  a  tragedy,  the  occurrence  of  a  moment,  which  had 
desolated  the  house  behind  us.  We  spoke  with  tears  and  hushed 
voices  of  the  story  never  to  be  dissociated  from  that  peaceful  scene. 
One  young  man  arriving  gaily  on  an  unexpected  visit:  the  other, 
the  young  host,  receiving  nim  with  cordial  welcome  and  pleasure; 
the  sudden  suggestion  of  an  expedition  on  the  water,  to  wnich  the 
little  inland  storm  gave  all  the  greater  zest.  And  then  in  a  moment, 
in  the  twinkling  oi  an  eye,  all  over,  and  the  lake  under  the  mother's 
windows  become  the  death- scene  of  her  only  son.  It  seems  strange 
that  almost  the  next  thing  heard  of  her  was  the  fatal  news,  that 
she,  so  tenderly  sympathetic,  so  full  of  maternal  instincts,  that  every 
mother's  grief  seemed  her  own,  had  almost  as  suddenly  entered  the 

Eresence  of  her  Maker,  and  left  her  own  home  desolate.     But  not 
y  any  violent  way,  thank  heaven:  not  in  pain  or  horror,  but  tran- 
quilly, sweetly,  as  became  her  life,  without  any  len^hened  prelim* 


MBS.  MULOCK  CEAIK.  55 

inaries,  in  the  manner  she  had  desired,  and  as  a  kindred  soul  haa 
sung: 

"  Life!  weVe  been  long  together 
Through  pleasant  and  throuffh  cloudy  weather ; 
'Tis  hard  to  part  when  friends  are  dear ; 

Then  steal  awaj,  give  little  warning  ; 
Choose  thine  own  time, 
Bay  not  Qood-nisht,  but  in  some  brighter  dime 

Bid  me  Qood-morning. ' ' 

So  was  the  gentle  spirit  of  Dinah  Mulock  Craik  liberated  from 
mortal  cares,  as  many  luce  her  have  prayed  to  be.  This  is  no  time 
or  place  to  speak  of  her  work,  which  will  no  doubt  have  a  variety 
of  criticisms  and  interpretations;  but  about  herself  there  is  no  con- 
flict of  testimony,  and  it  is  of  herself  her  friends  are  thinking— her 
friends  who  are  endless  in  number  throughout  all  the  three  king- 
doms, and  reckoned  in  crowds  less  known  and  further  ofif,  to  whom 
she  has  been  familiar  as  a  household  word.  To  recall  a  little  the 
actual  look  and  aspect  of  a  woman  so  widely  known,  yet  so  little 
of  a  pubUc  personage,  so  indisposed  to  put  her  own  personality  for- 
ward, is  all  that  a  mend  can  do. 

We  were  contemporaries  in  every  sense  of  the  word :  the  begin- 
ning of  her  work  preceding  mine  a  little,  as  her  age  did — ^so  little  as 
scarcely  to  tell  at  all.     we  were  both  young  when  we  made  ac- 
quaintance: she  a  slim  tall  maiden  always  surrounded  bv  a  band  of 
other  ambitious  and  admiring  girls,  of  whom  and  of  whose  talents 
and  accomplishments  she  had  always  tales  to  tell  with  an  enthusi- 
asm not  excited  by  any  success  of  ner  own.     And  yet  even  at  this 
early  period  her  literary  gifts  had  received  much  acknowled^ent. 
The  early  part  of  her  life  (she  was  but  twenty-three  at  the  time  of 
her  first  important  pubUcation,  but  her  independent  career  had 
begun  long  before)  had  been  full  of  trial  and  of  that  girlish  and 
generous  aaring  which  makes  a  young,  high-spirited  woman  the 
most  dauntless  creature  in  creation.     I  do  not  know  the  facts  of  the 
story,  but  only  its  tenor  vaguely,  which  was  that — ^her  mother  being 
as  sne  thought  untenderlv  treated  by  a  father — ^a  man  of  brilliant 
attainments — whose  profession  of  extreme  Evangelical  reUgiousness 
was  not  carried  out  by  his  practice — the  young  Dinah,  in  a  blaze  of 
love  and  indignation,  carried  that  ailing  and  aelicate  mother  away, 
and  took  in  her  rashness  the  charge  of  the  whole  family,  two 
younger  brothers,  upon  her  own  slender  shoulders,  working  to  sus- 
tain them  in  every  way  that  presented  itself,  from  stories  for  the 
fashion  books  to  graver  publications.     She  had  gone  through  some 
years  of  this  feverish  work  before  her  novel.  The  Omhies^  intro- 
duced her  to  a  wider  medium  and  to   higher  possibilities.     Her 
mother^  broken  in  spirit  and  in  health,  had  dira^  as  well^  I  think,  as  the 


56  THE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINE. 

9 

elder  of  the  two  brothers,  before  I  knew  her ;  but  the  story  was  told 
among  her  friends  and  thrilled  the  hearer  with  sympathy  and  ad- 
miration. 

That  first  struggle  was  over  along  with  the  dearest  cause  of  it 
before  Dinah  Mulock  was  at  all  known  to  the  world,  or  to  most  of 
those  who  have  held  her  dear  in  her  later  life.  If  there  are  any 
memorials  of  it  left,  it  would  no  doubt  form  a  most  attractive  chap- 
ter among  the  many  records  of  early  struggles.  The  young  heroic 
creature  writing  her  pretty  juvenile  nonsense  of  love  and  lovers, 
in  swift,  unformed  style,  as  fast  as  the  pen  could  fly,  to  get  bread 
for  th^  boys  and  a  httle  soup  and  wine  lor  the  invalid  over  whose 
deathbed  she  watched  with  impassioned  love  and  care — what  a  tragic, 
tender  picture,  to  be  associated  by  ever  so  distant  a  link  with  inane 
magazines  of  the  fashions  and  short-lived  periodicals  unknown  to 
fame !  No  doubt  she  must  have  thought  sometimes  how  far  her 
own  unthought-of  troubles  exceeded  those  of  her  Edwins  and  Ange- 
linas. But  she  was  always  loyal  to  love,  and  perhaps  this  reflection 
did  not  cross  her  mind.  There  was  no  longer  any  mother  when  I 
first  knew  her,  but  only  the  bevy  of  attendant  maidens  aforesaid, 
and  a  brother,  gifted  but  not  fortunate,  in  the  background,  who 
appeared  and  disappeared,  always  much  talked  of,  tenderly  wel- 
comed, giving  her  anxieties  much  grudged  and  objected  to  by  her 
friends,  but  never  by  herself;  and  she  was  then  a  writer  with  a 
recognized  position,  and  well  able  to  maintain  it. 

Little  parties,  pleasant  meetings,  kind  visits  at  intervals,  form  a 
succession  of  pretty  scenes  in  my  recollection  of  her  at  this  period. 
Involved  in  household  cares,  and  the  coming  and,  alas!  going  of 
little  children,  I  had  no  leisure  for  the  constant  intercourse  which 
youthful  friendship  demands ;  but  she  was  always  the  center  of  an 
attached  group,  to  which  her  kind  eyes,  full  of  the'glamor  of  affec- 
tion, attributed  the  highest  gifts  andf  graces.  They  were  all  a  little 
literary — artists,  musicians,  full  of  intellectual  interests  and  aspira- 
tions, and  taking  a  share  in  all  the  pleasant  follies,  as  well  as  wis- 
doms of  their  day.  Spiritualism  had  made  its  first  invasion  of 
England  about  that  time,  and  some  families  of  the  circle  in  which 
Miss  Mulock  liv^ed  were  deeply  involved  in  it.  One  heard  of  little 
drawings  which  a  friend  had  received  of  the  home  in  heaven  from 
one  of  her  infants  lately  departed  there,  and  how  the  poor  little 
scribbling  consoled  the  sorrowful  mother;  along  with  many  other 
wondrous  tales,  such  as  have  been  repeated  periodically  since,  but 
then  were  altogether  novel;  and  these  early  undeveloped  seances 
formed  sometimes  part  of  the  evening  entertainments  in  the  region 
where  then  we  all  lived,  in  the  north  of  London  toward  Camden 
Town — ^regions  grown  entirely  unknown  now  as  if  they  were  in 
Timbuctoo. 


MS8.  MXTLOCK  OBAIR,  67 

Miss  Mulock  had  a  little  house  in  a  little  street,  full  of  pretty 
things,  as  pretty  things  were  understood  before  the  days  of  Heil- 
bronner  and  Liberty,  with  all  her  little  court  about  her.  She  sane 
very  sweetly,  with  great  taste  and  feeling,  a  gift  which  she  retainea 
long;  and  wrote  little  poesies  which  used  to  appear  in  Chambers^ 9 
Journal^  one  in  each  weekly  part;  and  knew  a  great  many  "nice 
people,"  and  fully  enjoyed  ner  modest  youthful  fame,  which  was 
the  climax  of  so  much  labor  and  pain,  and  her  peaceful  days.  I 
don't  know  who  her  publisher  had  oeen  for  her  nrst  books,  but  she 
was  (as  is  not  unusual)  dissatisfied  with  the  results;  and  when  John 
Halwax  was  about  to  be  finished,  she  came  to  my  house,  and  met, 
at  a  smaU  dmner-party  convened  for  that  purpose,  my  friend  Heniy 
Blackett,  another  of  the  contemporary  band  who   has  long  ago 

?assed  away,  along  with  his  still  more  dear  and  charming  wife. 
*hey  made  Mends  at  once,  and  her  great  book  was  brou^t  into 
the  world  under  his  care — ^the  beginnmg  of  a  business  connection 
which,  notwithstanding  her  subsequent  alliance  with  a  member  of 
another  firm,  was  maintained  to  a  late  period,  a  curious  instance  of 
her  fidelity  to  every  bond. 

This  great  book,  which  finally  established  her  reputation,  and 
gave  her  her  definite  place  in  literature,  had  then  been  for  some 
time  in  hand.  I  am  permitted  to  quote  the  following  pretty  account 
of  various  cuxjumstances  connected  with  its  beginning  from  the 
notes  of  Mr.  Clarence  Dobell. 

"  In  the  summer  of  1852  she  one  day  drove  over  with  me  to  see  the  quaint  old  town 
of  Tewkesbury.  Directly  she  saw  the  grand  old  abbey  and  the  mediaeval  houses  of 
the  High  Street  she  decided  that  this  should  form  the  background  of  her  story,  and 
like  a  true  artist  fell  to  work  making  mental  sketches  on  the  spot.  A  sudden  &ower 
drove  us  into  one  of  the  old  covered  alleys  opposite  the  house,  I  believe,  of  the 
town  clerk  of  Tewkesbury,  and  as  we  stood  there  a  bright-looking  but  ragged  boy 
also  took  refuge  at  the  mouth  of  the  alley,  and  from  the  town  clerk's  window  a  little 
girl  gazed  with  the  looks  of  sympathy  at  the  ragged  boy  opposite.  Presently  the 
door  opened,  and  the  girl  appeal^  on  the  steps,  and  becltbned  to  the  boy  to  take  a 
piece  of  bread,  exactly  as  the  scene  is  described  in  the  opening  chapters  of  John  Hali- 
fax.  We  had  lunch  at  the  BeU  Inn,  and  explored  the  bowhng-green,  which  also  is 
minutely  and  accurately  described,  and  the  landlord's  statement  that  the  house  had 
once  been  used  by  a  tanner,  and  the  smell  of  tan  which  filled  tlie  streets  from  a  tan^ 
yard  not  far  off,  decided  the  trade  which  her  hero  was  to  follow.  She  made  one  ot 
two  subsequent  visits  to  further  identify  her  back^^round,  and  the  name  of  her  hero 
was  decideid  by  the  discovery  of  an  old  gravestone  in  the  Abbey  churchyaid,  on  which 
was  inscribed  'John  Halifax.'  She  had  already  decided  that  the  hero's  Christian 
name  must  be  John,  but  the  surname  had  been  hitherto  doubtful." 

Thirty-foor  years  after,  in  the  course  of  the  present  autumn,  Mrs. 
Craik  made  another  expedition  in  the  same  faithful  company  to  a 
>t  so  associated  with  her  fame,  and  once  more  lunched  at  the 
Sell,  where  the  delighted  landlady,  on  being  informed  who  her 
visitor  was,  told  with  pride  that  in  the  summer  "hundreds  of  visit- 
ors, especially  Americans,  came  to  Tewkesbury,  not  so  much  to 


88  TBB  LIBRAnr  MAGAZINE, 

see  the  town  and  abbey,  as  to  identify  the  scenery  of  JoJm  EaUfaaG. ' ' 
Better  still  however  tlutn  this  are  the  words  in  which  she  expresses 
to  he;r  companion  and  correspondent  the  pleasure  this  visit  gave  her. 
"Our  visit  was  truly  happy,"  she  says,  **  especiallv  the  bright 
day  of  Tewkesbury,  where  my  heart  was  very  full,  little  as  I 
showed  it.  It  wasn't  ths  hooh:  that  I  cared  little  about.  It  was 
the  feeling  of  thirty-four  years  of  faithful  friendship  through  thick 
and  thin.''^ 

Mrs.  Craik's  marriage  took  place  in  1865,  and  rendered  her  com- 
pletely happy.  It  was  the  fashion  of  our  generation — a  fashion 
perhaps  not  without  drawbacks,  though  we  have  been  unanimous  in 
it — ^that  whatever  our  work  for  the  puoUc  mieht  be,  our  own  homes 
and  personal  lives  were  to  be  strictly  and  jeilouslv  private,  and  our 
pride  to  consist,  not  in  our  literary  reputation,  which  was  a  thinff 
apart,  but  in  the  household  duties  and  domestic  occupations  which 
are  the  rule  of  life  for  most  women.  Perhaps  there  was  a  little 
innocent  affectation  in  this  studious  avoidance  of  aU  publicity.  It 
is  not  the  weakness  of  this  day ;  but  we  who  are  now  the  seniors 
still  prefer  it  to  the  banal  conndences  now  so  often  made  to  public 
curiosity  in  newspapers  and  elsewhere.  No  such  invasion  of  her 
privacy  was  ever  permitted  by  Mrs.  Craik.  Her  life  became  larger 
and  fuller  after  her  marriage,  as  was  meet  and  natural.  The  days 
of  the  little  houses  at  Camden  Town  or  Hampstead  were  over ;  but 
not  the  friends,  who  moved  with  her  wherever  she  moved,  always 
surrounding  her  with  faithful  admiration  and  regard.  Not  even 
the  closer  ties  of  a  home  in  which  she  filled  the  ^ce  of  wife  and 
mother  disturbed  these  earlier  bonds.  She  became  known  in  her 
own  locaUty  as  a  new  center  of  pleasant  society  and  hfe,  always 
hospitable,  kind,  full  of  schemes  to  give  pleasure  to  the  young 
people  who  were  her  perennial  interest,  and  always  fondly  attached 
to  tne  old  who  had  been  the  companions  of  her  life.  Her  interest 
in  youth  no  doubt  blossomed  all  the  more  in  the  much-cared  for 
development  of  her  Dorothy,  the  adopted  daughter  on  whom  she 
lavished  the  abundance  of  her  heart;  out  the  instinct  was  always 
strong  in  her,  making  her  the  natural  confidant,  adviser,  patron 
saint  of  girls,  from  the  time  when  she  was  little  older  than  her  de- 
votees. Her  more  recent  writings  have  been  the  records  of  simple 
joumeyings  taken  as  the  guide  and  leader  of  such  enthusiastic  and 
cheerful  groups.  She  was  surrounded  by  her  bevy  of  maidens  in 
Cornwall,  in  the  house-boat  on  the  Thames  in  whicti  so  many  pleas- 
ant days  were  passed,  and  still  more  lately  in  Ireland,  where  the 
g«ntle  company  traveled,  like  a  mother  with  her  daughters.  On 
the  occasion  to  which  I  have  referred,  my  last  meeting  with  her  in 
the  Lake  country,  she  and  her  husband  had  the  unfailing  attendance 
of  two  of  these  voluntary  maids  of  honor. 


MRS,  MULOCi.  CSAIK  5k 

Daring  these  latter  years  she  has  not  written  very  mach,  not  at 
least  witn  the  constant  strain  of  some  of  her  contemporaries  whose 
lot  has  faUen  in  less  pleasant  places,  bnt  yet  has  never  reUnquished 
the  labor  she  loved.  In  earlier  days  sfie  received  from  the  Queen 
that  only  mark  of  pnbhc  approval  which  is  possible  to  the  professors 
of  literature — a  small  pension,  about  which  there  is  a  Uttle  explana- 
tion to  make.  It  has  been  remarked  by  at  least  one  ungracious 
commentator  that  thq  pension  granted  to  Miss  Mulock  was  imsuit- 
able,  being  quite  unnecessary,  to  Mrs.  Craik.  For  my  own  part  I 
should  think  it  needless  to  repl;^  to  this,  for  the  reason  above  said, 
that  it  is  according  to^our  traoitions  the  onlv  recognition  ever  given 
to  a  writer.  But  I  am  asked  to  say  that  tnough  Mrs.  Craik,  when  • 
her  husband  suggested  the  relinauishment  of  this  small  pension, 
preferred  to  retain  it  for  this  ana  other  reasons — ^it  wafi,  from  the 
period  of  her  marriage,  religiously  set  aside  for  those  in  her  own 
walk  of  hteratore  who  needed  it  more  than  herself.  Her  Majesty 
has  no  star  or  order  with  which  to  decorate  the  writers  she  approves. 
It  is  the  only  symbol  by  which  it  may  be  divined  that  literature  is 
of  any  value  in  the  eyes  of  the  State. 

There  remains  little  more  to  say,  unless  indeed  I  were  at  liberty 
to  enter  much  more  fully  into  a  beautiful  and  harmonious  life.  For 
some  time  past  Mrs.  Crsuk  had  been  subject  to  attacks,  not  sufficient 
CO  alarm  her  family,  who  had  been  accustomed  to  the  habitual  deU- 
cacy  of  h«silth,  which  was  yet  combined  with  much  elasticity  of 
constitution  and  power  of  snaking  off  complaints  even  when  they 
seemed  more  serious.  Her  medi^  advisers  had  enjoined  a  great 
deal  of  rest,  with  which  the  pleasant  cares  of  an  approaching  mar- 
riage in  the  family,  and  all  the  necessary  arrangements  to  make  the 
outset  of  her  adopted  daughter  in  life  as  bright  and  delig'htful  as 
possible,  considerably  interfered.  In  one  attack  of  breatmessness 
and  faintness  some  short  time  before,  she  had  murmured  forth  an 
entreaty  that  the  marriage  should  not  be  delayed  by  anything  that 
could  happen  to  her.  But  even  this  did  not  frighten  the  fond  and 
cheerful  circle,  which  was  used  to  nothing  but  happiness.  On  the 
morning  of  the  twelfth  of  October,  her  husband,  before  going  off  to 
his  business,  took  a  loving  leave  of  her,  almost  more  loving  than  his 
wont,  though  without  any  presentiment — provoking  a  laughing  re- 
mark from  their  daughter,  to  which  Mrs.  Craik  answered  that 
though  so  long  married,  they  were  still  lovers.  These  were  the 
last  words  he  heard  from  her  Ups,  and  no  man  could  have  a 
more  sweet  assurance  of  the  happiness  his  tender  care  had  procured. 
When  he  came  home  cheerfully  in  the  afternoon  to  his  always 
cheerful  home,  the  si^ht  of  the  doctor's  carriage  at  the  door,  and 
the  coachman ^s  incautious  explanation  that  **the  lady  was  dying,  ^' 
were  the  oidy  preparations  he  had  for  the  great  and  solemn  event 


CO 


THE  LIBBAR7  MAGAZINE. 


which  had  already  taken  place.  He  found  her  in  her  own  room, 
lyinff  on  her  sofa,  with  an  awe-stricken  group  standing  round — 
dead.  She  had  entertained  various  visitors  in  the  afternoon.  Some 
time  after  they  were  gone,  she  had  rung  her  bell,  saying  she  felt  ill: 
the  servants  alarmed  called  for  assistance,  and  she  was  laid  upon  the 
sofa.  A  few  minutes'  struggle  for  breath,  a  murmur,  "Oh,  if  I 
could  live  four  weeks  longer:  but  no  matter — no  matter!"  and  all 
was  over.  Thus  she  died  as  she  had  lived — her  last  thought  for 
others,  for  the  bride  whose  festival  day  must  be  overshadowed  by 
so  heavy  a  cloud,  yet  of  content  and  acquiescence  in  whatever  the 
supreme  Arbiter  of  events  thought  right.  An  ideal  ending  such  as 
God  grant  us  all,  when  our  day  comes. 

Her  fame  may  well  be  left  to  the  decision  of  posterity,  which 
takes  so  little  thought  of  contemporary  ju(^gments.  It  is  lor  us  the 
sweet  and  spotless  fame  of  a  good  and  pure  woman  full  of  all  ten- 
derness and  kindness,  very  loving  and  much  beloved.  The  angels 
of  God  could  not  have  more.  — JkfijEGABET  O.  W.  Ouphaiw,  in  Mac- 
miUan?8  Magazine. 


CUEKENT  THOUGHT. 


The  Responsibility  op  Leisurb.— 
Elizabeth  Marbury  writes  in  the  Boston 
Educator: — 


(< 


A  woman,  owing  to  her  general  ex- 
emption from  manwd  labor,  should  be 
trained  with  dignity  for  a  proper  use  of 
leisure.  Amusement  should  be  wel- 
cumed  as  a  relaxation,  and  not  accepted 
as  an  occupation.  Many  pursuits  bearing 
no  direct  relation  to  the  business  of  life 
nevertheles  have  value,  so  far  as  they  edu- 
cate the  intellect  for  the  enjoyment  of 
hours  which  otherwise  might  be  filled 


with  vapid  and  demoralizing  interests.  We 
study  to  learn,  therefore  why  not  learn 
how  best  to  enjoy  ?  The  gospel  of  respon- 
sibility of  labor  is  preached  to  us  daily, 
yet  the  more  neglected  gospel  of  the  re- 
sponsibility of  leisure  is  full  of  graver  pos- 
sibilities. To  a  woman,  at  least,  such 
possibilities  should  be  seriously  unfolded, 
so  that  they  determine  the  purpose  and 
standard  of  her  life;  nor  should  she,  in 
her  hours  of  work,  fail  to  recognize  that 
the  leisure  which  she  may  earn  or  inherit, 
is  to  be  raised  to  a  rational  and  refined 
plane  of  thought  and  action." 


OA  THOLICITT  AND  REASON.  «l 


CATHOLICITY  AND  KEASON  * 

The  Oospels  are  not,  as  Sir  James  Stephen  says,  the  "  foundation** 
of  the  faith.  The  Church  existed,  and  the  tradition  of  Christianity 
grew  and  was  diffused,  before  any  written  Gospel  existed.  As  I  said 
m  my  article: 

"  It  miiBt  never  be  forgotten  that  the  position  of  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  with 
legaid  to  Scripture  is  different  from  that  of  any  Protestant  body.  She  claims  to  have 
fixisted  before  a  line  of  the  New  Testament  was  written,  to  have  had  authority  to 
determine  what  was  and  what  was  not  '  canonical '  and  '  inspired/  and  she  still 
claims  fuU  power  to  place  her  own  interpretation  on  whatever  may  therein  be  con- 
tained." 

My  opponent  unconsciously  regards  the  matter  from  the  Protest- 
ant standpoint.  But  a  Catholic  is  only  bound  to  accept  dogmas  as 
revealed  to  the  Church,  and  on  her  authority,  not  because  they  may 
be  gathered  from  Scripture  or  because  they  are  therein  expressed 
in  the  way  they  are.  The  Church  insists  (and  by  some  persons  it  is 
made  a  reproach  to  her)  far  more  on  the  acceptance  of  her  Divine 
authority  than  uj)on  an  accurate  apprehension  of  various  dogmas, 
an  imphcit  belief  in  which  is  deemed  sufficient.  Very  few  Catholics 
indeea  could  draw  out  an  accurate,  detailed  statement  of  the  doctrine 
of  the  Holy  Trinity,  but  that  in  no  way  interferes  with  their  holding 
it  with  sufficient  practical  accuracy  on  the  bare  word  of  the  Church. 
The  Creeds  repose  upon  a  primitive  tradition  which  has  been  handed 
down,  and  might  have  been  handed  down  had  the  New  Testament 
never  been  written.  The  Holy  Gospels  contain,  Sir  James  Stephen 
says, "  the  earliest  accounts  of  the  liie  of  Jesus  Christ  now  extant." 
They  are  therefore  of  priceless  value,  and  most  fittingly  does  the 
Church  show  her  profound  reverence  for  them  by  her  precepts,  bv 
her  use  of  them  in  testimony,  and  by  the  attitude  of  respect  in  which 
they  are  proclaimed  and  listened  to,  witli  stately  ceremonial  observ- 
ances of  lights,  incense,  and  profound  obeisance  when  they  are 
solenmly  sung  in  her  Liturgy.  Nevertheless,  though  there  can  be 
no  comparison  between  their  historical  accuracy  and  that  of  the 
Old  Testament,  the  principle  that  not  everything  contained  in  them 
is  free  from  error  and  historically  true  is  admitted  without  dispute, 
and  it  is  a  fact  that  in  some  respects  certain  dogmas  of  the  Chris- 
tian reli^on  would  be  freer  from  difficulties  had  they  never  been 
written,  m  spite  of  their  inestimable  value  in  all  other  respects. 
The  amount  of  human  imperfection  contained  in  them  is  a  matter 

*  In  the  NineUenth  Century  Mr.  St.  Qeorge  Mivart  published  some  time  since  two 
papen  on  "  Modem  Catholic  and  Scientific  Freedom, "  and  "  The  Catholic  Church  and 
Biolical  Criticism. "  Upon  these  Sir  James  Stephen  wrote,  in  the  October  Number 
of  tint  periodical  an  elaborate  critique,  to  which  Mr.  Mivart  now  makes  a  long  repl7, 
tbe  UuTfrr  and  most  essential  portion  of  which  is  here  given.— Bd.  I4B«  Ma9, 


«8  THE  LIBEABT  MAGAZINE. 

to  be  ascertained  as  far  as  possible  by  the  help  of  patient  and  per- 
severing research,  and  that  authority  by  which  alone  we  can  know 
that  any  portion  is  inspired  at  all.  Such  investigations,  then,  how- 
ever sacred  and  important,  can  by  no  means  involve  the  real  found- 
ations of  the  Catholic  faith.    My  critic  says : 

"  Logically,  it  is  not  impossible  that  all  the  evidence  for  a  conclusion  may  be  false, 
and  the  conclusion  itself  be  true ;  but  It  is  in  practice  as  idle  to  put  forward  such  a 
possibility  as  to  contend  that  if  the  walls  of  a  house  are  pulled  down  the  roof  will 
not  fall,  it  being  possible  that  it  may  be  otherwise  supported.  " 

But  it  would  be  by  no  means  "  idle  "  for  an vone  so  to  contend  who 
knew  that  the  roof  rested  upon  solid  iron  pillars  enclosed  within  the 
apparently  supporting  walls,  but  independent  of  them.  Such  must 
indeed  be  affirmed  to  oe  really  the  case  by  those  who  hold  that  such 
"  iron  pillars  "  represent  an  authoritative  tradition  supporting,  instead 
of  depending  upon,  those  written  "  walls  "  the  adoption  and  use  of 
which,  when  tney  had  come  to  be  written,  traditional  authority 
sanctioned.  My  critic  shows  that  he  has  an  inkling  of  this  view 
when  he  observes : 

"It  is  often  said  that  the  Church  itself  is  a  witness  superior  in  weight  to  all  others  of 
these  mutters,  but  Mr.  Mivart  cannot  say  so,  for  it  is  emphatically  a  question  of  his- 
tory whether  the  Church  existed  as  an  organized  bod^  in  the  first  century,  and  what 
were  its  means  of  knowledge  and  the  value  of  its  testunoney." 

But  it  is  not  to  the  Church  of  the  "  first  century  "  that  the  Catholic 
appeals,  but  to  the  Church  of  the  year  1887.  If  the  Church  ever 
had  any  authority,  it  has  that  authority  now ;  and  at  the  very  least 
it  has  as  much  rational  evidence  to  bring  forward  in  support  of  its 
claims  in  the  present  day  as  it  had  when  the  New  Testament  was 
being  written — ^rather,  it  has  an  infinitely  greater  amount  of  such 
evidence  to  bring  forward.  The  position  here  assumed  may  seem 
the  acme  of  unreason  to  Sir  James  Stephen ;  but  if  it  does  so  appear 
to  him,  the  cause  is  that  we  approach  the  subject  from  two  altogether 
different  points  of  view — small  wonder,  then,  if  our  conclusions  differ 
widely. 

In  approaching  the  examination  of  what  professes  to  be  revealed 
religion,  I  come  with  a  profound,  absolute  conviction  that  the  universe 
is  ruled  bjr  a  personal  God  who  has  ordained  that  we  shall,  every 
one  of  us,  in  a  future  life  find  an  individual,  conscious  existence  in 
exact  accordance  with  our  deserts.  This  conviction  of  mine  is  not 
one  due  to  emotional  feelings  and  sentiments,  and  stiU  less  to  any 
declarations  of  authority.  It  reposes  on  what  appear  to  me  to  be 
the  evident  dictates  of  calm  and  solid  reason.  I  have  carefully  con- 
sidered to  the  best  of  my  ability  the  arguments  put  forward  by  those 
who  disclaim  Theism — amongst  the  number,  the  arguments  of  our 
Agnostics,  Comtists,  and  of  such  positive  disbelievers  as  was  .the  lat9 
lamented  Professor  Clifford— ^nd|  can  ooiwcientiously  afllnn  that  th^ 


CATHOLIGITT  AND  BEA80K  68 

more  I  have  considered  them,  the  more  utterly  unreasonable  do  they 
appear  to  me  to  be.  As  to  the  world  about  us,  while  fully  admitting 
that,  on  aooount  of  the  imperfection  of  our  faculties  and  poverty  (3 
our  powers  of  imagination,  it  is  practically  convenient  and  useful  to 
express  as  far  as  possible  the  sequences  of  phenomena  in  terms  of 
matter  and  motion,  and  fully  admitting  that  they  are  calculable  by 
science,  I  none  the  less  regard  a  real  belief  in  a  mechanical  philo- 
sophy of  nature  as  a  superstition  and  a  baseless  chimera.  For  me 
the  physical  universe  is  pervaded  by  a  Divine  activity,  which  only  so 
far  shrouds  itself  as  not  to  force  men  to  recognize  it,  whether  they 
will  or  no. 

I  further  appoach  the  subject  with  a  conviction  of  the  real  free- 
dom of  the  human  will — that,  whereas  the  whole  irrational  world  is 
bound  in  adamantine  bonds  of  necessity,  man  is  endowed  with  the 
wonderful  power  of  freely  intervening  m  the  chain  of  events,  and  so 
changing  the  whole  subsequent  course  of  physical  causation.    This 

Sower  may,  compared  with  every  other  power  known  to  us  in  nature, 
e  spoken  of  as,  m  a  sense,  miraculous.  1  see  about  me  living  organic 
bodies  (animals)  which  are  devoid  of  conscious  intelligence,  while  I 
know  there  are  other  living  organic  bodies  (men)  which  possess  con- 
scious intelligence.  My  belief  in  a  future  life  convinces  me  that 
conscious  intelligences  may  exist  without  bodies,  and  therefore,  since 
I  know  there  are  such  multitudes  of  bodies  which  never  had  a  con- 
scious intelligence,  I  am  prepared  to  admit  there  may  be  multitudes 
of  intelligences  which  never  nad  a  body. 

Agjain,  since  we  men  can  only  think  in  human  terms,  we  must,  if 
God  is  not  to  be  considered  as  less  than  man,  think  and  speak  of  Him 
in  such  terms,  declaring  them  all  the  while  to  \ye  utterly  inadequate 
symbols,  though  the  best  we  can  make  use  of.  Thus  my  reason  com- 
pels me  to  amrm  as  existing  in  God  attributes  analogous  to  the 
nighest  qualities  I  know  to  exist  in  man.  Inadequate  as  such  affir- 
mations must  necessarily  be,  it  is  none  the  less  certain  that  they 
are  truth  itself  as  compared  with  the  absolute  negation  of  sucn 
attributes.  The  term  "  goodness  "  as  applied  to  God  is  immeasurably 
inadequate,  but  it  is  infinitely  more  true  than  **  badness. "  Simi- 
larly, even  "  existence "  in  God  and  creatures,  is  indescribably  and 
incomprehensibly  different,  yet  we  can  clearly  comprehend  that  a 
denial  of  His  existence  is  inhnitelv  farther  from  jthe  truth.  If,  then, 
man  thus  has,  through  his  free  will,  the  power  of  working  what,  in  a 
sense,  may  be  termed  miracles,  what  must  not  be  the  analogous 
power  in  God  ?  If  man  has  a  certain  amount  of  benevolence  and 
goodness,  what  may  we  not  expect  from  the  anologous  Divine  attri- 
Dutes  ?  Thus  it  seems  to  be  likely  djmori  that  God  either  has  vouch- 
safed,  or,  when  the  proper  hour  arrives,  will  vouchsafe,  some  revela- 
tion  of  Himself  to  man,  more  definite,  complete,  and  harmonizing 


«4  TEE  LIBBAB7  MAGAZINE, 

better  with  our  aspirations  and  what  seem  to  be  our  needs,  than  is 
the  revelation  of  Him  made  to  us  through  the  mere  exercise  of  un- 
aided reason.  It  seems  tq  me  that  such  a  revelation  may  be  reason- 
ably anticipated,  because  though  simple  Theism  affords  a  sufficient 
religious  pabulum  for  many  of  the  choicest  minds,  experience  plainly 
shows  us  that  it  does  not  suffice  for  the  multitude,  and  also  shows  us 
that  it  does  not  suffice  even  for  many  choice  minds.  Though 
reason  is  enough  to  make  Thesim  manifest  to  us,  the  ^6s  is  vague, 
moet  abstract,  unj)ractical,  and  reached  after  effectually  but  by  very 
few  without  the  aid  of  some  more  positive  religion.  Moreover,  it  is 
of  little  use  as  a  rule  of  life,  and  affords  no  clear  and  certain  infor- 
mation as  to  how  we  are  to  approach  and  address  God.  He  is 
too  inscrutable  for  us  to  learn  clearly  and  certainly,  by  reason 
alone,  how  to  serve  Him,  and  love  is  difficult.  Again,  simple 
Theism  does  not  yet  seem  so  far  to  have  inspired  much  apostolic 
fervor.  How  many  enthusiastic  simple  Theists  are  there  wno,  dis- 
daining this  world's  ^oods,  go  forth  ardently  preaching  their  gospel 
to  the  poor  and  offering  ite  consolations  to  "the  affiicted  ?  It  seems, 
then,  almost  certain  that  some  emphatic  reassertion  of  Theism  is 
needed. 

As  it  is  evident  to  me  that  no  final  cause  can  be  assigned  to  the 
material  creation,  except  an  ethical  cause  (moral  advance),  it  seems 
also  evident  that  any  revelation  must  above  all  be  an  ethical  one.  I 
should  expect  it  not  only  to  enjoin  whatever  may  be  morally  neces- 
sary, but  also  to  hold  up  to  us  a  very  lofty  ideal  suited  to  the  aspirations 
of  the  most  perfect  natures.  It  also  seems  plain  to  me  that  since  no 
ethical  progress  is  possible  for  us  without  self-denial,  and  since  a 
pursuit  of  virtue  means  often  a  voluntary  acceptance  of  disadvant- 
age, of  pain,  and  of  suffering,  a  revelation  might  be  expected  to  set 
before  us  some  realized  ideal  of  devotion  and  voluntary  abnegation 
capable  of  affording  heartfelt  consolation  to  those  who  suffer,  and 
of  encouraging  those  who  may  be  disposed  to  turn  back  from  what 
is  so  often  the  painful  path  of  virtue.  Moreover,  since  I  cannot 
question  but  that  no  part  of  our  duty  is  comparable,  for  the  degree 
of  its  obligjation,  with  our  duty  to  God,  the  mode  of  serving  BUm 
directly  might  well  be  expected  to  come  within  its  scope,  and  that 
it  should  set  before  us  principles  and  precepts  as  to  Divine  worship 
— a  matter  we  all  feel  to  be  so  hopeless  when  left  to  the  mere  taste 
and  inventive  faculty  of  individual  men. 

A  revelation  to  be  acceptable  must  be  one  both  capable  of  satisfy- 
ing the  intellectual  and  aesthetic  requirements  of  the  cultivated 
minority,  and  also  of  reaching  simple,  uneducated  minds — success- 
fully appealing  to  the  feelings  of  the  multitude.  It  ought  to  be  able 
to  satisfy  at  the  same  time  the  aspirations  of  the  most  cultured  and 
the  most  unlettered  of  mankind.    It  should  likewise  stimulate  the 


CATHOLICITY  AND  REASOK  65 

affections  and  quicken  the  will ;  while,  if  it  is  to  be  in  harmony  with 
nature,  it  should  be  no  rose-water  system,  but  have  its  terrible  and 
appallinff  side.  I  should  be  prepared  to  find  accidentally  mixed  up 
with  such  a  revealed  system,  if  it  has  endured  through  many  cen- 
turies and  spread  over  many  lands,  a  multitude  of  superstitious  and 
childish  practices  inherited  from  inferior  intellectual  conditions,  and 
I  should  be  abundantly  satisfied  if  only  I  found  that  such  things 
were  not  imposed  and  enjoined  by  supreme  authority.  Indeed,  I 
shoidd  anticipate  that  in  this  and  in  other  ways  the  will  would  be 
put  on  its  trial  in  its  relation  to  the  intellect,  as  well  as  to  conflict- 
mg  sentiments.  For  since  our  reason  makes  God  so  far  known  to 
us  as  to  enable  us  to  appreciate  His  utter  incomprehensibility — since 
it  is  only  God  Avho  can  know  what  the  word  "  God  "  really  means 
— it  might  surely  be  anticipated  that  no  revelation  could  express  to 
us  fuUy  and  adequately  His  essential  nature  or  His  relations  with 
His  creation.  These  things  as  known  to  God  Himself — ^that  is  to 
say,  "  objective  rehgion" — cannot  evidently  be  communicated  to  us 
except  by  the  help  of  more  or  less  remote  analogies  congruous  with 
our  nature  and  faculties.  Any  revelation,  therefore,  might  surely 
be  expected  to  contain  matters  very  different  from  those  conveyed 
to  us  by  our  unaided  powers  of  imagination  and  reason,  nor  should 
I,  for  one,  be  surprised  to  meet  therein  with  statements  barely 
intelli^ble  to  me,  and  seeming  almost  to  involve,  but  never  really 
involving,  absolute  contradictions. 

Animated  by  such  convictions  and  anticipations,  I  survey  the 
world  to  see  what  signs  there  are  that  any  such  Divine  authoritative 
revelation  has  been  vouchsafed.  I  find  but  one  body  which  claims 
the  right  to  speak  authoritatively  in  God's  name  as  the  one  exclu- 
sive organ  of  such  a  revelation — ^I  need  hardly  say  I  mean  the 
Catholic  Church.  The  next  task  of  the  inquirer,  alter  satisfying  him- 
self that  there  lAprimA  facie  evidence  in  favor  of  that  Church,  is  to 
examine  whether  the  doctrines  it  proclaims  to  be  necessary  for 
beUef  are  self-contradictory  or  whether  they  seem  to  contradict  any 
truths  which  are  self-evident  or  can  be  demonstrated  to  be  certainly 
trua  If  he  does  not  find  such  to  be  the  case,  he  wiQ  then  proceed 
to  examine  the  positive  arguments  which  may  justify  him  in  accept- 
ing a  revelation  he  has  been  looking  for  andf  is  already  disposed  to 
accept  if  the  judgment  of  his  calm  reason  will  sanction  his  so  doing. 
Of  course  no  one  would  be  so  unreasonable  as  to  pretend  that  the 
mere  absence  of  contradictions  was  a  sufficient  evidence  of  truth. 
There  must  also  be  positive  arguments  producing  a  conviction 
that  the  key  has  been  found  to  open  a  most  complex  lock.  But  it  is 
manifestly  impossible  here  to  draw  out  the  positive  arguments 
which  lead  to  the  acceptance  of  the  Christian  religion  as  a  true 
revelation.    An  entire  article  would,  of  course,  be  needed  for  such  a 


#6  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

subject;  here  I  can  but  try  to  show  how,  Christianity  being 
accepted,  the  views  I  have  put  forwar  ared  not  necessarily  incon- 
sistent with  such  acceptance. 

Now,  as  Sir  James  Stephen  says :  "  The  assertions  that  Jesus 
Christ  was  conceived  of  the  Holy  (rhost,  bom  of  the  Virgin  Mary, 
suffered  under  Pontius  Pilate,  was  crucified,  dead  and  buried,  and 
rose  again  from  the  dead  the  third  day,  and  that  He  ascended  into 
heaven,"  are  distinct  "  historical  statements,"  and  they  are  certainly 
of  the  very  essence  of  orthodox  Catholic  belief.  Anyone  who  does 
not  really  believe  them  and  the  whole  of  the  four  Creeds  (Apostles,' 
Nicene,  the  Athanasian,  and  that  of  St.  Pius  the  Fifth),  or  who  is 
not  prepared  to  submit  to  and  allow  the  Church's  authority  in  such 
matters,  cannot  reaUy  remain  a  member  of  the  Church  of  Rome ; 
and  the  position  of  any  such  man  therein  certainly  would  be,  as  my 
critic  says,  "in  every  respect  false."  Similarly  anvone  who  does 
not  really  believe  in  the  Divine  presence  in  the  Holy  Eucharist  as 
defined  at  Trent,  or  who  does  not  accept  and  bow  to  Papal  supremacy, 
cannot  consistently  continue  to  profess  himself  a  Catholic.  As  to 
Papal  rule,  it  has  manifestly  for  centuries  been  of  the  essence  of  Cath- 
olicity. The  final  decree  of  the  Vatican  Council  seems  to  me  only 
the  natural,  and  indeed  necessary,  development  and  outcome  of 
what  had  been  long  developing  it  antecedently,  just  as  the  absolute 
adoration  of  the  Host  practised  in  the  modern  Church,  is  unquestion- 
ably the  logical  and  legitimate  evolution  of  the  doctrine  always  held 
by  the  Greeks,  though  their  intense  conservatism  has  hindered  them 
from  developing  it  in  the  same  fashion. 

A  real  acceptance,  not  only  of  the  articles  of  the  Creeds,  but 
also  of  the  teacning  authority  of  the  Church — I  do  not  refer  to  judge- 
ments of  Congregations,  but  to  supreme  authority — is  of  the  very 
essence  of  Church-membership.  But  authority  and  revelation  do  not 
extend  by  any  means  as  far  as  is  often  supposed.  Most  men  are 
tempted  to  more  or  less  "magnify  their  ofl5ce,"  and  ecclesiastics  are 
not  exempt  from  the  temptation.  But  it  is  not  only  the  teachers^  it  is 
also  not  a  few  of  the  taught,  who  tend  to  enlarge  unduly  the  domain 
of  authority.  Many  of  tne  taught,  as  my  critic  observes,  are  eager 
for  the  guidance  oi  an  infallible  authority  in  all  the  details  of  life 
and  to  find,  as  has  been  said,  "a  fresh  infallible  decree  every  morn- 
ing on  their  breakfast  table."  I  have  heard  of  one  rather  prominent 
politician  who  was  near  being  received  into  the  Church,  but  drew 
oack  because  he  could  not  get  an  authoritative  decision  as  to  whether 
the  Crimean  war  ought  or  ought  not  to  be  undertaken.  Whether 
we  do  or  do  not  desire  more  guidance  than  we  have,  it  is  a  fact  that 
but  a  minimum  of  revelation  nas  been  granted,  just  enough  to  attain 
its  end  while  allowing  free  play  for  human  efforts  in  the  attainment 
of  truths  by  natural  means.    A  few  intensely  luminous  points  have 


CATHOLICITY  AND  REASON.  67 

been  set  before  us,  each  surrounded  by  a  halo  or  penumbra  of  twi- 
light becoming  rapidly  less  illuminatinff  as  it  recedes  from  the  ra- 
diant centre.  This  is  the  arena  in  which  the  intellect  has  full  play 
and  where  there  is  the  most  complete  freedom  for  all  the  inductive 
sciences.  Thus,  therefore,  I  repeat  what  I  have  twice  before  de- 
clared— namely,  that  freedom  has  now  been  happily  gained  for 
Catholics:  "for  all  science — ^geology,  biology,  sociology,  political 
economy,  history,  and  Biblical  criticism — ^f or  wnatever,  in  fact,  comes 
within  the  reacn  of  human  inductive  research  and  is  capable  of 
verification." 

But  the  dogmas  of  revelation  do  not,  and  cannot,  come  within 
the  scope  of  such  research.    If  any  physicist  were  so  foolish  as  to  say 
that  Christ's  birth  from  a  Virgin  or  His  resurrection  was  impossible 
on  account  of  physiological  data,  or  that  His  presence    in  the 
£ucharist  could  not  be  real  for  chemical  reasons,  or  that  the  Pope 
could  not  be  divinely  guided  in  his  official,  ex-cathedra  decisions  on 
account  of  the  laws  of  psychology,  or  that  all  miracles  are  impossible 
because  contradicting  the  laws  of  nature,  then  such  a  pretension 
would  be  most  legitimately  condemned  and  overruled  as  intrinsically 
absurd.    On  the  other  hand,  I  do  not  for  a  moment  pretend  to  aflten 
that  the  doctrines  here  referred  to  are  not  difficult  to  accept  and,  as 
I  said  before,  much  more  difficult  to  accept  now  than  they  were  in 
the  middle  ages.    Nevertheless,  however  difficult  they  may  be,  they 
are  not  contradictory  and  cannot  with  any  show  of  reason  be  declared 
to  be  impossible  and  necessarily  false.     As  to  Christ's  birth  from  a 
Virgin  mother,  the  difficulty  is  even  somewhat  less  now  than  it  was 
a  century  ago;  since  the  more  recent  advances  in  the  study  of 
biology  seem  rather  to  make  it  a  matter  of  wonder  that  any  sexual 
process  should  ever  be  necessary,  considering  the  frequent  and  re- 
iterated occurrence  of  virgin  reproduction.      The  dogma  of  the 
resurrection  must  mean  something  very  different  from  what  is  ordi- 
Tiarily  imagined ;  for,  according  to  Catholic  doctrine,  had  the  body 
of  our  Lord  been  reduced  by  fire  to  its  ultimate  chemical  elements, 
and  had  those  elements  entered  into  the  most  diverse  and  complex 
combinations  with  other  kinds  of  matter,  such  a  circumstance  would 
not  in  the  least  have  impeded  the  "resurrection  on  the  third  day." 
We  must  recollect  it  is  the  dogma  of  the  resurrection,  not  the 
mental    picture  framed  by    our    imaginations  from  the  Gospel 
narrative,  that  Catholics  are  bound  to  accept  as  expressing  the 
truth.    Similarly,  the  article  of  the  Creed  wnich  declares  "He  as- 
cended into  Heaven"  does  not  require  the  acceptance  of  any  mental 
picture  of  the  ima^nation,  but  the  affirmation  of  the  truth  of  an 
mtellectual  conception.    Any  person  who  believes  that  Christ  really 
rose — in  whatever  true  sense — from  the  dead,  and  was  for  a  time 
manifest  on  earth  afterwards,  must  (since  no  one  denies  that  mani- 


68  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

festation  to  have  now  ceased,  since  "Heaven"  is  the  expression 
denoting  supernal  bliss,  and  since  "upwards"  is  a  symbol  adopted  as 
less  inapplicable  to  it  than  "downwards")  admit  His  "ascension  into 
Heaven." 

I  do  not,  however,  wish  it  to  be  understood  that  I  could  accept 
these  doctrines  as  true  except  inasmuch  as  acquiescence  in  them  is  a 
necessary  condition  for  the  acceptance  of  a  revelation  the  truth  of 
which  is  evident  to  me  on  other  grounds.  Were  I  asked  to  believe 
in  a  Virgin  birth,  a  real  resurrection  from  the  dead,  or  an  ascension 
into  Heaven,  on  only  such  evidence  as  that  afforded  by  the  "written 
word,"  I  should  find  it  utterly  impossible  to  do  so,  and  I  can  quite 
understand  and  sympathize  with  the  impatience  which  many  a  man 
of  science  feels  wnen  asked  to  listen  to  any  arguments  in  their  favor. 
Nevertheless  there  are  some  most  estimable  men  of  science,  and  also 
men  as  eminent  in  law  and  iurisprudence  as  is  my  critic,  who  do  not 
feel  this,  and  who  are  satished  with  such  evidence.  I  have  nothing 
to  say  as  to  their  view,  except  that  it  is  not  and  never  (since  I  was 
seventeen  years  of  age)  was  mine.  I  never  did  and  never  could  so 
accept  those  doctrines,  and  it  seems  to  me  not  only  natural  but 
inevitable  that  they  will,  sooner  or  later,  be  rejected  by  the  over- 
whelming majoritj'^  of  those  who  do  receive  them  only  on  that  evi- 
dence, and  apart  from  any  actual  living  authoritative  and  traditional 
revelation,  the  truth  of  which  they  have  accepted  on  rational  but  in- 
dependent grounds. 

It  is  of  course  true  that  a  more  or  less  miraculous  birth  is  the 
common  character  of  a  variety  of  legendary  heroes.  It  is  true  that 
the  birth  of  our  Lord  has  some  appearance  of  being  a  magnified 
version  of  that  of  Samson.  It  is  true  that  a  Divine  Incarnation 
might  have  taken  place  as  well  with  as  without  the  intervention  of  a 
human  father ;  but  no  considerations  of  this  kind  force  us  to  deny 
the  possibility  of  an  occurrence  the  evidence  for  which  is  of  a  quite 
different  character.  No  one  can  deny  that  Christianity  being,  if 
true,  a  kind  of  new  creation  of  mankind,  might  be  expected  a  priori 
to  present  a  sort  of  new  creation  at  its  origin ;  but  there  is  another 
more  indisputable  consideration  which  makes  it  most  congruous  and 
fitting  on  very  different  grounds.  It  may  be  said  at  once  to  strike 
the  key-note,  as  it  were,  of  the  Churches  whole  attitude  towards 
sexual  morality — its  conspicuous  inculcation  of  chastity  and  often 
of  celibacy,  and  its  respect  for  virginity.  This  is  an  object  of 
dislike  and  disapprobation  to  many  persons  who  do  not  consider  th« 
need  there  is  that  a  lofty  ideal  and  a  very  high  aim  should,  by  any 
revealed  religion,  be  set  before  such  beings  as  men  in  the  concrete 
actually  are.  If  there  is  one  instinct  which  is  imperious  and  exacting, 
it  is  the  sexual  instinct.  If  there  is  one  form  of  human  activity  whicli 
more  than  another  needs  regulating  by  a  sense  of  duty,  it  is  the  re- 


CATHOLtClTT  AND  RS!A80N.  6ft 

E reductive  faculty.  Only  a  large  experience  of  the  facts  of  human 
fe  can  lead  to  a  just  and  adequate  appreciation  of  the  absolute  need 
of  the  presentation  of  an  ideal  the  very  opposite  in  its  nature  to  that 
evil  which  is  the  most  copious  source  of  human  woe  and  sujfferinff. 
A  man  needs  to  aim  high  if  he  would  not  shoot  below  the  mark. 
What  ideal  can  be  so  high  as  the  one  which  the  Catholic  Church  sets 
before  us  in  this  respect?  Its  social  result,  when  faithfully  corre- 
sponded with,  is  sexual  love  transfigured  by  the  highest  ideas  of  duty 
and  the  perfect  realization  of  that  ideal  to  which  the  revolutionary 
enemies  of  religion  are  most  violently  opposed — the  ideal  of  the 
Christian  family. 

The  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Trinity  is  one  which  is  of  course  very 
difficult  of  comprehension,  but  surely  nothing  could  well  be  more 
absurd  than  objections  made  on  that  ground  by  men  who  sav  that  God 
is  not  only  (as  we  say)  incomprehensible,  but  absolutely  unknowable ! 
Such  men  oueht  surely  to  affirm  the  a  priori  probability,  that  were 
a  revelation  ot  God's  nature  possible,  it  would  be  one  most  difficult  to 
express  in  any  human  terms.  For  my  own  part,  I  must  confess  that, 
though  unaided  reason  could  never  have  attained  to  a  perception  of 
the  (3iristian  Trinity,  yet  a  Trinitarian  doctrine  appears  to  my  mind 
to  be  more  probable  and  less  incongruous  with  the  declarations  of  my 
intellect  than  the  Unitarian  doctrine.  For  if  we  attribute,  as  reason 
compels  us  to  attribute,  to  God  from  all  eternity,  characters  which  are 
faintly  expressed  by  the  analogical  terms  knowledge,  beauty,  will 
and  love,  then  these  characters  can  be  far  better  conceived  of  as 
existing  in  a  being  which  in  some  mysterious  way  has  elements  of 
conscious  diversity  within  it  than  in  one  which  is  an  absolute  and 
simple  xmity,  and  therefore  cannot  have  any  internal  relations  what- 
soever. 

It  seems  hardly  necessary  to  me  to  refer  to  any  other  Christian 
doctrines.  As  to  that  concerning  the  Eucharistic  presence,  I  should 
tliink  every  educated  person  now  understood  that,  oy  its  very  defini- 
tion, it  is  and  must  be  a  matter  beyond  the  reach  oi  any  physical 
investigation,  and  is  necessarily  incapable  of  any  such  proof  or  dis- 
proof. 

But  if  the  Church  is  a  divinely  sustained  and  governed  body, 
authoritatively  enunciating  and  from  time  to  time  defining  such 
doctrines  as  tnese ;  if  it  has  the  right  of  governing  and  directing  out- 
side what  can  be  demonstrated  through  "human  inductive"  research 
and  verification ;  if  it  is  the  authorized  administrator  of  sacraments 
which  are  the  ordinary  channels  of  a  more  perfect  life,  then  it  is 
itself  a  greater  sacrament,  and  can  have  no  cause  to  fear  humiliation 
or  degradation,  and  is  far  indeed  from  being  a  "repeater  of  old  fables" 
and  "a  performer  of  curious  old  ceremonies."  Thus  I  claim  at  one 
and  the  same  time  both  to  uphold  the  dignity  and  authority  of  the 


W  TOE  LIBRARY  MAOAZiyE. 

Church,  above  all  of  its  supreme  head,  and  also  to  maintain  the  rights 
of  scientific  men  to  perfect  liberty  in  the  investigation  and  promidga- 
tion  of  what  they  are  convinced  "is  the  very  truth  in  each  and  every 
branch  of  inductive  research  I  would  further  reinforce  this  claim  by 
calling  attention  to  the  truly  wonderful  circumstance  that  not  only 
supreme  Church  authority  should  not  have  conmiitted  itself  to  decrees 
and  definitions  which  render  it  unable  to  accept  what  the  present 
Biblical  criticism  may  demonstrate  to  be  true,  but  should  even  have 
admitted  the  very  principles  needed  to  enable  it  to  assimilate  the 
results  of  such  inquiry.  Here,  then,  I  may  repeat  with  emphasis 
words  I  employed  some  years  affo  with  reference  to  the  question  of 
biological  evolution.  In  my  Zessoris  from  Nature^  I  said,  and  I 
repeat : 

"It  is  surely  a  noteworthy  fact  that  the  Church  should  have  iin consciously  provided 
for  the  reception  of  modern  theories  by  the  emission  of  faithful  principles  and  far- 
reaching  definitions,  centuries  before  such  theories  were  promulgated,  and  when  views 
directly  contradicting  them  were  held  universally,  ana  even  by  those  very  men  them- 
selves who  laid  down  the  principles  and  definitions  referred  to.  Circumstances  so  re- 
markable, such  undesigned  coincidences,  which,  as  facts,  cannot  be  denied,  must  be 
allowed  to  have  been  'pre-ordained'  by  those  who,  being  Theists,  assert  that  a  'pur- 
pose' nms  through  the  whole  process  of  cosmical  evolution.  Such  Theista  must  ad- 
mit that,  however  aridng  or  with  whatever  end,  a  prescience  has  so  far  watched  over 
tlie  Church's  definitions,  and  that  she  has  been  herein  so  guided  in  her  teaching  as  to 
be  able  to  harmonize  and  assimilate  with  her  doctrines  the  most  recent  theories  of 


science." 


But  my  critic  will  probably  say :  "  If  the  Church  has  not  yet 
committed  itself  to  the  denial  of  any  proved  scientific  truth  through 
any  decree  of  supreme  authority,  what  will  you  do  if  on  some  future 
occasion  it  does  so  commit  itself  ?  What  will  you  say  if  supreme 
authority  should  ever  dogmatically  aflirm  anything  which  can  con- 
clusively be  demonstrated  by  science  to  be  false  ?"  This  question 
I  have  already  considered  and  answered  in  the  words  of  St.  Paul : 
''  Then  is  our  preaching  vain,  and  your  faith  is  also  vain."  If  I  ever 
became  convinced  that  such  a  contradiction  had  at  any  time  occurred, 
on  the  practically  idle  hypothesis  that  I  was  absolutelv  certain  of 
the  scientic  truth  supposed  to  be  contradicted,  then  I  should  be  driven 
to  conclude  that  my  antecedent  judgment  to  the  effect  that  God  had 
granted  an  authoritative,  supernatural  revelation  was  a  mistaken 
judgment,  and  that  in  fact  we  had  no  such  revelation.  Since  revela- 
tion supposes  reason,  and,  as  I  have  before  said,  is  accepted  on 
grounds  of  independent  reason,  I  cannot,  naturally,  be  more  certain 
of  the  truths  of  my  past  judgment  about  revelation  than  I  am  of 
the  antecedent  data  of  reason  on  the  strength  of  which  I  accepted  it. 
I  became  a  Catholic  on  what  I  deemed  to  oe  good  grounds,  and  were 
I  to  find  that  those  grounds  were  not  good,  and  could  I  obtain  no 
other  grounds  as  good,  or  better,  in  their  place,  then,  of  course,  a 
Catholic  I  could  not  remain.    My  critic  may  be  surprised  to  be  told 


CATHOLICITY  AlfD  REASON,  ^  71 

that  anyone  so  circumstanced  would  be  bound  by^Catholic  principles 
not  to  remain  a  Catholic ;  for  every  Catholic  theologian  without  ex- 
ception would  tell  him  that  he  must  follow  his  conscience  and  adhere 
to  truth,  and  that,  if  he  had  really  come  to  disbelieve  in  the  truths 
of  Catholicity,  and  therefore  really  felt  it  his  duty  to  leave  it,  he 
could  not  continue  to  profess  himself  a  Catholic  without  grave  detri- 
ment to  his  soul's  health. 
■  But  in  affirming  that  we  cannot  be  more  certain  of  the  truth  of 
revelation  than  of  the  data  of  reason  which  led  us  to  accept  it,  I 
would  by  no  means  be  understood  to  say  that  we  cannot  be  more 
certain  of  the  truth  of  revelation  now  than  we  were  at  the  time  when 
we  first  accepted  it.  There  is  an  enormous  difference  between  any 
comprehension  of  the  Church  and  her  life  which  can  be  obtained  by 
non-Catholics  and  the  results  of  experience  on  those  who  have  lived 
in.  church-membership.  The  difference  has  been  aptly  compared,  I 
think,  by  the  late  Cardinal  Wiseman,  to  looking  at  a  fair  stained- 
window  from  without  and  from  within  the  building  it  adorns.  We 
are  justly  said  to  have  "faculties"  of  feeling  and  volition  as  well  as 
of  intellect,  but  we  are  nevertheless  each  oi  us  a  unity,  and  as  we 
never  make  an  act  of  will  ^vithout  the  intervention  of  f eeUnff  and 
intellect,  so  also  in  our  intellectual  acts  a  certain  amount  of  volition 
and  f  eelinff  have  each  also  their  part,  however  subordinate  that  part 
may  be.  The  vastly  increased  evidence  of  the  truth  of  revelation 
which  such  experience  as  is  above  referred  to  may  furnish,  will 
inevitably  and  most  legitimately  intensify  both  the  feeling  favorable 
to  it  and  the  will  to  adhere  to  it.  A  Catholic  who  is  also  a  man  of 
science  must  of  course  be  ready  to  scientifically  examine  and  weigh 
whatever  seemingly  important  evidence  may  be  freshly  brought  to 
light"  against  his  religion,  but  nothing  less  than  a  demonstration  of 
its  untruth  will  lead  nim  to  abandon  it.  Especially  suspicious  wiU 
he  be  of  his  suspicions  against  it,  and  doubtful  of  his  difficulties,  if  a 
careful  examination  of  conscience  shows  him  that  the  ethical  require- 
ments of  Catholicity  strongly  conflict  with  his  inclinations. 

A  Catholic  who  is  so  unhappy  as  to  have  become  anyhow  con- 
vinced that  the  essentials  of  his  reUffion  are  untrue,  cannot  of  course 
consistently  make  any  further  profession  of  Catholicity.  At  the 
same  time,  while  remaining  a  Theist,  he  must  admit  that  Christianity 
and  the  Catholic  Church  have  been  the  greatest  agents  in  the 
religious  education  of  the  best  part  of  the  human  race,  and  that 
Christianity  has  so  far  every  appearance  of  being  the  culminating 
religion  of  mankind.  Thus  Christian  Theism  may  remain  for  him 
the  best  possible  religion  attainable.  Whether  such  a  man  may 
refrain  from  expressing  his  views,  and  silently  and  passively  continue 
an  apparent  member  of  the  Catholic  Churchy  it  is  not  for  me  to 


>2  THE  LIBRAMY  MAGAZINE. 

say — each  individual  so  circumstanced  must  determine  that  matter 
for  himself.  But  it  certainly  is  not  a  position  which  commends 
itself  in  any  way  to  my  judgment,  and  a  man  who  assumes  it  is  not 
only  unfaithful  to  the  uogmatic  requirements  of  the  Church  to  which 
he  appears  to  belong,  but  to  its  ethical  spirit  also — as  already  pointed 
out.  His  whole  conduct  appears  to  me  to  be  so  glaringly  inconsistent 
that  it  might  well  be  called  what  my  critic,  quoting  Dr.  Pusey,  terms 
"  a  moral  miracle." 

The  Catholic  Church  is  essentially  an  authoritative,  dogmatic 
Church,  and  can  in  no  way  confess  its  supreme  authority  to  have 
ever  laid  down  as  of  faith  what  is  in  reality  false.  But  Sir  James 
Stephen  observes  that  the  Church  of  England  could  assume  such  a 

?osition  "  with  infinitely  better  grace "  than  the  Church  of  Rome, 
'his  I  have  myself  before  affirmed.  The  Church  of  England  as 
understood  by  the  late  Dean  Stanley,  practically  free  even  as  regards 
the  decrees  of  Nice  and  Chalcedon,  might  well  become  a  refuge  and 
home  for  Christian  Theists  who  desired  a  refined  worship  not  freshly 
invented  but  traditional,  and  to  be  free  from  ceremonies  or  obliga- 
tions in  any  way  oppressive.  To  take  this  position,  however,  tne 
Anglican  Cnurch  would  need  to  dispense  its  ministers  not  only  from 
subscription  to  the  Thirty-nine  Articles,  but  also  from  express 
acceptance  of  the  Creeds,  and  to  content  itself  with  a  willingnaess  on 
their- part  to  perform  the  services  contained  in  the  beautiful  Book  of 
Common  Prayer.  But  this  does  not  appear  to  be  the  direction  in 
Avhich  the  Church  of  England  is  now  moving.  The  '^  Broad  Church," 
I  am  told,  is  more  and  more  giving  way  to  the  '^  High  Church," 
while,  in  the  most  elevated  regions  oi  the  latter,  imitations  of  Kome 
are  carried  to  a  degree  which  shocks  some  Catholics  who  are 
really  friendly  to  and  sympathetic  with  the  Eituahst  clergV,  for 
whom,  ethically,  they  feel  a  liigh  esteem.  But  in  spite  of  the'unde- 
niably  increased  life  and  vigor  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  the 
apparent  certainty  that  it  will  continue  to  increase  in  vigor  for  a  con- 
siderable time,  yet  I  have  sufficient  faith  in  the  ultimate  force  of 
logic  to  feel  confident  that  the  development  of  sacerdotaUsm  within 
it,  and  the  assumption  of  a  tone  of  dogmatism  and  authority,  can 
only  end  in  one  way.  The  attempt  at  the  same  time  to  dethrone 
authority  at  Rome  and  to  enthrone  it  at  Canterbury  is  an  attempt 
which — ^unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken — ^pitiless  logic  mexorably  fore- 
dooms to  failure. 

But  the  object  I  have  at  present  in  view  concerns  not  the  Church 
of  England,  but  the  Churcn  of  Rome,  and  especially  the  complete 
and  entire  scientific  freedom  of  its  members.  This  freedom  I  have,  I 
venture  to  believe,  demonstrated  in  a  most  practical  manner.  That 
some  things  I  thought  necessary  to  write  could  not  but  give  pain 


TRYING  TBB  SPIRITS.  73 

and  offence  to  most  estimable  people  I  only  too  well  knew,  and  I 
deeply  regretted  it.  The  pain,  however,  I  was  convinced  would  be 
but  of  very  short  duration,  while  the  beneficial  effects  I  was  advised 
would  be  great  and  lasting.  It  is  my  hope— mv  conviction— that 
they  will  be  so,  and  that  such  a  happy  result  will  ensue  from'  that 
special  manifestation  of  the  Church's  essential  spirit  in  which  I  have 
been  encouraged  to  co-operate.  For  my  own  part,  I  feel  greatly 
consoled  by  the  course  which  events  have  so  far  taken,  and  am  more 
impressed  now  than  I  have  been  at  any  tune  since  I  first  began  to 
write  on  the  subject  with  the  profound  concord  and  harmony  which 
exists,  and  I  am  persuaded  will  continue  to  exist,  between  the 
authority  of  Rome  and  the  authority  of  the  human  intellect,  and 
with  the  essential  unity  which  underlies  the  superficial  diversities 
between  the  illuminating  action  of  those  two  lights  set  before  us  by 
God  in  the  intellectual  firmament— Catholicity  and  Rea^n.— St. 
George  Mivart,  in  The  NineteerUh  Century. 


TRYING  THE  SPIRITS. 

A  Chaib  of  Philosophy  has  recently  been  endowed  in  the  Uni- 
versity of  Philadelphia,  subject  to  a  curious  condition.  The  donor, 
Henry  Seybert,  now  deceased,  was  an  enthusiastic  believer  in  Spirit- 
ualism, and  the  condition  of  his  bequest  was  that  the  University 
should  appoint  a  Commission  to  investigate  "all  systems  of  Morals, 
Religion,  or  Philosophy  which  assume  to  represent  the  truth,  and 
particularly  Modem  Spiritualism."  The  scope  of  the  suggested  in- 
quiry seems  rather  wide,  but  it  was  probably  understocxi  that  its 
main  object  lay  in  the  ''particularly."  At  any  rate,  the  condition 
was  accepted.  A  Commission  was  appointed,  consisting  of  ten 
gentlemen  of  high  scientific  repute,  and  nas  just  issued  its  Frehmin- 
ary  Report,  a  substantial  octavo  volume,  containing  much  curious 
matter.  With  the  report  as  a  whole  we  have  no  concern,  save  to 
record,  in  passing,  that  its  pages  teem  with  instances  of  detected 
trickery,  unrelieved  by  a  single  manifestation  which  could  fairly  be 
accepted  as  genuine.  One  oranch  of  the  investigation,  however, 
took  so  comical  and  at  the  same  time  instructive  a  turn,  that  it 
would  be  cruel  to  let  it  "waste  its  sweetness"  in  the  comparative 
obscurity  of  a  scientific  report.  For  the  public  good,  therefore,  we 
propose  briefly  to  retell  the  story. 

One  form  of  Spiritualistic  enterprise,  very  popular,  it  seems,  in 
America,  consists  in  the  reading  ana  replying  to  sealed  letters.  The 
process  (in  theory)  is  as  follows : — The  spirit-guide  reads  the  ques- 


74  TEB  LTBRART  MAGAZmE. 

tion  contained  in  the  unopened  letter  and  "controls"  the  hand  of 
the  medium  to  indite  a  suitable  reply.  There  are  four  eminent 
mediums  who  make  a  speciaUty  of  this  hne  of  business:  James  Y. 
Mansfield,  of  Boston;  R  W.  Flint,  New  York;  Eleanor  Martin, 
Columbus  Ohio ;  and  Eliza  A.  Martin,  of  Oxford,  Massachusetts. 
It  is  stated  that,  through  the  mediumship  of  Mr.  Mansfield  alone, 
over  100,000  sealed  letters  have  been  thus  read  and  answered. 

So  remarkable  a  phase  of  Spiritualism  could  not  but  invite  the 
attention  of  the  Commission,  and  Dr.  Horace  Howard  Fumess,  the 
acting  Chairman,  undertook  the  duty  of  investigating  it.  Casting 
about  for  a  fit  subject  of  interrogation,  he  bethought  himself  that  in 
his  own  library,  mounted  on  bEick  marble,  there  chanced  to  be  a 
human  skull,  which  for  some  fifty  or  sixty  years  had  been  used  as  a 
property  at  a  local  theater,  ana  had  l)een  apostrophized  ("Alas, 
poor  Yorickl'')  by  a  long  hue  of  eminent  tragedians,  ranging  from 
Edmund  Kean  to  Henry  Irving.  Of  its  previous  history  nothing 
was  known.  The  doctor  determined  to  interrogate  each  medium 
separately  as  to  the  original  ownership  of  this  skull.  The  test  was 
well  conceived.  On  such  a  subject,  if  any,  departed  SDirits  miffht 
be  supposed  to  possess  special  sources  of  information.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  four  mediums  being  so  far  apart,  and  each  ignorant  that 
the  others  were  interrogated,  it  was  hardly  likely  that  they  would 
concert  an  answer.  If,  under  such  circumstances,  the  four  replies 
substantially  agreed,  it  might  fairly  be  concluded,  2>ri?y24/ad^,  that 
they  were  inspired  by  some  more  than  human  intelligence. 

Accordingly,  the  doctor  wrote,  on  a  small  sheet  of  paper,  as  fol- 
lows : — '  *  Wnat  was  the  name,  age,  sex,  color,  and  condition  in  life 
of  the  owner,  when  aUve,  of  the  skull  here  in  my  library?  February 
28,  1885."  This  paper  was  put  in  an  envelope  whereof  the  flap  was 
gummed  to  within  a  small  distance  of  the  point;  under  this  point 
some  sealing-wax  was  dropped,  and  enough  added  above  it  to  make 
a  substantial  impression.  At  the  four  comers  additional  seals,  with 
different  impressions,  were  placed.  Thus  secured,  the  envelope 
was  forwarded  to  J.  V.  Mansfield,  with  a  request  that  he  would 
exercise  upon  it  his  mediumistic  power.  In  a  few  days  Dr.  Fumess 
was  advised  that  two  ''commumcates'*  on  the  subject  had  been  re- 
ceived from  different  spirits,  one  "coroberating"  the  other,  and 
that  the  charge  for  the  two  would  be  five  dollars.  The  amount  was 
transmitted,  and  in  due  course  the  "sealed  letter"  was  returned, 
together  with  the  "communicates,"  written  in  pencil  and  in  differ- 
ent hands.  The  question  appeared  to  have  excited  considerable 
interest  on  "the  other  side,"  no  less  than  six  eminent  scientific 
ghosts  having  given  their  opinions  on  the  subject.  Unfortunately, 
they  did  not  quite  agree.  The  first  reply  purported  to  come  from 
the  spirit  of  Dr.  Kofert  Hare,  and  was  as  follows : — 


TBTINQ  THE  SPIRITS.  75 

"  Dear  FurneM— Yours  of  28  Peby  before  me— as  to  this  matter  under  considera- 
tion I  have  looked  it  over  and  over  again.  Called  my  old  friend  Qeorge  Combe,  and 
-we  are  of  the  mind  it  is  the  skull  of  a  female — Combe  says  he  tliinks  it  was  that  of  a 
colored  woman — the  age— about  40  to  44— the  name  of  the  one  who  inhabited  it 
— it  would  not  be  possible  for  an;^  spirit  but  the  one  who  the  skull  belonged  to  — If  it 
was  colored — Cornelia  Winnie  might  know.    Respfy —  Robert  Hare." 

The  second  reply  purported  to  come  from  the  spirit  of  Dr.  Rush, 
and  was  as  under.  The  handwritinff  was  different,  but  it  will  be 
noticed  that  the  eccentricities  of  style  and  punctuation  are  alike  in 
both  letters.    Dr.  Kush  is  a  very  polite  spirit:- 

"My  Dear  Townsman  —  pardon  what  may  seem  an  intrusion — but  seeing  your 
anxiety  to  get  the  Aage  sex  col.  and  name  of  a  skull  in  your  office  and  seeing  the  con- 
clusion that  Dr.  Hare  &  Proffr  Combe  have  arrived  at— I  will  say  that  I  have  looked 
the  same  over  and  fully  concur  in  their  conclusion  save  in  the  color  of  the  one  who 
once  animated  that  skull.  Fowler,  Spurzeheim  and  Gall  agree  in  saying  that  Hare  & 
Combe  have  nothing  to  base  an  opinion  upon,  as  to  the  color— yet  in  sex  thev  agree. 
Tours  with  Bespect  Benja.  Rush,  M.  D. 

'*  Exact  age  could  not  be  determined.*' 

"Who  shall  decide  when  doctors  disagree?"  The  only  item  as  to 
which  the  ghostly  congress  was  in  accord  was  as  to  sex.  All  other 
pNoints  were  still  left  in  obscurity,  but  a  j)ossible  means  of  informa- 
tion was  indicated — **Ck)meha  Winnie  nught  know."  Accordingly 
the  doctor  determined  (as  it  was  doubtless  intended  that  he  shomd) 
to  interrogate  Cornelia  Winnie.  Meanwhile,  the  spirits  had,  at  any 
rate,  shown  a  knowledge  of  the  question,  which,  on  the  assumption 
that  the  envelope  had  not  been  opened,  was  remarkable.  Exam- 
ining the  envelope  minutely,  the  doctor  fancied  that  he  could  trace 
a  slight  ^lazin^,  as  of  gum,  round  the  central  seal,  and  a  minute 
bubWe  of  mucimffe  protruded  from  beneath  its  edge.  He  therefore 
opened  the  enveiope  by  cutting  at  the  edges,  so  as  to  set  at  the 
under  side  of  the  flap.  He  found  that  the  paper  under  three  of  the 
seals  was  torn.  The  seals  had  been  cut  out,  and  restored  to  their 
position  with  mucilage. 

The  method  of  the  fraud  was  now  clear,  but  the  doctor  wished 
to  make  it  clearer  still.  Accordingly  he  proceeded  to  interrogate 
Cornelia  Winnie.  On  a  sheet  of  note-paper  he  wrote : — *  *  Can  Cor- 
nelia Winnie,  or  any  other  Spirit  (Dr.  Hare  refers  me  to  the  former), 
give  me  any  particulars  of  the  life  or  death  of  the  colored  woman 
who  once  ammated  this  skull  here  in  my  Ubrary?  I  am  entirely 
ignorant  myself  on  the  subject." 

This  was  folded,  placed  in  an  envelope,  gummed  and  sealed  pre- 
cisely as  the  previous  letter.  The  envelope  was  marked,  on  the 
outside,  No.  1.  On  another  sheet  of  paper  the  same  question  was 
word  for  word  repeated.  This  second  sheet  was  also  folded  and  put 
in  an  envelope  (marked  No.  2],  but  before  sealing  two  or  three 
stitches  of  rea  silk  were  passed  tnrough  the  flap  of  the  envelope  and 
the  enclosed  paper,  sewing  the  two  securely  together.    These  stitches 


T6  THE  LIBBABT  MAGAZINE. 

were  made  at  the  point  of  the  flap,  and  at  each  of  the  four  comera 
Over  the  stitches,  and  concealing  them,  seals  were  affixed,  so  that 
in  appearance  the  two  envelopes  were  precisely  alike.  These  were 
forwarded  to  the  medium,  with  a  request  that  he  would  "sif  first 
with  No.  1  and  afterward  with  No.  2.  The  trap  was  ingeniously 
laid.  Obviously  anyone,  spirit  or  otherwise,  possessing  a  ffenuine 
clairvoyant  faculty,  could  read  No.  2  as  easily  as  No.  1,  and  would 
know  that  the  questions  were  identical.  On  the  other  hand,  the 
medium,  opening  and  reclosing  No.l,  as  in  the  former  case,  and  find- 
ing no  special  difficulty  in  domg  so,  would  attack  the  seals  of  No.  2 
with  equal  confidence,  and  in  all  probability  tear  out  the  connect- 
ing stitches,  leaving  a  teU-tale  rent  in  the  enclosure.  In  a  few  days 
the  envelopes  were  returned,  with  a  brief  note  from  the  medium,  as 
follows: — 

"  Dear  Fumess :  send  you  what  came  to  your  P.K.  The  second  gave  no  re- 
sponse.   My  terms  are  |3  for  each  trial— warrant  nothing.    Respectfully,  J.  V.  M." 

The  communication  enclosed  was  appjarently  from  a  colored  lady 
spirit  of  neglected  education.  The  voice  is  the  voice  of  Cornelia 
W  innie,  but  the  style  is  stiU  the  style  of  J.  V.  M. : 

'*  I  Bress  de  Lord  for  de  one  mor  to  talk  to  de  people  of  my  ole  home.  I  been  thar 
lots  of  tim  since  I  come  here,  but  o  Lord  de  Massy — they  no  see  Winne  cos  she  be 
ded,  and  she  jus  no  ded  at  all — now  as  to  dot  Col  gal — Bed,  I  could  not  say — ^sure — ^but 

1  think  it  Dinah  Melish.    I  think  it  seem  Dina  top  not.    Will  see  Dina  som  time,  and 
then  i  ask  her«  Cornelia  Winnie." 

An  examination  of  envelope  No.  1  showed  that  the  same  trick 
had  been  played  as  in  the  former  case.  Three  of  the  seals  had  been 
cut  out,  and  replaced  with  mucilage.     A  similar  examination  of  No. 

2  showed  why,  in  this  case,  the  spirits  had  failed  to  give  any  reply. 
An  attempt  had  been  made  on  two  of  the  seals,  but  finding  an  un- 
expected obstacle  in  the  shape  of  the  silk  stitches,  the  spirits  were 
afraid  to  go  any  further,  and  **gave  it  up." 

The  doctor  next  turned  his  attention  to  the  New  York  medium, 
Mr.  K.  "W.  Flint.  The  prospectus  of  this  medium  stipulated  that 
the  sealed  letter  should  in  every  case  be  addressed  to  some  particular 
spirit,  and  signed  with  the  name  of  the  writer  in  fuU;  two  items 
which  would  no  doubt  be  of  considerable  assistance  in  framing  the 
reply.  As  the  skull  was  now  authoritatively  declared  to  be  that  of 
a  colored  woman,  Dr.  Fumess  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than 
address  his  inquiry  to  the  spirit  of  an  old  colored  man,  who  had 
been  the  faithful  servant  of  a  family  with  which  he  was  acquainted 
for  over  forty  years.     Accordingly  he  wrote  as  follows: — **Dear 

W H .     Can  you  teU  me  anything  about  the  owner,  when 

alive,  of  the  skull  here  in  the  library?  You  remember  how  anxious 
I  have  always  been  to  have  my  ignorance  on  this  score  enlightened. 


TRTINQ  THE  SPIRITS.  77 

Have  you  any  message  to  send  to  your  wife,  M F ?    Are 

you  happy  now?    Tour  old  friend,  Horace  Howabd  Fubness." 

This  was  placed  in  an  envelope,  and  sealed  with  five  seals,  but 
without  the  hidden  stitches,  and  forwarded  to  Mr.  Flint.  It  came 
back  in  a  few  days,  with  a  note  as  follows : — 

"  Dear  sir,  I  fave  your  sealed  spirit-letter  three  sittings,  and  regret  to  state  that  I 
have  been  unable  to  get  an  answer.  My  guide  at  each  sitting  wrote  and  said,  '  the 
spirit  called  upon  is  not  present  to  dictate  an  answer/  ** 

An  examination  of  the  envelope  by  cutting  the  edge  showed  that 
an  attempt  had  been  made  to  get  on  the  seals,  but  the  paper  had 
begun  to  tear  awkwardly,  and  the  spirit-guide  of  Mr.  Flint  had 
probably  suggested  that  discretion  was  the  better  part  of  valor. 
Not  discouraged,  the  doctor  placed  the  same  letter  in  a  fresh  envel- 
ope, and  forwarded  it  to  Mrs.  Eleanor  Martin,  of  Columbus,  Ohio. 
The  letter  came  back  in  due  course.  The  precaution  of  cutting  at 
the  edges  was  in  this  case  hardlv  needed,  for  even  external  inspec- 
tion showed  clearlv  that  the  seals  had  been  removed  and  replaced, 
and  not  by  the  cleanest  of  hands.  The  spirit-guide  of  this  lady  is 
known,  it  seems,  as  Blind  Harry,  and  Blind  Harry,  like  Mr.  Wegg, 
has  a  way  of  ''dropping  into  poetry."  Two  replies  were  enclosed, 
both  metrical.  As  they  are  somewhat  lengthy,  we  shall  only 
venture  to  quote  the  more  material  portions  of  them. 
The  first  purports  to  be  ''written  oy  Blind  Harry  for  a  gentleman 

who  gives  his  name  W —    H . ' '    W H apparently  has 

no  iiSormation  about  the  skull,  for  he  avoids  the  subject  altogether. 
There  is  a  ''plentiful  lack"  of  punctuation,  but  for  this  we  presume 
Blind  Harry,  and  not  W.  H.,  is  responsible. 

"  To  my  Dear  friend  Horace,— 

"  Horace  you  wonder  if  all  is  weU 
Yes,  I'm  more  happy  than  I  can  leU 
For  sorrow  and  trouble  does  not  last, 
But  like  a  sweet  dream  goes  gliding  past 
In  a  smooth  ;iath  of  eternal  day 
Where  dawns  for  each  a  perpetual  May. 

••  Dear  M tell  her,  and  family  too 

That  I  am  ever  to  them  most  true 
And  I  daily  guide  her  tender  feet 
Where'er  she  goes  upon  the  street 
That  she  has  my  love  forever  more 
I  understand  her  more  than  before/' 

There  are  three  more  stanzas  of  similar  quality,  but  equally  re- 
mote from  the  q^uestion  at  issue.  Fortunately  the  second  effusion, 
stated  to  be  "wntten  by  Blind  Harrv-  for  a  beautiful  lady  who  gives 
the  name  Belle, ' '  is  more  to  the  point.  The  rightful  owner  of  the 
skull  puts  in  a  claim  to  the  property : — 


78  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

"  In  earth  life  I  was  tall  and  fair 

With  jet  black  eyes  and  golden  hair 
Eyes  that  sparkled  with  mirth  and  song 
And  whose  hair  (no)  in  curls  one  yard  long. 


« 


Ah  but  many  sad  years  ago 
My  life  was  burdened  with  woe 

But  the  seens  through  which  I  passed 
Are  now  with  gkuiness  over-cast 

"  I  was  bom  in  pur  earth  to  await 
The  coming  of  a  cruel  fate 
Yes,  I  a  true  and  loviny  wife 
But  mine  was  a  sad  darkened  life. 

"  My  form  was  sold  to  doctors  three 
So  you  have  all  that's  left  of  me 
I  come  to  greet  you  in  white  mull 
You  that  prizes  my  lonely  skull.    . 

"  You  may  call  me  your  Sister  Belle 
My  otner  name  I  ne'er  can  tell 
They  tell  me  it  is  for  the  best 
To  let  earth's  troubles  be  at  rest. " 


Cornelia  Winnie  was  wrong,  it  seems,  in  supposing  the  skull  to 
be  "Dinah  Melish's  top-knot,"  and  Drs.  Hare  and  Combe  (deceased) 
were  equally  mistaken  in  pronouncing  it  to  have  belonged  to  a  col- 
ored woman.  The  true  owner  was  Sister  Belle,  and  was  a  fair 
woman  with  golden  hair,  who  had  met  with  trouble  in  earth-Ufe, 
and  passed  into  the  dissecting-room  after  death.  But  the  inquisitive 
doctor  was  not  yet  satisfied.  It  struck  him  that  the  respectful  col- 
ored servant  to  whom  his  inquiry  was  addressed  must  have  chang^ 
considerablj  in  the  other  world  before  he  would  have  ventured  to 
greet  a  white  man  and  friend  of  his  former  master's  by  his  Christian 
name  and  address  him  (as  he  does  in  one  of  the  stanzas  which  we 
have  spared  the  reader)  as ' '  our  brother  Horace  dear. ' '  For  greater 
certainty,  therefore,  he  resolved  to  conmiunioate  with  him  aeain 
through  another  chsiimel,  and  sent  the  same  letter,  sealed  as  beiore, 
to  the  fourth  medium,  Mrs.  Eliza  A.  Martin,  of  Massachusetts. 
The  envelope  this  time  came  back  pure  and  unsullied.  Not  a  seal, 
apparently,  had  been  displaced.  Closer  examination  showed  that 
they  had  not  been  displaced,  but  the  envelope  had  been  cut  open 
along  one  of  its  sides,  and  the  edges  joined  with  a  thin  line  of  some 
very  delicate  form  of  mucilage.     As  in  the  last  case,  there  were  two 

replies.   The  one,  purporting  to  be  "  dictated  by  the  spirit  of  W 

H ,"  was  as  follows: — 

**  To  H.  H.  Fumess. — I  found  things  very  different  here  from  what  I  expected. 
I  think  that  is  almost  the  universal  experience.  The  half  has  not  been  told,  nor  can 
it  be,  for  no  language  known  to  humanity  can  convey  any  definite  knowledge  of  the 
mvsteries  of  the  Spiritual  Life.  1  remain  the  same  towuil  you  and  all  my  earthly 
friends.  Am  with  you  frequently.  Was  present  in  your  Library  with  you  one  day 


TRTINO  THE  SPIRITS,  78 

recently.  I  send  my  love  to  M.  F.  and  to  all  others  who  knew  me  in  earth-life.  A 
friend  whom  we  both  know  and  respect  will  pass  over  to  this  side  before  long.  Will 
come  to  you  again. " 

It  is  pleasant  to  find  that  W H 's  prose  is  at  any  rate 

better  than  his  poetry ;  but  again  he  shirks  the  main  question.  The 
communication  did  not,  however,  end  here.  On  another  sheet  of 
paper  was  written:— 

*'  There  is  a  spirit-friend  present  who  give-  the  name  of  Marie  St.  Clair.  Earth- 
life  had  not  much  pleasure  for  her,  and  a  course  of  di8sai)ation  and  sin  resulted  in  an 
untimely  death.  Bom  of  French  parentage,  and  inheriting  some  of  the  peculiar 
characteristics  of  that  people  might  perhaps  furnish  some  excuse.  This  spirit  says 
furthermore,  you  have  something  which  once  belonged  to  her  in  your  possession. 

Behold  this  ruin,  'tis  a  skuU 
Once  of  ethereal  spirit  full. 

Par  quel  ordre  du  ciel  que  je  ne  puis  comprendre,  tous  dis-Je  plus  que  je  ne  dois  ? " 

Feeling  that  he  had  in  this  case  met  with  a  medium  of  more  than 
ordinary  sagacity,  the  doctor  was  anxious  to  see  how  she  would  deal 
with  the  "stitched  envelope"  test.  Accordingly,  he  wrote  in  dupli- 
cate, **Is  Marie  St.  Clair  pleased  at  having  her  skull  carefully 
treasured  here  in  my  library?  Does  it  gratify  her,  as  a  Spirit,  that 
it  is  mounted  on  black  marble?  Does  she  ever  hover  over  it?" 
The  first  of  the  two  duplicates  was  placed  in  an  envelope  marked 
No.  1,  and  secured  with  five  seals  in  the  ordinary  way.  The  second 
was  placed  in  an  envelope  marked  No.  2,  and  stitched  to  the  en- 
velope, the  seals  conceaunj?  the  stitches.  The  medium  was  re- 
quested to  sit  with  No.  1  &st.  The  two  envolepes  were  speedily 
returned,  with  a  note  as  follows:  "The  reply  comes  to  us  in  the 
affirmative  to  both  envelopes.  There  is  qmte  a  communication  to 
you  from  same  Spirit  Friend." 

The  doctor  was  puzzled.  Both  envelopes  had  been  cut  open  and 
the  edges  re-gummed,  but  the  silk  stitcnes  attaching  No.  2  to  its 
envelope  were  intact.  It  had  clearly  not  been  withdrawn.  How, 
then,  was  the  medium  able  to  announce  so  confidently  that  the 
answer  was  "in  the  affirmative  to  both"  letters?  Closer  inspection 
revealed  the  mystery.  Some  of  the  stitches  had  not  passed  tnroiigh 
both  thicknesses  of  the  enclosed  paper,  and  it  was  possible,  without 
removal,  to  peep  into  it  far  enough  to  see  that  the  two  questions 
were  identical.  The  communication  which  accompanied  the  re- 
returned  envelope  was  as  foUows: — 

"  To  H.  H.  Furness. — Tour  kindly  nature  has  often  drawn  the  Spirit  of  Marie  to 
jTour  side.  Not  that  the  poor  inanimate  thing  which  jou  have  so  kindly  treated  is 
Itself  of  much  account,  but  your  kindness  has  often  drawn  me  to  your  side  in 
moments  when  you  little  dreamed  I  was  near.  Had  I  met  in  material  existence  one 
like  yourself,  my  past  might  have  been  far  diiTcrent.  In  this  beautiful  life,  the 
sources  and  courses  of  all  earthly  misfortunes  and  sins  appear  to  us  like  a  figure  seen 
in  a  dream.  The  lowest  plane  of  spiritual  life  is  as  much  superior  to  earthly  exist- 
ence as  Sunlight  is  superior  to  Starlight.— From  Marie  St.  Clair." 


80  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

It  is  hardly  to  be  supposed  that  the  doctor — although  he  states 
that  at  the  outset  of  the  inquiry  he  had  a  ''leaning  in  favor  of  the 
substantial  truth  of  Spiritualism'' — could  bv  this  time  entertain 
even  a  lingering  doubt  so  far  as  the  *  *  sealed  letter' '  branch  of  the 
business  was  concerned.  But  the  peculiar  turn  which  matters  had 
taken,  ticlded  his  sense  of  humor,  and  he  determined  to  carry  his 
inquires  yet  a  stage  further.  The  medium  Mansfield,  in  addition  to 
answering  sealed  letters  sent  to  him  by  post,  also  professed  to  an- 
swer, by  spiritualistic  inspiration,  questions  submitted  to  him  per- 
sonally at  nis  own  home.  His  procedure,  as  it  had  beeen  described 
to  Dr.  Fumess,  was  as  follows:  There  were  two  tables  in  the  seance 
room,  at  one  of  which  sat  the  medium,  at  the  other  the  visitor.  The 
visitor  wrote  his  question  in  pencil  at  the  top  of  a  long  slip  of  paper,  and 
after  folding  over  several  times  the  portion  of  the  slip  on  which  his 
question  was  written,  summed  it^  down  with  mucDaffe,  and  handed 
it  to  the  medium,  wno  thereupon  placed  upon  tne  folded  and 
gummed  portion  his  left  hand,  and  after  a  few  minutes,  with  the 
right  wrote  down  a  pertinent  answer  to  the  concealed  question. 
There  could  scarcely  be  room  foi*  trickery,  it  would  seem,  in  the  pro- 
cess as  thus  described,  but  the  detected  fraud  as  to  the  letters  made 
the  doctor  doubtful  of  its  accuracy,  and  he  determined  to  test  the 
matter  for  himself.  Accordingly,  being  in  Boston,  he  called  on  Mr. 
Mansfield,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  interrogate  his  ** guides."  The 
medium  did  not  inquire  his  name,  and  the  doctor  did  not  mention 
that  he  was  a  former  correspondent.  The  room  had  three  windows ; 
sideways  to  one  of  these  was  the  medium's  table,  so  placed  that  the 
light  fell  on  his  left  hand,  and  that,  when  seated  behmd  it,  he  faced 
the  middle  of  the  room.  At  six  or  seven  feet  distance,  and  near 
one  of  the  other  windows,  was  a  smaller  table  for  the  visitor.  But 
an  important  detail  had  been  omitted  from  the  description.  On  the 
medium's  table  were  the  usual  writing  materials — pencils,  mucilage, 
etc. ;  but  these  were  cut  oflf  from  the  view  of  the  seated  visitor  oy 
a  row  of  octavo  volumes  extending  the  whole  length  of  the  table. 

The  doctor  was  invited  to  take  a  seat  at  the  small  table,  write  his 
question  on  one  of  several  shps  of  paper  provided  in  readiness,  and 
tnen  to  fold  down  the  paper  two  or  three  times.  He  wrote,  *  *  Has 
Marie  St.  Clair  met  Sister  Belle  in  the  other  world?"  The  question 
is  a  little  suggestive  of  Artemus  Ward's  remark  when  the  Indian 
chief,  after  burning  his  wax  figures  and  scalping  his  or^n-grinder, 
expressed  a  wish  that  they  might  meet  in  the  happy  huntmg-gounds. 
*'Ii  we  du,"  said  Artemus,  "thar  will  be  a  fite!"  One  would  im- 
agine that  the  meeting  of  two  ladies,  rival  claimants  for  the  same 
headpiece,  would  be  iScely  to  have  a  similar  termination.  Having 
written  his  question,  the  ooctor  folded  it  over  three  times,  and  told 
the  medium  it  was  ready  for  the  mucilage.     He  came  over  from  his 


TRYING  THE  SPIRITS,  81 

Cabte  with  a  brash  fall  of  mucilage,  and  spread  it  abandantly  over 
the  last  fold.  Then  taking  the  strip  between  his  thumb  ana  fore- 
finger he  walked  back  with  it  to  his  own  table.  As  soon  as  he  took 
his  seat  and  laid  the  strip  on  his  table  before  him,  the  row  of  books 
naturally  intercepted  the  doctor's  view  of  it.  The  doctor  therefore 
arose  and  approached  the  table,  so  as  to  keep  his  paper  still  in  view, 
but  the  meaium  requested  him  to  keep  his  seat.  There  was  a  pause 
of  a  minute  or  two,  during  which  there  was  ample  opportunity  for 
the  medium  to  unfold  the  paper,  read  the  question,  and  gum  it 
a^in,  the  still  wet  mucilage  facihtatin^  the  operation,  and  uie  row 
of  books  blocking  out  the  view  of  the  visitor.  The  medium  did  not 
sit  quiescent,  but  moved  his  head  and  arms  a  good  deal.  'Presently 
he  remarked,  * '  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  get  any  communication 
from  this  spmt"— a  kind  of  phrase  much  affected  by  mediums  after 
they  have  acquired  the  information  they  desire,  and  intended  to 
impress  the  sitter  with  the  idea  that  up  to  that  point  nothing  what- 
ever has  been  done,  as  well  as  to  enhance  the  effect  of  subsequent 
success.  A.  moment  later  the  medium  came  back  to  the  visitor's 
table,  now  making  an  ostentatious  display  of  the  refolded  paper, 
and  after  a  reasonable  amount  of  what  conjurors  call  **  patter" — 
pretending  by  some  sort  of  thought-reading  process  to  get  at  the 
name  inquired  for — went  back  to  his  own  table  and  wrote  the  fol- 
lowing:— 

"  I  am  with  you  my  dear  Bro  but  too  xcited  to  speak  for  a  moment  have  patience 
brother  and  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  do  to  control.        Tour  Sister,  Marie  St.  Clair/ 

This  unexpected  claim  of  kindred  nearly  upset  the  doctor's 
gravitv,  but  ne  controlled  his  emotion,  and  wrote  a  further  ques- 
tion, ^*Is  it  true  that  Sister  Belle's  body  was  sold  to  three  doc- 
tors?" He  folded  it  down,  carried  it  to  the  medium's  table,  watched 
while  he  gummed  it,  and  remained  standing,  but  was  peremptorily 
waved  back  to  his  seat.  The  medium's  hands  and  the  slip  of  paper 
were  masked  as  before  by  the  screen  of  books.  He  commenced  his 
operations,  moving  head  and  arms  freely,  but  suddenly  paused,  and 
pulled  down  the  blind.  The  proceeding  seemed  strange,  for  it  was 
raining  hard,  and  the  day  was  unusually  dark,  but  the  doctor, 
glancing  across  the  road,  saw  two  women  at  a  window  opposite 
which  commanded  a  view  of  the  medium's  operations,  and  wondered 
no  longer.  After  a  little  more  comedy,  and  a  show  of  reluctance 
on  the  medium's  part — "I  don't  Uke  this.  I  don't  want  to  give  it 
you.  There'll  be  trouble  here.  Better  let  me  tear  it  up"  — the 
answer  was  handed  over : — 

"  Dear  Brother.—I  fear  such  was  the  case— but  I  could  not  say  who — I  have  con- 
fvlted  Dr.  Hare  and  the  far-famed  Benja  Rush,  and  they  a^ee  that  the  body  is  not 
Ib  th«  tarth — I  fear  darling  Belle's  body — is  in  process  of  being — wired. 

Marie  St.  Clair.  " 


82  THE  LIBBAB7  MAGAZINE. 

Considering  that  the  skull  was  known  to  have  been  parted  from 
its  owner  for  at  least  half  a  century,  the  suggested  "  winng'*  came  a 
little  late  in  the  day.  A  third  question  followed:  *'Can  you  give 
me  any  information  as  to  where  even  a  portion  of  the  body  is?" 
Marie  St.  Clair,  as  joint  owner  with  'Sister  BeUe  of  the  skull,  and 
having  so  recently  asserted  her  claim,  would  surely  remember  that 
their  common  property  was  in  the  doctor's  hbrary.  But  the  fact 
had  somehow  slipped  her  memory.  The  answer  was  discreetly 
vague: — 

"  I  am  not  allowed  to  divulge  what  I  think — much  less  what  I  know — ^it  would  be 

groductive  of  more  harm  than  good — ^let  them  have  it — it  is  but  earth  at  best — they 
ave  not  gotowr  precious  Belle— she  is  safe  in  the  Haven  of  Eternal  repoee— I  would 
not  make  any  noise  about  it — but  let  it  pass — as  a  discovery  of  it  would  give  you  pain 
rather  than  otherwise — Belle  savs  let  it  pass — the  triune  \\3ix  have  it  bought  it  without 
knowing  whose  it  was,  and  such  care  as  little  as  they  know.  Marie  St. Clair." 

Obviously  there  was  no  further  satisfaction  to  be  got  out  of  Marie 
St.  Clair.  But  before  forsaking  the  inquiry  the  doctor  asked  a  final 
question,  "Do  you  think  that  by  any  chance  Dinah  Melish  would 
know?"  This  was  a  home  thrust,  for  it  will  be  remembered  that  it 
was  Mansfield  himself  who,  in  the  character  of  Comeha  Winnie,  had 
suggested  Dinah  Melish  as  the  probable  owner  of  the  skull.  How 
many  times  this  particular  cognomen  mav  have  figured  in  his  spirit- 
messages  it  is  of  course  impossible  to  say,  Ibut  the  doctor  noticed  that 
as  soon  as  the  medium,  behind  his  screen  of  books,  had  read  the 
question,  he  looked  up  at  him  with  a  quick  searching  glance,  as 
though  recognizing  a  famUiar  name,  and  trying  to  recall  me  proper 


the  reply,  which  followed  in  usual  course,  was  as  under  :--^ 


"  Well  Brother,  as  to  that  Sh&  may  know  more  than  She  may  be  willing  to  divulge 
—you  see.  Brother,  it  places  Dinah  in  a  very  unpleasant  position,  i.e.  should  it  be 
noised  abroad  that  she  was  in  the  secret.  I  ao  not  by  any  means  censure  Dinah  for 
what  she  may  know,  if  ki\ow  she  does.  .You  could  examine  Dinah  on  tliat  point — 
—carefully,  not  allowing  her  to  suspect  your  object  in  so  doing.  You  might  and 
might  not  elicit  some  light  on  the  matter*  Marie  St.  Clair.'* 

This  was  enough.  The  doctor  paid  the  medium's  fee,  and  de- 
parted. Still,  however,  he  did  not  lose  siffht  of  the  object  of  his 
inquiry.  At  a  materializing  stance,  which  he  shortly  afterward 
attended  in  Boston,  Marie  St.  Clair  and  Sister  Belle  (being  inquired 
for)  obligingly  appeared  together ^  and  on  that  occasion  haa  undoubt- 
edly two  separate  skulls.  They  were  rather  more  matronly  than 
he  expected  to  find  them,  and  Sister  Belle's  "golden  curls  one  yard 
long'^  had  somehow  changed  to  very  straight  black  hair.  Marie's 
English  was  (at  this  particular  stance)  very  good,  without  a  trace  of 
foreign  accent.    At  a  later  s4ano©   she  turned  up  again,  much 


CO  TINT  LEO  TOLSTOrS  ANNA  KARENINE.  88 

younger,  and  spoke  broken  English,  assuring  the  doctor,  '*  I  am  viz 
youfiSways." 

It  would  be  an  insult  to  the  understanding  of  the  most  unsophisti- 
cated reader  to  point  the  moral  of  such  a  story.  It  is  humiliating 
to  reflect  that  the  mipostors  gibbeted  by  Dr.  Fumess,  and  a  host  (3 
others,  no  better  and  no  worse,  still  ply  their  rascally  trade,  and 
that  their  blasphemous  rubbish  is  accepted,  as  messages  from  the 
loved  and  lost,  by  thousands  who  should  be  ashamed  of  such  f oUy. 
Unfortunately,  it  is  not  everyone  who  has  the  patience  or  the  acu- 
men to  **try  the  spirits"  as  Dr.  Fumess  has  done;  but  they  may  at 
any  rate  profit  by  the  experience  he  has  acquired  for  them. — Com- 
hiU  Magazine. 

corar  1^0  Toi^Tors  anna  kaeEnink 

In  reviewing  at  the  time  of  its  first  publication,  thirty  years  ago, 
Flaubert's  remarkable  novel  of  Madame  Bavary^  Sainte-Beuve  ob- 
served that  in  Flaubert  we  come  to  another  manner,  another  kind  of 
'inspiration,  from  those  which  had  prevailed  hitherto ;  we  find  our- 
selves dealing,  he  said,  with  a  man  of  a  new  and  different  generation 
from  novelists  like  George  Sand.  The  ideal  has  ceased,  the  lyric 
vein  is  dried  up ;  the  new  men  are  cure&  of  lyricism  and  the  ideal, 
"  a  severe  and  pitiless  truth  has  made  its  entry,  as  the  last  word  of 
experience,  even  into  art  itself."  The  characters  of  the  new  litera- 
ture of  ficti(A  are  "  science,  a  spirit  of  observation,  maturity,  force, 
a  touch  of  hardness."     L^ideal  a  cesse,  le  lyrimie  a  tart, 

Thfe  spirit  of  observation  and  the  touch  of  nardness  (let  us  retain 
these  mild  and  inoffensive  terms)  have  since  been  carried  in  the 
French  novel  very  far.  So  far  have  they  been  carried,  indeed,  that 
in  spite  of  the  advantage  which  the  French  language,  familiar  to 
the  cultivated  classes  everywhere,  confers  on  the  French  novel,  this 
novel  has  lost  much  of  its  attraction  for  those  classes ;  it  no  longer 
commands  their  attention  as  it  did  formerly.  The  famous  English 
novelists  have  passed  away,  and  have  left  no  successors  of  like  fame. 
It  is  not  the  English  novel,  therefore,  which  has  inherited  the  vogue 
lost  by  the  French  novel.  It  is  the  novel  of  a  country  new  to  literar 
ture,  or  at  any  rate  unregarded,  till  lately,  by  the  general  public  of 
readers :  it  is  the  novel  of  Russia.  The  Kussian  novel  has  now  the 
vogue,  and  deserves  to  have  it.  If  fresh  literary  productions  main- 
tain this  vogue  and  enhance  it,  we  shall  all  be  learning  Russian. 

The  Slav  nature,  or  at  any  rate  the  Russian  nature — the  Russian 
nature  as  it  shows  itself  in  the  Russian  novels — ^seems  marked  by  an 
extreme  sensitiveness,  a  consciousness  most  quick  and  acute  both  for 
whc^t  tb^  man's  self  is  experiencing,  and  also  for  wh^tt  oth^r^  in  gow 


81  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

tact  with  him  are  thinking  and  feeling.  In  a  nation  full  of  life,  but, 
young,  and  newly  in  contact  with  an  old  and  powerful  civilization, 
this  sensitiveness  and  self-consciousness  are  prompt  to  appear.  In 
the  Americans,  as  weU  as  in  the  Bussians,  we  see  them  active  in  a 
high  degree.  They  are  somewhat  agitating  and  disquieting  agents 
to  their  possessor,  but  they  have,  if  they  get  fair  play,  great  powers 
for  evokmg  and  enriching  a  literature.  But  the  Americans,  as  we 
know,  are  apt  to  set  them  at  rest  in  the  manner  of  my  friend  Colonel 
Higginson  of  Boston : 

"  As  I  take  it,  Nature  said,  some  years  since :  '  Thus  far  the  English  is  my  best 
race  ;  but  we  have  had  Englishmen  enough ;  we  need  something  with  a  little  more 
bouyancy  than  the  Englishman  ;  let  us  lighten  the  structure,  even  at  some  peril  in 
the  process.  Put  in  one  drop  more  of  nervous  fluid,  and  make  the  American.  *  With 
that  drop,  a  new  ran^e  of  promise  opened  on  the  human  race,  and  a  lighter,  finer, 
more  highly  organized  type  of  mankind  was  born." 

People  who  by  this  sort  of  thing  give  rest  to  their  sensitive  and 
busy  self-consciousness  may  very  well,  perhaps,  be  on  their  way  to 
great  material  j)rosperity,  to  great  political  power ;  but  they  are 
scarcely  on  the  right  way  to  a  great  literature,  a  serious  art. 

The  Bussian  does  not  assuage  his  sensitiveness  in  this  fashion. 
The  Bussian  man  of  letters  does  not  make  Nature  say:  "The 
Bussian  is  my  best  race."  He  finds  relief  to  his  sensitiveness  in 
letting  his  perceptions  hav5  perfectly  free  play  and  in  recording 
their  reports  with  perfect  fidelity.  The  sincereness  with  which  the 
reports  are  given  has  even  something  childlike  and  touching.  In 
the  novel  of  which  I  am  goin^  to  speak  there  is  not  a  line,  not  a 
trait,  brought  in  for  the  glorification  of  Bussia,  or  to  feed  vanity  ; 
thmgs  and  characters  go  as  nature  takes  them,  and  the  author  is 
absorbed  in  seeing  how  nature  takes  them,  and  in  relating  it.  But 
we  have  here  a  condition  of  things  which  is  highly  favor^le  to  the 
production  of  good  literature,  of  good  art.  We  have  great  sensitive- 
ness, subtlely,  and  finesse,  addressing  themselves  with  entire  disin- 
terestedness and  simplicity  to  the  representation  of  human  life.  The 
Bussian  novehst  is  thus  master  of  a  spell  to  which  the  secrets  of 
human  nature— both  what  is  external  and  what  is  inteimal,  ceeture 
and  manner  no  less  than  thought  and  feeling— willingly  make  them- 
selves known.  The  crown  of  literature  is  poetry,  and  the  Bussians 
have  not  yet  had  a  great  poet.  But  in  that  form  of  imaginative 
literature  which  in  our  day  is  the  most  popular  and  the  most  possi- 
ble,  the  Bussians  at  the  present  moment  seem  to  me  to  hold,  as  Mr 
Gladstone  would  say,  the  field.  They  have  great  novelists,  and  of 
one  of  their  great  novelists  I  wish  now  to  speak. 

Count  Leo  Tolstoi  is  about  sixty  years  old.  and  tells  us  that  he 
shall  wnte  novels  no  more.  He  is  now  occupied  with  religion  and 
with  the  Christian  life.    His  writings  concemmg  these  great  matters 


COUNT  LSO  TOLSTors  ANNA  KAItENINK  85 

M6  not  allowed,  I  believe,  to  obtain  publication  in  Russia,  but  instal- 
ments of  them  in  French  and  English  reach  us  from  time  to  time. 
I  find  them  very  interesting,  but  ifind  his  novel  of  Arma  Karenine 
more  interestinff  still.  I  believe  that  many  readers  prefer  to  Anna 
Ka/reni/ne  Count  Tolstoi's  other  great  novel.  La  Guerre  et  la  PoAx. 
But  in  the  novel  one  perfers,  I  think,  to  have  the  novelist  dealing 
with  the  life  which  he  Knows  from  having  lived  it,  rather  than  with 
the  life  which  he  knows  from  books  or  hearsay.  If  one  has  to  choose 
a  representative  work  of  Thackeray,  it  is  Vcmity  Fair  which  one 
would  take  rather  than  The  Virgmians.  In  like  manner  I  take 
Amfia  Karenine  as  the  novel  best  representing  Count  Tolstoi.  I 
use  the  French  translation;  in  general,  as  I  long  ago  said,  work  of 
this  kind  is  better  done  in  France  than  in  England,  and  Anna 
Ka/renvae  is  perhaps  also  a  novel  which  goes  better  into  French 
than  into  English,  just  as  Frederika  Bremer's  i/iwid?  goes  into  English 
better  than  into  French.  After  I  have  done  with  Anna  Karenine 
I  must  say  something  of  Count  Tolstoi's  religious  writings.  Of 
these,  too,  I  use  the  French  translation,  so  far  as  it  is  available. 
The  English  translation,  however,  which  came  into  my  hands  lafte, 
seems  to  be  in  general  clear  and  good.  Let  me  say  in  passing  that 
it  has  neither  the  same  arrangement,  nor  the  same  titles,  nor  alto- 
gether the  same  contents,  with  the  French  translation. 

There  are  many  characters  in  Anna  Karenine — too  many  if  we 
look  in  it  for  a  work  of  art  in  which  the  action  shall  be  vigorously 
one,  and  to  that  one  action  everything  shall  converge.  Tnere  are 
even  two  main  actions  extending  throughout  the  book,  and  we  keep 
passing  from  one  of  them  to  the  other — from  the  affairs  of  Anna 
and  Wronsky  to  the  affairs  of  Kitty  and  Levine.  People  appear  in 
connection  with  these  two  main  actions  whose  appearance  and  pro- 
ceedings do  not  in  the  least  contribute  to  develop  them ;  incidents 
are  mmtiplied  which  we  expect  are  to  lead  to  something  important, 
but  which  do  not.  What,  for  instance,  does  the  episode  of  Kitty's 
friend  Warinka  and  Levine's  brother  Serge  Ivanitch,  their  inclina- 
tion for  one  another  and  its  failure  to  come  to  anything,  contribute 
to  the  development  of  either  the  character  or  the  fortunes  of  Kitty  and 
Levine  ?  Wnat  does  the  incident  of  Levine's  long  delay  in  getting 
to  church  to  be  married,  a  delay  which  as  we  read  of  it  seems  to  have 
significance,  really  import?  It  turns  out  to  import  absolutely 
nothing,  and  to  be  introduced  solely  to  give  the  autnor  the  pleasure 
of  telling  us  that  all  Levine's  shirts  nad  oeen  packed  up. 

But  the  truth  is  we  are  not  to  take  Anna  Karenine  as  a  work  of 
art ;  we  are  to  take  it  as  a  piece  of  life.  A  piece  of  life  it  is.  The 
author  has  not  invented  and  combined  it,  he  has  seen  it ;  it  has  all 
happened  before  his  inward  eye,  and  it  was  in  this  wise  that  it 
happened.    Levine's  shirts  were  packed  up,  and  he  was  late  for  his 


m  TSE  LIBRARY  MAOAZIKB. 

wedding  in  consequence ;  Warinka  and  Serge  Ivanitch  met  at  Levine's 
country  house  and  went' out  walking  together ;  Serge  was  very  near 
proposmg,  but  did  not.  The  author  saw  it  all  happening  so — saw 
it,  and  therefore  relates  it ;  and  what  his  novel  in  this  way  loses  in 
art  it  gains  in  reality. 

For  this  is  the  result  which  by  his  extraordinarv  fineness  of  per- 
ception, and  by  his  sincere  fidelity  to  it,  the  author  achieves ;  he 
works  in  us  a  sense  of  the  absolute  reality  of  his  personages  and  their 
doin^.  Anna's  shoulders,  and  masses  of  hair,  and  half-shut  eyes ; 
Alexis  Karenine's  updrawn  eyebrows,  and  tired  smile,  and  cracking 
finger  joints ;  Stiva's  eyes  suffused  with  facile  moisture — ^these  are 
as  real  to  us  as  any  of  those  outward  peculiarities  which  in  our  own 
circle  of  acquaintance,  we  are  noticing  daily,  while  the  inner  man 
of  our  own  circle  of  acquaintance,  happily  or  unhappily,  lies  a  ^reat 
deal  less  clearly  revealed  to  us  than  that  of  Count  Tolstoi's  creations. 

I  must  speak  of  only  a  few  of  these  creations,  the  chief  personages 
and  no  more.  The  book  opens  with  ."  Stiva,"  and  who  that  has 
once  made  Stiva's  acquaintance  will  ever  forget  him  ?  We  are  living, 
in  Count  Tolstoi's  novel,  among  the  great  people  of  Moscow  and  St. 
Petersburg,  the  nobles,  and  the  high  functionaries,  the  governing  class 
of  Kussia.  Stepane  Arcadievitch — "  Stiva  " — is  Prince  Oblonsky, 
and  descended  frqm  Kurik,  although  to  think  of  him  as  anything 
except  "  Stiva "  is  difficult.  His  air  aouricmt^  his  ^ods  looks,  his 
satisfaction ;  his  "  ray,"  which  made  the  Tartar  waiter  at  the  club 
joyful  in  contemplating  it ;  his  pleasure  in  oysters  and  champagne, 
nis  pleasure  in  making  people  happv  and  in  rendering  services ;  his 
need  of  money,  his  attachment  to  t£e  French  governess,  his  distress 
at  his  wife's  distress,  his  affection  for  her  and  flie  children ;  his  emo- 
tion and  suffused  eyes,  while  he  quite  dismisses  the  care  of  providing 
funds  for  household  expenses  and  education  ;  and  the  French  attach- 
ment, contritely  given  up  to-day  only  to  be  succeeded  by  some 
other  attachment  to-morrow — no,  never,  certainly,  shall  we  come 
to  forget  Stiva.  Anna,  the  heroine,  is  Stiva's  sister.  His  wife  Dolly 
(these  English  diminutives  are  common  among  Count  Tolstoi's  ladies) 
is  daughter  of  the  Prince  and  Princess  Cherbatzky,  grandees  who 
show  us  Russian  high  life  by  its  most  respectable  side ;  the  Prince, 
in  particular,  is  excellent — simple,  sensible,  right-feeling;  a  man  of 
dignity  and  honor.  His  daughters,  Dolly  and  Kitty,  are  charming. 
Dolly,  Stiva's  wife,  is  sorely  tried  by  her  husband,  full  of  anxieties 
for  tne  children,  with  no  money  to  spend  on  them  or  herself,  poorly 
dressed,  worn  and  aged  before  her  time.  She  has  moments  of  des- 
pairing doubt  whether  the  gay  people  may  not  be  after  aU  in  the 
right,  whether  virtue  and  principle  answer ;  whether  happiness  does 
not  dweU  with  adventuresses  and  profligates,  brilliant  and  per- 
fectly dressed  adventuresses  and  profligates,  in  a  land  flowing  with 


COUNT  LEO  TOLSTOra  ANNA  KABENINE,  8? 

roubles  and  champagne.  But  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour  she  comes 
right  again  and  is  nerself — a  nature  straight,  honest,  faithful,  lov- 
ing, sound  to  the  core ;  such  she  is  and  such  she  remams ;  she  can 
be  no  other.  Her  sister  Kitty  is  at  bottom  of  the  same  temper,  but 
she  has  her  eicperience  to  get,  while  Dolly,  when  the  book  begins, 
has  already  acquired  hers.  Kitty  is  adored  by  Levine,  in  whom  we 
are  told  that  many  traits  are  to  be  found  of  the  character  and  history 
of  Count  Tolstoi"  himself.  Levine  belongs  to  the  world  of  great 
people  by  his  birth  and  property,  but  he  is  not  at  all  a  man  of  the 
world.  He  has  been  a  reader  and  thinker,  he  has  a  cQjiscience,  he 
has  public  spirit  and  would  ameliorate  the  condition  of  the  people, 
he  hves  on  his  estate  in  the  country,  and  occupies  himself  zealously 
with  local  business,  schools,  and  affriculture.  But  he  is  shy,  apt  to 
suspect  and  to  take  offence,  somewnat  impracticable,  out  of  his  ele- 
ment in  the  gay  world  of  Moscow.  Kitty  likes  him,  but  her  fancy 
has  been  taken  by  a  brilliant  guardsman.  Count  Wronsky,  who  has 
paid  her  attentions.  Wronsl^  is  described  to  us  by  Stiva ;  he  is 
"  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  the  jeunesse  doree  of  St.  Petersburg; 
immensely  rich,  handsome,  aide-de-camp  to  the  emperor,  great 
interest  at  his  back,  and  a  good  fellow  notwithstanding ;  more  than 
a  good  fellow,  intelligent  besides  and  well  read — a  man  who  has  a 
splendid  career  before  him."  Let  us  complete  the  picture  by  adding 
tnat  Wronsky  is  a  powerful  man,  over  thirty,  bald  at  the  top  of 
his  head,  witn  irreproachable  manners,  cool  and  calm,  but  a  httle 
haughty.  A  hero,  one  murmurs  to  oneself,  too  much  of  the  Guy 
Livingstone  type,  though  without  the  bravado  and  exaggeration. 
And  such  is,  justly  enough,  perhaps,  the  first  impression,  an  impres- 
sion which  continues  all  through  the  first  volume ;  but  Wronsky, 
as  we  shall  see,  improves  toward  the  end. 

Kitty  discourages  Levine,  who  retires  in  misery  and  confusion. 
But  W^ronsky  is  attracted  by  Anna  Karenine,  and  ceases  his  atten- 
tions to  Kitty.  The  impression  made  on  her  heart  by  Wronsky  was 
not  deep ;  but  she  is  so  keenly  mortified  with  herself,  so  ashamed, 
and  so  upset  that  she  falls  ill,  and  is  sent  with  her  family  to  winter 
abroad.  There  she  regains  health  and  mental  composure,  and  dis- 
covers at  the  same  time  that  her  liking  for  Levine  was  deeper  than 
she  knew,  that  it  was  a  genuine  feeling,  a  strong  and  lasting  one. 
On  her  return  they  meet,  their  hearte  come  together,  they  are 
married;  and  in  spite  of  Levine's  waywardness,  irritability,  and 
unsettlement  of  mind,  of  which  I  shall  have  more  to  say  presently, 
they  are  profoundly  happy.  Well,  and  who  could  help  bemg  happv 
witn  Kitty  ?  So  I  find  myself  adding  impatiently.  Count  Tolstoi's 
heroines  are  really  so  living  aod  cnarming  that  one  takes  them, 
fiction  though  they  are,  too  seriously. 

But  the  interest  of  the  book  centers  in  Anna  Karenine.    She  is 


^  THE  LlBRAttY  MAOAZlKR 

m 

Wronsky,  loses.  Wronsky  comes  to  Anna's  bedside,  and  standing 
there  by  Karenine,  buries  his  face  in  his  hands.  Anna  says  to  him, 
in  the  hurried  voice  of  fever : — 

"  Uncover  your  face  ;  look  at  that  man;  he  is  a  samt.  Yes,  uncover  your  face; 
uncover  it,"  she  repeated  with  an  angiy  air.  "  Alexis,  uncover  his  face;  I  want  to  see 
him." 

Alexis  took  the  hands  of  Wronsky  and  uncovered  his  face,  disfigured  by  suffering 
and  humiliation. 

"  Give  him  your  hand;  pardon  him." 

Alexis  stretched  out  his  hand  without  eVen  seeking  to  restrain  his  tears. 

'*  Thank  God,  thank  God!"  she  said;  *'  all  is  ready  now.  How  ugly  those  flowers 
are,"  she  went  on;  pointing  to  the  wall-paper;  "  they  are  not  a  bit  like  violets.  My 
God,  my  God  1  when  will  aU  this  end  ?  Give  me  morphine,  doctor— I  want  morphine. 
Oh,  my  God,  my  God  !" 

She  seems  dying,  and  Wronsky  rushes  out  and  shoots  himself. 
And  so,  iyi  a  common  novel,  the  story  would  end.  Anna  would  die, 
Wronsky  would  commit  suicide,  Karftiine  would  survive,  in  possession 
of  our  admiration  and  sympathy.  But  the  story  does  not  always  end 
so  in  life ;  neither  does  it  end  so  in  Count  Tolstoi's  novel.  Anna 
recovers  from  her  fever.  Wronsky  from  his  wound.  Anna's  passion 
for  Wronsky  reawakens,  her  estran^ment  from  Karenine  returns. 
'  Nor  does  Karenine  remain  at  the  height  at  which  in  the  forgiveness 
scene  we  saw  him.  He  is  formal,  pedantic,  irritating.  Alas !  even 
if  he  were  not  all  these,  perhaps  even  hi^ pi7ice-nez^  and  his  rising 
eyebrows,  and  his  cracking  finger- joints,  would  have  been  provoca- 
tion enough.  Anna  and  Wronsky  depart  together.  They  stay  for 
a  time  in  Itajy,  then  return  to  Kussia.  But  her  position  is  false,  her 
dis(][uietude  incessant,  and  happiness  is  impossible  for  her.  She  takes 
opium  every  ni^ht,  only  to  find  that  "  not  poppy  nor  mandragora 
shall  ever  medicine  her  to  that  sweet  sleep  whicn  she  owed  yester- 
day." Jealousy  and  irritability  grow  upon  her ;  she  tortures  Wron- 
sky, she  tortures  herself.  Unaer  these  trials  Wronsky,  it  must  be 
said,  comes  out  well,  and  rises  in  our  esteem.  His  love  for  Anna 
endures ;  he  behaves  as  our  English  phrase  is,  "  like  a  gentleman ; " 
his  patience  is  in  general  exemplary.  But  then  Anna,  let  us  remem- 
bei*,  is  to  the  hSt  through  all  the  fret  and  misery,  still  Anna ; 
always  with  something  which  charms ;  nay,  with  something,  even, 
something  in  her  nature,  which  consoles  and  does  good.  Her  life, 
however,  was  becoming  impossible  under  its  existing  conditions.  A 
triflinff  misunderstanding  brought  the  inevitable  end.  After  a 
quarrel  with  Anna,  Wronsky  had  gone  one  morning  into  the  country 
to  see  his  mother ;  Anna  summons  him  by  telegraph  to  return  at 
once,  and  receives  an  answer  from  him  that  he  cannot  return  before 
ten  at  night.  She  follows  him  to  his  mother's  place  in  the  country, 
and  at  the  station  hears  what  leads  her  to  believe  that  he  is  not  com- 
ing back.  Maddened  with  jealousy  and  misery,  she  descends  the 
platform  and  throws  herself  under  the  wheels  of  a  goods  train  pass- 


COUNT  LEO  TOLSTors  ANNA  KABMNlNB,  W 

ing  through  the  station.    It  is  over — ^the  graceful  head  is  untouched, 
but  all  the  rest  is  a  crushed,  formless  heap.    Poor  Anna ! 

We  have  been  in  a  world  which  misconducts  itself  nearly  as  much 
as  the  world  of  a  French  novel  all  palpitating  with  "  modernity.'' 
But  there  are  two  things  in  which  the  Eussian  novel — Count  lolstoi's 
novel  at  any  rate — is  very  advantageously  distinguished  from  the 
type  of  novel  now  so  much  in  request  in  France.  In  the  first  place, 
there  is  no  fine  sentiment,  at  once  tiresome  and  false.  We  are  not 
told  to  believe,  for  example,  that  Anna  is  wonderfully  exalted  and 
ennobled  by  her  passion  for  Wronsky.  The  English  reader  is  thus 
saved  from  many  a  groan  of  impatience. 

The  other  thing  is  yet  more  important.  Our  Eussian  novelist  deals 
abundantly  with  criminal  passion  and  with  adultery,  but  he  does  not 
seem  to  feel  himself  owing  any  service  to  the  goddess  Lubricitv,  or 
bound  to  put  in  touches  at  this  goddess's  dictation.  Much  in  Anna 
Karenine  is  painful,  much  is  unpleasant,  but  nothing  is  of  a  nature  to 
trouble  the  senses,  or  to  please  those  who  wish  their  senses  troubled. 
This  taint  is  wholly  absent.  In  the  French  novels  where  it  is  so 
abundantly  present  its  baneful  effects  do  not  end  with  itself.  Bums 
long  ago  remarked  with  deep  truth  that  it  ''petrifies  feeling ."  Let 
us  revert  for  a  moment  to  the  powerful  novel  of  which  I  spcS^e  at  the 
outset,  Madame  Bovary.  Unaoubtedly  the  taint  in  question  is  pre- 
sent in  Madamfie  Bovary^  although  to  a  much  less  degree  than  in 
more  recent  French  novels,  which  wiU  be  in  every  one's  mmd. 
But  Madamb  Bovary^  with  this  taint,  is  a  work  of  petrified  feeling;  over 
it  hangs  an  atmosphere  of  bitterness,  u-ony,  impotence ;  not  a  person- 
age in  the  book  to  rejoice  or  console  us ;  the  springs  of  freshness  and 
feeling  are  not  there  to  create  such  personages.  Emma  Bovary  fol- 
lows a  course  in  some  respects  like  that  of  Anna,  but  where ,  in 
Emma  Bovary,  is  Anna's  charm  ?  The  treasures  of  compassion,  tender- 
ness, insight,  which  alone,  amid  such  guilt  and  misery,  can  enable 
charm  to  subsist  and  to  emerge,  are  wanting  to  Flaubert.  He  is 
cruel,  with  the  cruelty  of  petrified  feeling,  to  his  poor  heroine ;  he 
pursues  her  without  pity  or  pause,  as  with  malignity ;  he  is  harder 
upon  her  himself  than  any  reader  even,  I  think,  will  be  inclined  to  be. 

But  where  the  springs  of  feeling  have  carried  Count  Tolstoi,  since 
he  created  Anna  ten  or  twelve  years  ago,  we  have  now  to  see. 

We  must  return  to  Constantine  Dmitrich  Levine.  Levine,  as  I 
have  alreadv  said,  thinks.  Between  the  a^  of  twenty  and  that  of 
thirty-five  ne  had  lost,  he  teUs  us,  the  Christian  belief  in  which  he 
had  oeen  brought  up,  a  loss  of  which  examples  nowadajrs  abound 
certainly  everywhere,  but  which  in  Eussia,  as  in  France,  is  among 
all  young  men  of  the  upper  and  cultivated  classes  more  a  matter  m 


ftS  Tim  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

course,  perhaps,  more  universal,  more  avowed,  than  it  is .  with  us. 
Levine  4iad  adopted  the  scientific  notions  current  all  round  him ; 
talked  of  cells,  organisms,  the  indestructibility  of  matter,  the  con- 
servation of  force,  and  was  of  opinion,  with  his  comrades  of  the 
university,  that  religion  no  longer  existed.  But  he  was  of  a  serious 
nature,  and  the  question  what  his  life  meant,  whence  it  came,  whither 
it  tended,  presented  themselves  to  him  in  moments  of  crisis  and 
affliction  with  irresistible  importunity,  and  ^tting  no  answer,  haunted 
him,  tortured  him,  made  him  think  of  suicide. 

Two  things,  meanwhile,  he  noticed.  One  was,  that  he  and  his 
university  friends  had  been  mistaken  in  supposing  that  Christian 
belief  no  longer  existed ;  they  had  lost  it,  but  thev  were  not  all  the 
world.  Ijcvine  observed  that  the  persons  to  whom  he  was  most 
attached,  his  own  wife  Kitty*  amongst  the  number,  retained  it  and 
drew  comfort  from  it ;  that  the  women  generally,  and  almost  the 
whole  of  the  Kussian  common  people,  retained  it  and  drew  comfort 
from  it.  The  other  was,  that  his  scientific  friends  though  not  trou- 
bled, like  himself,  by  questionings  about  the  meaning  of  human  life, 
were  untroubled  by  such  questionings  not  because  they  had  got  an 
answer  to  them,  but  because,  entertaining  themselves  intellectually 
with  the  consideration  of  the  cell  theory,  and  evolution,  and  the 
indestructibility  of  matter,  and  the  conservation  of  force,  and 
the  like,  they  were  satisfied  with  this  entertainment  and  did  not 
perplex  themselves  with  investigating  the  meaning  and  object  of 
their  own  life  at  all.  But  Levine  noticed  further  that  he  nimself 
did  not  actually  proceed  to  commit  suicide ;  on  the  contrary  he 
lived  on  his  lands  as  his  father  had  done  before  him,  busied  himself 
with  all  the  duties  of  his  station,  married  Kitty,  was  delighted  when 
a  son  was  born  to  him.  Nevertheless  he  was  mdubitably  not  happy 
at  bottom,  restless  and  disquieted,  his  disquietude  sometimes  amount- 
ing to  agony. 

Now  on  one  of  his  bad  days  he  was  in  the  field  with  his  peasants, 
and  one  of  them  happened  to  say  to  him,  in  answer  to  a  question  from 
Levine  why  one  farmer  should  in  a  certain  case  act  more  humanely 
than  another :  "  Men  are  not  all  alike ;  one  man  lives  for  his  belly,  like 
Mitiovuck,  another  for  his  soul,  for  God,  like  old  Plato.  "  "  What 
do  you  call, "  cried  Levine,  "  living  for  his  soul,  for  God  ? "  The  peas- 
ant answered : "  It's  quite  simple — ^living  by  the  rule  of  God,  of  the 
truth.  All  men  are  not  the  same,  that's  certain.  You  yourself,  for 
instance,  Constantine  Dmitrich,  you  wouldn't  do  wrong  by  a  poor 
man."  Levine  gave  no  answer  but  turned  away  with  the  phrase, 
living  by  Hie  rule  of  God^  of  the  truth^  sounding  in  nis  ears. 

Then  he  reflected  that  he  had    been  bom  of  parents  professing 

*A  common  name  among  Russian  peasants. 


COUNT  LEO  TOLSTOrS  ANNA  EARENINE,  93 

this  rale,  as  their  parents  again  had  professed  it  before  them;  that 
he  had  sacked  it  in  with  his  mother's  nulk ;  that  some  sense  of  it,  some 
strength  and  nourishment  from  it  had  been  ever  with  him  although 
he  knew  it  not ;  that  if  he  had  tried  to  do  the  duties  of  his  station  it 
was  by  help  of  the  secret  support  ministered  by  this  rule ;  that  if  in 
his  moments  of  despairing  restlessness  and  agony,  when  he  was  driven 
to  think  of  suicide,  he  had  not  yet  committed  suicide,  it  was  because  this 
rule  had  silently  enabled  him  to  do  his  duty  in  some  degree,  and  had 
given  him  some  hold  upon  life  and  happiness  in  consequence. 

The  words  came  to  him  as  a  clue  of  which  he  could  never  again 
lose  sight,  and  which  with  full  consciousness  and  strenuous  endeavor 
he  must  henceforth  follow.  He  sees  his  nephew^s  and  nieces  throw- 
ing their  milk  at  one  another  and  scolded  by  Dolly  for  it.  He  says 
to  mmself  that  these  children  are  wasting  their  subsistence  because 
they  have  not  to  earn  it  for  themselves  and  do  not  know  its  value, 
and  he  exclaims  inwardly :  ''  I,  a  Christian,  brought  up  in  the  faith, 
my  life  filled  w^ith  the  benefits  of  Christianity,  living  on  these  bene- 
fits w^ithout  being  conscious  of  it,  I  like  these  children,  I  have  been 
trying  to  destroy  what  makes  and  builds  up  my  life."  But  now  the 
feeling  has  been  borne  in  upon  him,  clear  and  precious,  that  what  he 
has  to  do  is  to  be  good;  he  has  "cried  to  IhmP  What  will  come 
of  it?    He  says: — 

"  I  shall  probably  coDtinue  to  get  out  of  temper  with  my  coachman,  to  ^o  into 
lueless  arguments,  to  air  my  ideas  unseasonably;  I  shall  always  feel  a  barrier  be- 
tween the  sanctuary  of  my  soul  and  the  soul  of  other  people,  even  that  of  my 
wife;  I  shall  always  be  holding  her  responsible  for  my  annoyances  and  feeling 
sorry  for  it  directly  afterward.  I  shall  continue  to  pray  without  being  able  to 
explain  to  myself  why  I  pray;  but  my  inner  life  has  won  its  liberty;  it  will  no 
longer  be  at  the  mercy  of  events,  and  every  minute  of  my  existence  will  have  a 
meaning  sure  and  profound  which  it  will  be  in  my  power  to  impress  on  every 
single  one  of  my  actions,  that  of  being  goody 

With  these  words  the  novel  of  Anna  Karenine  ends.  But  m 
Levine's  religious  experiences  Count  Tolstoi  was  relating  his  own, 
and  the  history  is  continued  in  three  autobiographical  works  trans- 
lated from  him,  which  have  within  the  last  two  or  three  vears  been 
published  in  Paris :  Ma  Confession^  Ma  Religion^  and  ^ue  Faire, 
Oup  author  announces  further,  "  two  great  works,"  on  which  he  has 
spent  six  years :  one  a  criticism  of  dogmatic  theology,  the  other  a 
new  translation  of  the  four  Gospels,  with  a  concordance  of  his  own 
arranging.  The  results  which  he  claims  to  have  established  in  these 
two  works  are,  however,  indicated  sufficiently  in  the  three  published 
volumes  which  I  have  named  above.  These  autobiographical 
Yolumes  show  the  same  extraordinary  penetration,  the  same  perfect 
sincerity,  which  are  exhibited  in  the  author's  novel.  As  autobiog- 
raphy tney  are  of  profound  interest,  and  they  are  full,  moreover,  of 
acat9  and  fruitful  remarks.    I  have  spoken  ox  the  advantages  wluoh 


94 


THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 


the  Eussian  genius  possesses  for  imaginative  literature.  Perhaps  for 
biblical  exegesis,  for  the  criticism  of  religion  and  its  documents,  the 
advantage  lies  more  with  the  older  nations  of  the  West.  They  will 
have  more  of  the  experience,  width  of  knowledge,  patience,  sobriety, 
requisite  for  these  studies ;  they  may  probably  be  less  impulsive,  less 
heady. — ^Matthew  Abnold,  in  ITie  Ccm^empora/ry  lieview. 


CURRENT  THOUGHT. 


Patent  Medicines.— The  Saturday  Re- 
vieio  is  publishing  a  series  of  papers  on 
the  "  Quack  Medicines''  which  are  so  ex- 
tensively advertised  not  only  in  the  news- 
papers but  in  the  advertising  sheets  of  the 
Magazines  and  Reviews.  The  greater 
number  of  these  vaunted  remedies  appear 
to  be  about  as  harmless  as  so  much  mo- 
lasses and  water,  with  a  pinch  or  two  of 
soda,  magnesia,  or  some  equally  innocent 
ingredient  thrown  in.  The  purchaser  of 
the  medicines  will  receive  no  injury  from 
their  use  except  a  considerable  relaxation 
of  the  pocket-nerve.  He  may  also  con- 
^tulate  himself  that  he  is  indirectly  do- 
ing service  to  literature,  since  without 
the  money  received  for  these  advertise- 
ments the  publishers  of  the  Magazines 
would  find  it  difficult  to  pay  paper- 
makers,  printers,  and  authors.  The  fol- 
lowing is  what  the  Saturday  Review  has  to 
say  of  a  few  of  the  most  popular  of  these 
preparations: — 

**  Lamplough's  Pyretic  Saline  is  shown 
by  analysis  to  contain  45 '7  per  cent,  of 
tartaric  acid,  52*4  per  cent,  of  bicarbonate 
of  <  soda,  and  1  '9  per  cent,  of  chlorate  of 
potash.  It  is  thus  a  simple  saline  aperient 
with  cooling  properties.  It  is  perfectly 
harmless,  and  the  proportion  of  chlorate 
of  potash  is  so  small  that  its  action  is  inap- 
preciable. This  preparation  is  such  a  fa- 
vorite nostrum  and  such  a  valuable  prop- 
erty that  a  limited  liability  company  has 
been  successfullv  formed  for  its  manufac- 
ture and  sale.  A  glance  at  the  prospectus 
shows  us  what  a  wondeilful  thing  the  faith- 
cure  is,  and  what  the  effects  of  imagina- 
tion combined  with  the  i>is  medicatrix 
natura  can  do  for  the  human  race.  The 
'  FyretLc  Saline'  is  really  a  dry  basis  for 
mineral  water.  ....  Eno*s  Frvii  Salt  is 
a  pleasant  and  harmless  saline  purgative. 
II  Is  bjr  soipe  supposed  ^  consist  of  tar- 


taric acid,  carbonate  of  soda,  sulphate  of 
magnesia  (Epsom  salts),  sugar,  and  chlo- 
rate of  potash.  Whether  this  be  so,  or 
whether  the  medicine  is  prepared  from 
'sound,  ripe  fruit,'  does  not  very  much 
mattsr.  The  fact  remains  that  it  is  a  harm- 
less compound.  We  all  remember  the 
old  epitaph  about  the  Cheltenham  waters 
and  Epsom  Salts.  Still,  although  it  may 
be  a  good  thing  to  stick  to  Epsom  Salts, 
continuous  or  excessive  doses  of  the  cheap- 
est and  simplest  saline  purgative  in  the 
world  are  dangerous.  It  sets  us  thinking 
of  the  Af riean  chief  who  received  the  box 
of  Seidlitz  powders,  and  took  all  the 
powders  in  the  blue  packets  at  once,  fol- 
lowing with  all  the  powders  in  the  white 
Eockets.  The  innocent  African  did  not 
ve  to  repeat  the  experiment.  It  is  quite 
possible  to  have  too  much  of  a  good 
thing.  .  .  .  IHnntford's  Fluid  Magnesia 
is  stated  by  Mr.  Beasley,  the  author  of 
The  Druggist* s  General  Re^xipt  Book,  to  be 
a  solution  of  carbonate  of  magnesia  and 
water  by  means  of  carbonic  acid  gas 
forced  into  it  by  pressure.  The  actual  cost 
of  manufacturing  this  preparation  is  in- 
finitesimal. Each  ounce  of  Dinneford's 
Fluid  contains  fifteen  grains  of  carbonate 
of  magnesia,  which  is  another  benignant 
remedy,  and  a  very  simple,  mild,  and 
harmless   aperient.     'Dinneford'    is  an 

old  and  safe  nostrum ArUi  Fat  is 

a  preparation  the  basis  of  which  is  the 
Fucus  veeiculostts,  and  the  value  of  this 
weed  consists  in  the  iodine  it  contains. 
The  treatment  of  obesity  by  drugs,  by 
alkaline  and  chalybeate  sdbb,  has  never 
been  very  successful.  With  regard  to 
iodine  in  large  doses  Dr.  Allchin  states 
that '  so  long  as  the  health  does  not  suffer 
and  the  patient  improves  the  drug  may  be 
persevered  in;  but  It  is  frequently  very 
badl^  born^  wlieQ   tiiken  ia   qufintity.' 


CXntRENT  THOUGHT, 


95 


Stout  girla  are  often  in  the  habit  of  dosing 
themselves  with  yinegar,  to  their  own 
imminent  danser.  Soap  was  formerly 
much  employed,  as  much  as  three  ounces 
being  given  daily  with  milk  and  lime- 
water.  Wealthier  victims  of  what  Mr. 
Banting  called  his  'incubus'  resort  to 
Carlsb^,  Kissingen,  and  Ems:  but  the 
success  of  the  treatment  adopted  there  is 
principally  due  to  the  severe  diet.  Mr. 
Banting's  book  is  the  safest  vade  meeum 
for  the  corpulent.  It  contains  the  accepted 
treatment  and  is  written  according  to  the 
dictates  of  exx)erience  and  common  sense. 
The  'Anti-Fat '  advertisement  of  the  stout 
lady  who  cannot  pass  the  turnstile  promises 
much;  but  the  continuous  use  of  the  spe- 
cific is,  as  has  been  stated,  not  without  its 
dangers." 

Mr.  Swinburne's  "Locrinb." — In  the 
Academy  Mr.  Herbert  B.  Garrod  at  some 
length  criticises  Mr.  Swinburne's  new 
tragedy.    He  says : — 

'*  Old  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth  did  an  ill 
service  to  English  literature  when  he 
startl^l  the  twelfth  century  with  his  tale 
of  the  conquest  of  Britain  by  Brutus  the 
Trojan,  putting  forth  as  veritable  a  fiction 
which  had  not  even  the  merit  of  high 
poetical  capabilities  to  excuse  it.  **  The 
Foels'  Poet"  fails  to  enchant  with  it  in 
the  second  book  of  his  Faerie  Queen.  The 
••sacred  feet"  of  Milton  "lingered  there," 
as  Mr.  Swinburne  says,  but  eventually 
passed  on;  and  who  can  doubt  that  it  was  a 
happy  impulse  which  diverted  his  poetic 
fancy  from  ancient  legendary  Britain  to  the 
recorded  beginnings  of  all  humanity  ?  The 
fact  is  that  poets  cannot  always  flna  nutri- 
ment in  the  food  which  chroniclers  sup- 
ply ;  and  it  would  be  well  if  the  desperate 
attempt  to  link  our  English  beginnings 
with  "the  tale  of  Troy  divine"  failed  to 
attract  them  to  fields  where  fancy  has 
little  room  for  its  higher  flights.  If  the 
story  of  Locrine,  son  of  Brutus,  were 
potentially  a  great'  poem,  Mr.  Swinburne 
could  not  fail  to  make  a  ereat  poem  of  it. 
He  has  not  done  so,  and  the  choice  of  sub- 
ject is  the  cause.  He  h^s  told  us  in  the 
graceful  stanzas  of  dedication  to  his  sister 
which  introduce  the  drama  how  the  case 
stands  with  the  material  which  he  has 
choeen;  and,were  it  not  that  introductions 
are  usually  written  after  what  they  intro- 
duce, one  M  led  to  wonder  why  he  proceeded 
to  hJa  task.    .    .   ,  The  tragedy  is  written 


in  five  acts,  each  of  which  consists  of  two 
scenes.  There  are  only  seven  speaking 
characters  in  the  dranuUis  personcs ;  ana 
of  these  never  more  than  three  are  present 
at  a  time,  which  suggests  the  limitations 
of  Attic  tragedv,  rendered  necessary  by 
the  small  number  of  actors  employed. 
The  jealousy  of  the  injured  wife  supplies 
the  keynote  to  the  drama,  which  contains 
much  upbraiding  and  recrimination, 
undergone  not  only  by  the  unfaithful 
husband,  Locrine,  but  also  by  the  con- 
temptible Camber,  king  of  Wales,  his 
brother,  but  no  friend  to  him.  Indeed,  it 
may  safely  be  said  that  the  chief  defect  of 
the  poem  is  that  there  is  too  much  railing 
in  it,  and  too  little  dignity  of  tone  in  some 
of  the  leading  characters.  ...  A 
word  in  conclusion.  Wherever  in  this 
review  the  language  of  disparagement  has 
been  employed,  the  standard  of  compari- 
son in  the  writer's  mind  has  been  one  sup- 
plied by  Mr.  Swinburne  himself.  The 
grievance,  if  any,  is  not  that  the  poet  is 
unequal  to  the  task  of  treating  the  story 
adequately,  but  that  the  story  was  not 
worthv  of  his  treatment ;  and  that  conse- 
quently he  has  given  us  a  masterpiece  of 
metrical  art  with  but  little  of  living  inter 
est  entwined  with  it — the  well -cut  and 
richly  faceted  jewels  without  the  inner 
flush.  Were  there  no  gems  of  purer  ray 
at  hand?" 

The  Owntsrship  of  Land.— Prof. 
Richard  T.  Ely,  of  Johns  Hopkins  Uni- 
versity, writes  in  the  Independent: — 

' '  I  can  see  no  way  by  which  society  can 
appropriate  rightfully  either  the  entire 
rent  of  land  or  its  future  imeamed  in- 
crement. It  is  possible  that  some  plan 
may  be  devised,  but  I  do  not  believe  that 
it  has  yet  been  made  public.  It  is  an  easy 
matter  in  the  cities  to  separate  the  value 
of  the  land  in  itself  from  the  value  of  the 
improvements,  for  it  is  something  which 
is  done  every  day,  for  you  can  always 
draw  a  sharp  Ihie  between  the  two,  and 
there  are  frequent  sales  and  leases  of 
land  which  serve  as  standards  of  value. 
The  case  is  different  with  farming  land. 
Improvements  of  some  date  which  have 
become  incorporated  with  the  land  and 
are  inseparable,  we  may  agree  to  con- 
sider as  a  part  of  the  original  land  value. 
Very  likely  what  has  been  taken  from 
the  land  is  of  as  great  value  as  what  has 
been  added  to  it— perhaps  even  greater. 


96 


THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 


But  even  granting  all  this,  no  plan  has 
been  devised  for  assessing  annual  rents 
accurately  and  in  a  manner  so  undoubt- 
edly accurate  as  to  be  satisfactory  to  all 
parties.  Then  it  is  not  only  necessary  to 
assess  it  once  but  to  follow  its  fluctuations 
from  year  to  year.  France  once  prepared 
a  cadastref  or  survey,  of  all  the  land  in  the 
countrv,  with  an  accurate  description  and 
careful  estimate  of  its  annual  rent,  but  it 
took  forty- tbree  years  to  do  it,  and  the 
first  part  was  antiquated  before  the  last 
was  finished.  This  was  for  purposes  of 
taxation,  and  taxes  in  France  to-day  are 
based  on  this  old  cadastre.  Doubtless  one 
might  be  prepared  in  less  time.  Doubt- 
less a  revision  of  the  cadastre  would  not 
be  nearly  so  onerous  an  undertaking;  still 
it  must  always  be  a  labor  of  immense  mag- 
nitude  We  cannot   forecast  the 

future.  I  notice  that  Simon  Sterne  in- 
timates in  his  article  on  monopolies  in  the 
'  Cyclopaedia  of  Political  Science,'  that 
public  ownership  of  land  may  some  day 
become  necessary.  This  is  doubtless  the 
opinion  of  many  careful  economists.  We 
ought  not,  then,  to  <J[)ind  the  future.  As 
Jefferson  says,  in  one  of  his  writings,  each 
generation  ought  to  manage  its  own  af- 
fairs and  thcidead  ought  not  to  be  allowed 
to  enslave M.he  living.  This  is  a  most  far- 
reaching  principle,  and  we  are  violating 
it  every  day.  We  are,  in  fact,  with  X)ur 
perpetual  charters  and  grants,  and  our 
irrevocable  laws  and  constitutions,  ^^ind- 
ing  posterity  hand  and  foot.  We  want 
individual  ownership  of  the  soil:  but  we 
have  no  right  to  attempt  to  force  that  sys- 
tem of  land  tenure  upon  our  great-grand- 
ciiildren.  Doubtless  they  will  be  as  wise 
and  as  good  as  we,  and  quite  as  capable  of 
managing  their  own  affairs. " 

Mr.  E.  B.  Washburne's  Recollec- 
tions. —  Of  Mr.  Washburne's  Recollec- 
tions of  a  Minister  to  France,  1869-1877, 
posthumously  published  a  few  weeks  ago, 
Mr.  Arthur  Arnold,  M.  P.,  says  in  TJie 
Academy :  — 

"  Mr.  Washburne's  recollections  are  in- 
teresting as  those  of  a  shrswd,  honest, 


kindly  man  who,  during  the  siege  of  Paris 
and  the  rule  of  the  Commune,  occupied  a 
remarkable  position.  They  are  prolex  and 
apt  to  ramble  far  from  the  scene  of  action. 
Any  competent  editor,  save  the  author, 
would  have  omitted  or  abbreviated  most 
of  tl^e  dispatches  which  occupy  so  many 
pages.  There  is  matter  of  real  value  in 
these  volumes ;  but  it  mi^ht  liave  been 
contained  in  one.  Louis  Isapoleon  illus- 
trated to  Mr.  Washburne  'the  great 
trouble t)f  tlie  French,'  their  lack  of  self- 
help,  by  the  story  of  *  an  old-woman  who 
stated  to  him  with  great  earnestness  that 
she  had  lost  an  umbrella,  and  she  thought 
the  government  ought  to  furnish  herewith 
pother.'  Mr.  'Washburne  gives  some 
original  matter,  such  as  Bismarck's  dis- 
patch^ in  which  p  after  sanctioning  the 
passage  of  General  Burnside»  and  Mr. 
Forbes  through  the  German  lines,  he 
says :  '  This  liberality  of  ours  has  been 
rewarded  by  those  excellent  cigars  you 
have  been  kmd  enough  to  send  me. '  The 
most  extraordinary  political  occurrence  in 
Paris  was  the  appointment  by  a  crowd  of 
the  National  Defence  Government.  Gam- 
betta  threw  out  the  names  on  slips  of 
pax)er  from  a  window  of  the  H6tel  de 
Ville.  The  crowd  approved,  'and  the 
men,  without  any  other  warrant  of  au- 
thoritv,  were  received  and  acknowledged 
by  all  the  officers  of  the  departments.* 
Mr.  Washburne  has  much  scorn  for  some 
of  the  ways  of  the  Parisians  during  the 
siege— their  meetings  with  talk  I  for  hours, 
calling  it  *  Saving  France ' ;  their  mural 
inscriptions,  'such  as  Mort  aux  Prussiens, 
Deux  tStes  pour  trots  sous,  Bismarck  et 
Chiillaume.  And  that  is  called  making 
war  ! '  Of  their  twenty-three  daily  news- 
papers, he  says  :  '  The  amount  of  absolute 
trash,  taken  altogether,  surpasses  any- 
thing  in  history. '  But  he  admits  that  the 
French  fought  bravely  around  Paris, 
though  they  were  badly  led.  Of  their 
general,  he  saysi'Trochu  was  too  weak 
for  anything,  weak  as  the  Indian's  dog 
which  had  to  lean  againt  a  tree  to  bark ; 
the  most  incompetent  man  ever  •ntrusted 
with  such  great  affairs.' 


1 1> 


V. 


OAN  ENQLI8H  IdTEBA  TUBS  BE  TA  UGET.  07 


CAN  ENGLISH  LITEEATURE  BE  TAUGHT! 

Among  all  the  anomalies  in  which  the  history  of  education  abounds 
it  would  be  difficult  to  find  one  more  extraordinary  than  our  present 
system  of  teaching,  and  legislating  for  the  teaching  of  Englisn  hter- 
ature.  The  importance  oF  that  subject,  both  from  a  positive  point 
of  view  as  a  branch  of  knowledge  and  from  an  educational  pomt  of 
view  as  an  instrument  of  culture,  is  so  fully  recognized  that  its  study 
is  everywhere  encouraged.  It  forms  a  portion  of  the  curriculum  at 
Cambridge.  It  is  about  to  form  a  portion  of  the  curriculum  at  Ox- 
ford, It  holds  a  foremost  place  in  our  leading  Civil  Service  Exam- 
inations, and  it  is  amon^  the  subjects  prescribed  for  the  Oxford  and 
Cambridge  Local  Examinations.  In  the  Extension  Lectures  it  fills  a 
wider  space  than  either  science  or  history;.  There  is  probably  no 
school  m  England,  whether  pubho  or  private,  in  which  it  is  not 
taughtt  The  number  of  books  and  booklets,  manuals,  primers, 
sketches,  charts,  annotated  editions,  and  the  like,  designed  to  facili- 
tate its  study,  exceeds  calculation.  To  all  appearance,  indeed,  there 
is  no  branch  of  education  in  a  more  flourisliing  condition  or  more 
full  of  promise  for  the  future.  But,  unhappily,  this  is  very  far  from 
being  tne  case.  In  spite  of  its  great  vogue,  and  in  spite  of  the 
time  and  energy  lavisned  in  teaching  it,  no  lact  is  more  certain  than 
that,  from  an  educational  point  of  view,  it  is,  and  from  the  very  first 
has  been,  an  utter  failure.  Teachers  perceive  with  perplexity  that 
it  attains  none  of  the  ends  which  a  subject  in  itself  so  full  of  attrac- 
tion and  interest  might  be  expected  to  attain.  It  fails,  they  com- 
plain, to  fertilize ;  it  tails  to  inform;  it  fails  even  to  awaken  curiosity. 
For  a  dozen  youths  who  derive  real  benefit  from  the  instruction 
they  get  in  preparing  for  an  examination  in  history,  there  are  not 
two  who  derive  the  smallest  benefit  from  the  instruction  they  get  in 
preparing  for  an  examination  in  literature.  In  the  first  case,  the 
chances  are  that  a  lad  of  ordinary  intelligence  will  not  only  have 
learned  what  he  has  learned  with  relish  and  pleasure,  wiU  not  only 
therefore  retain  and  assimilate  much  of  what  he  has  been  taught, 
but  will  have  had  implanted  in  him  a  genuine,  and  perhaps  perma- 
nent, interest  in  history  generally.  In  the  second  case,  he  will  be  a 
singular  exception  to  the  rule  if,  six  months  after  he  has  poured  out 
in  "  Shakespeare  papers,"  in  "  Bacon  papers,"  in  "  general  literature 
papers  "  the  substance  of  his  lectures,  he  either  retains  or  cares  to 
retoin  a  tithe  of  what  he  has  been  at  so  much  pains  to  acquire.  No 
one  who  has  had  experience  in  examining  can  have  failed  to  be 
struck  by  the  difference  between  the  answers  sent  in  to  questions  on 
English  literature  and  the  answers  sent  in  to  miestions  on  other 
subjects.    In  a  paper  on  literature  the  questions  aesigned  to  test  in- 


98  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

telligence  and  judgment  will,  as  a  rule,  be  carefully  avoided,  or,  if 
attempted,  prove  only  too  conclusively  the  absence  of  both ;  but 
questions  involving  no  more  than  can  be  attained  by  the  unreflective 
exercise  of  memory  will  be  answered  with  a  fluency  and  fullness 
which  is  often  perfectly  miraculous. 

The  consequence  of  VU  this  is  that  those  whose  estimate  of  the 
educational  vulue  of  a  subject  is  not  determined  by  the  facihtv  it 
affords  for  making  marks  in  competitive  examinations  are  beginning 
to  regaled  '^English  literature"  wuth  increasing  disfavor.  In  the 
examination  for  the  Civil  Service  of  India  it  has  been  degraded  to 
a  secondary  place.  From  tjie  Army  examination  it  has,  by  a  recent 
order,  been  entirely  eliminated.  The  Council  of  the  Holloway 
College  have  decided  to  recognize  it  only  in  connection  with  Phil- 
ology. More  than  one  eminent  authority  has  pronounced  that  it 
cannot  be  taught,  that  its  introduction  into  our  scholastic  curricula 
was  an  experiment,  and  an  experiment  that  has  failed.  It  is  no 
doubt  natural  to  judge  of  the  educational  value  of  any  given  sub- 
ject of  teaching  by  the  results  of  that  teaching.  And  yet  we  may 
often  be  very  grievously  mistaken.  A  striking  illustration  of  this  is 
to  be  found  in  the  case  of  the  classics.  A  wretched  system  of  word- 
mongering  and  pedantry  bears  its  natural  fruits.  Two  noble  htera- 
tures  eminently  calculated  to  attain  all  the  ends  of  a  liberal  educa- 
tion, and  such  as  would  in  the  hands  of  competent  teachers  be 
certain  to  attract  and  interest  the  young,  are  rendered  repulsive  and 
unintelligible.  A  cry  arises  that  tne  classics  are  a  failure.  "  Demos- 
thenes," says  a  plain  man,  "may  be  the  prince  of  orators,  and 
Ilomer  the  prince  of  poets ;  but  when  I  find  that  my  boy,  after 
hanmiering  at  them  lor  twelve  years,  knows  nothing  and  cares 
nothing  about  either  the  prince  of  orators  or  the  prince  of  poets,  I 
have  not  much  faith  in  the  classics."  Again.  A  lad  leaves  school, 
becomes  a  writer  or  public  speaker,  finds  nimself  reading  the  litera- 
tures of  modern  Europe  witn  ease  and  pleasure,  re-opeiiS  Homer  or 
OatuUus,  discovers  that  he  is  unable  to  make  out  five  hnes,  closes 
the  volume  with  a  sigh,  and  goes  forth  to  sweU  the  cry  against  "  the 
classics." 

A  ludicrous  coalition-— composed  partly  of  malcontents  like  these, 
partly  of  noisy  Philistines,  who  never  read  a  line  of  a  Greek  or 
Koman  author  in  their  lives,  but  who  "argue  the  question  on  a 
priori  grounds ;"  partly  of  perplexed  schoolmasters,  and  partly  of 
recalcitrant  drudges  conscious  of  the  futihty  of  their  labors  and 
ready  to  support  anyone  who  confirms  them  in  their  impression — ^is 
formed.  Each  in  his  own  way  passes  judgment  on  "  the  classics." 
Each  in  his  own  way  is  furnished  with  unanswerable  arguments 
against  their  employment  as  a  means  of  education.  It  never  seems 
to  occur  to  these  persons  to  inquire  whether  the  fault  lies  in  the 


T^ 


CAN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  BE  TA  UQHl.  99 

classics  or  in  those  who  teach  them ;  whether  it  is  the  tools  which 
are  in  fault  or  the  workmen.  The  absurdity  of  concluding  that  be- 
cause a  particular  watch  cannot  be  made  to  keep  time  accurately  it 
is  neither  possible  nor  desirable  for  time  to  be  kept  accurately,  is 
not  greater  than  the  absurdity  of  concluding  that  because  the 
present  method  of  teaching  the  classics  has  tailed  we  should  do 
well  to  cease  to  teach  them  at  all.  The  truth  is  that  there  is  all  the 
difference  in  the  world  between  what  is  imphed  by  "  classics  "  and 
what  is  implied  by  the  classics,  and  the  mistake  of  the  anti-classicists 
lies  in  their  failing  to  perceive  the  distinction.  By  the  first  is  con- 
noted partly  a  system  and  partly  the  machinery  of  that  system. 
Virgil  as  one  of  the  classics  and  Virgil  in  his  relation  to  "  classics" 
— ^in  other  words,  Virgil  as  he  affoms  material  for  teaching  and 
Virgil  as  he  is  actually  taught — ^bears  indeed  the  same  name  and  is 
therefore  very  naturally  confounded.  But  no  greater  mistake  could 
be  made.  If  by  urging  the  uselessness  of  the  Oeorgica  and  jEneid 
as  text-books  for  teaching  we  mean  the  Oeorgica  and  jEneid  of 
Forbiger  and  Henry,  we  readily  admit  that  popular  education  would 
gain  by  the  ostracism  of  Virgil ;  but  Forbiger  and  Henry  are  not 
V  irgU.  If  a  radical  reform  in  our  methws  of  classical  teaching 
were  instituted,  and  escperiment  recorded  failure,  it  would  be  time 
to  show  cause  why  Sophocles  should  not  be  superseded  by  Goethe 
and  Horace  by  Beranger ;  but  the  experiment  has  not  been  tried. 

Now  all  this  is  exactly  repeating  itself  in  the  condition  and  pros- 
pects of  our  own  literature.  Since  its  recognition  as  a  subject  of 
teaching  it  has  been  taught,  wherever  it  has  been  seriously  taught, 
on  the  same  principle  as  the  classics.  It  has  been  regarded  not  as 
the  expression  of  art  and  genius,  but  as  mere  material  for  the  study 
of  words,  as  mere  pabulum  for  philology.  All  that  constitutes  its 
intrinsic  value  has  oeen  ignored.  All  tnat  constitutes  its  value  as  a 
liberal  study  has  been  ignored.  Its  masterpieces  have  been  resolved 
into  exercises  in  grammar,  syntax  and  etymology.  Its  history  has 
been  resolved  into  a  barren  catalogue  of  names,  works  and  dates. 
No  faculty  but  the  faculty  of  memory  has  been  called  into  play  in 
studying  it.  That  it  should  therefore  have  failed  as  an  instrument 
of  education  is  no  more  than  might  have  been  expected.  But  it  has 
failed  for  the  same  reason  that  "  classics"  have  failed.  It  has  failed 
not  because  it  affords  no  material  for  profitable  teaching,  but  be- 
cause we  pervert  it  into  material  for  unprofitable  teaching.  Nor  is 
this  all.  Thucydides  has  remarked  that  a  state  fares  better  under 
indifferent  laws  efficiently  administered  than  under  excellent  laws 
administered  inefficiently.  Whatever  exception  may  be  taken  to 
our  classical  system,  it  has  the  advantage  of  being  organized.  The 
utmost  that  its  legislation  can  accomplish  is  attained.  It  has  its 
standards  and  its  ^ts,  and  both  are  uniform.    It  never  oscillates 


100  THE  LIBBAR Y  M2lQAZINE: 

between  conflicting  theories.  What  is  taught  in  one  place  is  not 
contradicted  in  another. 

But  in  our  English  system  all  is  anarchy.  A  teacher  who  should 
entertain  the  soundest  and  most  enlightened  views  of  the  ends  at 
which  literary  teachers  should  aim,  would  have  no  security  that  his 
work  would  not  be  tested  and  his  pupils  plucked  by  a  man  against 
whose  views  his  whole  work  had  been  a  tacit  protest.  If  in  a  school 
or  institute  instruction  in  English  literature  be  required,  an  applica- 
tion for  such  instruction  is  made — and  the  rest  is  fortune,  it  may 
come  in  the  form  of  excellent  lectures,  the  theory  and  method  of 
which  proceed  on  the  principle  that  English  literature  began  in  the 
valleys  of  the  Punjab  and  ended  at  the  oirth  of  Chaucer,  or  it  may 
come  in  the  form  of  excellent  lectures,  in  which  all  that  preceded 
Spenser  and  Shakespeare  is  contemptuously  ignored.  It  may  con- 
sist of  bald  compilations  from  current  handbooks,  or  it  may  con- 
sist of  vague  and  florid  declamations  in  the  aesthetic  style.  It  may 
confine  itself — ^and  this  perhaps  is  most  likely — ^to  philological  com- 
ments on  particular  works.  That  there  are  living  ana  working 
among  us — and  that  in  large  numbers — sound  and  efficient  teachers 
who  err  neither  on  the  side  of  pedantry  nor  on  the  side  of 
dilettantism  is  undoubtedly  true.  But  they  are  scattered  and  iso- 
lated. They  are  hampered  and  thwarted  m  their  work  by  its  dis- 
connection with  any  recognized  system,  and  still  of tener  by  the  reg- 
ulations of  examinmg  boards.  Without  any  common  center  they 
are  without  any  common  plan  of  action.  Such  is  the  present  con- 
dition of  what  ought  to  be  our  most  efficient  instrument  of  popular 
education. 

Whether  all  this  can  be  remedied  is  surely  worth  serious  consider- 
ation. Two  things  are  certain:  Engjlish  literature,  in  the  proper  and 
obvious  sense  of  the  term,  is  and  will  continue  to  be  a  subject  of 
teaching  in  all  parts  of  the  kingdom;  and  if  that  teaching 
is  not  organized,  and  those  who  undertake  it  not  educated, 
nothing  but  anarchy  can  be  the  result.  It  is  useless  for  the 
Universities  to  attempt  to  solve  the  problem  by  attaching  to  litera- 
ture a  meaning  which  it  does  not  bear.  If  philology  be  confounded 
with  literature  at  Oxford  and  Cambridge,  the  w^orld  without  will 
distinguish  them.  Of  the  uselessness  of  such  institutions  as  the 
Mediaeval  and  Modem  Languages  Tripos  at  Cambridge,  no  further 

f  roof  is  needed  than  the  records  of  the  class  lists  of  that  Tripos: 
n  1885;  First  class,  none;  Second  class,  one;  Third  class,  two. — 
In  1887 :  First  class,  none ;  Second  class,  one ;  Third  class,  none. 
On  the  first  occasion,  it  may  be  added,  there  were  no  less  than  six 
;  examiners,  and  on  the  second,  five.    Incredible  as  it  may  seem,  Ox- 
'  ford  is  now  preparing  at  a  vast  expense  to  establish  a  precisely 
similar  institution  founded  on  precisely  the  same  theory  of  the 


CAN  ENGLISH  LITERA  TVllB!  liE  TA  VGIIT.  101 

meauing  of  literature.  Thus,  while  English  literature  is  in  every 
part  of  the  country  a  subject  of  teaching  in  one  sense  of  the  term,  it 
is  not  even  recognized  at  the  centers  of  education,  except  in  another 
sense  of  the  term. 

The  contention  of  the  Universities  is  that  if  English  literature  is  to 
be  regarded  as  a  subject  capable  of  systematic  and  accurate  study,  a 
study  tho'  results  of  which  are  to  be  submitted  to  the  same  tests  as 
the  results  of  other  studies  recognized  in  educational  curricula,  no 
other  signification  can  be  attached  to  it  than  the  signification  attached 
to  it  by  philologists.  If,  they  nrge,  we  attempt  to  study  it  as  helleS" 
lettres  what  woind  be  the  result  ?  On  the  historical  side  its  stud  v  would 
be  stereotyped  into  one  species  of  cram.  On  the  critical  side  it 
would  be  stereotyped  into  another  species  of  cram.  An  elaborate 
apparatus  of  mnemonic  aids  would  be  devised.  Such  works  as  Mr. 
Morley's^r«^xSfe^^<?A  would  be  sunmiarized  into  tables  for  facts,  and 
such  works  a^  M.  Taine's  would  be  reduced  to  epitomes  for  general- 
izations. Criticism  as  applied  to  particular  authors  would  be  got 
by  heart  from  essay d  ana  monographs,  and  criticism  on  its  theoretical 
side  would  be  got  by  heart  from  the  analyses  of  crammers.  If  this 
%vere  not  the  result,  all  would  evaporate  in  dilettanism.  It  would  be 
impossible  for  examiners  to  frame  such  questions  as  would  baffle 
abuse.  Now  all  this  will  apply  equally  to  history  and  philosophy, 
and  yet  the  problem  of  organizing  the  academic  study  of  both  has 
been  solved,  and  with  what  success  we  all  know.  To  say  that  liter- 
ature is  a  subject  peculiarly  susceptible  of  being  crammed  is  absurd. 
By  cram  we  simply  mean  knowledge  acquired  by  the  unreflecting 
exercise  of  memory;  and  whether  such  knowledge  is  to  be  obtained 
depends  on  whether  it  is  to  have  opportunities  for  displaying 
itself. 

;  It  is  open  to  an  examiner  in  history  to  frame  his  (questions  on  the 
model  oi— "  Enumerate,  with  their  dates,  the  Archbishops  of  Canter- 
bury as  far  as  the  accession  of  Henry  th(3  Seventh."  It  is  open  to 
an  examiner  in  literature  to  frame  his  questions  on  the  model  of — 
"  Give  the  Christian  names  of  Langland,  Lyd^ate,  Hawes,  Coleridge, 
Denham,  Pope,  Akenside,  and  Gray,  and  give  the  cmthors  of  Itoh- 
hinolj  History  of  John  BuU,  Sydrtotaphia,  The  Bristowe  Tragedy^ 
&c." 

But  it  is  equally  open  to  the  first  to  propose  such  questions  as — 
"  Tha  Church  has  been  called  the  democracy  of  the  Middle  Ages. 
Discuss  that  statement."  And  to  the  second  to  propose  such  ques- 
tions as — ^'^  Define  the  essential  characteristics  of  romanticism  and 
classicism,  and  account  for  the  predominance,  at  particular  periods, 
of  each." 

The  first  questions  are  obviously  cram  questions  ^  the  second  as 
obviotisly  are  not.    Again,  with  reference  to  criticism :  whether  it 


m  m^  libbam  m.wazixr 

could  be  crammed  or  not  would  depend  entirely  on  the  tact  of 
examiners.  If  questions  on  the  "  essential  characteristics "  of  the 
genius  and  style  of  particular  writers  became  a  stock  part  of  the 
examination,  they  would  in  all  probability  be  crammed ;  but  what 
competent  examiner  would  dream  of  setting  them '{  The  application 
of  Hume's  maxim  that  criticism  without  examples  is  worthless 
would  alone  suffice  to  defeat  this  form  of  imposture.  To  say  that 
such  works  as  Sidney's  Apdlogy  for  Poetry^  Dryden's  Essay  on 
Drwrnatic  Poesy ^  Addison  s  papers  on  Milton,  Johnson's  Juives^ 
Coleridge's  Lectures^  and  the  like,  would  be  "  got  up  from  analyses  " 
true  enough,  but  it  is  no  less  true  of  every  special  book  in  the 
History  School,  and  of  the  Ethics  and  liepullic  in  the  Philosophy 
School.  AVe  are  told,  again,  that  the  teaching  of  English  literature 
as  a  branch  of  helles-leUres  is  impracticable  on  another  ground.  It 
is  not  a  subject  sufficiently  "solid  and  tangible'-  for  examination 
purposes.  Take  Shakespeare.  Make  it  impossible  for  candidates 
to  Ibe  admitted  to  an  examination  in  Snakespeare  w^ithout  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  French  and  German,  of  Old  Saxon  and 
Moeso-Gothic,  and  then  frame  two-thirds  of  your  questions  after  this 
fashion : — 

"1.  Point  out  textual  difficulties,  and  mention  and  criticise  any  suggested  emenda- 
tions on  these  passages  [then  follow  in  due  order  the  a),  the  (6),  the  (r),  &c.,  &c.] — - 
2.  Give  some  account  oi  the  ejctent  and  variety  of  Shakespeares  vocabulaiy. — 8. 
Mention  and  discuss  some  points  in  which  Elizabethan  grammar  differs  from  Victo- 
rian.— 4.  What  are  the  relative  proportions  of  the  Teutonic  and  Latin  elements  in 
the  phraseology  of  Shakespeare  ?  " 

Do  this,  and  Shakespeare  becomes  a  solid  and  tangible  subject  for 
examination.  Admitting  that  from  this  point  of  view  Shakespeare 
becomes  a  "  solid  and  tangible  subject,"  are  we  therefore  to  assume 
that  when  his  dramas  ceased  to  be  studied  on  the  same  method  and 
under  the  same  conditions  as  the  Ormnlum  and  the  Ayenfnte  of 
Inwyt  are  studied,  they  cease  to  be  applicable  to  purposes  of  educBr 
tion,  cease  to  be  susceptible  of  serious  treatment  ?  Suppose,  that 
instead  of  the  questions  to  which  I  have  just  drawn  attention,  the 
following  were  substituted : — 

"1.  The  epithet  which  best  cliaracterizes  Shakespeare  is  *  myriad-minded.'  Discuss 
that  statement. — 2.  Point  out  Shakespeare's  obligations  to  his  dramatic  predecessors 
and  contemporaries,  and  discuss  the  statement  that  *  Pure  Comedy '  was  his  creation. 
— 3.  Discuss  the  theology  and  ethics  of  Shakespeare,  and  show  how  they  bear  out 
Jonson's  assertion  that  he  was  '  not  for  an  age,  but  for  all  time.'— 4.  Discuss  Goethc\*: 
analysis  of  the  character  of  Hamlet." 

Would  not  Shakespeare,  when  studied  from  this  point  of  viei\% 
become  an  equally  "  solid  and  tangible  subject,"  and  lead  perhaps  to 


CAN  ENOLISB  LITEUATITRE  BE  TA  UGST.  1 W 

more  "  solid  and  tangible"  results  in  education  ?  But  to  turn  from 
the  studjr  of  particular  authors  to  the  study  of  the  general  history 
of  English  literature :  The  objection  here  is  not  to  its  intangible- 
ness,  but  to  the  facility  it  would  afford  to  cramming.  Now  it 
woi^d  be  very  interesting  to  know  why  it  should  lead  to  cranmung 
when  questions  set  on  it  should  assume  the  form  of — 

"  Two-thirds  of  what  is  most  valuable  in  English  literature  is  as  historically  unin- 
telligible, apart  from  classical  literature,  as  the  history  of  Latin  literature  would  be 
apart  from  Greek.  Discuss  that  statement."  Or,  ''  Account  for  the  dominance  of  the 
classical  school  between  1667  and  1744,  and  for  the  romantic  revival  in  and  about 
1793."  Or,  *'  Give  some  account  of  the  state  of  our  language  in  regard  both  of  {sic) 
its  grammatical  forms  and  usages,  and  of  its  vocabulary,  at  the  be^nning  of  the  six- 
teenth century."  Or,  *'  Discuss  Uiese  words  and  phrases  :  Areopagitica  ;  all  to-ruffled  ; 
the  dreaded  name  of  Demogorgon ;  his  shoulders  fledge  with  wings  ;  Pharaoh's  pen- 
sioners ;  to  plume  the  regal  ri^ts ;  angels'  metal ;  in  my  warm  blood  and  canicular 
days ;  a  serviceable  dungeon ;  in  every  man's  life  certain  rubs,  doublings,  and 
wrenches." 

But  precedent  is  to  experience  what  proof  is  to  assertion.  And 
as  the  study  of  English  literature  has  not  been  reduced  to  system 
in  the  past,  it  is  no  more  than  we  might  expect  from  those  who 
have  always  proceeded  on  the  principle  of  auctoritds  pro  veritate^ 
nan  veHlm  pro  aicctoritate^  that  they  should  deny  the  possibility  of 
reducing  it  to  system  in  the  present. 

In  legislating  for  the  teaching  of  English  literature — and  the 
term  literature  needs  no  definition — we  have  obviously  to  bear  two 
things  in  mind — ^the  necessity  for  an  adequate  treatment  of  it  from 
an  historical  point  of  view  and  the  necessity  for  an  adequate  treat- 
ment of  it  from  a  critical  point  of  view.  In  treating  it  historically 
we  have  as  obviously  to  regard  it  generally  as  an  organic  whole,  as 
the  expression  of  national  idiosyncrasies  revealing  themselves  under 
various  conditions,  to  consider  it  particularly  in  its  relations  to  those 
conditions,  and  to  consider  it  finally  in  its  relation  to  individuals. 
Thus  in  dealing  historically  with  any  given  work — say  Paradise 
Lost — what  a  teacher  has  to  explain  is  how  and  why  the  poem  could 
have  been  produced  only  by  an  Englishman ;  how  and  wny  it  could 
have  been  produced  only  under  the  conditions  under  which  it  was 
produced;  how  and  why  it  could  have  been  produced  only  by 
Milton.  Literary  teachers  are  therefore  as  mucn  concerned  with 
the  study  of  "  origins  "  as  the  philosophers  are,  but  in  "  origins  "  not 
as  they  throw  light  on  language,  but  on  character.  They  are  not 
at  all  concerned  with  the  O.S.,  O.H.G.,M.II.G.,  andN.H.G.,  equiva- 
lents of  various  vowel  sounds ;  but  they  are  very  much  concerned 
with  the  fact  that  if  Wordsworth  had  not  been  of  the  Teutonic 
stock,  he  could  not  have  written  the  Ode  to  Dnty^  or  the  Lines  on 
Tintem  Ahbey,  Whether  Profesvsor  Rhys  is  right  or  wrong  in  sup- 
posing that  in  the  case  of  Yedomnvi  and  Mauoh  the  m€m4  and 


164  TSIC  LIBBABt  MAGAZINE. 

mavro  are  of  the  same  ori£;iii  as  mai  in  Gvvalchmai  is  of  no  conse* 
quence  to  them ;  but  whetner  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold  is  right  or  wrong 
in  what  he  has  been  preaching  to  us  about  the  Celtic  element  in  our 
literature  is  of  the  greatest  consequence. 

To  trace  back  to  their  sources  the  elements — ^sensuous,  spiritual, 
moral,  intellectual — which  mingle  in  the  composition  of  English 
masterpieces  is  all  that  appertains  to  the  student  of  literature.  That 
it  would  for  this  purpose  be  an  advantage  to  him  to  be  able  to  peruse 
the  Tain  Bo  and  the  Beovmlf  in  the  original  is  indisputable ;  that 
it  would  not  be  necessary  for  him  to  do  so  is  obvious;  for  what 
concerns  him  in  them  is  not  the  form,  is  not  the  intrinsic  value,  but 
the  light  thrown  collaterally  on  temper  and  character.  The  many 
excellent  histories  and  monographs.  Ten  Brink's  Early  English  Lit- 
erature^ for  example.  Professor  Earle's  Anglo-Saxon  JUterature^  Pro- 
fessor Morley's  English  Writers  before  Chaucer^  the  many  excellent 
English  versions  of  all  that  is  most  valuable  and  most  characteristic 
in  Celtic  and  Saxon  literature  would  in  truth  give  him  all  the  infor- 
mation which  for  his  purposes  he  would  require.  Thus  a  student 
who  understood  clearly  the  character  and  temper  of  the  forefathers 
of  our  literature,  and  who  had  at  the  same  time  mastered  such  a 
survey  of  its  history  as  Mr.  Stopford  Brooke  has  given  us,  would 
have  no  difficulty  in  conceiving  of  it  as  an  organic  whole,  and  the 
foundation  of  a  systematic  study  would  have  been  laid. 

In  proceeding  to  the  next  step — ^in  tracing,  that  is  to  say,  the 
evolution  of  our  literature  in  detail — we  are  confronted  with  the 
difficulty  of  there  being  no  good  general  history  in  existence.  M. 
Taine's  work,  though  a  work  of  great  genius  and  great  eloquence,  is 
rather  a  series  of  orilliant  sketches  than  a  continuous  and  ordercnl 
narrative,  and  is  moreover  too  fuU  of  paradox  and  exaggeration  for 
the  purposes  of  sober  students.  Professor  Morley's  Mrst  Sketch  is 
at  once  too  full  and  too  meager ;  its  pages  are  crowded  with  names 
and  titles  in  bewildering  multitudes ;  but  of  the  causes  which  have 
conspired  to  form  epochs  in  literary  activity,  and  of  the  character- 
istics of  such  epochs,  very  inadequate  accounts  are  given.  Cham- 
ber's Encyclopoedia  of  English  Literature  has  no  pretension  to  being 
more  than  a  mere  manual  with  illustrative  extracts.  The  works  of 
Craik  and  Shawe  are  simply  handbooks.  The  consequence  of  this 
is,  that  if  a  student  wishes  to  obtain  a  general  knowledge  of  the  his- 
tory of  our  literature,  he  is  driven  to  seek  information  about  one 
period  in  one  book  and  about  another  period  in  another  book,  hav- 
mg  at  the  same  time  to  supply  the  connecting  links  for  himself. 

To  illustrate  what  is  meant :  Taken  in  its  whole  extent,  the  history 
of  English  literature  proper  may  be  divided  into  nine  epochs.  The 
'first  will  extend  from  about  the  middle  of  the  fourteentn  century  to 
the  death  of  Chaucer  in  1400 ;  the  second  from  the  death  of  Chau- 


CAN  ENGLISH  LITERA  TtfBJSI  BE  TA  tTGHf.  168 

• 

cor  to  the  accession  of  Henry  the  Eighth ;  the  third,  from  that  date 
to  the  accession  of  Elizabeth ;  the  fourth  from  the  accession  of  Eliza- 
beth to  the  accession  of  Charles  the  First ;  the  fifth  from  the  acces- 
sion of  Charles  the  First  to  the  death  of  Dryden  in  lYOO ;  the  sixth 
to  the  death  of  Swift  in  1745 ;  the  seventh  m)m  the  death  of  Swift 
to  the  publication  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads  in  1798 ;  the  eighth  to  the 
death  of  Wordsworth  in  1850 ;  and  the  ninth  from  that  date  to  the 
present  time. 

Now,  of  all  these  periods,  if  we  except  the  first  and  second,  which, 
so  far  as  poetry  is  concerned,  have  been  methodically,  though  not 
adequately,  treated  by  Warton,  we  have  no  connected  history  at  all. 
For  the  Elizabethan  age  we  must  consult,  for  the  drama,  CoUier's 
and  Ward's  Histories  (3  Dramatic  Poetry,  and  the  notices  and  crit- 
iques which  have  appeared  separately  of  each  of  the  dramatists ;  for 
narrative,  lyri(5,  and  other  branches  of  poetry,  we  have  nothing  to 
fall  back  upon  except  such  information  as  may  be  gathered  piece- 
meal from  editors  and  essayists.  With  regard  to  prose  literature  we 
are  in  a  still  more  unfortunate  condition ;  iot  not  only  has  no  attempt 
been  made  to  trace  its  history  from  Maundeville  to  Milton,  but  we 
have  few  or  none  of  those  "studies"  of  particular  writers  which  have 
in  the  case  of  poetry  served  to  illustrate,  at  all  events  occasionally 
and  fragmentarily,  the  process  of  its  development.  And  what  applies 
to  the  history  of  our  literature  in  its  earlier  stages  applies  equally  to 
its  history  during  later  epochs.  There  is,  it  is  true,  no  lack  of  excel- 
lent monographs  and  essays,  sach  as  Macaulav's  essavs  on  Addison 
or  Johnson,  or  Forster's  essays  on  Steele  and  Churchill,  and  such  as 
some  of  the  volumes  in  the  English  Men  of  Letters  series;  but 
these  neither  supply  nor  were  designed  to  supply  the  sort  of  work 
which  the  student  of  the  history  of  English  literature  requires. 

Nothing  is  so  necessary  in  treating  literature  historically  as  the 
recognition  of  its  continuity  on  the  one  hand  and  a  clear  exposition 
of  what  marks  and  constitutes  epochs  in  its  development  on  the 
other,  and  nothing  is  in  tea^jhing  so  universally  disregarded.  What 
is  needed  is  a  series  of  volumes  corresponding  to  each  of  the  periods 
into  which  the  history  of  our  literature  naturally  divides  itsefr,  each 
period  being  treated  separately  in  detail,  but  each  being  linked  by 
nistorical  disquisitions  ooth  Avith  the  period  immediatety  preceding 
and  with  the  period  immediately  following.  And  eacn  volume 
should  consist  or  four  parts.  Its  prologue,  which  should  be  virtually 
the  epilogue  of  its  predecessor,  should,  after  assigning  the  determin- 
ing dates  of  the  particular  period  under  treatment,  show  how,  in 
obedience  to  the  cause  Avhich  regulate  the  course  and  phases  of 
Uterar^  activitv,  the  literature  characteristic  of  the  precedmg  epoch 
developed  or  degenerated  into  tlie  literature  characteristic  of  the 
new.    Next  should  come  a  careful  account  of  the  environment, 


106  THE  LIBBAMY  MAGAZINE. 

social,  political,  moral,  intellectual,  of  that  literature  not  given  in 
general  or  in  the  abstract,  but  accompanied  throughout  with  illustra- 
tions drawn  from  the  constituent  elements  of  typical  works.  But 
nothing  is  more  important  than  what  constitutes  the  third  function 
of  historical  interpretation.  The  influence  exercised  by  other  litera- 
tures on  our  own  nas  been  so  considerable  that  it  is  impossible  to 
study  it  without  continual  reference  to  them.  It  has  been  at  various 
times  affected  by  that  of  Italy,  by  that  of  France,  by  that  of  Germany, 
but  to  those  of  Greece  and  Kome  it  is  bound  by  indissoluble  ties. 
An  adequate  account  of  the  influence  of  these  literatures  on  the  formal 
development  of  our  own  has  long  been  a  desideratum,  and  it  is  a 
desideratum  which  it  should  be  one  of  the  first  objects  of  such  a 
series  of  text-books  as  we  have  here  advocated  to  supply.  To  these 
disquisitions — and  this  should  form  the  fourth  and  last  part  of  each 
volume — should  be  attached  tables  in  which,  arranged  according  to 
their  schools  and  under  their  various  categories,  the  writers  of  the 

E articular  epoch  under  treatment  should,  together  with  their  works, 
e  enumerated,  and  enumerated  descriptively.  With  such  guides  as 
these  in  his  hands  the  student  would  proceed  to  the  biography  of 
particular  writers  and  to  the  study  of  particular  works — the  next 
and  not  less  important  part  of  his  task— furnished  with  the  knowledge 
which  would  alone  suffice  to  render  both  historically  intelligible. 

But  to  pass  from  the  historical  to  the  critical  treatment  of  litera- 
ature — in  other  words,  to  the  interpretation  of  particular  works :  In 
that  interpretation  is  necessarily  involved  much  which  has  been 
included  under  the  former  heading ;  but  we  have  now  to  consider 
what  is  not  included  under  that  heading — verbal  analysis,  analj^sis  of 
form  and  style,  analysis  of  sentiment,  ethic,  and  thought.  To  secure 
that  each  should  be  adequate,  that  each  should  have  its  place,  and 
that  each  should  receive  equal  attention,  is  obviously  the  business  of 
the  teacher.  The  mistake  commonly  made  is  to  attach  too  much 
importance  to  the  first,  to  deal  with  the  second  very  inefficiently,  and 
to  neglect  the  third  altogether.  This  is  the  result  of  one  of  the  most 
serious  deficiencies  in  our  higher  education.  We  have  absolutely  no 
provision  for  systematic  critical  training.  Rhetorical  criticism  as  a 
subject  of  teaching  is  confined  to  what  is  known  in  elementary  schools 
as  "  analysis."  ^Esthetic  and  philosophical  criticism  is  a  branch  of 
teaching  without  recognition  at  all.  The  truth  is  that  they  have 
been  kifled  by  philolo^ ;  fiftv  years  ago  such  works  as  the  Institutes 
of  Quintilian,  tne  De  ^ahlimitate,  and  the  Rhetoric  were  studied  as 
thoroughly  and  methodically  as  the  Ethics  and  the  Repvhlic  ar 
studied  now.  And  till  that  study  is  revived  and  extended — ^till,  in 
addition  to  the  treatises  of  the  ancients,  such  treatises  as  the  Z«oco<>n 
and  Schiller's  Letters  and  Essays  on  Esthetic  Education  have  a  place 
in  our  Universities — there  is  small  hope  of  sound  principles  of  exe- 


CAJf  SNGLtSB  LITSRATURE  SJS  TA  UGHT.  107 

gesis.  For  in  education  all  moves  from  above.  Systematize  a  study 
at  the  TJniversities,  and  it  is  systematized  throughout  the  country ; 
neglect  it  at  those  centers,  and  anarchy  elsewhere  is  the  result.  This 
grave  defect  in  our  educational  system  has  furnished  the  opponents 
of  literature  with  an  excellent  weapon,  and  has  led  to  serious  mis- 
conceptions on  the  part  of  those  wno  would  fain  be  its  advocates. 
Esthetic  criticism,  it  is  said,  will  lead  only  to  vague  and  useless 
generalties.  If  one  man  has  not  the  wit  and  taste  to  relish  the 
beauties  of  poetry  it  is  very  certain  that  another  man  will  not  enable 
him  to  do  so.  i  on  may  expound  Locke's  treatise  on  the  Human 
Underatcmding  and  Bacon's  treatise  on  the  Adva/ncement  of  Learn- 
ing profitably  enough,  but  you  cannot  exj)ound  the  Ode  to  a  Skylark 
or  the  Eve  of  St.  Agnes.    Criticism,  if  it  is  to  be  a  real  service  in 

Practical  education,  can  deal  only  with  what  is  positive  and  tangible. 
>ur  Universities  cannot  manufacture  Arnold  and  Sainte-Beuves. 
All  this  and  much  more  of  the  same  kind  has  been  gravely  brought 
forward  as  an  argument  a^inst  the  Universities  providing  for  the 
study  of  hellea-lettres.  It  is  no  doubt  true,  both  with  regard  to  criti- 
cism and  with  regard  to  literature  generally,  that  if  a  man  is  an 
Arnold  or  a  Sainte-Beuve  he  will  educate  himself;  it  is  true  also  that 
no  amount  of  teaching  will  make  him  an  Arnold  or  a  Sainte-Beuve, 
but  it  is  no  less  true  that  hundreds  of  men  are  eneaeed  in  interpreting 
poetry  who  are  neither  one  nor  the  other,  and  that  if  instruction 
does  not  do  for  them  what  nature  and  self -culture  have  not  done, 
they  wiU  perform  their  work  inefficiently.  Let  us  hope  that  if 
Oxfordund  Cambridge  decline  to  distinguish  between  literature  and 
philology  in  their  schools,  they  will  at  feast  see  their  way  to  giving 
the  principles  of  criticism  a  place  among  their  "  special  subjects." 

A  student  who  should  have  mastered  the  Poetics^  the  second  book 
of  the  Rhetoric^  the  tenth  book  of  the  Institutes^  the  De  OraUrre^  the 
De  Sublimitate,  and  Lessing's  Laocoon  would  have  laid  the  foundations 
of  a  sound  critical  education.  It  may  be  objected  to  what  has  been 
said  that  such  a  standard  of  teaching  is  neither  generally  possible  nor 
at  all  necessary,  that  it  is  mere  pedantrv  to  suppose  that  an  adequate 
interpretation  of  an  English  classic  depends  on  a  knowledge  of 
Aristotle  and  Lessin^,  and  that  the  only  door  to  the  teaching  of 
Milton  lies  through  Quintilian  and  Longinus.  The  reply  to  this  is 
that  we  have  not  oeen  considering  what  is  generally  possible  or  gene- 
rally necessary,  but  how  a  finished  literary  critic  otight  to  be  educated 
and  how  the  teiEiching  of  English  literature  may  be  raised  to  the 
level  of  the  teaching  reqmred  in  the  honor  curricula  of  our 
Universities.  There  is  surely  no  reason  why  a  diploma  in  Honors 
should  not  be  as  open  to  studfents  of  literature  as  it  is  to  students 
of  history,  and  it  is  very  certain  that  no  man  would  be  entitled  to 


lOS  TSE  LtBBARY  MAGAZINS. 

such  a  diploma  whose  education  had  not  taught  him  to  approach 
Shakespeare  through  Aristotle. 

But  to  return.  I  have  said  that  in  the  study  of  particular  books 
— ^which  is  often  as  far  as  '^English  literature"  is  permitted  to 
extend — attention  was  too  often  directed  merely  to  language.  The 
fault  unhappily  does  not  end  here :  attention  is  frequently  directed 
to  wholly  unprofitable  topics.  I  will  illustrate  wnat  I  mean  by 
giving  in  extenso  a  typical  paper  on  Macbeth: — 

"  1.  What  reasons  are  there  for  believing  that  this  play  has  been  interpolated  ? 
Point  out  the  parts  probably  interpolated. — 2.  What  emendations  have  been  pro- 
posed in  the  following  passages  ?  (a)  *  My  way  of  life  is  fallen  into  the  sere,  the  yellow 
leaf.*  (6)  *  As  thick  as  tale  came  post  with  post.*  (c)  '  Vaulting  ambition,  which  o*er- 
leaps  itsdf  and  falls  on  the  other,  (d)  *  My  title  is  ^peased.' — 8.  By  whom  were  the 
following  ftpoken,  and  with  what  reference  ?  (a)  '  To  after  favor  ever  is  to  fear.'  (6) 
*  Thou  shalt  not  live,  that  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies.* — 4.  Explain  and  com- 
ment on  the  following  passages : — (Then  follows  a  series  of  well-selected  cruces.) — 
5.  Give  the  meanings  afld  derivations  of  the  following  words.  In  what  context  do 
they  appear  ?  (Then  come  the  words.) — 6.  Whence  did  Shakespeare  derive  the  plot 
of  Macbeth  f  Point  out  any  deviations  from  recorded  history  in  the  play. — 7.  Illus- 
trate from  the  play  important  points  of  difference  between  Elizabethan  and  modem 
grammar.*' 

The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  in  this  paper  is  that  the  only 
faculty  appealed  to  is  memory.  There  is  nothing  which  encourages 
reflection,  nothing  which  can  have  the  smallest  effect  on  the  educa- 
tion  of  taste,  nothing  which  even  indicates  the  existence  of  what 
constitutes  the  life  and  power  of  the  work.  Nor  is  this  all.  The 
first  two  questions  are  a  direct  encouragement  to  the  acquisition  of 
the  sort  of  knowledge  which  is  of  all  knowledge  the  most  useless. 
When  in  the  case  or  Shakespeare  or  any  other  poet  there  is  certain 
evidence  of  interpolation,  it  is  not  too  much  to  expect  of  students 
that  they  should  be  able  to  point  out  where  sucn  interpolations 
occur ;  but  when  no  such  evidence  exists,  and  all  rests  only  on  the 
assumptions  of  speculative  criticism,  the  practice  of  requiring  them 
to  loaa  their  memories  with  such  inanities  cannot  be  too  strongly 
condemned.  In  the  case  of  Macbeth  there  is  no  evidence,  there  is 
not  even  suspicion  of  interpolation.  The  play  appeared  in  the  first 
folio  edited  oy  Shakespeare's  literary  executors,  and  was  printed  in 
aU  probability  from  the  poet's  own  manuscript.  There  begins  and 
there  ends  our  knowledge  of  its  text.  To  areue  interpolations  from 
supposed  inequalities  in  the  composition  would  be  to  argue  interpo- 
lations in  almost  every  drama  and  certainly  in  every  epic  in  the 
world;  and  so  it  comes  to  pass  that  "  interpL,  sec.  scene,  first  act ; 
third  scene,  one  to  thirty-seven ;  third  scene,  sec.  act,  comm. ;  fifth 
scene,  third  act,  hundred  and  thirty-five  to  hundred  and  thirty- 
three,  dub. ;  eighth  scene,  fourth  act,  thirty-two  and  thirty-three ; 
last  scene,  last  act,  traces  other  hand"  is  a  mnemonic  formula  only 


■»»■ 


CAN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  BE  TA  UOHT.  109 

too  familiar  to  English  youth.  Equally  futile  and  equally  mislead- 
ing is  the  practice  of  encouraging  the  getting  byheart  of  conjec- 
tural emenaations  which  are  mere  impertinences,  w  hat  is  require<.l, 
for  example,  in  the  {a)  section  of  question  two  is  Johnson's  wholly 
unnecessary  conjecture  "  may,"  what  is  required  in  (J)  is  Howe's 
flat  and  contemptible  correction  "  hail ;"  and  what  is  required  in 
(<?)  is  the  reproduction  of  the  nonsense  of  Mason,  Bailey,  and  Single- 
tbn.  If  teachers  and  those  who  write  books  for  the  instruction  of 
teachers  could  only  be  brought  to  feel  that  the  text  of  a  great  poet 
should  be  as  sacred  as  his  memory,  education  would  greatly  gain. 

But  to  continue :  The  third  question,  intended  no  doubt  to  secure 
an  original  acquaintance  with  the  play,  is  either  wholly  superfluous 
— ^for  much  more  eflfective  tests  could  easily  have  been  applied — or 
places  a  premium  on  the  exercise  of  the  least  intelligent  faculty  of 
the  mina — ^local  memory.  To  questions  four  and  live — if  we  accept 
at  least  the  condition  with  which  the  fifth  is  saddled — no  objections 
could  of  course  be  made.  The  attainment  of  such  information  as 
they  are  designed/  to  secure  is  obviously  a^  essential  as  it  is  import- 
ant. With  regard  to  the  sixth,  it  is  chiefly  to  be  regretted  that  it  is 
the  only  question'  of  its  kind,  and  with  regard  to  the  seventh  that  it 
did  not  supply  the^  deficiency.  It  is  clear,  then,  that  the  study  of  a 
a  play  of  Snakespeare — and  what  applies  to  a  play  of  Shakespeare 
applies  obviously  to  any  other  work  in  poetry — which  runs  on  the 
Imes  indicated  in  these  questions  would  serve  only  to  attain  one  of 
the  ends  at  which  the  interpretation  of  literature  should  aim.  It 
would  secure  an  exact  knowledge  of  the  history  and  meaning  of 
words ;  it  would  secured  a  clear  undei'standing  of  all  that  pertains  in 
the  mechanism  of  expression  to  grammar  and  syntax,  and  of  all  that 
pertains  in  the  accidents  of  expression  to  local  and  particular  allu- 
sions. But  it  would  go  no  further.  The  questions  which  ought  to 
form  an  essential  part  of  every  examination  not  merely  elementary 
in  w^hich  a  play  oi  Shakespeare  is  offered,  are  questions  requiring  an 
intelligent  study  of  its  general  structure,  of  the  evolution  of  its  plot, 
of  its  style  and  diction  not  simply  in  their  relation  to  grammar,  but 
in  their  relation  to  rhetoric,  of  its  ethics,  of  its  metaphysics,  of  its 
characters,  of  the  influences,  precedent  and  contemporary,  which  im- 
portantly affected  it.  It  would  be  quite  as  easy  to  substitute  for 
such  questions  as  I  have  transcribed  some  such  questions  as  these : — 

"  1.  Through  what  phases  did  the  style  of  Shakespeare  pass  ?  Analyze  the  char- 
acteristics of  each  phase  in  its  development,  and  discuss  his  general  claim  to  be  called 
'  a  consummate  master  of  expression.'-— 2.  Is  Macbeth  to  be  regarded  as  a  responsible 
a^nt  7  If  so,  how  does  the  drama  illustrate  Shakespeare's  ethics  ?  If  not,  what 
light  does  it  throw  on  Shakespeare's  theolofflr  ?— 3.  Analyze  and  contrast  the  charac- 
ters of  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth. ^4.  Point  out  the  exquisite  propriety  from  a 
dramatic  point  of  view  of  {a)  the  porter's  speech  and  {b)  Macbeth's  soliloquy  in  the  dag- 
ger scene,  and  point  out  in  the  play  what  strike  you  as  being  particularly  subtle  dra- 
matic touches.    Explain  your  reasons  for  thinking  them  so.'^ 


110  rUE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 


\ 


Or  suppose  we  make  the  questions  assume  the  fonn  which  they 
should  assume  in  a  comparative  study  of  classical  and  modem  litera- 
ture. 

1.  Show  in  what  war  and  through  what  media  Attic  tragedy  determined  the  form 
of  our  Romantic  tragedy,  and  show  by  a  comparative  review  of  the  Per9<B  and  Henry 
v.,  and  of  \hQ  Agamemnon  and  Macbeth  how  much  Attic  and  Shakespearean  drama 
have  in  common. — 2.  Compare  Shakespeare  and  Sophocles  (a)  as  dramatic  artists,  ip) 
as  critics  of  life.  Discuss  particularly  their  use  of  irony. — 8.  Point  out  how  far  the 
typical  tragedies  of  Shakespeare  illustrate  Aristotle's  analysis  of  the  structure,  charac- 
terization and  functions  of  tragedy.  In  what  respects  has  Shakespeare  violated  Aris- 
totle's canons  ? 

I  am  not  proposing  these  questions  as  models ;  I  am  merely 
showing  the  necessity  of  directing  attention  to  such  points  as  they 
touch  on,  if  the  study  of  Shakespeare  or  of  any  other  master  poet  is 
to  be  of  profit  in  popular,  or  in  academic  education.  There  is  more- 
over no  lack  of  excellent  guides.  We  have  the  Lectures  of  Cole- 
ridge, the  Conmientaries  of  Gervinus  and  Ulrici,  Kreyssig's  Vorles- 
ungen  ueber  Shahespea/re^  Professor  Dowden's  suggestive  litue  volume, 
and  innumerable  other  works.  And  it  would  be  well  if,  in  every 
examination  where  the  Clarendon  Press  edition  of  a  play  of  Shake- 
speare is  prescribed  as  a  text-book,  it  should  be  prescrioed  only  under 
the  condition  that  its  introduction  and  notes  were  supplemented  by 
reference  to  these  and  similar  works.  It  is,  indeed,  only  one  of  the 
many  proofs  of  the  anarchy  which  exists  in  the  English  department 
of  education,  that  the  same  press — a  press  which  virtually  directs 
the  study  of  our  national  literature  in  almost  every  school  in  the 
kingdom — should  be  simultaneously  issuing  editions  oi  English  poets, 
edited  on  such  principles  as  Hamlet  and  Macbeth  are  edited,  and 
editions  of  English  poets  edited  as  Mark  Pattison  has  edited  the 
Essay  on  Ma/n  and  the  Satires  of  Pope. 

But,  it  may  be  said,  though  criticism  in  its  application  to  solid 
subjects,  like  a  drama  of  Shakespeare  or  the  Satires  of  Pope,  is,  in 
teaching,  practicable  enough,  it  oecomes  in  its  application  to  less 
tangible  subjects — ^to  lyric  poetry,  for  example — eminently  imprac- 
ticable. What  end  could  be  served  by  dissecting  Christahel^  or  by 
proceeding  categorically  through  the  merits  and  defects  of  Epipsychi- 
dion ?  No  one  would  deny  tnat  the  spectacle  of  a  lecturer  with 
Tears^  Idle  Tears,  or  MarioTia  in  the  Moated  Grange  in  his  hand 
"  proceeding  to  show "  what  is  graceful,  what  is  fanciful,  what  is 
pathetic,  would  be  suJBSiciently  ludicrous  and  repulsive.  But  the 
soundness  of  a  principle  is  not  affected  by  the  possibilitv  of  re- 
ducing it  to  an  absurdity.  It  still  remains  that  of  aU  the  functions 
of  the  literary  teacher  none  is  more  important  than  the  function 
which  lends  itself  thus  easily  to  ridicule.  And  what  is  that  function^ 
It  is  the  interpretation  of  power  and  beauty  as  they  reveal  themselves 


CAN  ENGLISH  LITERATURE  BE  TA  TIGHT  111 

in  language,  not  simply  by  resolving  them  into  their  constituent 
elements,  out  by  considering  them  in  their  relation  to  principles. 
While  an  incompetent  teacher  traces  no  connection  between  phe- 
nomena and  laws,  and  conf oimds  accidents  with  essences,  blundering 
among  "  catefforical  enumerations  "  and  vague  generalities,  he  who 
knows  will  snow  us  how  to  discern  harmony  m  apparent  discord, 
and  discord  in  apparent  harmony.  In  the  gigantic  proportions  of 
Pa/radise  Lost  he  will  reveal  to  us  a  symmetry  as  perfect  as  in  the 
most  finished  of  Horace's  Odes.  He  will  expose  flaws,  interstices 
and  incongruity  where,  as  in  the  Essay  on  Mcm^  all  is  to  the  un- 
skilled eye  consistency  and  unity.  He  will  teach  us  to  hear  in  the 
choked  and  turbid  rush  of  Shakespeare's  ruggedest  utterances  a 
truer  and  subtler  music  than  in  the  most  meUifluous  cadences  of 
Pope. 

Nor  will  he  confine  himself  to  interpreting  what  is  excellent  and 
what  is  vicious  in  form  and  style.  Eightly  distinguishing  between 
the  criticism  which  should  be  simply  suggestive  and  the  criticism 
which  should  be  directly  didactic,  he  will  abstain  from  impertinent 
prattle  about  the  effects  produced  by  poetry,  to  show  how  far  in  each 
case  the  effects  produced  might,  with  a  larger  insight  and  a  fuller 
understanding,  have  been  heightened  and  intensified;  or  how,  on  the 
other  hand,  such  effects  ought  not,  and,  in  the  case  of  a  critic  whose 
ethic  and  aesthetic  education  had  been  sound,  could  not  have  been 

Eroduced  at  all.  He  will  teach  us  to  see  in  all  poetry,  not  purely 
/rical  or  simply  fanciful,  a  criticism  of  life,  sound  or  unsound,  ade- 
quate or  defective.  And  if  in  dealing  with  such  luminaries  as  Chau- 
cer and  Spenser,  as  Shakespeare,  Milton  and  Wordsworth,  his  care 
will  not  extend  beyond  reverent  exposition;  in  dealing  with  the 
lesser  lights,  with  our  Drydens  and  our  Popes,  with  our  Byrons  and 
our  Shelleys,  he  will  have  another  task.  He  will  have  to  show  how, 
in  various  degrees,  defects  of  temper,  the  accidents  of  life,  historical 
and  social  environment  and  the  like,  have  obscured  and  distorted 
that  vision  which  penetrates  through  the  local  and  particular  to  the 
essential  and  universal.  He  will  not,  for  example,  allow  the  brilliant 
rhetoric  and  sound  sense  of  Pope  to  blind  us  to  the  worthlessness  of 
his  metaphysics  or  to  the  insufficiency  of  liis  views  on  the  subject  of 
man's  relation  to  spiritual  truth ;  nor  >vill  he  allow  the  marvelous 
music  and  imaginative  splendor  of  the  Revolt  of  Islam  and  the 
Prometheus  Unbound  to  veil  from  us  the  folly  and  insanity  of  their 
ethics. 

Thus  systematized,  the  study  of  English  literature  would  become 
on  the  one  side — on  the  side  of  its  history — as  susceptible  of  serious, 
methodical,  and  profitable  treatment  as  history  itself  ;*  and  on  the 
other  side — on  the  side  of  criticism — it  would  become  a  still  more 
mportant  instrument  of  discipline,  for  it  would  correspond  as  nearly 


112  THE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINE. 

as  possible  to  the  Moudke  of  the  Greeks,  and  supply  the  one  great 
deficiency  in  our  national  education.  In  a  country  like  ours,  where 
the  current  will  always  run  in  a  scientific  and  positive  direction, 
nothing  is  so  much  to  be  regretted  as  the  almost  entire  absence  of 
any  systematic  provision  for  "  musical  culture."  At  the  universities 
the  want  is  to  some  extent  supphed  by  the  study  of  classical  litera- 
ture, but  throughout  the  country  our  own  literature  must  necessarily 
be  the  chief  medium  for  disseminating  that  culture,  if  it  is  to  be  dis- 
seminated at  all.  Whether  English  literature  is  to  fulfill  this  func- 
tion or  not  depends  obviously  on  the  training  of  its  teachers,  and  the 
training  of  its  teachers  depends  as  obviously  on  the  willingness  or 
the  unwUlingness  of  the  universities  to  provide  that  training.  How 
far  that  training  is  likely  to  be  provided  by  such  an  institution  as 
the  Mediaeval  and  Modem  Languages  Tripos  of  Cambridge  we  have 
already  seen.  What  is  to  be  devoutly  hoped  is  that  Convocation 
will  have  the  wisdom  to  prevent  Oxford  from  the  folly  of  being 

fuilty  of  similar  treason  to  the  cause  of  Letters  and  Culture. — 
.  Chueton  Collins,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century. 


CHAELES  DARWIK 

BORN  FEBRUARY  12,  1809;  DIED  APRIL  19,  1882. 

By  the  universal  consent  of  mankind,  the  name  of  Charles  Darwin 
was  placed  even  during  his  lifetime  among  those  of  the  few  ffreat 
leaders  who  stand  forth  for  all  time  as  the  creative  spirits  who  nave 
founded  and  legislated  for  the  realm  of  Science.  It  is  too  soon  to 
estimate  with  precision  the  full  value  and  effect  of  his  work.  The 
din  of  controversy  that  rose  around  him  has  hardly  yet  died  down, 
and  the  influence  of  the  doctrines  he  pro])ounded  is  extending  into 
so  many  remote  de[)artments  of  human  inquiry,  that  a  veneration 
or  two  niay  require  to  pass  away  before  his  true  place  in  the  history 
of  thought  can  be  definitely  fixed.  But  the  judgment  of  his  con- 
temporaries as  to  his  proud  pre-eminence  is  not  likely  ever  to  be 
called  in  question..  He  is  enrolled  among  Dii  majorvmn  ffe7itiu?n^ 
and  there  he  wiU  remain  to  the  end  of  the  ages.  Ti\^hen  he  was  laid 
l^eside  the  illustrious  dead  in  Westminster  Abbey,  there  arose  far 
and  wide  a  lamentation  as  of  personal  bereavement.  Thousands  of 
moumere  who  had  never  seen  him,  who  knew  only  his  writings,  and 
judged  of  the  gentleness  and  courtesy  of  his  nature  from  these  and 
from  such  hearsay  rejx)rts  as  passed  outwards  from  the  jpriysicy  of 
his  country  home,  grieved  as  for  the  loss  of  a  dear  friend.  It  is 
remarkable  that  probably  no  scientific  man  of  his  day  was  personally 
less  f amihar  to  tne  mass  of  his  fellow-countrymen.  ^  He  seemed  to 


:t^ 


0HARLE8  JDAEWm.  l\i 

shun  all  the  usual  modes  of  contact  with  them.  His  weak  health, 
domestic  habits,  and  absorbing  work  kept  him  in  the  seclusion  oi^ 
his  own  quiet  home.  His  face  Was  seldom  to  be  seen  at  the  meet< 
ings  of  scientific  societies,  or  at  those  gatherings  where  the  discover- 
ies  of  science  are  expoimded  to  more  popular  audiences.  He  shrank 
from  public  controversy,  although  no  man  was  ever  more  vigorously 
attacked  and  more  completely  misrepresented.  Nevertheless,  when 
he  died  the  affectionate  regret  that  followed  him  to  the  grave  came 
not  alone  from  his  own  personal  friends,  but  from  thousands  oi 
sympathetic  mourners  in  all  parts  of*  the  world,  who  had  never  seen 
or  known  him.  Men  had  ample  material  for  judging  of  his  work, 
and  in  the  end  had  given  their  judgment  with  general  acclaim.  Oi 
the  man  himself,  however,  they  could  know  but  Uttle,  yet  enough 
of  his  character  shone  forth  in  his  work  to  indicate  its  tenderness 
and  goodness.  Men  instinctivelv  felt  him  to  be  in  every;  way  one 
of  the  great  ones  of  the  earth,  whose  removal  from  the  living  world 
leaves  mankind  poorer  in  moral  worth  as  well  as  in  intellect.  So 
widespread  has  been  this  conviction,  that  the  story  of  his  life  has 
been  eagerly  longed  for.  It  would  contain  no  eventful  incidents, 
but  it  would  reveal  the  man  as  he  was,  and  show  the  method  of  his 
working  and  the  secret  of  his  greatness. 

At  last,  five  years  and  a  half  after  his  death,  the  long-expected 
Memoir  has  made  its  appearance.  The  task  of  preparing  it  was 
undertaken  by  his  son,  Mr.  Francis  Darwin,  who,  having  for  the  last 
eight  years  oi  his  father's  life  acted  as  his  assistant,  was  esi>ecially 

Sualified  to  put  the  world  in  possession  of  a  true  picture  of  the  inner 
fe  of  the  great  naturalist.  Most  biographies  are  too  long,  but,  in 
the  present  case,  the  three  goodly  volumes  will  be  found  to  contain 
not  a  pa^  too  much.  The  narrative  is  absorbingly  interesting  from 
first  to  &st.  The  editor,  with  excellent  judgment,  allows  Darwin 
himself,  as  far  as  possible,  to  tell  his  own  story  in  a  series  of  de- 
lightful letters,  which  bring  us  into  the  very  presence  of  the  earnest 
student  and  enthusiastic  explorer  of  Nature. 

Charles  Darwin  came  of  a  family  which  from  the  beginning  of 
the  sixteenth  century  had  been  settled  on  the  northern  borders  of 
Lincolnshire.  Several  of  his  ancestors  had  been  men  of  literary 
taste  and  scientific  culture,  the  most  noted  of  them  being  his  grand- 
father, Erasmus  Darwin,  the  poet  and  philosopher.  His  father  was 
a  medical  man  in  large  practice  at  Shrewsbury,  and  his  mother,  a 
daughter  of  Josiah  Wedgwood  of  the  Etruria  W orks.  Some  inter- 
esting reminiscences  are  given  of  the  father,  who  must  have  been  a 
tnan  of  uncommon  strenMh  of  character.  He  left  a  large  fortune, 
!tnd  thus  provided  for  uie  career  which  his  son  was  destined  to 
fulfil  Of  his  own  early  life  and  later  years^  Darwin  has  left  a 
diglit  but  most  interesting  sketch  in  axL  autobiographical  fra^poient, 


114  THE  LIBEABT  MAGAZINE. 

written  late  in  life  for  his  children,  and  without  any  idea  of  its  evei 
being  published.  From  this  outUne  we  learn  that  he  was  bom  at 
ShrewsDurv  on  the  12th  of  February,  1809.  Shortly  before  his 
mother's  dieath,  in  1817,  he  was  sent,  when  eight  years  old,  to  a 
day-school  in  his  native  town.  But  even  in  the  period  of  childhood 
he  had  chosen  the  favorite  occupation  of  his  life.     He  says : 

"Mj  taste  for  nataral  history,  and  more  especiaUv  for  coUecting,  was  weQ 
developed.  I  tried  to  make  out  the  names  of  plants,  and  collected  all  sorts  of  things 
— sliells,  seals,  franks,  coins  and  minerals.  The  passion  for  collecting,  which  leads  a 
man  to  be  a  systematic  naturalist,  a  virtuoso,  or  a  miser,  was  very  strong  in  me,  and 
was  clearly  innate,  as  none  of  my  sisters  or  brother  ever  had  this  taste.'' 

According  to  his  own  account,  he  was  *'in  many  ways  a  naughtv 
boy."  But  there  must  have  been  so  much  fun  and  Kind-heartedf- 
ness  in  his  transgressions,  that  neither  parents  nor  teachers  could 
have  been  very  seriously  offended  by  his  pranks.  What,  for  in- 
stance, could  be  said  to  a  boy  who  would  bravely  pretend  to  a 
schoolfellow  that  he  could  produce  variously  tinted  flowers  by 
watering  them  with  colored  nuids,  or  who  gathered  a  Quantity  of 
fruit  from  his  father's  trees,  hid  it  in  the  shrubbery,  ana  then  ran 
oflf  to  announce  his  discovery  of  a  robbery;  or  who,  after  beating  a 

Euppy,  felt  such  remorse  that  the  memory  of  the  act  lay  heavy  on 
is  conscience  and  remained  with  him  to  old  age? 

In  1818  he  was  placed  under  Dr.  Butler  in  Shrewsbury  School, 
where  he  continued  to  stay  for  seven  years  until  1825,  when  he  was 
sixteen  years  old.  He  confesses  that  the  classical  training  at  that 
seminary  was  useless  to  him,  and  that  the  school  as  a  means  of 
education  was,  so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  simply  a  blank.  Verse- 
making,  and  learning  by  heart  so  many  Unes  of  Latin  or  Greek, 
seem  to  have  been  the  occupations  of  school  that  specially  dwelt  in 
his  memory,  the  sole  pleasure  he  could  recall  being  the  reading  of 
some  of  Horace's  Odes.  He  describes,  however,  the  intense  satisfac- 
tion with  which  he  followed  the  clear  geometrical  proofs  of  Euclid, 
and  the  pleasure  he  took  in  sitting  for  hours  in  an  old  vidndow 
of  the  school  reading  Shakespeare.  He  made  acquaintance,  too, 
with  the  poems  of  Thomson,  Byron  and  Scott,  but  confesses  that  in 
later  life,  to  his  great  regret,  he  lost  all  pleasure  from  poetry  of  fmy 
kind,  even  from  Shakespeare. 

The  first  book  that  excited  in  him  a  vrish  to  travel  was  a  copy  of 
the  Wonders  of  the  Worlds  in  the  possession  of  a  schoolfellow,  whicn  he 
.*ead  with  some  critical  discrimmation,  for  he  used  to  dispute  with 
other  boys  about  the  veracity  of  its  statements.  Nothing  in  the 
school-life  could  daunt  his  ardor  in  the  pursuit  of  natural  history. 
He  continued  to  be  a  collector,  and  b^n  to  show  himself  an  at- 
tentive observer  of  insects  and  birds.  White's  Selbome^  which  has 
started  so  many  naturalists  on  their  career,  sthnulated  his  2»al.  and 


OSABLSB  DARWm.  116 

he  became  so  fond  of  birds  as  to  wonder  in  his  mind  why  every 
gentleman  did  not  become  an  ornithologist.  Nor  were  his  interests 
confined  to  the  bioloffical  departments  ofNature.  With  his  brother, 
who  had  made  a  laooratory  in  the  garden  tool-house,  he  worked 
hard  at  chemistry,  and  learned  for  the  first  time  the  meaning  of  ex- 
perimental research*  These  extra-scholastic  pursuits,  which  he 
declares  to  have  been  the  best  part  of  his  education  at  school,  came 
somehow  to  be  talked  of  by  his  oompam'ons,  who  consequently  nick- 
named him  "Gas;"  and  l)r.  Butler,  when  he  heard  of  them,  re- 
buked the  young  philosopher  for  '*  wasting  time  on  such  useless 
subjects,"  and  called  him  a  "poco  curante." 

It  was  evident  to  his  father  that  further  attendance  at  Shrews- 
bury School  would  not  advance  younff  Darwin's  education,  and  he 
was  accordingly  sent  in  1825,  when  ne  was  a  little  over  sixteen 
years  old,  to  join  his  elder  brother,  who  was  attending  the  medical 
classes  of  the  University  of  Edinburgh.  It  was  intended  that  he 
should  begin  the  study  of  medicine,  and  qualify  himself  for  that 
profession;  but  he  had  already  discovered  that  a  sufficient  com- 
petence would  eventually  come  to  him  to  enable  him  to  live  in  some 
comfort  and  independence.  So  he  went  to  the  lectures  with  no 
very  strong  determination  to  get  from  them  as  much  good  as  if  he 
knew  that  his  Uving  was  to  depend  on  his  success.  He  found  them 
"intolerably  dull,"  and  records  in  maturer  years  his  deliberate  con- 
viction that  "there  are  no  advantages,  and  many  disadvantages,  in 
lectures  compared  with  reading."  That  he  did  not  conquer  his  re- 
pugnance to  the  study  of  anatomy  in  particular  is  remarkable,  when 
we  consider  how  strong  already  was  his  love  of  biology,  and  how 
whoUy  it  dominated  his  later  life.  Tenderness  of  nature  seems  to 
have  had  much  to  do  with  his  repugnance.  He  could  not  bear  the 
sight  of  suffering;  the  cases  in  tne  clinical  wards  of  the  Infirmary 
distressed  him,  and  after  bringing  himself  to  attend  for  the  first 
time  the  operating  theater,  he  rushed  away  before  the  operations 
were  completed,  and  never  went  back.  Biit  he  afterward  came  to 
regard  as  one  of  the  greatest  evils  of  his  life  that  he  had  not  been 
urged  to  conquer  his  disgust  and  make  himself  practically  familiar 
with  the  details  of  human  anatomy.  It  is  curious,  too,  to  learn  with 
what  aversion  he  regarded  the  instructions  of  the  Professor  of  Nat- 
ural BQstory  in  the  University.  Jameson  could  certainly  kindle,  or 
at  least  stimulate,  enthusiasm  in  some  youn^souls,  as  the  brilliant 
band  of  naturalists  trained  under  him  in  Edward  Forbes's  time 
BofKciently  proves.  But  to  others  he  undoubtedly  was,  what  Dar- 
win describes  him,  "incredibly  dull."  If  the  professorial  teaching 
was  defective,  however,  the  loss  seems  to  have  been  in  good  measure 
made  up  by  the  companionship  of  fellow-students  of  kindred  tastes, 
"*^  whom  the  future  naturalist  explored  the  neighborhood  of  Edin- 


116  THE  LIBBABT  MAGAZINE. 

burgh.  Collecting  aniihals  from  the  tidal  pools  of  the  estnary  of 
the  Forth,  and  accompanying  the  Newhaven  fishermen  in  their 
dredging  voyages  for  oysters,  he  found  plenty  of  material  for  studv, 
and  employed  himself  in  dissecting  as  well  as  he  could.  In  tne 
course  of  these  observations  he  made  his  first  recorded  [discovery, 
which  was  **that  the  so-caUed  ova  of  Fhustra  had  the  power  of  in- 
dependent movement  by  means  of  cilia,  and  were,  in  fact,  larvae." 
As  a  part  of  his  love  of  Nature  and  out-of-door  employments,  he 
became  an  ardent  sportsman,  rose  even  long  before  day,  in  order  to 
reach  the  ground  betimes,  and  went  to  bed  with  his  shooting-boots 
placed  open  close  beside  him,  that  not  a  moment  might  be  lost  in 
getting  into  them. 

When  two  sessions  had  been  passed  at  Edinburgh  and  no  great 
zeal  appeared  for  the  medical  profession,  Darwin's  father  proposed 
to  him  that  he  should  become  a  clergyman ;  for  it  was  out  oi  the 
question  that  the  young  student  shomd  be  allowed  to  turn  into  an 
idle  sporting  man,  as  he  bade  fair  to  do.  After  some  time  ^ven  to 
reflection  on  this  momentous  change  in  his  career,  Darwm,  who 
"did  not  then  in  the  least  doubt  the  strict  and  hteral  truth  of  every 
word  in  the  Bible,"  agreed  to  the  proposal.  Many  years  afterward, 
when  he  had  risen  to  fame,  and  his  photograph  was  the  subject  of 
pubUc  discussion  at  a  German  psychological  society,  he  was  declared 
by  one  of  the  speakers  to  have  "the  bump  of  reverence  developed 
enough ior  ten  priests."  So  that,  in  one  respect,  as  he  says  of  him- 
self, ne  was  well  fitted  to  be  a  clergyman.  In  another  and  more 
serious  qualification,  however,  he  found  himself  lamentably  and 
almost  incredibly  deficient.  If  his  two  years  at  Edinburgh  had  not 
added  much  to  his  stock  of  professional  knowledge,  they  seem  to 
have  driven  out  of  his  head  wnat  slender  share  of  classicjQ  learning 
he  had  imbibed  at  Shrewsbury.  He  had  actually  forgotten  some  c3 
the  Greek  letters,  and  had  to  begin  again,  therefore,  at  the  very 
beginning.  But  after  a  few  months  of  preliminary  training  he 
found  himself  able  to  proceed  to  Cambridge  in  the  early  part  of  the 
year  1828,  when  he  was  now  nearly  nineteen  years  of  age.  So  far 
as  concerned  academical  studies,  the  three  years  at  the  University 
were,  in  his  own  opinion,  as  much  wasted  time  as  his  residence  at 
Edinburgh  or  his  lite  at  school  had  been.  He  attempted  mathe- 
matics, which  he  found  repugnant.  In  classics  he  did  as  little  as  he 
could;  but  in  the  end  he  took  his  B.A.  degree,  and  got  the  tenth 
place  on  the  list  of  those  who  did  not  go  in  for  honors.  The  dis- 
gust for  geolo^  with  which  the  Wemerian  doctrines  at  Edinbm^h 
had  inspired  him,  prevented  him  from  becoming  a  pupil  of  Sedgwi^ 
It  is  curious  to  speculate  on  what  might  have  been  his  ultimate  bent 
had  he  then  come  under  the  spell  of  that  eloquent,  enthusiastic,  and 
most  lovable  man.    Not  improbably  he  would  hav^  become  an 


CBAMLS8  DARmn.  ll-J 

.' 

ardent  geolo^t,  dedicating  more  exclusively  to  that  science  the 
genius  and  inaustry  which  he  devoted  to  biology  and  to  natural  his- 
tory as  a  whole. 

Some  of  the  incidents  of  his  Cambridge  life  which  he  records  are 
full  of  interest  in  their  bearing  on  his  future  career.  Foremost 
amon^  them  stands  the  friendship  which  he  formed  with  Professor 
Hensfow,  whose  lectures  on  botany  he  attended.  He  joined  in  the 
class  excursions,  and  found  them  delightful.  But  still  more  profita- 
ble to  him  were  the  long  and  almost  daily  walks  which  he  enjoyed 
with  his  teacher  during  the  latter  half  of  his  time  at  Cambridge. 
Henslow's  wide  range  of  acquirement,  modesty,  unselfishness,  cour- 
tesy, gentleness  and  piety,  fascinated  him  and  exerted  on  him  an 
influence  which,  more  than  anything  else,  tended  to  shape  his 
whole  future  life.  The  love  of  travel,  which  had  been  kindled  by 
his  boyish  reading,  now  took  a  deeper  hold  of  him  as  he  read  Hum- 
boldt's Personal  ifarratme^  and  Herschel's  Introduction  to  the  Study 
of  Natural  Philosophy.  He  determined  to  visit  Teneriffe,  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  mquire  about  ships.  But  his  desire  was  soon  to 
be  gratified  in  a  far  other  and  more  comprehensive  voyage.  At  the 
close  of  his  college  life  he  was  fortunate  enough,  through  Henslow's 
good  offices,  to  accompany  Sedffwick  in  a  geological  excursion  in 
Jforth  Wales.  There  can  be  little  doubt  that  this  short  trip  sufficed 
to  efface  the  dislike  of  geology  which  he  had  conceived  at  Edin- 
burgh and  to  show  him  how  much  it  was  in  his  own  power  to  in- 
crease the  sum  of  geolo^cal  knowledge.  To  use  his  own  phrase,  he 
began  to  *  *  work  like  a  tiger' '  at  geology. 

Sut  he  now  had  reached  the  main  tuming-jx)int  of  his  career. 
On  returning  home  from  his  ramble  with  Sedgwick  he  found  a  letter 
from  Henslow,  telling  him  that  Captain  Fitz-Roy,  who  was  about 
to  start  on  the  memorable  voya^  of  the  Beagle^  was  willing  to 
give  up  part  of  his  own  cabin  to  any  competent  young  man  who 
would  volunteer  to  go  with  him  without  pay  as  naturalist.  The 
post  was  offered  to  Darwin,  and  after  some  natural  objections  on 
the  part  of  his  father,  who  thought  that  such  a  wild  scheme  would 
be  disreputable  to  his  character  as  a  future  clergyman,  was  accepted. 
His  intention  of  becoming  a  clergjrman,  and  ms  father's  wish  that 
he  should  do  so,  were  never  formally  given  up;  but  from  this  time 
onward  they  dropped  out  of  sight.  The  Beagle  weighed  anchor 
from  Pljnnouth  on  the  27th  of  December,  1831,  and  returned  on  the 
2d  of  October,  1836. 

Of  the  voyage  in  the  Beagle  and  its  scientific  fruits  Darwin  him- 
self has  left  ample  record  m  his  Journal  of  Ee%earcke%y  and  in  the 
various  memoirs  on  special  branches  of  research,  which  he  after- 
ward published*  The  editor  of  the  Biography  has  wisely  refrained 
from  repeating  the  story  of  this  important  part  of  his  father's  life. 


118  TRE  LTBRAHY  MAGAZINE, 

But  he  has  given  a  new  charm  to  it  by  printing  a  few  of  the  letters 
written  during  the  voyage,  which  help  us  to  realize  still  more  vividly 
the  Ufe  and  work  of  the  naturalist  in  his  circumnavigation  of  the 
world.  We  can  picture  him  in  his  little  cabin  working  diligently  at 
the  structure  of  marine  creatures,  but  driven  every  now  ana  then  to 
lie  down  as  a  relief  from  the  sea-sickness  which  worried  him  during 
the  voyage,  and  was  thought  by  some  to  have  permanently  injured 
his  health.  We  see  him  littering  the  deck  witn  his  specimens,  and 
thereby  raising  the  indignation  of  the  prim  first  lieutenant,  who 
declared  he  would  like  to  turn  the  naturalist  and  his  mess  "out  of 
the  place,"  but  who,  in  spite  of  this  want  of  sympathv,  was  recog- 
nized by  Darwin  as  a  glorious  fellow."  We  watcn  him  in  the 
tropical  forests  and  in  the  calm  glories  of  the  tropical  nights  with 
the  young  oiHcers  listening  to  his  expositon  of  the  w^onders  of  Na- 
ture around  them.  And,  above  all,  we  mark  his  exuberant  en- 
thusiasm in  the  new  aspects  of  the  world  that  came  before  him,  his 
gentleness,  unfailing  good-nature  and  courtesy,  that  endeared  him 
alike  to  every  officer  and  sailor  in  the  ship.  The  officers  playfully 
dubbed  him  their  "dear  old  philosopher,'^  and  the  men  called  him 
"our  flycatcher." 

For  one  who  was  to  take  a  foremost  place  among  the  naturalists 
of  all  time — that  is,  in  the  true  old  sense  of  the  word  naturalist, 
men  with  sympathies  and  insight  for  every  department  of  Nature, 
and  not  mere  specialists  working  laboriously  in  their  own  hmited 
field  of  research — ^there  could  hardlv  have  h!een  chosen  a  more  in- 
structive and  stimulating  journey  than  that  which  was  provided  for 
Darwin  by  the  voyage  oi  the  Joeagle,  The  route  lay  by  the  Cape 
de  Verd  Islands  across  the  Atlantic  to  the  coast  of  Brazil,  soutn- 
ward  to  the  Strait  of  Magellan,  and  up  the  western  side  of  the  South 
American  continent  as  lar  as  Callao.  It  then  struck  westward 
across  the  Pacific  Ocean  by  the  Galapagjos  archipelago,  Tahiti,  New 
Zealand,  Sydney  and  Tasmania,  turning  round  into  the  Indian 
Ocean  by  way  of  Keeling  Islands  and  the  Mauritius  to  the  Cape  of 
Good  Hope,  and  then  by  St.  Helena  and  Ascension  Island  to  the 
coast  of  Brazil,  where  the  chronometrical  measurement  of  the  world, 
which  was  the  ostensible  object  of  the  Bedgle^s  circumnavigation, 
was  to  be  completed,  and  so  once  more  across  the  Atlantic  nome- 
ward.  Almost  ever^  aspect  of  Nature  was  encountered  in  such  a 
journey.  The  luxuriant  forests  of  the  tropics,  the  glaciers  and 
snowfields  of  Tierra  del  Fuego,  the  arid  wastes  of  Patagonia,  the 
green  and  fertile  Pampas,  the  volcanic  islets  of  mid-ocean,  the  lofty 
Cordillera  of  a  great  continent,  arose  one  by  one  before  the  eager 
gaze  of  the  young  observer.  Each  scene  widened  his  experience  of 
the  outer  aspects  of  the  world,  quickened  his  powers  of  observation, 
deepened  his  sympathy  with  Nature  as  a  whole,  and  Likewise  sup- 


CBARLES  DAMWm.  119 

plied  him  with  abundant  materials  for  future  study  in  the  life-work 
which  he  had  now  definitely  set  before  himself.  We  must  think 
of  him  during  those^'five  momentous  years  as  patiently  accumulating 
the  facts  and  shaping  in  his  mind  the  problems  which  were  to  fur- 
nish the  occupation  of  all  his  after  life. 

During  the  voyage  he  had  Avritten  long  letters  to  his  friends  de- 
scriptive of  what  he  had  seen  and  done.  He  likewise  forwarded 
considerable  collections  of  specimens  gathered  bv  him  at  various 
places.  His  scientific  activity  was  therefore  well  known  to  his 
acquaintances,  and  even  to  a  wider  circle  at  home,  for  some  of  his 
letters  to  Henslow  were  privatelv  printed  and  circulated  among  the 
members  of  the  Cambridge  Philosophical  Society.  It  would  have 
been  difficult  for  any  even  of  his  most  intimate  friends  to  offer  a 

Elausible  conjecture  as  to  the  Une  of  inquiry  in  natural  science  that 
e  would  .ultimately  select  as  the  one  along  which  he  more  particu- 
larly desired  to  advance.  An  onlooker  might  have  naturally  be- 
lieved that  tiie  ardent  voimg  observer  would  choose  geology,  and 
end -by  becoming  one  oi  the  foremost  leaders  in  that  department  of 
science.  In  his  Journal  of  Researches^  and  in  the  letters  from  the 
Beadle  just  pubhshed,  it  is  remarkable  how  much  he  shows  the 
fascmation  that  geology  now  had  for  him.  He  had  thoroughly 
thrown  off  the  incubus  of  Wernerianism.  From  Lyell's  book  and 
Sedgwick's  personal  influence  he  had  discovered  how  absorbingly 
interesting  is  the  history  of  the  earth.  Writing  to  his  friend,  W . 
D.  Fox,  m)m  Lima,  in  the  summer  of  1835,  he  expresses  his  pleasure 
in  hearing  that  his  correspondent  had  some  intention  of  studying 
geology ;  which,  he  says,  offers  '  *  so  much  larger  a  field  of  thought 
tiian  the  other  branches  of  natural  history;"  and,  moreover,  '*is  a 
capital  science  to  begin,  as  it  requires  nothing  but  a  little  reading, 
thinking  and  hammering."  While  the  whole  of  his  Journal  shows 
on  every  page  how  keen  were  his  powers  of  observation,  and  how 
constantly  he  was  on  the  watch  lor  new  facts  in  many  fields  of 
natural  knowledge,  it  is  to  the  geological  problems  that  he  returns 
most  frequently  and  fully.  And  never  before  in  the  history  of  sci- 
ence had  these  problems  been  attacked  by  an  actual  observer  over 
so  vast  a  space  of  the  earth's  surface,  with  more  acuteness  and  pa- 
tience, or  discussed  with  such  breadth  of  view.  There  is  something 
almost  ludicrous  in  the  contrast  between  his  method  of  treatment  of 
volcanic  phenomena  and  that  of  his  professor  at  Edinburgh  only  six 
short  years  before.  But  though  geological  questions,  being  the 
most  obvious  and  approachable,  took  up  so  large  a  share  of  his  time 
and  attention,  he  was  already  pondering  on  some  of  the  great  bio- 
logical mysteries  the  unveilng  of  which  in  later  years  was  to  be  his 
main  occupation,  and  to  form  the  basis  on  which  his  renown  as  an 
investigator  was  chiefly  to  rest. 


ia6  4!aS  UBRABt  MAGAZINE, 

On  his  return  to  England,  in  October,  1836,  Darwin  at  once  took 
his  place  among  the  acknowledged  men  erf  science  of  his  comitry. 
For  a  time  his  health  continued  to  be  such  as  to  allow  him  to  get 
through  a  large  amount  of  work.  The  next  two  years,  which  in 
his  own  opinion  were  the  most  active  of  his  hfe,  were  spent,  partly 
at  Cambridge  and  partly  in  London,  in  the  preparation  of  his  Journal 
of  BeaearcheSy  of  the  zoological  and  geological  results  of  the  voyage, 
and  of  various  papers  for  the  Geological  and  Zoological  Societies. 
So  keen  was  his  geological  zeal  that,  almost  a^nst  his  better  judg- 
ment, he  was  prevails  upon  to  undertake  tbe  duties  of  honorary 
secretary  of  the  Geological  Society,  an  office  which  he  continued  to 
hold  for  three  years.  And  at  each  period  of  enforced  holiday,  for 
his  health  had  already  bemin  to  ffive  way,  he  occupied  himselt  with 
geological  work  in  the  field.  In  the  Midlands  ne  watched  the 
operations  of  earth-worms,  and  began  those  inquires  which  formed 
the  subject  of  his  last  research,  and  of  the  volume  on  VegetcMe 
Mould  which  he  published  not  long  before  his  death.  In  the  High- 
lands he  studied  the  famous  ParSlel  Eoads  of  Glen  Roy;  and  his 
work  there,  though  in  after  years  he  acknowledged  it  to  be  "a  great 
failure,"  he  felt  at  the  time  to  have  been  *'one  of  the  most  difficult 
and  instructive  tasks' '  he  had  ever  undertaken. 

In  the  beginning  of  1839  Darwin  married  his  cousin,  daughter  of 
Josiah  Wedgwood,  and  grand-daughter  of  the  founder  of  the  JEtruria 
Works,  and  took  a  house  in  London.  But  the  entries  of  ill-health 
in  his  diary  grow  more  frequent.  For  » time  he  and  his  wife  went 
into  society,  and  took  their  share  of  the  scientific  life  and  work  of 
the  metropolis.  But  he  was  compelled  gradually  to  withdraw  from 
this  kind  of  existence  which  suited  neither  of  them,  and  eventually 
they  determined  to  live  in  the  country.  Accordingly,  he  purchased 
a  house  and  grounds  at  Down  in  a  sequestered  part  of  Kent,  some 
twenty  miles  from  London,  and  moved  thither  in  the  autumn  of 
1842.  In  that  quiet  home  he  passed  the  remaining  forty  years  of 
his  life.  It  was  there  that  his  children  were  born  and  grew  up 
around  him,  that  he  carried  on  the  researches  and  worked  out  the 

feneralizations  that  have  changed  the  whole  realm  of  science,  that 
e  received  his  friends  and  the  strangers  who  came  from  every 
country  to  see  him ;  and  it  was  there  that,  after  a  long  and  laborious 
life,  full  of  ardor  and  work  to  the  last,  he  died  at  the  age  of  seventy- 
three,  on  the  19th  of  April,  1882. 

The  story  of  his  life  at  Down  is  almost  wholly  coincident  with 
the  history  of  the  development  of  his  views  on  evolution,  and  the 
growth  and  appearance  oi  the  successive  volumes  which  he  gave  to 
Ene  world.  For  the  first  four  years  his  geological  tastes  continued 
in  the  ascendant.  During  that  interval  there  appeared  three  re- 
markable works,  his  volume  on  Coral  Ida/ndSy  tnat  on  Vdoa/nic 


CHABLBa  DABWIN,  131 

Idands^  and  his  Geological  Observations  on  SouihArrherioa.  Of  these 
treatises  that  on  coral  reefs  excited  the  wonder  and  admiration  of 
geologists  for  the  simplicity  and  grandeur  of  its  theoretical  explana- 
tions. Before  it  was  written,  the  prevalent  view  of  the  origin  of 
these  insular  masses  of  coral  was  that  which  regarded  each  of  them 
as  built  on  the  summit  of  a  volcano,  the  circular  shape  of  an  atoU 
or  ring  of  coral  being  held  to  mark  the  outline  of  the  submerged 
crater  on  which  it  rested.  But  Darwin,  in  showing  the  untenaole- 
ness  of  this  explanation,  pointed  out  how  easily  the  rings  of  coral 
might  have  arisen  from  the  upward  growth  of  the  reef-building 
corals  round  an  island  slowly  sinking  into  the  sea.  He  was*thus  lea 
to  look  upon  the  vast  regioos  of  ocean  dotted  with  coral  islands  as 
areas  of  eradual  subsidence,  and  he  could  adduce  every  sta£:e  in  the 
process  o1  OTowth,  from  the  shore-reef  iust  begmning,  as  it  were,  to 
lorm  round  the  island,  to  the  completed  atoll,  where  the  last  vestige 
of  the  encircled  land  had  disappeared  under  the  central  lagoon. 
More  recent  researches  by  other  observers  have,  in  the  opinion  of 
some  writers,  proved  that  the  widespread  submergence  demanded  by 
Darwin's  theory  is  not  required  to  account  for  the  present  form 
and  distribution  of  coral  islands.  But  his  work  will  ever  remain  a 
olassic  in  the  histoiy  of  geology. 

After  working  up  the  geological  results  of  the  long  voyage  in  the 
Beagle,  he  set  himself  with  great  determination  to  more  purely 
zoological  details.  While  on  the  coast  of  Chili  he  had  found  a 
curious  new  cirripede^  to  understand  the  structure  of  which  he  had 
to  examine  and  dissect  many  of  the  common  forms.  The  memoir, 
which-was  originaUy  designed  to  describe  only  his  new  type,  du- 
ally expanded  into  an  elaborate  monograph  on  the  Cirripedes 
(bamacies)  as  a  whole  group.  For  eight  years  he  continued  this 
self-imposed  task,  getting  at  last  so  weary  of  it  as  to  feel  at  times 
as  if  the  labor  had  been  m  some  sense  wasted  which  he  had  spent 
over  it,  and  this  suspicion  seems  to  have  remained  with  him  in 
maturer  years.  But  when  at  last  the  two  bulky  volumes,  of  more 
than  one  thousand  pages  of  text,  with  forty  detailed  plates,  made 
their  appearance^  they  were  hailed  as  an  admirable  contribution  to 
the  knowledge  of  a.  comparatively  little  known  department  of  the 
animal  kingdom.  In  the  interests  of  science,  perhaps,  their  chief 
value  is  to  be  reco^ized  not  so  much  in  their  own  high  merit  as  in 
the  practical  traimng  which  their  preparation  gave  tne  author  in 
anatomical  detail  and  classification.  He  spoke  of  it  himself  after- 
ward as  a  valuable  discipline,  and  Professor  Huxley  truly  affirms 
Uiat  the  influence  of  this  discipline  was  visible  in  everything  which  he 
Afterward  wrote. 

It  was  after  Darwin  had  got  rid  of  his  herculean  labors  over  the 
''Cirripede  book.''  that  he  began  to  settle  down  seriously  to  the 


1«3  THE  ZIBRAUT  MAGAZINE. 

great  work  of  his  life — the  investigation  of  the  origin  of  the  species 
of  plants  and  animals.  One  of  the  three  volumes  of  the  Biography 
is  entirely  devoted  to  tracing  the  growth  of  his  views  on  this  subject, 
and  the  preparation  and  reception  of  the  ffreat  work  on  the  Origin 
of  Species.  In  no  part  of  his  task  has  9ie  editor  shown  greater 
tact  and  skill  than  m  this.  From  the  earUest  jottings,  which  show 
that  the  idea  had  taken  hold  of  Darwin's  mind,  we  are  led  onwards 
through  successive  journals,  letters  and  published  works,  marking  as 
we  go  how  steadily  the  idea  was  pursued,  and  how  it  shaped  itself 
more  and  more  definitely  in  his  mmd.  It  is  impossible  to  condense 
this  story  within  the  limits  of  a  Review  article,  and  the  condensa- 
tion, even  if  possible,  would  spoil  the  story,  which  must  be  left  as 
told  in  the  author's  own  words.  Briefly,  it  may  be  stated  here  that 
he  seems  to  have  been  first  led  to  ponder  over  the  question  of  the 
transmutation  of  species  by  facts  that  had  come  under  his  notice 
during  the  South  American  part  of  the  voyage  in  the  Beadle — such 
as  the  discovery  of  the  fossil  remains  of  huge  animals  akm  to,  but 
yet  very  distinct  from,  the  living  armadillos  of  the  same  regions; 
the  manner  in  which  closely  allied  animals  were  found  to  replace 
one  another,  as  he  followed  them  over  the  continent;  and  the  re- 
markable character  of  the  flora  and  fauna  of  the  Galapa^s  archipel- 
ago. "It  was  evident,"  he  says,  "that  such  facts  as  these,  as  well 
as  many  others,  could  only  be  explained  on  the  supposition  that 
species  gradually  become  modified;  and  the  subject  taunted  me." 
His  first  note-lJook  for  the  accumulation  of  facts  bearing  on  the 
question  was  opened  in  July,  1837,  and  from  that  date  he  continued 
to  gather  them  "on  a  wholesale  scale,  more  especially  with  respect 
to  domesticated  productions,  by  printed  inquiries,  by  conversation 
with  skilful  breeders  and  garaeners,  and  by  extensive  reading." 
He  soon  perceived  that  selection  was  the  secret  of  success  in  the 
artificial  production  of  the  useful  varieties  of  plants  and  animals. 
But  how  this  principle,  so  fertile  in  results  when  employed  by  man, 
could  be  apphed  in  explanation  of  Nature's  operatons,  remained  a 
mystery  to  him  until  in  October,  1838,  when,  happening  to  read  for 
amusement  Malthus'  book  On  the  Prirwwle  of  Population^  he  found 
at  last  a  theory  with  which  to  work.  With  this  guiding  principle  he 
instituted  a  laborious  investigation  on  the  breecfinff  of  pigeons,  and 
experiments  on  the  flotation  of  eggs,  the  vitality  of  seeds,  and  other 
questions,  the  solution  of  which  seemed  desirable  as  his  researches 
advanced.  He  says  himself  that,  to  avoid  prejudice  in  favor  of  his 
own  views,  he  refrained  for  some  time  from  writing  even  the  brief- 
est sketch  of  the  theory  he  had  formed,  and  that  it  was  not  until 
June,  1842,  that  he  allowed  himself  the  satisfaction  of  writing  a 
very  brief  pencil  abstract  in  thirty-five  pages,  which  two  years  after- 


CHABLB8  DABWm.  128 

ward  he  enlarged  to  230  pages,  and  had  fairly  copied  out.     This 
precious  manuscript  was  the  germ  of  the  Origin  of  J^ciea. 

With  characteristic  caution,  however,  he  kept  his  essay  in  his 
desk,  and  with  equally  charaacteristic  ardor,  industry  and  patience 
went  on  vrith  the  laborious  task  of  accumulating  evidence.  His 
friends  were  of  course  well  aware  of  the  nature  of  his  research  and 
of  the  remarkable  views  to  which  he  had  been  led  regarding  the 
history  of  species.  And  as  these  views  could  hardly  fail  in  the  end 
to  become  generally  known,  it  was  desirable  that  the  first  pubHca- 
tion  of  them  should  be  made  by  himself.  This  having  been  ur^ed 
upon  him  by  Lyell,  he  b^an  early  in  the  year  1856  to  write  out  nis 
views  in  detail  on  a  scale  three  or  four  times  as  hirge  as  that  on 
which  the  Origin  of  Species  afterwards  appeared.  This  work  he 
continued  steaaily  for  two  years,  when  it  was  interrupted  (June, 
1858)  by  the  arrival  of  a  remarkable  manuscript  essay  bv  Mr.  A.  K. 
Wallace,,  who,  working  in  the  Malay  archipelago,  had  arrived  at 
conclusions  identical  with  those  of  Darwin  himself.  Darwin's  gen- 
erous impulse  was  to  send  this  essay  for  publication  irrespective  of 
any  claim  of  his  own  to  priority;  but  bis  friends,  Lyell  and  Sir 
Joseph  Hooker,  persuaded  him  to  allow  extracts  from  his  early 
sketch  of  1844,  and  part  of  a  letter  written  to  Professor  Asa  Gray 
in  1857,  to  be  read,  together  with  Mr.  Wallace's  contribution,  before 
the  linnean  Society,  and  to  be  printed  in  the  Society's  Journal. 
He  now  set  to  work  upon  that  epitome  of  his  observations  and  de- 
ductions which  appeared  in  November,  1859,  as  the  immortal  * '  Origin 
of  Species." 

Tnose  who  are  old  enough  to  remember  the  publication  of  this 
vork,  cannot  but  marvel  at  the  change  which,  since  that  day,  not 
yet  thirty  years  ago,  has  come  aUke  upon  the  non-scientific  and  the 
scientific  part  of  the  community  in  their  estimation  of  it.  Professor 
Huxley  has  furnished  to  the  feio^phy  a  graphic  chapter  on  the 
reception  of  the  book,  and  in  his  vigorous  and  wittjr  style  recalls  the 
furioas  and  fatuous  objections  that  were  ^irged  against  it.  A  much 
longer  chapter  will  be  required  to  describe  the  change  which  the 
advent  of  trie  Origin  of  Species  has  wrought  in  every  department  of 
science,  and  not  of  science  only,  but  of  philosophy.  The  principle 
of  evolution,  so  early  broached  and  so  long  discredited,  has  now  at 
last  been  nroclaimed  and  accepted  as  the  guiding  idea  in  the  investi- 
gation of  Nature. 

One  of  the  most  marvellous  aspects  of  Darwin's  work  was  the 
way  in  which  he  seemed  always  to  throw  a  new  light  upon  every 
department  of  inquiry  into  which  the  course  of  his  researches  led 
him  to  look.  The  specialists  who,  in  their  own  narrow  domains, 
had  been  toiUng  for  years,  patiently  gathering  facts  and  timidly 
drawing  inferences  from  them,  were  astonishea  to  find  that  one 


1S4  THE  LlBBAliY  MAGAZtlfS. 

who,  to  their  eyes,  was  a  kind  of  outsider,  could  point  out  to  them 
the  plain  meaning  of  things  which,  though  entirely  familiar  to  them, 
they  had  never  adequately  understood.  The  central  idea  of  the 
Origin  of  Species  is  an  example  of  this  in  the  biological  sciences. 
The  chapter  on  the  imperfection  of  the  geological  record  is  another. 
After  the  publication  of  the  OrigmjDsjrwm  ^ave  to  the  world 
during  a  succession  of  years  a  series  of  volumes,  m  which  some  of 
his  observations  and  conclusions  were  worked  out  in  fuller  detail. 
His  books  on  the  fertilization  of  orchids,  on  the  movements  and 
habits  of  climbing  plants,  gn  the  variatign  of  animals  and  plants 
under  domestication,  on  the  effects  of  cross  and  self-fertilization  in 
the  vegetable  kingdom,  on  the  different  forms  of  flowers  on  plants 
.  of  the  same  species,  were  mainly  based  on  his  own  quiet  work  in 
the  greenhouse  and  garden  at  Down.  His  volumes  on  the  descent 
of  man,  and  on  the  expression  of  the  emotions  in  man  and  animals, 
completed  his  contributions  to  the  biological  argument.  .  His  last 
volume,  published  the  vear  before  his  death,  treated  of  the  formar 
tion  of  vegetable  mould,  and  the  habits  of  earth-worms,  and  the 
preparation  of  it  enabled  him  to  revive  some  of  the  geological  en- 
thusiasm which  so  marked  the  earlier  years  of  his  life. 

Such,  in  briefest  outline,  was  the  work  accomplished  by  Charles 
Darwin.  The  admirable  bioeraphv  prepared  by  nis  son  enables  us 
to  foUow  its  progress  from  the  Winningto  the  close.  Bat  higher 
even  than  the  intellect  which  achieved  the  work  was  the  moral 
character  which  shone  through  it  aU.  As  far  as  it  is  possible  for 
words  to  convey  what  Darwin  was  to  those  who  did  not  personally 
know  him,  this  has  been  done  in  the  Zi/e.  His  son  has  written  a 
touching  chapter  entitled,  Beminiscences  of  my  Father^ 8  Emryday 
lAfej  in  which  the  man  as  he  lived  and  worked  is  vividly  pictured. 
From  that  sketch,  and  from  Darwin's  own  letters,  the  reader  may 
conceive  how  noble  was  the  character  of  the  great  naturalist.  His 
industry  and  patience,  in  spite  of  the  daily  physical  suffering  that 
marked  the  last  forty  years  of  his  life;  his  utter  unselfishness  and 
tender  consideration  for  others;  his  lifelong  modesty  that  led  him 
to  see  the  worst  of  his  own  work  and  the  best  of  that  of  other  men ; 
his  scrupulous  honor  and  unbending  veracity ;  his  intense  desire  to 
be  accurate  even  in  the  smallest  particulars,  and  the  trouble  he  took 
to  secure  such  accuracy ;  his  sympathy  with  the  struggles  of  younger 
men,  and  his  readiness  to  help  them;  his  eagerness  lor  the  establish- 
ment of  truth  by  whpmsoever  discovered;  his  interest  up  to  the 
very  last  in  the  advancement  of  science;  his  playful  humor;  his 
unfailing  courtesy  and  gratitude  for  even  the  smallest  acts  of  kind- 
ness— these  elements  of  a  lofty  moral  nature  stand  out  conspicuously 
in  the  Biography.  No  one  can  rise  from  the  perusal  of  these  vol- 
umes without  the  conviction  that,  by  making  known  to  the  world 


THE  ACT0B8  CATECJEtlBM.  135 

at  large  what  Darwin  was  as  a  man,  as  wetf  as  a  great  original  in- 
vestigator, they  place  him  on  a  still  loftier  pinnacle  of  greatness 
than  that  to  which  the  voice  of  his  contemporaries  had  already 
raised  him. — ^Asohibald  Geikb,  F.B.S.,  in  The  Contemparwry  Be- 
view. 


THE  ACTORS'  CATECHISM.* 

In  a  recent  Number  of  Library  Magazine  were  quoted  a  number  of  questions 
TOopounded  by  a  man  of  letters  to  several  members  of  Uie  theatrical  profession.  Mr. 
William  Archer,  tiie  author  of  these  questions,  repeats  them  in  L&ngjnan's  Ma^aaine^ 
adding:  "  Some  of  them  are  not  so  aptly  framed  as  I  could  wish,  the  answers  received 
having  in seveiral  cases  suggested  a  more  precise  and  lucid  form  of  words." — [£d. 
Lib.  Mag.] 

1.  In  moving  situations,  do  tears  come  to  yonr  eyes?  Do  they 
come  unbidden ?  Can  you  call  them  up  and  repress  them  at  will? 
In  deUvering  pathetic  speeches  does  your  voice  break  of  its  own 
accord?  Or  do  you  deliberately  simulate  a  broken  voice?  Suppos- 
ing that,  in  the  same  situation  you  on  one  night  shed  real  tears  and 
speak  with  a  genuine  '  *  lump  in  your  throat, ' '  and  on  the  next  night 
simulate  these  affections  without  phy^cally  experiencing  them:  on 
which  occasion  should  you  expect  to  produce  the  greater  effect  upon 
your  audience? 

3.  When  Macready  played  Virginius  after  burying  his  loved 
daughter,  he  confess^  tnat  his  realexperience  gave  a  new  force  to 
his  acting  in  the  most  pathetic  situations  of  the  play.  Have  you 
any  analogous  experience  to  relate?  Has  the  memory  of  a  bygone 
emotion  (whether  recent  or  remote)  in  your  personal  life  influenced 
your  acting  in  a  similar  situation?  If  so,  was  the  influence,  in  your 
opinion,  for  good  or  for  ill?  And  what  was  the  effect  upon  the 
audience  ? 

3.  In  scenes  of  laughter  (for  instance,  Charles  Surface's  part  in 
the  screen  scene,  or  li&y  Teazle's  part  in  the  quarrel  with  Sir  reter), 
do  you  feel  genuine  amusement?  Or  is  your  merriment  entirely 
assumed?  Have  you  ever  laughed  on  the  stage  until  the  tears  ran 
down  vour  face?  or  been  so  overcome  with  laughter  as  to  have  a 
difficulty  in  continuing  your  part?  And  in  either  of  these  cases, 
what  has  been  the  effect  upon  the  audience? 

4.  Do  you  ever  blush  when  representing  bashfulness,  modesty, 
or  shame?  or  turn  pale  in  scenes  of  terror  for  grow  purple  in  the 
fece  in  scenes  of  rage  ?  or  have  you  observed  these  physical  mani- 
festations in  other  artists?  On  leaving  the  stage,  aiter  a  scene  of 
teifror  or  of  rage,  can  you  at  once  repress  the  tremor  you  have  been 

mmm^m^  I  II  ■  I        ■  ■  ■  ■    ■  .  -   I  ■      ■  ■  ■  ■  .1  ,    .  , 

*LOI(aKAK'S  MaOAZIKB,  JANT7ABT,  1888' 


126  TEE  UBRAET  MAGAZINE. 

exhibiting,  and  restoreryour  nerves  and  moscles  to  their  normal 
quietude? 

5.  A  distinguished  actor  informs  me  that  he  is  in  the  habit  of 
perspiring  freSv  while  acting ;  but  that  the  perspiration  varies,  not 
so  much  with  tne  physical  exertion  ^ne  thix>ugh,  as  with  the  emo- 
tion experienced.  On  nights  when  ne  was  not  ''feeUng  the  part," 
he  has  played  Othello  "without  turning  a  hair,"  though  nis  physical 
effort  was  at  least  as  great  as  on  nights  when  he  was  bathed  in 
perspiration.  Does  your  experience  tally  with  this?  Do  you  find 
the  fatigue  of  playing  a  part  directly  proportionate  to  the  physical 
exertion  demanded  by  it?  or  dependent  on  other  causes? 

6.  Have  you  over  played  a  comic  part  when  laboring  under 
severe  sorrow  or  mental  depression  ?  If  so,  have  you  produced  less 
effect  than  usual  upon  the  audience?  or  more  effect?  Have  you  ever 
played  a  tragic  part  while  enjoying  abnormal  exhilaration  of  spirits? 
If  so,  how  has  your  playing  oeen  affected  ? 

7.  It  used  to  be  said  of  a  well-known  actor  that  he  put  on  in  the 
morning  the  character  he  was  to  play  at  mght;  that  on  days  when 
he  was  to  play  Richard  III.  he  was  truculent,  cynical,  and  cruel, 
while  on  days  when  he  was  to  play  Mercutio  or  Benedick  he  woidd 
be  all  grace,  humor,  and  courtly.  Are  you  conscious  of  any  such 
tendency  in  yourself?  or  have  you  observed  it  in  others?  in  the 
ffreen-room,  between  the  acts,  have  you  any  tendency  to  preserve 
the  voice  and  manner  of  the  character  you  are  playing?  or  have  you 
observed  such  a  tendency  in  others? 

8.  G.  H.  Lewes  relates  how  Macready,  as  Shylock,  used  to  shake 
a  ladder  violently  before  going  on  for  the  scene  with  Tubal,  in  order 
to  get  up  "the  proper  sStte  of  white  heat,"  also  how  Liston  was 
overheara  "cursing  and  spluttering  to  himself,  as  he  stood  at  the 
side  scene  waiting  to  go  on  in  a  scene  of  comic  rage."  Have  you 
experienced  any  diflSculty  in  thus  "striking  twelve  at  once?"  If 
so,  how  do  you  overcome  it? 

9.  Can  you  give  any  examples  of  the  two  or  more  strata  of  con- 
sciousness, or  fines  of  thought,  which  must  co-exist  in  your  mind 
while  acting?  Or,  in  other  words,  can  you  describe  and  illustrate 
how  one  part  of  your  mind  is  intent  on  the  character,  while  another 
part  is  watching  the  audience,  and  a  third  (perhaps)  given  up  to 
some  pleasant  or  unpleasant  recollection  or  anticipation  in  your 
private  fife? 

10.  Doc3  your  personal  feeling  (such  as  love,  hatred,  respect, 
scorn)  toward  tho  actor  or  actress  with  whom  you  happen  to  be 
playing  affect  your  performance  ?  If  so,  in  what  way  ?  ^ould  you 
play  Ifomeo  better  if  you  were  in  love  with  your  Juliet,  than  if  she 
were  quite  indifferent  to  you?  And  if  you  happened  to  dislike  or 
despise  her,  how  would  tHat  influence  your  acting? 


'      THE  ACTORS  CATECSTSM.  137 

11.  Diderot  tells  how  Lekain,  in  a  scene  of  violent  emotion,  saw 
an  actress's  diamond  earring  lying  on  the  stage,  and  had  presence 
of  mind  enough  to  kick  it  to  the  wing  instead  of  treading  on  it. 
Can  you  relate  any  similar  instances  of  presence  of  mind?  And 
should  you  r^ard  them  as  showing  that  tne  actor  is  personally  un- 
moved bv  the  situation  in  which  ne  is  figuring?  Have  you  ever 
suffered  m)m  inability  to  control  laughter  at  some  chance  blunder  or 
unrehearsed  incident?  And  do  you  find  less  or  greater  difficulty  in 
controlhng  it  when  you  are  absorbed  in  a  part  than  when  you  are 
comparatively  unmoved?  Are  you  apt  to  be  thrown  off  the  rails  (so 
to  speak)  by  trifling  soimds  among  the  audience  (a  cough  or  a 
sneeze),  or  by  slight  noises  which  reach  your  ear  from  bemnd  the 
scenes,  or  from  the  street  ? 

12.  With  reference  to  long^  runs:  Does  frequent  repetition  in- 
duce callousness  to  the  emotions  of  a  part?  Do  you  continue  to 
improve  during  a  certain  number  of  representations  and  then  remain 
stationary,  or  deteriorate?  Or  do  you  go  on  elaborating  a  part 
throughout  a  long  run?  Or  do  you  improve  in  some  respects  and 
deteriorate  in  others?  In  your  own  opinion,  do  you  act  oetter  on 
(say)  the  tenth  night  than  on  the  first?  and  on  the  fiftieth  than  on 
the  tenth?  Do  the  emotions  of  a  part  *'grip"  you  more  forcibly  on 
one  night  than  on  another?  If  so,  is  there  any  corresponding  diff- 
erence in  your  "grip"  on  your  audience?  [This  is  a  re-statement 
in  more  general  terms  of  the  last  question  in  Section  I.]  Have 
you  ever  over-rehearsed  a  part,  as  an  athlete  overtrains?  Have 
you  ever  plajred  a  part  imtil  it  has  become  nauseous  to  you?  If  so, 
have  you  noticed  any  diminution  of  its  effect  upon  your  audience? 

13.  In  scenes  of  emotion  in  real  life,  whether  you  are  a  partici- 
pant in  them  {e,g.  the  death-bed  of  a  relative)  or  a  casual  on-looker 
\e,g.  a  street  accident),  do  you  consciously  note  effed":  for  subse- 

auent  use  on  the  stage?    Or  can  you  ever  trace  an  effect  used  on 
iie  stage  to  some  pl^e  of  such  a  real-life  experience  automatically 
registered  in  your  memory? 

14.  Do  you  ever  yiela  to  sudden  inspirations  of  accent  or  ges- 
ture occurring  in  the  moment  of  performance?  /Lnd  are  you  able 
to  note  and  subsequentlv  reproduce  such  inspirations?  Have  you 
ever  produced  a  happy  effect  by  pure  chance  or  by  mistake  and  then 
incorporated  it  permanently  in  your  performance? 

15.  Do  you  act  with  greater  satisfaction  to  yourself  in  characters 
vhich  are  consonant  wifli  your  own  nature  (as  you  conceive  it)  than 

1  characters  which  are  dissonant  and  perhaps  antipathetic?  And 
1  which  class  of  characters  have  you  met  with  most  success?  Does 
3ur  liking  or  dislike  for — ^your  oelief  or  disbelief  in — ^a  play  as  a 
hole  affect  your  acting  in  it? 

16.  Do  you  ever  find  yourself  disturbed  and  troubled  by  the 


128  THE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINS. 

small  conventions  of  the  sta^?  In  other  words,  is  the  thread  of 
your  emotion  broken  by  the  necessity  for  ** asides,"  or  for  giving  a 
stage  kiss  instead  of  a  real  one,  a  stage  buffet  instead  of  a  ^niune 
knock-down  blow  ?  In  the  fi^ht  in  Mad>eth  or  Richard  III. ,  do 
you  feel  hampered  by  the  necessity  for  counting  the  cuts  and  thrusts! 
Or  in  flinging  away  the  goblet  in  Hamlet^  are  you  disturbed  hjr 
having  to  aim  it  so  that  it  may  be  caught  by  the  prompter?  i& 
your  hilarity  at  a  stage  banquet  more  convincing  to  the  audience 
when  the  champagne  is  real  than  when  you  are  quaffing  toast  and 
water? 
17.  In  the  conception  and  make-up  of  a  "character  parf,"  do 

Jou  generally  (or  do  vou  ever)  imitate  some  individual  whom  you 
ave  seen  ana  studied  i  Or  do  you  piece  together  a  series  of  obser- 
vations, reproducing  this  man's  nose,  that  man's  whiskers,  the 
gestures  and  mannerisms  of  a  third,  the  voice  and  accent  of  a  fourth! 
Or  do  you  construct  a  purely  imaginary  figure,  no  single  trait  of 
which  you  can  refer  to  any  individual  model  ?—Willlah  Aboheb. 


SCHOOLS  OF  COMMEEOE. 

A  RKPOET,  dealing  very  fully  with  the  subject  o/  Commercial  Edu- 
cation, was  presented  to'the  meeting  of  the  Associated  Chambers  of 
Commerce  held  in  September  last  at  Exeter.  The  Eeport  contains 
a  thoughtful  digest  oi  the  methods  of  instruction  adopted  in  the 
pnnciml  types  of  commercial  schools  found  in  Europe  and  in  the 
United  States.  No  part  of  the  Eeport  is  more  interesting  than  that 
devoted  to  a  description  of  the  German  system  of  commercial  edu- 
cation. It  has  been  written,  we  are  told,  by  Mr.  H.  M.  FeUrin,  of 
Chemnitz,  who,  in  a  little  book  entitled  Education  in  a  Scucon  Town, 
published  in  1881  by  the  City  and  Guilds  of  London  Institute,  was 
one  of  the  first  to  sound  the  note  of  waminff  as  regards  our  defi- 
ciencies in  the  matter  of  technical  instruction.  The  Eeport  concludes 
with  some  valuable  suggestions  for  the  improvement  of  our  own 
educational  system,  or  want  of  system;  and,  although  the  writers 
here  d^  with  matters  on  which  unanimity  of  opinion  cannot  be 
expected,  most  persons  who  have  carefully  consiaered  the  subject 
will  agree  that  some  such  dianges  as  those  recommended  would  help 
to  place  us  more  nearly  than  we  are  at  present  on  a  level  with  our 
continental  neighbors  m  facilities  for  obtaining  a  suitable  training 
for  mercantQe  pursuits. 

Shortly  before  the  publication  of  this  Eeport,  I  read  a  paper  on 
the  same  subject  to  the  Manchester  meeting  of  the  British  Afsocia- 
tion,  in  which  I  gave  the  results  of  some  independent  inquiries  I  had 


SCHOOLS  OF  COMMERCE.  12fi 

made  during  a  too  brief  visit  to  the  Continent  in  the  spring  of  the 
present  year.  My  object  in  instituting  these  inquii'ies  was  to  ascer- 
tain the  present  condition  of  commercial  education  in  the  principal 
countries  of  Europe,  and  to  supplement  and  verify,  where  necessary, 
the  information  1  had  gathered  on  this  subject  when,  as  a  member 
of  the  Commission  on  Technical  Instruction,  I  inspected  for  the  first 
time  several  of  the  chief  continental  schools  oi  commerce.  The 
conclusions  at  which  I  arrived  confirm  those  of  the  writers  of  the 
Keport,  that,  in  the  matter  of  commercial  education,  we  are  far 
behind  other  nations  of  Europe,  and  that  to  the  well-organized 
schools,  which  are  found  particularly  in  Germany,  is  due  the  success 
with  which  her  merchants  and  mercantile  agents  "are  winning  for 
her  so  large  a  share  of  the  world's  commerce."  An  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  these  foreign  schools  undoubtedly  proves,  what  the 
Keport  tells  us,  that  "it  is  in  the  school  that  England  must  prepare 
to  meet  her  g;reat  European  rival,  and  train  the  forces  that  will 
efficiently  equip  her  commercial  offices  at  home  and  provide  a  capa- 
ble body  of  commercial  travelers  to  push  her  merchandise  abroaa." 

The  questions  of  technical  and  commercial  education  are  so  closely 
associated  that  it  is  difficult  to  consider  them  except  in  connection 
with  each  other.  Speaking  generally,  technical  education  may  be 
said  to  have  reference  to  the  work  of  production,  and  commercial 
education  to  that  of  distribution;  but  as  the  character  of  the  goods 
produced  by  the  manufacturer  must  depend  to  a  great  extent  upon 
the  tastes  and  requirements  of  the  consumer,  which  should  be  ascer- 
tained by  those  engaged  in  the  work  of  distribution,  commercial 
success  may  be  regarded  as  a  function  of  two  factors,  one  of  which 
has  reference  to  the  skill  displayed  in  the  processes  of  manufacture, 
and  the  other  to  the  activity  and  economy  shown  in  bringing  the 
products  of  industry  into  the  hands  of  the  consumer. 

Hitherto,  owing  to  the  necessity  of  previously  considering  the 
question  of  techmcal  education,  the  closely  allied  question  of  com- 
mercial education  has  remained  somewhat  in  the  background.  The 
progress  that  has  been  made  during  the  last  few  years  in  providing 
the  necessary  instruction  for  persons  of  all  classes  engaged  in  pro- 
ductive  industry  is,  on  the  whole,  satisfactory.  Our  University 
Colleges,  under  the  influence  of  the  demand  for  technical  teaching, 
have  become  technical  schools  with  a  hterarv  side.  The  Charity 
Commissioners  have  framed  schemes  for  the  curriculum  of  endowed 
schools,  in  which  science,  instruction  and  manual  training  occupy 
part  of  the  time  formerly  devoted  to  the  study  of  classics.  Some  o 
our  School  Boards  have,  as  far  as  the  iron  regulations  of  the  Code 
permit  them,  introduced  the  teaching  of  drawing,  science,  and  handi- 
crafts into  the  schools  under  their  control.  The  Science  and  Art 
Department  has  made  its  examinations  in  science  somewhat  more 


110  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

practical,  and  has  given  more  prominence  to  design  in  the  teaching 
of  art.  And  to  the  City  Gmlds  is  due  the  credit  of  having  estab- 
lished at  Finsbury  the  first  distinctly  Technical  College,  and  at 
Kensington  a  Central  Institution  for  the  training  of  manufacturers, 
engineers,  and  teachers;  of  having  organized,  in  the  principal  trade 
centers  throughout  the  kingdom,  a  large  number  oi  technical,  as 
distinguished  irom  ordinary  science,  classes;  and  of  having  thereby 
given  a  powerful  impetus  to  the  creation  of  technical  schods. 

This  record  of  progress,  which  has  prepared  the  way  for  the  in- 
troduction into  Parliament  of  a  comprehensive  and  efficient  Techni- 
cal Instruction  Bill,  may  be  regardea  as  satisfactory,  and  the  time 
has  now  come  when  attention  must  be  prominently  called  to  our 
deficiencies  in  the  matter  of  commercial,  as  distinguished  from 
technical,  education.  If  evidence  is  needed  of  the  want  of  knowl- 
edge among  our  commercial  classes  of  those  subjects  about  which 
they  ought  to  be  informed,  it  will  be  found  in  the  Report  of  the 
Commission  on  the  Depression  of  Trade  and  Industry,  as  well  as  in 
the  valuable  consular  reports  which  are  now  periodically  published  in 
this  country.  From  these  documents  it  appears  that  it  is  mainly 
owing  to  German  competition  that  our  foreign  trade  is  shrinking; 
and  11  is  in  Germany  that  the  most  abundant  provision  has  been 
made  for  the  fitting  educational  equipment  of  young  |)ersons  who 
are  engaged  in  mercantile  pursuits.  The  Commissioners  tell  us  that 
the  increasing  severity  of  this  competition,  both  in  our  home  and 
neutral  markets,  is  especially  noticeable  in  the  case  of  Germany,  and 
that  in  every  quarter  of  the  world  the  perseverance  and  enterprise 
of  the  Germans  are  making  themselves  felt.     They  say : — 

"In  the  actual  production  of  commodities  we  have  now  few,  if  any,  advantages 
ever  them;  and  in  a  knowledge  of  the  markets  of  tlie  world,  a  desire  to  accommodate 
themselves  to  local  tastes  or  idiosyncrasies,  a  determination  to  obtain  a  footing  where- 
ever  they  can,  and  a  tenacity  in  maintaining  it,  they  appear  to  be  gaining  ground  upon 


us." 


This  advance  of  German  trade  does  not  appear  to  be  due  to  any 
falling  cff  in  the  efficiency  of  the  British  workman,  but  solely  to  the 
superior  fitness  of  the  Germans,  due  unquestionably  to  the  more 
systematic  training  they  receive,  for  mercantile  pursuits.  •  The 
Commissioners  tell  us  that,  while,  *'in  respect  of  certain  classes  of 
products,  the  reputation  of  our  workmanship  does  not  stand  as  high 
as  it  formerly  did,"  those  who  have  had  personal  experience  of  the 
comparative  efficiency  of  labor  carried  on  under  the  conditions  which 
prevail  in  this  country  and  in  foreign  countries  appear  to  incline  to 
the  view  *' that  the  finglish  workman,  notwithstanding  his  shorter 
hours  and  his  higher  wages,  is  to  be  preferred."  They  further 
itate: — 


SCHOOLS  OF  COMMERCE.  181 

"  In  the  matter  of  education,  we  seem  to  be  particularly  deficient  as  compared  with 
some  of  our  foreign  competitors,  and  this  remark  applies,  not  only  to  what  is  usually 
called  technical  education,  but  to  the  ordinary  commercial  education  which  is  required 
in  mercantile  houses,  and  especially  the  knowledge  of  foreign  languages." 

The  recommendation  of  the  Commissioners,  that  Her  Majesty's 
diplomatic  and  consular  officers  abroad  should  be  instructed  to  re- 
port any  information  which  appears  to  them  of  interest  as  soon  as 
they  obtain  it,  and  that  it  should  be  as  promptly  published  at  home 
when  received,  has  resulted  in  the  publication  or  a  series  of  reports 
which,  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  fully  bear  out  the  conclusions  at 
which  the  Commissioners  have  arrived  with  regard  to  the  deficien- 
cies of  our  commercial  education,  to  the  activity  displayed  by  for- 
eigners in  the  search  for  new  markets,  and  to  the  readiness  of  manu- 
facturers abroad  to  accommodate  their  products  to  local  tastes  and 
peculiarities. 

In  the  review  which  appeared  in  the  TtTnes  of  August  1 0,  of  more 
than  one  hundred  consular  reports  which  had  been  published  within 
the  previous  three  months,  attention  is  repeatedly  called  to  the  im- 
portance to  this  coimtrv  of  possessinff  an  army  of  commercially 
trained  agents,  who  shall  be  able  to  discover  foreign  markets,  to 
inform  English  manufacturers  as  regards  the  requirements  of  these 
markets,  and  to  push  the  sale  of  home-made  gooos. 

These  statements  show  the  extent  to  which  our  trade  with  foreign 
countries  is  falling  off  in  consequence  of  the  want  of,  commercial 
knowledge  and  activity  among  our  mercantile  classes.  At  home, 
the  pincn  of  competition  is  equally  felt,  and  is  due  partly  to  the 
same  cause.  The  answers  to  a  circular  recently  addr^sea  by  the 
London  Chamber  of  Commerce  to  the  leading  City  firms  have  shown 
the  extent  to  which  foreign  clerks  are  employed  by  commercial  firms 
in  London,  and  also,  what  is  less  flattering  to  us,  the  reason  of  the 
preference  shown  for  them.  It  appears  that  35  per  cent,  of  the  firms 
replying  to  the  circular  employ  foreign  clerks,  and  that  less  than  1 
per  cent,  of  English  clerks  are  able  to  correspond  in  any  foreign 
tanguage.  From  several  of  the  answers  received,  it  also  appears 
that  preference  is  given  to  foreigners  on  account  of  their  generally 
superior  education,  and  of  their  special  quahfications  for  commercial 
work.  According  to  many  of  tne  witnesses  "the  foreigner  is,  at 
present,  the  better  'all  round '  man;  better  equipped  both  with  the 
special  technical  knowledge  of  his  particular  industry,  and  with  the 
wider  culture  which  enables  him  to  adapt  his  knowledge  and  his 
training  to  the  varying  demands  of  modem  commerce."  Now,  not 
only  is  the  recognition  of  this  fact  somewhat  humiliating  to  us  as 
a  nation,  but  the  fact  itself  serves  to  explain  some  of  the  causes  of 
the  success  of  foreign  competition  of  which  we  complain.  In 
the  first  place,  every  foreigner  employed  in  an  EngUsh  firm  dis- 


182  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

places  an  Englishman,  who  might,  and  would  be,  so  employed  if 
only  he  were  properly  educated.  Moreover,  many  of  these  foreign 
clerks,  after  having  learnt  what  they  can  as  re£;ards  our  manu- 
factures, our  markets,  and  modes  of  conducting  Business,  return  to 
their  native  land  to  utilize  that  knowledge  as  our  competitors  and 
rivals;  and  even  of  those  who  remain  here,  and  establish  new  firms, 
a  large  number,  naturally,  show  a  preference  for  foreign  manufac- 
turers with  whom  they  stand  in  relation,  and  from  whom  they  ob- 
tain goods  for  the  supply  of  the  markets  in  which  they  deal.  Havinff 
regard  to  the  importance  of  these  facts,  it  is  well  that  we  should 
acquaint  ourselves  with  the  systems  of  commercial  education  that 
exist  in  foreign  countries,  with  a  view  of  ascertaining  in  what  re- 
spects the  traming  there  afforded  is  better  adapted  to  qualify  young 
men  for  commercial  pursuits  than  that  provided  in  our  own  schools. 

In  nearly  all  the  countries  of  Europe  there  exists  a  system  of  in- 
terynediate  and  secondary  education,  which  has  been  organized  with 
reference  to  the  careers  which  the  children  are  likely  subsequently 
to  follow;  and  there  exist,  also,  numerous  special  schools,  or  depart- 
ments of  schools,  which  are  intended  to  provide  a  distinctly  profes- 
sional training.  In  fact,  two  important  principles  seem  to  regulate 
the  systems  ot  education  now  adopted  in  most  continental  countries : 
First,  that  jjeneral  education  should  have  some  reference  to  the  ac- 
tivities of  lite,  and  should  be  supplemented  by  professional  instruc- 
tion; secondly,  that  professional  studies,  if  properly  pursued,  may 
be  made  to^yield  the  intellectual  discipline  necessary  for  mental 
culture,  and  may  form  the  basis  of  a  broad  and  liberal  education. 

The  system  of  intermediate  education  in  France  has  been  fully 
described,  and  is  highhr  recommended  by  the  Commissioners  in  their 
Eeport  on  Technical  Instruction.  In  the  whole  system  of  French 
instruction,  they  say,  they  *'have  found  nothing,  except  as  regards 
art  teaching,  so  worthy  of  attention  as  these  higher  elementary 
schools."  These  schools,  many  of  which,  coming  under  the  pro- 
visions of  the  Public  Elementary  Education  Act,  are  free,  have  a 
technical  and  commercial  department ;  and  in  the  commercial  sec- 
tion the  subjects  of  study  include  modem  languages — English  or 
German,  and  often  both — history,  geography,  law,  political  economy, 
mathematics,  practical  science,  bookkeeping,  office  practice,  and, 
in  some  cases,  manual  training.  Examples  of  such  schools  are  found 
in  Bordeaux,  Havre,  Amiens,  Marseilles,  Rheims,  Eouen^  Lyons, 
and  other  lar^e  towns.  The  Eccle  Mari/iniere  of  Lyons  is  one  of 
the  oldest  and  one  of  the  most  interesting  of  these  schools.     It  is 

S resided  over  by  a  council  of  members,  who  are  nominated  by  the 
[inister  of  Agriculture  and  Commerce,  on  the  recommendation  of 
the  municipality.  The  children  are  admitted  to  the  school  between 
the  ages  of  thirteen  and  fifteen,  and  the  education  is  gratuitous. 


SaSOOZS  OF  COMMERCE.  186 

Fixw  60  to  75  per  cent,  of  the  bovs  go  into  commercial  houses,  and 
about  25  per  cent,  take  up  industrial  pursuits.  The  Ecole  Pro- 
fe^darmelle  of  Bheims  is  a  more  modem  school  of  the  same  ^nd, 
having  a  commercial  department,  with  a  course  of  instruction  spec- 
ially adapted  to  the  wants  of  those  children  who  are  likely  to  be 
engaged  as  clerks  in  merchants'  houses,  as  commercial  agents,  or 
travders.  At  Vierzon,  a  school  is  now  being  erected,  whidi,  when 
completed,  will  be  equipped  with  all  the  newest  appliances  for  im- 
proved technical  and  commercial  instruction. 

Of  French  schools  specially  devoted  to  commercial  training,  and 
having  no  technical  department,  the  most  important  are  in  raris. 
The  Paris  schools  are  of  two  grades — ^middle  and  higher  schools. 
There  are  two  middle  schools— the  Eoole  Commerdale^  in  the  Av- 
enue Troudaine,  founded  by  the  Chamber  of  Commerce  in  1863, 
and  the  InstiM  Gommercialy  in  the  Chauss^  d' Antin,  founded  by 
a  number  of  merchants,  as  a  public  company,  with  a  capital  of 
8000i!.,  in  1884.  These  schools  differ  somewhat  in  their  mathods  of 
instruction,  but  their  general  object  is  to  take  lads  who  have  received 
a  primarv  education,  and  to  tram  them  in  those  subjects  which  will 
be  usef uf  to  them  in  a  mercantile  career.  Modem  languages,  com- 
mercial law  and  geography,  mathematics,  bookkeeping,  and  short- 
hand are  the  chief  subjects  of  instruction.  In  the  Institute  more 
attention  is  given  to  the  practical  details  of  office  work  with  special 
reference  to  foreign  trade.  ''Different  trade  operations  are  illus- 
trated from  the  books  of  eictinot  firms;  and  the  mathematical  teacher 
has  ready  to  his  hand  coins,  weights,  and  measures  of  all  nations. 
The  school  contains  an  extensive  museum,  created  by  gifts  of  samples 
from  a  large  number  of  firms,  which  is  used  to  illustrate  the  lessons 
on  the  raw  materials  and  finished  products  of  commerce. 

Besides  these  schools,  which  are  for  the  training  of  boys  from 
thirteen  to  sixteen  years  of  age,  there  are  in  Paris  two  higher 
schools,  or  colleges,  which  are  intended  to  ^ve  a  distinctly  profes- 
sional education  to  young  men  who  have  received  an  ordinary  school 
trainiujg  in  one  of  the  Jyceea  of  France,  as  well  as  to  continue  the 
education  of  a  few  of  tnose  who  have  passed  through  one  of  the 
middle  schools.  These  higher  schools  are  known  as  the  Ecole  Su- 
perieure  de  Com/merce^  and  the  Ecole  dea  Hautes  Etudes  Commerd' 
ales.  The  main  object  of  these  Institutions,  but  especially  of  the 
latter,  is  to  attract  to  the  pursuits  of  commerce  some  of  the  better- 
educated  youths,  belonging  to  families  of  good  social  position,  who 
are  too  generally  disposed  to  enter  the  overstocked  ranks  of  the  so- 
called  learned  professions,  and  to  give  them  a  thorough  training  in 
the  principles  and  practice  of  mercantile  and  banking  business.  In 
France, ' '  says  M.  Gustav  Eoy,  * '  commerce  has  too  long  been  re- 
garded as  a  second-rate  calling;  it  is  time  to  disprove  this  idea,  and 


184  THE  LTBBAnr  MAGAZINE, 

to  show  tKat  the  professions  of  merchant  and  banker  demand  as 
much  intelligence  as  any  other," 

The  view  of  the  founders  of  the  school  was  that  the  study  of  oom- 
merciaj,  equally  as  of  other,  subjects  may  be  made  the  basis  of  a 
hberal  education.  What  the  Lcole  Centrale  does  for  engineering 
and  manufacturing  industry,  the  Ecole  des  Hautes  Etudes  Cammer' 
dales  is  intended  to  do  for  mercantile  pursuits.  This  school  is  situ- 
ated in  a  fashionable  quarter  of  Paris,  m  the  Boulevard  Malesherbes. 
The  eite  on  which  it  stands  cost  over  20,000Z.,  and  is  now  worth  con- 
siderably more.  The  building  contains  spacious  apartments  for 
administrative  purposes,  two  lecture  theaters,  twelve  class-rooms, 
or  comjptoirsy  ten  examination  rooms,  a  mercantile  museum,  a  chemical 
laboratory,  and  a  good  commercial  library.  It  consists  of  a  boarding 
estabUshment,  as  well  as  of  a  day  school.  The  school  was  opened  m 
the  year  1881,  and  the  number  of  students  has  since  tlien  increased 
from  50  to  128.  The  fees  are  high:  40/.  a  year  for  day  students, 
and  112Z.  for  boarders;  but  in  oroer  to  enable  poor  students  to  enter 
the  school,  several  exhibitions  have  been  pro\ided  by  the  Govern- 
ment, by  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  by  the  Municipal  Council  of 
Paris,  by  the  Bank  of  France,  and  by  a  large  number  of  public 
compames,  and  by  private  individuals,  among  whom  M.  Gustav 
Koy,  late  President  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  to  whose  initia- 
tive the  school  owes  much  of  its  success,  should  be  .specially  men- 
tioned. These  facts  indicate  the  estimation  in  which  the  education 
afforded  in  this  school  is  held  b^  different  public  bodies,  as  well  as 
by  merchants  and  bankers  in  Paris. 

As  regards  the  curriculum,  I  will  here  only  mention  that  ten 
hours  a  week  are  given  to  the  study  of  foreign  languages,  in  addition 
to  the  time  devoted  to  foreign  correspondence,  and  that  Enghsh  or 
German,  and  either  Italian,  Spanish,  or  Portuguese,  dre  obligatory. 
To  some  of  the  more  important  subjects  of  special  instruction  refer- 
ence will  be  made  later  on ;  but  the  purj)ose  of  the  ten  examination 
rooms  requires  some  explanation.  In  thir  school,  as  in  all  the  higher 
schools  oi  France,  the  periodic  examination  of  the  students  forms 
an  essential  part  of  the  instruction.  The  salles  d'^examen  serve  a  very 
different  purpose  from  the  examination  room  of  an  English  college 
or  university,  in  which  the  student  is  employed  for  three  hours  m 
writing  answers  to  printed  questions.  In  France,  examinations  like 
laboratory  practice  or  exercises  form  part  of  the  machinery  of  in- 
struction. The  8all4^  d^examen  are  small  compartments,  each  of 
which  is  just  capable  of  accommodating  the  examiner  and  two 
students.  The  rumiture  consists  of  a  blackboard,  a  desk,  and  two 
chairs.  About  once  in  three  weeks,  each  student  is  separately  ex- 
amined on  every  subject  in  which  he  receives  instruction.  The  ex- 
aminations take  place  daily  from  4. 30  to  6,  and  every  student  is 


8CH00L8  OF  COMMSRCS,  ISt 

expected  to  attend  two  or  three  times  a  week  to  anawer,  orally  and 
in  writing,  questions  on  his  work,  and  to  submit  for  inspection  and 
correction  ms  notes  of  lectures,  drawings,  accounts,  exercises,  etc. 
At  the  end  of  each  course  there  are  also  general  examinations,  which 
correspond  more  nearly  with  our  own,  but  differ  in  this  respect,  that 
each  student  draws  by  lot  the  questions  he  is  to  answer  from  a  large 
number  of  questions  previously  prepared  by  the  examiners.  The 
system  of  marking,  on  the  result  oi  these  examinations,  is  very 
complicated. 

Schools  of  commerce  in  France  are  not  yet  placed  on  the  same 
footing  as  other  high  schools,  in  affording  exemption  to  the  students 
from  military  service.  This  is  a  boon  much  sought  after.  At  the 
International  Conference  on  Industrial  Education  held  last  year  at 
BordeatCx,  one  of  the  resolutions  agreed  to  was,  that  the  Minister  of 
War  be  asked  to  assimilate  the  leaving  certificates  of  schools  of 
commerce  to  those  of  other  schools,  in  so  far  as  they  confer  the 
rights  of  the  voluntary  service.  This  concession,  it  is  believed,  would 
have  the  effect  of  considerably  increasing  the  number  of  schools  of 
commerce,  and  of  the  students  attending  them;  and  the  fact  that  it 
is  accorded  to  similar  schools  in  Germany  is  urged  as  an  additional 
reason  for  seeking  it. 

Germany  still  stands  ahead  of  all  other  nations  in  the  excellence 
of  its  primary  and  secondary  schools.  The  well-known  Reahchuleuy 
many  of  which  row  comprise  ten  classes,  and  are  co-ordinate  with 
the  Gymnasia^  afford  an  education  which  is  perhaps  the  best  possi- 
ble general  preparation  for  commercial  or  trade  pursuits.  In  these 
schools  the  classical  languages  are  not  taught,  and  the  time  thus 
saved  is  devoted  to  modern  languages  and  science.  In  addition  to 
these  schools,  schools  of  commerce  are  found  in  nearly  all  the  large 
towns  of  Germany.  There  are  certain  differences  between  the  sys- 
tems of  commercial  education,  and  indeed  of  education  generally,  as 
adopted  in  Bavaria,  Saxony,  and  Prussia,  which  are  fully  described 
in  tne  Keport  to  which  I  have  already  referred.  The  most  import- 
ant point  to  observe  is,  that  in  most  of  the  German  schools,  instruc- 
tion in  commercial  subjects  forms  part  of  the  ordinary  school 
education,  which  is  not  specialized  to  the  same  extent  as  in  the 
corresponding  schools  of  France.  The  mercantile  schools  are  well 
attended,  and  they  are  practically  independent  of  Government  aid. 
Several  of  the  Real  schools  have  a  commercial  department;  but 
besides  these,  there  are  in  Germany  seventeen  special  schools  of 
commerce,  the  leaving  certificate  of  which  is  recognized  as  con- 
ferring the  right  of  one  year's  military  service;  nine  middle  schools, 
with  a  less  extended  curriculum ;  and  a  large  number  of  evening 
schools,  which  are  attended  by  clerks,  merchants'  apprentices,  and 
other  persons  engaged  in  mercantile  houses.     The  fees  in  the  ordi- 


m  TBE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINE. 

nary  ReaUchvle  varv  from  2Z.  to  4Z.  a  yeAr.  In  the  commercial 
schools  the  fees  are  tnree  or  four  times  as  much.  Moreover,  few  of 
the  commercial  schools  are  as  well  housed  as  are  the  Real  schools, 
nor  do  they  possess  the  same  appliances  for  practical  teaching. 
Nevertheless,  tney  are  weU  attended;  and  the  reason  assigned  is  that 
lads  who  have  received  their  education  in  a  commercial  school  are 
niore  sought  after  in  commercial  houses,  and  more  readily  iSnd 
places,  than  those  coming  from  an  ordinary  school.  The  difference 
m  curriculiun  is  not  great ;  but  while,  in  the  commercial  school,  due 
provision  is  made  for  the  child's  general  education,  the  requirements 
of  the  merchant's  office  are  carefully  considered  in  the  teaching  of 
all  the  subjects  in  the  school  programme.  Thus,  additional  time  is 
devoted  to  the  study  of  modem  languages,  and  especial  attention  is 
given  to  instruction  in  foreign  correspondence.  The  study  of 
mathematics  is  pursued  so  far  only  as  is  likely  to  be  required  by  the 
future  merchant,  and  the  pupils  are  exercised  in  Questions  of  ex- 
change, arbitrage,  and  commercial  arithmetic  generally.  The  course 
of  study  also  includes  political  economy,  bookkeeping,  and  com- 
mercial geography.  But  the  instruction  is  by  no  means  as  practical 
as  in  many  of  the  French  schools.  Although  the  teaching  in  these 
schools  is  excellent  of  its  kind,  and  evidently  much  sought  after,  it 
would  be  unsafe  to  ascribe  to  the  existence  of  these  schools  the  re- 
markable industrial  success  of  the  German  people.  Much  more  is 
due  to  the  excellence  of  the  primary  instruction,  to  the  fact  that 
children  remain  at  school  till  they  nave  been  able  to  fix  in  their 
minds  the  knowledge  they  have  acquired,  to  the  evening  continua- 
tion schools  in  whicn  they  build  upon  early  education,  a  sure  foun- 
dation for  higher  specialized  instruction,  to  the  well-organized 
system  of  secondarv  eaucation,  and  to  the  general  appreciation  and 
love  of  learning,  wnich,  owing  to  the  existence  of  these  educational 
agencies,  is  diffused  throughout  all  grades  of  society,  and  has  pro- 
duced habits  of  thought  and  aptitudes  for  work  which  unfortunately 
are  at  present  wanting  among  the  same  classes  of  our  own  people. 

With  the  view  of  meeting  the  requirements  of  young  men  who 
desire  to  attend  special  courses  of  instruction  on  commercial  subjects, 
some  of  the  Polytechnic  schools  of  Germany  have  arranged  courses 
of  lectures,  which  are  intended  for  those  who  are  seeking  places 
under  Government  in  the  customs  or  excise  offices,  but  are  Followed 
by  other  students,  who  have  received  their  early  education  at  a 
Gymncmum  or  ReaUchvle^  and  whose  circumstances  enable  them  to 
spend  a  year  or  two  at  college  before  commencing  business. 

In  Austria-Hungary  there  are  nine  high  schools  of  commerce, 
eleven  intermediate  schools,  and  forty-two  schools  intended  princi- 
pally for  clerks.  There  is  nothing  that  calls  for  special  notice  in 
the  subjects  of  instruction  in  these  schools.     The  course  of  study  is 


J^CHOOL^  OF  COMMERCE.  '  137 

very  si.iiilar  to  that  in  the  corresponding  schools  of  Germany.  The 
most  important  of  the  hidi  schools  is  m  Vienna,  and  is  known  as 
the  Ilandels  Akademie,  it  ffives  two  courses  of  instruction,  the  one 
occupying  three  years  and  tne  other  two  years.  The  subjects  of 
instruction  are  nearly  the  same  as  those  of  the  French  high  schools. 
The  methods  are  different.  Great  attention  is  ffiven  to  tne  analysis 
of  trade  products  with  the  view  of  detecting  adulteration,  and  the 
scliool  contains  large  and  well-fitted  laboratories.  The  school  is 
attended  by  700  students,  who  are  taught  by  34  professors  and  in- 
structors. The  fees  for  payine  students  are  16Z.  a  year,  and  about 
150  students  are  admitted  with  exhibitions  covering  the  whole  or 
part  of  the  cost  of  instruction.  In  Germany  proper,  there  is  no 
school  exactly  corresponding  with  the  Handds  Akcmeinie  of  Vienna, 
which  has  more  the  character  of  a  Commercial  University  than  any 
other  institution  I  have  visited.  During  the  winter  months  the 
academy  is  open  in  the  evening  for  the  instruction  of  clerks  and 
others  engaged  in  business  during  the  day. 

In  Italy,  the  subject  of  commercial  education  is  receiving  careful 
attention.  The  system  of  bifurcation  commences  immediately  after 
a  child  has  left  the  elementary  school.  Those  intended  for  inaustrial 
pursuits  pass  on  to  the  so-called  Technical  School  (Scuola  Tecnica\ 
and  thence  to  the  technical  institute.  Others  pass  through  the 
corresponding  classical  schools  to  the  university.  The  technical  in- 
stitute corresponds  to  some  extent  with  the  mgher  Real  schools  of 
Germany;  but  each  institute  contains  three  or  more  sej)arate  depart- 
ments, in  which  the  instruction  is  specialized,  with  a  view  to  differ- 
ent branches  of  industry.  There  are  sixty-five  technical  institutes 
in  Italy,  in  many  of  which  there  is  a  department  entirely  devoted  to 
commercial  education.  The  Italians  are  by  no  means  satisfied  with 
their  present  system,  and  contemplate  making  some  important 
changes,  with  the  view  of  better  denning  the  instruction  given  in 
their  several  schools.  Meanwhile,  they  have  recently  established  a 
higher  commercial  school  at  Genoa,  on" the  model  of  the  well-known 
but  somewhat  antiquated  school  at  Venice,  with  a  curriculum  fol- 
lowing more  closely  that  of  the  high  schools  of  Paris.  When  I 
visited  this  school  in  April  last,  only  the  first  year's  course  of  study 
had  been  arranged ;  but  I  was  struck  with  the  thoroughness  with 
which  the  subject  of  geography  is  taught,  with  the  attention  given 
to  the  practice  of  map-drawing,  and  with  the  carefuUy-selected 
library  of  works  on  the  history  of  commerce,  mercantile  law,  and 
Statistics.  In  a  few  years  the  school  will  take  rank  with  some  of 
the  best  schools  in  Europe. 

In  Belgium  there  are  numerous  middle  schools,  the  object  of  which 
is  to  prepare  youths  for  commercial  pursuits.  The  fact  that  the 
diildren  of  the  middle-classes  are  destined,  for  the  most  part^  to 


188  THE  LIBBAMT  MAQAZtNK 

earn  their  livelihood  in  trade  or  commerce,  is  recognized  in  the  gen- 
eral scheme  of  intermediate  education  adopted  in  Belgimn,  and  the 
course  of  school  studies  is  arranged  accordingly.  The  youths  who 
are  trained  in  these  schools  receive  that  kind  of  instruction  which 
can  be  made  at  once  available  in  their  several  subsequent  occupa- 
tions. Besides  these  schools,  in  which  the  bulk  of  the  population, 
whose  education  is  extended  beyond  the  limits  of  primary  instruc- 
tion, receive  their  training,  there  has  existed  for  some  years  at 
Antwerp  a  commercial  academy,  in  which  the  principals  or  a  large 
number  of  Belgian  firms  have  obtained  their  business  education. 
The  commercial  academy  of  Antwerp  deserves  fuller  consideration 
than  the  space  at  my  disposal  enables  me  to  give  to  it.  It  is  one  of 
the  oldest  of  the  commercial  schools  of  Europe.  It  sends  out  annu- 
ally a  number  of  young  men  proficient  in  foreign  languages,  well 
trained  in  commercial  science,  and  with  an  intimate  Icaowledge  of 
the  ordinary  detaUs  of  office  work.  The  school  is  provided  witn  an 
excellent  museum,  iii  which  are  found  weU-arranged  specimens  of 
aU  kinds  of  raw  materials  and  manufactured  products.  By  its 
system  of  traveling  scholarships  the  school  has  been  able  to  lorm 
centers  of  trade  in  different  parts  of  the  world,  and  the  value  of  the 
education  afforded  in  the  school  is  fully  attested  by  the  readiness 
with  which  those  who  obtain  the  leaving  certificate  are  enabled  to 
find  places  in  merchants'  offices. 

There  are  several  subjects  m  the  curriculum  of  foreign  schools  of 
commerce  which  require  special  notice.  As  has  been  already  pointed 
out,  a  large  amount  of  time  is  devoted  to  the  study  of  foreign  lan- 
guages, and  the  pupils  are  exercised  in  reading  and  writing  the 
forms  of  documents  which  they  would  be  hkely  to  meet  with  m  the 
mercantile  office.  This  systena  of  teaching  foreign  languages  differs 
essentially  from  that  adopted  in  our  own  schools.  A  boy  may  leave 
school,  where  he  has  learned  for  some  time  French  or  German,  and 
may  be  capable  of  reading,  with  or  without  the  help  of  ^  dictionary, 

Eortions  oi  Racine  or  Moliere,  of  Schiller  or  of  Goethe.  But  when 
e  fijids  himself  in  a  commercial  office,  and  has  a  French  or  German 
business  letter  placed  before  him,  he  discovers  that  his  previous 
knowledge  helps  him  very  little  to  understand  it,  and  that  he  is 
quite  unable  to  reply  to  it.  Even  the  handwriting  presents  an  initial 
and  not  inconsiderable  difficulty,  and  he  is  wh<3ly  unfamiliar  with 
technical  expressions  the  letter  contains.  The  employer's  confidence 
in  the  youth's  knowledge  of  foreign  languages  is  thus  shaken,  and 
the  letter  handed  over  to  the  foreign  correspondence-clerk,  who, 
owing  to  the  special  instruction  he  nas  received  in  a  commercial 
school,  enters  the  office  with  a  knowledge  and  experience  which  he 
is  able  at  once  to  utilize. 
Practice  in  corresponding  in  foreign  languages  is  afforded  in  all 


SCHOOLS  OF  COMMBBdf!.  13<) 

schools  of  commerce  abroad ;  but  one  of  the  distingmshing  charac- 
teristics of  the  hi^h  schools  of  France  and  Bel^um,  and  to  a  less 
extent  of  the  academy  at  Vienna,  is  the  instruction  in  office  practice, 
which  ^oes  by  the  name  of  the  Bureau  Commercial  or  Mvster 
Comptoir,  By  the  **  Bureau  Commercial"  is  meant  practice  in 
carrying  on  between  different  classes  or  cornptoira^  mercantile  trans- 
actions, similar,  so  far  as  circumstances  permit,  to  those  carried  on 
between  mercantile  firms  in  different  parts  of  the  world.  For  ex- 
ample: a  student  in  the  German  comptoir  is  told  to  suppose  himself 
at  Hamburg,  and  is  required  to  purchase  a  certain  quantity  of  cot- 
ton, say  from  New  York.  He  writes  a  letter  in  German  to  his 
supposed  agent  in  New  York,  asking  for  particulars  as  to  the  cost 
of  tne  cotton  required.  This  letter,  before  being  sent,  is  submitted 
to  and  corrected  by  the  German  professor.  He  receives  from  another 
student  a  reply  written  in  English,  in  which  the  particulars  of 
prime  cost,  packa^,  freight,  duty,  etc. ,  are  expressed  m  the  coinage 
and  weights  of  tne  United  States.  This  reply  the  student  trans  • 
lates  into  French,  and  his  translation  is  revised  by  his  instructor. 
The  transaction  is  thea  completed  by  forwarding  a  bill,  which  is 
duly  made  out  by  the  student.  As  far  as  possible  all  the  incidents 
of  the  transaction  are  brought  under  the  notice  of  the  student,  and 
all  the  office- work  connected  with  it  is  done  in  the  different  comptoira 
of  the  school. 

It  is  contended  that,  by  introducing  a  certain  appearance  of  reahty 
into  the  correspondence  connected  with  a  commercial  transaction, 
the  student's  mtelliffence  is  exercised,  and  habits  of  care  and  accu- 
racy are  formed ;  and  that  a  facility  is  acquired  in  corresponding  in 
foreign  languages  which  could  not  be  otherwise  obtained.  It  is 
evident  that,  in  a  course  of  exercises  and  correspondence  extending 
over  a  year,  and  dealing  with  different  kinds  of  merchandise,  the 
student  must  acquire  the  ability  to  read  and  write  foreign  business 
letters,  as  well  as  an  acquaintance  with  foreign  system  of  weights, 
measures,  and  coinage,  and  with  arithmetical  problems  in  which 
these  occur.  But  whether  such  practical  knowledge  could  be  better 
acquired  in  a  merchant's  or  banker's  office,  and  whether  the  time 
thus  occupied  at  school  or  college  might  be  more  usefully  employed 
in  the  study  of  the  ordinary  subjects  of  instruction,  is  an  educational 
question  which,  without  further  experience  of  the  working  of  the 
system,  I  find  it  difficult  to  answer.  The  evidence  I  have  been  able 
to  gather  from  masters  and  merchants  abroad  leads  me  to  beheve 
that  this  special  instruction  is  highly  valued,  and  the  fact  that  it  has 
been  introduced  into  the  new  school  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce 
of  Paris,  and  that  it  is  about  to  be  extended  to  the  more  recently 
opened  school  of  the  same  kind  at  Genoa,  would  seem  to  show,  that 
taoee  who  have  had  experience  of  the  working  of  the  system  regard 


140  THE  LIBRABT  JUAGAZINS. 

this  instruction  as  ^  useful  introduction  into  commercial  life.  On 
this  point,  however,  as  on  many  other,  doctors  diflfer.  The  director 
of  the  Antwerp  Academy  informed  me  that  students  who  had  com- 

Kleted  this  course  of  **  bureau  commercial"  were  much  sought  after 
y  merchants,  who  attached  the  highest  value  to  the  instruction. 
On  the  other  hand,  we  are  told  that  the  director  of  the  Vienna 
school  is  of  opinion  that  the  system,  **  especially  for  large  numbers  of 
pupils,  is  superficial,  and  tends  to  no  really  useful  results."  It  is, 
however,  still  retained  in  a  somewhat  modified  form  at  Vienna, 
although  confined  to  the  work  of  the  last  year.  In  Prague,  the 
French  system  prevails.  "What  is  evidently  wanted,  is  to  inform 
young  men  as  to  the  kind  of  correspondence  which  is  carried  on  in 
commercial  houses,  and  to  teach  them  to  conduct  the  correspondence 
in  foreign  languages.  Whether  this  can  be  best  effected  by  the 
method  adopted  in  Paris,  Antwerp,  Prague,  or  Vienna  must  for  the 
present  be  left  undecided. 

There  is  another  subject  of  instruction  common  to  all  schools  of 
commerce,  of  the  value  of  which  there  can  be  no  doubt — viz. ,  com- 
mercial geography.  It  is  a  wide  subject,  the  study  of  Which,  if 
properly  pursued,  might  by  itself  constitute  a  liberal  education.  In 
this  country,  it  has  never  yet  received  the  attention  which  its  im- 
portance demands.  In  a  letter  to  the  late  Lord  Iddesleigh,  ap- 
pended to  the  Report  of  the  Commissioners  on  the  Depression  of 
Trade,  Commander  Cameron  specifies  the  various  heads  under  which 
commercial  geography  should  be  studied,  and  shows  how  essential 
is  a  knowledge  of  tne  subject  to  those  engaged  in  mercantile  busi- 
ness. '  *  In  Germany, ' '  he  says,  *  *  there  are  no  less  than  fifty-one  publi- 
cations devoted  to  the  cause  of  commercial  geography,  and  there 
are  many  societies  specially  founded  for  its  study.  These  societies 
have  agents  in  various  parts  of  the  world,  who  conduct  all  sorts  of 
inquiries.  They  find  out  not  only  what  goods  are  required  in  vari- 
ous markets,  but  also  the  precise  mode  of  packing  to  suit  the  idio- 
syncrasies of  buyers.  Alter  referring  to  a  number  of  questions 
which  might  be  elucidated  by  a  knowledge  of  commercial  geography, 
Commander  Cameron  further  states:  **The  extension  oi  our  com- 
merce and  its  maintenance  on  a  sound  and  remunerative  basis  de- 
pends greatly  upon  the  knowledge  of  commercial  geography  with 
which  it  is  conducted."  And  tlie  Commissioners,  in  their  final 
Report,  say :  *  *  In  connection  with  the  development  of  new  markets 
for  our  goods,  we  desire  to  call  special  attention  to  the  important 
subject  of  commercial  geography."  They  might  have  added  that 
this  subject  is  carefully  taught  in  every  foreign  school  of  commerce, 
and  t]ia,t  thousands  of  youths  are  annually  sent  out  from  these 
schools  with  a  respectable  knowledge  of  the  subject,  and  with  the 
aptitude  for  further  knowledge  which  traveling,  and  the  reading  of 


SCHOOLS  OF  COMMERCE,  141 

consular  reports  and  the  journals  of  geographical  and  trade  societies, 
enable  them  to  obtain,  in  England,  the  Society  of  Arts  has  arranged 
for  examinations  in  commercial  geography,  and  in  other  subjects 
useful  to  the  mercantile  student;  but  of  late  no  examination  has 
been  held  in  commercial  geography,  owing  to  the  fact  that  less  than 
twenty -five  candidates,  not  from  one  center  only,  but  from  the  entipe 
kingdom,  have  presented  themselves.  Nothing,  perhaps,  could 
show  more  strongly  the  total  neglect  of  commercial  eaucation  in  this 
country. 

Closely  connected  with  the  teaching  of  commercial  geography  is 
the  instruction  given  in  all  foreign  schools  in  the  technology  of  mer- 
chandise {fitude  dea  Marchcmdises^  Waarenhunde).  The  teaching  of 
this  subject  is  illustrated  by  reference  to  specimens  of  raw  and 
manufactured  products  exhibited  in  the  museum,  which  is  a  part  of 
the  equipment  of  nearly  every  foreign  school.  The  museum  is  gen- 
erally furnished  by  gifts  from  the  Chamber  of  Commerce,  and  from 
merchants  resident  in  the  city.  The  specimens  are  carefully  selected 
with  a  view  to  their  educational  value.  They  generally  comprise 
samples  of  some  of  the  principal  raw  materials  used  in  commerce  in 
their  natural  state  .and  as  met  with  in  trade.  These  are  carefully 
classified  and  arranged.  The  museum  also  contains  various  sub- 
stances, principally  local,  as  altered  by  different  processes  of  manu- 
facture; diagrams  and  models  illustrating  the  diseases  to  which  sub- 
stances of  vegetable  and  animal  growth  are  liable ;  specimens  show- 
ing the  effect  of  adulteration,  and  the  differences  between  genuine 
goods  and  their  counterfeits,  and  a  variety  of  other  things  too  nu- 
•merous  to  mention.  In  these  museums,  objects  having  reference  to 
the  trade  and  commerce  of  the  district  occupy  a  prominent  position. 
In  aU  the  newest  schools,  the  museum  communicates  with  the 
lecture-room,  in  which  these  commercial  ** object  lessons"  are  given; 
and  every  opportunity  is  afforded  to  the  students,  by  the  actual 
handling  ana  tasting  of  the  specimens,  by  the  chemical  analysis  of 
some  of  them  and  by  the  microscopic  examination  of  others,  and  by 
general  descriptive  lectures,  of  becoming  practically  acquainted  witn 
many  of  the  principal  mercantile  commodities. 

Another  important  feature  of  the  instruction  is  the  periodic  visits 
of  the  students,  under  charge  of  their  professors,  to  various  indus- 
trial works.  These  visits  are  sometimes  extended  to  factories  and 
business  houses  at  a  distance,  and  occupy  some  days.  At  the  EcoU 
Superieure  de  Commerce  du  Havre  these  excursions  form  a  veiy 
important  part  of  the  instruction.  In  1883,  under  the  conduct  of  the 
director  and  of  the  professor  of  merchandise,  eighteen  of  the  students 
visited  Hamburg  and  Lubeck.  In  1384,  two  excursions  were  made, 
the  first  to  the  principal  centers  of  industry  in  Belgium;  the  second, 
by  first  year's  students,  ta  Hamburg  and  Bremen.     Some  of  the 


14!l  THS  LIBRABT  MAGAZINE. 

high  schools  of  oommeTce  have  traveUng  scholarships,  tenable  for 
one,  two,  and  three  years,  which  enable  the  student  to  reside  abroad, 
to  perfect  himself  in  f orei^  lan^a^  and  to  learn  foreign  methods 
of  conducting  business.  The  Belgian  Government,  besw^s  paying 
three -fourths  of  the  cost  of  the  maintenance  of  the  high  school  at 
Antwerp,  makes  an  annual  grant  of  1800Z.  for  traveUng  scholarships, 
wnich  are  given,  under  certein  conditions,  to  the  most  distinguished 
former  students,  who  desire  to  spend  some  years  out  of  Europe. 
Each  scholarship  is  of  the  annual  value  of  between  200Z.  and  300Z. ; 
and  one  of  the  special  objects  of  these  scholarships  is  to  encourage 
the  establishment  of  commercial  houses  in  colonial  and  other  settle- 
inents.  The  result  of  this  expenditure  is  said  to  have  been  most 
satisfactory,  as  shown  by  the  establishment  by  old  students  of  the 
Antwerp  Academy  of  nourishing  commercial  houses  in  Brazil, 
Mexico,  Melbourne,  Sydney,  Calcutta,  Chicago,  and  other  places. 

This  brief  notice  of  the  facilities  for  commercial  education  enjoyed 
by  the  principal  Continental  nations,  and  of  the  methods  of  instruc- 
tion adopted  in  their  schools,  cannot  fail  to  impress  us  with  the  fact 
that  Englishmen  are  seriously  handicapped  in  the  struggle  for  their 
fair  share  of  the  commerce  of  the  world. — Sib  Philip  Magnus,  in 
The  CorUemjporary  Heview. 


AUTHORS  IN  COURT. 

Thebe  is  always  something  a  little  ludicrous  about  the  spec-* 
tacle  of  an  author  in  pursuit  oi  his  legal  remedies.  It  is  hard  to  say 
why,  but  like  a  sailor  on  horseback,  or  a  Quaker  at  the  play,  it  sug- 
gests that  incongruity  which  is  the  soul  of  things  humorous.  The 
courts  are  of  course  as  much  open  to  authors  as  to  the  really  deserv- 
ing members  of  the  community ;  and,  to  do  the  writing  fraternity 
justice,  they  have  seldom  shown  any  indisjjosition  to  enter  into  them 
— though  iJ  they  have  done  so  joyfully,  it  must  be  attributed  to 
their  natural  temperament,  which  (so  we  read)  is  easy,  rather  than 
to  the  mirthful  character  of  le^l  process. 

To  write  a  history  of  the  litigations  in  which  great  authors  have 
been  engaged  would  indeed  be  renovare  dolorem^  and  is  no  intention 
of  mine ;  though  the  subject  is  not  destitute  of  human  interest — 
indeed,  quite  the  opposite. 

Great  oooks  have  naturally  enough,  being  longer  lived,  come  into 
court  more  frequently^  than  great  authors.  Paradise  Loat^  The  WhoU 
Duty  of  Man^  The  Pilgrim? 8  Progress^  Thomson's  Seasons,  Passdas, 
all  have  a  legal  as  well  as  a  literary  history.  Nay,  Holy  Writ  her- 
self has  raised  some  nice  points.    The  King's  exclusive  prerogative 


A  UTHORS  IN  CO  UBT,  1 43 

to  print  the  authorized  version  has  been  based  by  some  lawyers  on 
the  commercial  circumstance  that  King  James  paid  for  it  out  of  his 
own  pocket.  Hence,  argued  they,  cunmngly  enough,  it  became  his, 
and  is  now  his  successors.  Others  have  contended  more  strikingly 
that  the  right  of  multiplying  copies  of  the  Scriptures  necessarily 
belongs  to  the  King  as  Head  of  the  Church.  A  few  have  been  found 
to  question  the  right  altogether  and  to  call  it  a  job.  As  her  present 
gracious  Majesty  nas  been  pleased  to  abandon  the  prerogative,  and 
nas  left  all  her  subjects  free  (though  at  their  own  charges)  to  publish 
the  version  of  her  learned  predecessor,  the  Bible  does  not  now  come 
into  Court  on  its  own  accoimt.  But  while  the  prerogative  was 
enforced,  the  King's  printers  were  frequently  to  be  found  seeking 
injunctions  to  restrain  the  vending  of  the  Word  of  God  by  (to  use  Car- 
lyle's  language)  "  Mr.  Thomas  Tegg  and  other  extraneous  persons." 
iNor  did  the  judges  on  proper  proof  hesitate  to  grant  what  was 
sought.  It  is  perhaps  interesting  to  observe  that  the  King  never 
claimed  more  than  the  text. .  It  was  always  oj^en  to  anybody  to 

Eublish  even  King  James'  version,  if  he  added  notes  of  his  own.  But 
ow  shamefully  was  this  royal  indulgence  abused !  Knavish  book- 
sellers, anxious  to  turn  a  dishonest  penny  out  of  the  very  Bible, 
were  known  to  publish  Bibles  with  so-called  notes,  which  upon' 
examination  turned  out  not  to  be  iona-Jlde  notes  Sitall^  but  sometimes 
mere  indications  of  assent  with  what  was  stated  in  the  text,  and 
sometimes  simple  ejaculations.  And  as  people  as  a  rule  preferred  to 
be  without  notes  of  this  character  they  used  to  be  thoughtfully 

E Tinted  at  the  very  edge  of  the  sheet,  so  that  the  scissors  of  the 
inder  should  cut  them  oflf  and  prevent  them  annoyins:  the  reader. 
But  one  can  fancy  the  question,  «  What  is  a  ima-J^h  lote  ? "  exer- 
cising  the  legal  mind. 

Our  great  lawyers  on  the  bench  have  always  treated  literature  in 
the  abstract  with  the  utmost  respect.  They  have  in  many  cases  felt 
that  they,  too,  but  for  the  grace  of  God,  might  have  been  authors. 
Like  Charles  Lamb's  solemn  Quaker,  "  they  nad  been  wits  in  their 
youth."  Lord  Mansfield  never  forgot  that,  according  to  Mr.  Pope, 
he  was  a  lost  Ovid.  Before  ideas  in  their  divine  essence  the  judges 
have  bowed  down.  "A  literary  composition,"  it  has  been  said  oy 
them,  "  so  long  as  it  lies  dormant  in  the  author's  mind,  is  absolutely 
in  his  own  possession."  Even  Mr.  Horatio  Sparkins,  of  whose  brill- 
iant table-talk  this  observation  reminds  us,  could  not  more  willingly 
have  recognized  an  obvious  truth. 

But  they  have  gone  much  further  than  this.  Not  only  is  the 
repose  of  the  dormant  idea  left  undisturbed,  but  the  manuscript  to 
which  it,  on  ceasing  to  be  dormant,  has  been  communicated,  is 
hedged  round  with  divinity.  It  would  be  most  unfair  to  the  delicacy 
of  xne  legal  mind  to  attribute  this  to  the  fact,  no  doubt  notorious, 


144  THE  LIBRABT  MAOAZmE. 

that  while  it  is  easy  (after,  say,  three  years  in  a  pleader's  chambers) 
to  draw  an  indictment  against  a  man  for  stealing  paper,  it  is  not 
easy  to  do  so  if  he  has  only  stolen  the  ideas  and  usm  his  own  paper. 
There  are  some  quibbling  observations  in  the  second  book  or  Jus- 
tinian's Institutes^  and  a  few  remarks  of  Lord  Coke's,  which  nught 
lead  the  thoughtless  to  suppose  khat  in  their  protection  of  an  author's 
manuscripts  the  courts  were  thinking  more  of  the  paper  than  of  the 
words  put  upon  it ;  but  that  this  is  not  so  clearl j  appears  from  our 
law  as  it  is  administered  in  the  Bankruptcy  Division  of  the  High 
Court. 

Suppose  a  popular  novelist  were  to  become  a  bankrupt — d^  suppo- 
sition which,  owmg  to  the  immense  sums  these  gentlemen  are  now 
known  to  make,  is  robbed  of  all  painf  ulness  by  its  impossibility — and 
his  effects  were  found  to  consist  of  the  three  following  it6ms :  first, 
his  wearing  apparel ;  second,  a  copy  of  Whitaker^s  Almmuic  for  the 
current  year;  and  third,  the  manuscript  of  a  complete  and  hitherto 
unpublished  novel,  worth  in  the  Row,  let  us  say,  one  thousand  pounds. 
These  are  the  days  of  cash  payments,  so  we  must  not  state  the 
author's  debts  at  more  than  fifteen  hundred  pounds.  It  would  have 
been  difficult  for  him  to  owe  more  without  incurring  the  charge  of 
'imprudence.  Now,  how  will  the  law  deal  with  the  effects  of  this 
bankrupt  ?  Ever  averse  to  exposing  any  one  to  criminal  proceed- 
ings, it  will  return  to  him  his  clothing,  provided  its  cash  value  does 
not  exceed  twenty  pounds,  which,  as  authors  have  left  oflf  w^earing 
bloom-colored  garments,  even  as  they  have  left  oflf  writing  Vicars  of 
Wahefidd^  it  is  not  likelyto  do.  This  human  rule  disposes  of  item 
number  one.  As  to  wTiitaker^s  Almandc^  it  would  probably  be 
found  necessary  to  take  the  opinion  of  the  court ;  since,  if  it  oe  a 
tool  of  the  author's  trade,  it  will  not  vest  in  the  official  receiver  and 
be  divisible  among  the  creditors,  but,  like  the  first  item,  will  remain 
the  property  of  the  bankrupt — but  otherwise,  if  not  such  a  tool.  On 
a  point  like  this  the  court  would  probably  wish  to  hear  the  evidence 
of  an  expert — of  some  man  like  Mr.  George  Augustus  Sala,  who 
knows  the  literary  life  to  the  backbone. 

This  point  disposed  of,  or  standing  over  for  argument,  there 
remains  the  manuscript  novel,  which,  as  we  have  said,  would,  if  sold 
in  the  Kow,  produce  a  sum,  not  only  sufficient  to  pay  the  costs  of  the 
argument  about  the  Almo/nac  and  of  all  parties  properly  appearing 
in  the  bankruptcy,  but  also,  if  judiciously  handled,  a  small  dividend 
to  the  creditors.  But  here  our  law  steps  in  with  its  chivalrous,  al- 
most religious,  respect  for  ideas,  and  aeclares  that  the  manuscript 
shall  not  DC  taken  from  the  bankrupt  and  pubUshed  without  his  con- 
sent. In  ordinary  cases  everything  a  bankrupt  has,  save  the  clothes 
for  his  back  and  the  tools  of  his  trade,  ig  rutluessly  torn  from  him. 
Be  it  in  possession,  reversion,  or  remainder,  it  aU  goes.     His  iiici  uies 


A  UTHOBS  m  CO  UBT.  145 

for  life,  his  reversionary  hopes,  are  knocked  down  to  the  speculator. 
In  vulgar  phrase,  he  is  "  cleaned  out."  But  the  manuscripts  of  the 
bankrupt  author,  albeit  they  may  be  worth  thousands,  are  not  rec- 
ognizea  as  property ;  they  are  not  yet  dedicate  to  the  pubhc.    The 

Erecious  papers,  despite  all  their  writer's  misfortunes,  remain  his — 
is  to  croon  and  to  aream  over,  his  to  alter  and  retranscribe,  his  to 
withhold,  ay,  his  to  destroy  if  he  should  deem  them,  either  in  calm 
judgment  or  in  a  despainng  hour,  unhappy  in  their  expression  or 
unworthv  of  his  name.  There  is  somethmg  positively  tender  in  this 
view.    The  Law  may  be  an  ass,  but  it  is  also  a  gentleman. 

Of  course,  in  my  imaginary  case,  if  the  baiSnipt  were  to  with- 
hold his  consent  to  publication,  his  creditors,  even  though  it  were 
held  that  the  Ahna/nao  was  theirs,  would  get  nothing,  lean  imag- 
ine them  crumbling,  and  saying  (what  wiU  not  creditors  sayf): 
"  We  fed  tnis  gentleman  while  he  was  writing  this  precious  manu- 
script. Our  joints  sustained  him,  our  bread  filled  nim,  our  wine 
maoe  him  merry.  Without  our  ffoods  he  must  have  perished.  By 
all  legal  analogies  we  ought  to  nave  a  lien  upon  that  manuscript. 
We  are  wholly  indifferent  to  the  writer's  reputation.  It  may  oe 
blasted  for  all  we  care.  It  was  not  as  an  author  but  as  a  customer 
that  we  supplied  his  very  reeular  wants.  It  is  now  our  turn  to  have 
wants.  We  want. to  be  paid."  These  amusing,  though  familiar,  cries 
of  distress  need  not  disturb  our  equanimity  or  interfere  with  our  admi- 
ration for  the  sublime  views  as  to  the  sanctity  of  unpublished  ideas 
entertained  by  the  Court  of  Bankruptcy. 

We  have  thus  found,  so  far  as  we  have  gone,  the  profoundest 
respect  shown  by  the  Law  both  for  the  dormant  ideas  and  the  manu- 
scripts of  the  author.  Let  us  now  push  boldly  on,  and  inquire  what 
happens  when  the  author  withdraws  his  interdict,  takes  the  world 
into  his  confidence,  and  publishes  his  book. 

Our  own  Common  Law  was  clear  enough.  Subject  only  to  laws 
or  customs  about  licensing  and  against  profane  books  and  the  like, 
the  right  of  publishing  and  selling  any  book  belonged 
exclusively  to  the  author  and  persons  claiming  through  him. 
Booki  were  as  much  the  subjects  oi  property-rights  as  lands  in  Kent 
or  money  in  the  bank.  The  term  of  enjoyment  knew  no  period. 
Fine  fantastic  ideas  about  genius  endowing  the  world  ana  tran- 
scending the  narrow  bounds  of  property  were  not  countenanced  by 
our  Common  Laws.  Bunyan's  jPUgrim^a  Proaress  in  the  year  1680, 
belonged  to  Mr.  Ponder  •  Pa/radise  Lost  in  the  year  1739  was  the 
property  of  Mr.  Jacob  Tonson.  Mr.  Ponder  and  Mr.  Tonson  had 
acquired  these  works  by  purchase.  Property  rights  of  this  descrip- 
tion seem  strange  to  us,  even  absurd.  But  that  is  one  of  the  pro- 
voking ways  01  property-rights.  Views  vary.  Perhaps  this  time 
next  century  it  wiU  seem  as  absurd  chat  Ben  Mac  Dhui  should  ever 


1^  THB  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

have  been  private  property  as  it  now  does  that  in  1739  Mr.  Tonson 
should  have  been  the  owner  "  of  man's  first  disobedience  and  the 
fruit  of  that  forbidden  tree."  This  is  not  said  with  any  covered 
meaning,  but  is  thrown  out  gloomily  with  the  intention  of  contributing 
to  the  general  depreciation  of  property. 

If  it  be  asked  how  came  it  about  that  authors  and  booksellers 
allowed  themselves  to  be  derived  of  valuable  and  weU  assured  rights 
— ^to  be  in  fact  disinherited,  without  so  much  as  an  expostulatory  ode 
or  a  single  epigram — ^it  must  be  answered,  strange  as  it  may  sound, 
it  happened  accidentally  and  through  tampering  with  the  Common 
Law.  • 

Authors  are  indeed  a  luckless  race.  To  be  deprived  of  your  prop- 
erty by  Act  of  Parliament  is  a  familiar  process,  calling  for  no  remarks 
save  of  an  objurgatory  character ;  but  to  petition  Parliament  to  take 
away  your  property — to  get  up  an  agitation  against  yourself,  to 
promote  the  passage  through  both  Houses  of  the  Act  of  Spoliation, 
is  unusual ;  so  unusual,  indeed,  that  I  make  bold  to  say  that  none  but 
authors  would  do  such  things.  That  they  did  these  very  things  is 
certain.  It  is  also  certain  that  they  did  not  mean  to  do  them.  They 
did  not  understand  the  effect  of  their  own  Act  of  Parliament.  In 
exchange  for  a  term  of  either  fourteen  or  twenty-one  years,  they  gave 
up  not  only  for  themselves,  but  for  all  before  and  after  them,  the 
whole  of  time.  Oh  I  miserable  menl  No  onemy  did  this:  no 
hungry  mob  clamored  for  cheap  books :  no  owner  of  copyrights  so 
much  as  weltered  in  his  gore.  The  rights  were  unquestioned :  no 
one  found  fault  with  them.  The  authors  accomplished  their  own 
ruin.    Never,  surely,  since  the  well-nigh  incredible  f  oUy  of  our  first 

{)arents  lost  us  Eden  and  put  us  to  the  necessity  of  earning  our 
iving,  was  so  fine  a  property — perpetual  copyright — bartered  away 
for  so  paltry  an  equivalent. 

This  is  how  it  happened.  Before  the  Eevolution  of  1688  printing 
operations  were  looked  after,  first  by  the  Court  of  Star  Cnamber, 
vniich  was  not  always  engaged,  as  the  perusal  of  constitutional  his- 
tory might  lead  one  to  b^eve,  in  torturing  the  unlucky,  and  after- 
ward by  the  Stationers'  Company.  Both  these  jurisdictions  revelled 
in  what  is  called  summary  process,  which  lawyers  sometime  described 
ashrevi  manu,  and  suitors  as  "  short-shrift."  They  haled  before  them 
the  Mr.  Thomas  Teggs  of  the  period,  and  fined  them  heavily  and 
confiscated  their  stolen  editions.  Authors  and  their  assignees  liked 
this.  But  then  came  Dutch  William  and  the  glorious  revolution. 
The  press  was  left  free ;  and  authors  and  their  assignees  were  reduced 
to  the  dull  level  of  unlettered  persons ;  that  is  to  say  if  their  rights 
were  interfered  with,  they  were  compelled  to  bring  an  action,  of 
the  kind  called  "  trespass  on  the  case,"  and  to  employ  astute  counsel 
to  draw  pleadings  with  a  pitfall  in  each  paragraph,  and  also  to  incur 


A  UTUOnS  TJSr  CO  URT.  147 

costs ;  and  in  most  cases,  even  when  they  trinmj^ed  over  their 
enemy,  it  was  only  to  find  him  a  pauper  from  whom  it  was  impos- 
sible to  recover  a  penny.  Nor  naa  the  Law  power  to  fine  the 
offender,  or  to  confiscate  the  pirated  edition ;  or  if  it  had  this  last 
power,  it  was  not  accustomed  to  exercise  it,  deeming  it  unfamiliar 
and  savoring  of  the  Inquisition.  Grub  Street  grew  excited.  A 
noise  went  up  "  most  musical,  most  melancholy," 


'*  As  of  cats  that  wail  in  chorus. 


ft 


It  was  the  Augustan  age  of  literature.  Authors  were  listened  to. 
They  petitioned  Parliament,  and  their  prayer  was  heard.  In  the 
eighth  year  of  good.  Queen  Anne  the  first  copyright  statute  was 
passed  which,  "  for  the  encouragement  of  .learned  men  to  compose 
and  write  useful  books,"  provided  that  the  authors  of  books  already 
printed  who  had  not  transferred  their  rights,  and  the  booksellers  or 
other  persons  who  had  purchased  the  copy  of  any  books  in  order  to 
print  or  reprint  the  same,  should  have  the  sole  rignt  of  printing  them 
lor  a  term  of  twenty-one  years  from  the  tenth  of  April,  1710,  and 
no  longer;  and  that  authors  of  books  not  then  printed  should 
liave  the  sole  right  of  printing  for  fourteen  years,  and  no  longer. 
Then  followed,  what  the  authors  really  wanted  the  Act  for,  special 
penalties  for  infringement.  And  there  was  peace  in  Grub  Street  for 
the  space  of  twenty-one  years.  But  at  the  expiration  of  this  period 
the  lateful  question  was  stirred — what  had  happened  to  the  old 
Common  Law  right  in  perpetuity  ?  Did  it  survive  this  peddling  Act, 
or  had  it  died,  ingloriously  smothered  by  a  statute  ?  That  fine  old 
book — once  on  every  settle — The  Whole  Duty  of  Man,  first  raised 
the  point.  Its  date  of  publication  was  1657,  so  it  had  had  its  term 
of  twenty-one  years.  That  term  having  expired,  what  then  ?  The 
proceedings  throw  no  lierht  upon  the  vexed  question  of  the  book's 
authorshij).  Sir  Joseph  J ekyll  was  content  with  the  evidence  before 
him  that,  in  1735  at  aU  events,  The  Whole  Duty  of  Mem  was,  or 
would  have  been  but  for  the  statute,  the  property  of  one  Mr.  Eyre. 
He  granted  an  injunction,  thus  in  effect  deciaing  that  the  old  Com- 
mon Law  had  survived  the  statute.  Nor  did  tne  defendant  appeal 
but  sat  down  under  the  affront,  and  left  The  Whole  Duty  of  Man 
alone  for  the  future. 

Four  years  later  there  came  into  Lord  Hardwioke's  court  **  silver- 
tongued  Murray,"  afterward  Lord  Mansfield,  then  Solicitor-General, 
and  on  behalf  of  Mr.  Jacob  Tonson  moved  for  an  injunction  to  re- 
strain the  pubUcation  of  an  edition  of  Paradise  Lost.  Tonson's  case 
was  that  Paradise  Lost  belonged  to  him,  just  as  the  celebrated  ewer 
by  Benvenuto  Cellini  belonged  to  the  late  Mr.  Beresford  Hope. 
Tie  proved  his  title,  W  divers  mesne  assignments  and  other  acts  in 
the  law,  from  Mrs,  Milton — the  poet's  third  wife,  who  exhibited 


14S  THB  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

such  skill  in  the  art  of  widowhood,  surviying  her  husband  as  she 
did  for  fifty -three  years.  Lord  Hardwioke  granted  the  injunction. 
It  looked  well  for  the  Common  Law.  Thomson's  Seasons  next  took 
up  the  wondrous  tale.  This  delightful  author,  now  perhaps  better 
remembered  by  his  charming  habit  of  eating  peaches  off  the  wall 
with  both  hands  in  his  pocKets,  than  by  his  great  work,  had  sold 
the  book  to  Andrew  Millar,  the  bookseller  whom  Johnson  respected 
because,  said  he,  **he  has  raised  the  price  of  literature."  Ii  so,  it 
must  have  been  but  low  before,  for  ne  only  gave  Thomson  a  hun- 
dred guineas  for  *' Summer,"  "Autumn,"  and  **  Winter,"  and  some 
other  pieces.  The  '  *  Spring' '  he  bought  separately,  along  with  the 
ill-fated  tragedy,  Sopkomsha^  for  one  hundred  and  thirty-seven 
pounds,  ten  shiUines.  A  knave  called  Eobert  Taylor  pirated  Mil- 
lar's Thomson's  i^easona;  and  on  the  morrow  of  All  Souls  in 
Michaelmas,  in  the  seventh  year  of  King  George  the  Third,  Andrew 
Millar  brought  his  plea  of  trespass  on  the  case  against  Eobert  Tay- 
lor, and  gave  pledges  of  prosecution,  to  wit  John  Doe  and  Bichard 
Koe.  The  case  was  recognized  to  be  of  great  importance,  and  was 
argued  at  becoming  length  in  the  King's  Bench.  Lord  Mansfield 
and  Justices  Willes  and  Aston  upheld  the  Common  Law.  It  was, 
they  declared,  unaffected  by  the  statute.  Mr.  Justice  Yates  dis- 
sented, and  in  the  course  of  a  judgment  occupying  nearly  three 
hours,  gave  some  of  his  reasons.  It  was  the  first  time  the  court  had 
ever  finally  difl!ered  since  Mansfield  presided  over  it.  Men  felt  the 
matter  could  not  rest  there.  Nor  did  it.  Millar  died,  and  went  to 
his  own  place.     His  executors  put  up  Thomson's  Poems  for  sale  by 

Eublic  auction,  and  one  Beckett  bought  them  for  five  hundred  and 
ve  pounds.  When  we  remember  that  Millar  only  gave  two  hundred 
and  forty-two  pounds,  ten  shillings,  for  them  in  1729,  and  had 
therefore  enjoyed  more  than  forty  yeare'  exclusive  monopoly,  we 
reahze  not  only  that  Millar  had  made  a  good  thing  out  of  his 
brother  Scot,  but  what  great  interests  were  at  stake.  Thomson's 
Seasons^  erst  MiUar's,  now  became  Beckett's;  and  when  one  Don- 
aldson of  Edinburgh  brought  out  an  edition  of  the  poems,  it  became 
the  duty  of  Beckett  to  tdce  proceedings,  which  he  did  by  filing  a 
biU  in  the  Court  of  Chancery. 

These  proceedings  found  their  way,  as  all  decent  proceedings  do, 
to  the  House  of  Lords — ^farther  than  which  you  cannot  go  though 
ever  so  minded.  It  was  now  high  time  to  settle  this  question,  and 
their  lordships  accordingly,  as  is  their  proud  practice  in  great  cases, 
summoned  tne  judges  of  the  land  before  their  bar  and  put  to  them 
five  carefully -worded  questions,  aU  going  to  the  points — ^what  was 
the  old  Common  Law  right  and  has  it  survived  the  statute  ?  Eleven 
judges  attended,  heard  the  questions,  bowed  and  retired  to  consider 
their  answers.     On  the  fifteenth  of  February,  1774,  they  re-appeared , 


TMS  FOYBRTT  OF  INDIA.  U9 

jmd  it  being  announced  that  they  differed,  instead  of  being  locked 
up  without  meat,  drink,  or  firing  until  they  agreed,  they  were  re- 
quested to  deliver  their  opinions  with  their  reasons,  which  they 
straightway  proceeded  to  do.  The  result  may  be  stated  with  tolera- 
ble accuracy  thus :  by  ten  to  one  they  were  of  opinion  that  the  old 
Common  Law  recognized  perpetual  copyright.  By  six  to  five  they 
were  of  opinion  that  the  statute  of  Queen  Anne  had  destroyed  this 
right.  Tne  House  of  Lords  adopted  the  opinion  of  the  maiority, 
reversed  the  decree  of  the  Court  below,  and  thus  Thomson's  Seasons 
became  your  Seasons^  my  Seasons^  anybody's  Seasons.  But  by  how 
slender  a  majority!  To  make  it  even  more  exciting,  it  was  notori- 
ous that  the  most  eminent  judge  on  the  Bench  (Lord  Mansfield) 
agre^ed  with  the  minority ;  but  owing  to  the  combined  circumstances 
of  his  having  already,  in  a  case  practicallv  between  the  same  parties 
and  relating  to  the  same  matter  expressed  his  opinion,  and  of  nis  be- 
ing not  merely  a  judge  but  a  peer,  he  was  prevented  (by  etiquette)  from 
taking  any  part,  eitner  as  a  judge  or  as  a  peer,  in  the  proceedings. 
Had  ne  not  been  prevented  (by  etiquette),  who  can  say  what  tne 
result  might  not  have  been? 

Here  ends  the  story  of  how  authors  and  theu*  assignees  were  dis- 
inherited by  mistake,  and  forced  to  content  themselves  with  such 
beggarly  terms  of  enjoyment  as  a  hostile  le^slature  doles  out  to 
them.  As  the  law  now  stands,  they  may  enjoy  their  own  during 
the  period  of  the  author's  Ufe,  plvs  seven  years,  or  the  period  of 
forty-two  years,  whichever  may  chance  to  prove  the  longer. 

So  strangely  and  so  quicklv  does  the  Law  color  men's  notions  of 
what  is  iimerently  decent,  that  even  authors  have  forgotten  how 
fearfully  they  have  been  abused  and  how  cruelly  robbed.  Their 
thoughte  are  turned  in  quite  other  directions.  I  do  not  suppose  they 
will  care  for  these  old-world  memories.  Their  great  minds  are 
tossing  on  the  ocean  which  pants  dumbly-passionate  with  dreams  of 
royalties.  If  they  could  only  shame  the  English-reading  population 
of  the  United  States  to  pay  for  their  literature,  all  woma  be  well. 
Whether  they  ever  will,  depend  upon  themselves. — Augustin  Bm- 
RELL,  in  MiicmiUan^s  Magazme. 


THE  POVEETY  OF  INDIA. 

When  Joseph  wished  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  his  brethren  he 
affected  to  think  them  a  special  commission  sent  to  inquire  into  the 
state  of  Egypt.  What  he  disapproved  of  then  is  now  become  a 
necessity  for  a  country  still  further  in  the  remote  East.  For  the  be- 
lief has  at  last  become  generally  disseminated  that  this  land  of  fabu- 


IftO  THE  LFBEAnT  MAGAZnfS, 

lous  splendor  and  luxury  is  unproductive  for  the  purposes  of  its 
average  inhabitants ;  while  some  experts,  going  still  further,  argue 
that  the  people  of  India  are  in  a  state  of  chronie  misery,  and  that 
this  state  is  caused  by  the  rapacity  and  incompetence  of  the  British 
Government  there.  The  question,  therefore,  is  more  than  one  of 
economic  curiosity.  The  politician,  seeking  a  justification  of  his 
country's  power,  and  the  young  man  about  to  enter  on  a  course  of 
service  in  the  country,  are  both  specially  bound  to  learn  the  truth 
about  this  matter;  and  even  the  ordinary  English  citizen  is  not 
without  a  motive  for  acquainting  himself  with  the  facts  in  resrard  to 
which  his  citizenship  a^  francfise  give  him  a  real-however  smaU 
—responsibility. 

The  claims  of  the  ultra-optimists  need  not  detain  us.  They  can 
point  to  many  splendid  benefits  conferred  by  the  British  Govern- 
ment of  India;  to  the  pacification  that  has  succeeded  a  lonff 
anarchy ;  to  the  penal  code  by  which  crime  has  been  defined  and 
an  approximation  made  to  certainty  of  punishment;  to  a  vigorous 
police  and  a  skillful  attempt  at  the  rectification  of  natural  evils  by 
canals  and  forest  administration ;  to  roads  and  railways  by  whicn 
the  produce  of  the  land  is  carried  to  the  sea ;  and  to  a  vast  develop- 
ment of  import  and  export  commerce. 

But  all  these  things  nardly  avail  to  soothe  the  critics  or  moderate 
their  censure;  and,  indeed,  there  is  a  ffreat  per  cmxtra  to  be  set 
down  against  them.  The  tonnage  of  Indian  ports  carries  but  little 
benefit  to  the  inland  laborers;  nav,  it  appears,  for  a  time  at  least, 
to  bring  some  increase  to  their  sufterings ;  as,  for  example,  by  rais- 
ing the  price  of  produce  and  carrying  food  away  from  their  doors, 
while  it  mils  either  to  raise  the  rate  of  their  wages  or  to  diminish 
that  of  the  interest  of  their  debts.  The  administration,  if  good,  is 
costly;  being  carried  on — in  its  higher  grades  at  least — by  imported 
agency  which  demands  very  high  remuneration.  The  capital  out  of 
which  the  resources  of  the  country  are  developed  has  been  chiefly 
raised  in  Europe ;  and  the  plant,  stores,  and  munitions  of  war  have 
to  be  largely  imported  from  abroad.  It  has  been  asserted  that  in 
these  various  ways,  from  thirty  to  forty  millions  of  pounds  sterling 
.are  annually  taken  from  a  population,  the  bulk  of  which  lives — when 
it  does  live — on  the  minimum  of  subsistence. 

These  imputations  are  in  some  sense  true,  and  they  can  be  only  met 

•on  one  line.     The  peoples  of  India  are  poor,  and  their  scale  of  living  is 

low ;  the  only  justification  for  British  rule  over  them  must  be  the 

showing,  if  possible,  that  it  has  improved  their  condition,  and  that 

this  improvement  is  being  maintained. 

Now,  the  truth  is  very  apt  to  be  forgotten  that  there  is  no  evi- 
dence of  an  authentic  time  in  which  the  condition  of  the  general  pub- 
lic in  India  was  otherwise  than  hopelessly  miserable.     Hereditary 


THE  PO  VERTT  OF  INDIA.  151 

bondsinen,  their  situation  has  oscillated  between  the  oppression  of 
irresponsible  despotism  and  the  devastation  of  bandits  ancl  disbanded 
armies.  The  reins  of  the  Pathan  Kings  of  Delhi  present  an  un- 
broken series  of  calamity  and  persecution,  the  records  of  which  are 
only  limited  by  the  indifference  of  the  chroniclers.  One  of  these 
Sultans  was  told  by  his  Chief  Kazi,  whom  he  had  consulted  on  the 
subject  of  taxation,  that  the  Hindus  were  taxable  to  the  extent 
of  the  lawful  "tribute,"  which  was  to  be  levied  "with  everv 
circumstance  of  ignominy  and  contempt."  But  the  Sultan  replied 
that  he  acknowlMged  no  legal  limits,  and  was  resolved  that  "  no 
Hindu  should  have  more  len;  him  than  would  buy  flour  and  milk 
enough  to  keep  him  alive."  Another,  later  and  more  enlightened, 
increased  the  poll-tax  of  the  Hindus  in  order  that  the  small  minority 
of  his  own  fellow-believers  might  be  freed  from  taxation ;  and  he 
adds,  in  the  record  of  his  administration  made  by  his  own  hand, 
that  he  destroyed  Hindii  temples  wherever  found,  and  put  to  death 
all  who  persevered  in  idol  worship  after  due  warning. 

If  it  be  objected  that  these  were  barbarous  days  and  too  remote 
for  comparison,  let  us  turn  to  the  days  of  Akbar,  commonly  regarded 
as  "  palmy."  Akbar  broke  with  the  Muslim  lawyers,  abolished  the 
poll-tax,  and  took  the  Hindus  into  his  employ.  It  was  now  the 
turn  of  the  followers  of  the  Proi)het  to  taste  of  the  cup  of  which  the 
Hindus  had  long  been  forced  to  drink.  Contumacious  Mohamme- 
dans were  punished  by  exile,  and  even  with  death ;  the  Primate  was 
deposed,  the  Church  was  stripped  of  its  endowments  and  disestab- 
lisned.,  the  mosques  were  desecrated  and  turned  into  stabhng  for  the 
imperial  cavalry.  As  for  the  land,  it  was  held  under  the  strongest 
assertion  of  State-ownership,  or  distributed  among  grantees;  the 
actual  cultivators  being  assessed  at  one-third  of  the  gross  produce. 
Of  the  great  officers  of  the  State  and  army,  all  but  a  small  fraction 
belonged  to  the  class  of  the  conquering  immigrants  of  their  descend- 
ants ;  when  a  rich  man  died  his  estate  was  confiscated.  Such  was 
Akbar's  famous  system.  His  grandson  collected  and  withdrew  from 
public  use  treasure  estimated  by  a  European  observer  at  about 
twelve  millions  of  modern  sterling,  which  probably  represents  more 
than  half  a  year's  net  revenue  of  the  period ;  besides  which  he  had 
an  enormous  accumulation  of  precious  stones.  The  next  Emperor 
restored  the  poll-tax,  thereby  doubling  the  taxation  of  the  Hindus, 
of  whom  he  gradually  but  completely  purged  the  public  service. 
The  tribunals  were  practically  closed  to  the  Hindus — about  75  per 
cent,  of  the  population — ^because  the  Emperor  insisted  on  a  monopoly 
of  Muslim  law.  What  that  meant  may  oe  understood  by  imagining 
a  Hebrew  Prime  Minister  substituting  the  Levitical  code  for  the 
common  law  of  England. 

At  length  the  combination  of  fanaticism  and  maladministration 


152  THE  LIBRARY  3fA0AZtNR 

culminated.  The  Empire  broke  up.  One  Minister  assumed  inde- 
})endence  in  Audh,  another  in  the  Deccan.  The  Mahrattas  over- 
spread the  country  with  floods  of  predatory  horse,  and  collected  trib- 
ute everywhere.  The  Persians  mvaded  Hindustan,  and  plundered 
Delhi.    Society  became  dissolved.    Dow,  writing  in  1775,  says : — 

**  The  country  was  torn  to  pieces  by  civil  war  and  every  species  of  domestic  con- 
fusion .  .  .  .  all  law  and  religion  were  trodden  under  foot ;  the  bonds  of  pri- 
vate friendship  and  connection,  as  well  as  of  society  and  government,  were  broken ; 
and  every  individual — as  if  amid  a  forest  of  wild  beasts— could  rely  upon  nothing 
but  the  strength  of  his  own  right  arm. " 

Tod,  the  historian  of  Rajputdna,  gives  like  testimony,  taken  from 
a  native  record  of  the  time:  —  "The  people  ....  thought 
only  of  present  safety  ....  nusery  was  disregarded  oy 
those  who  escaped  it;  and  man,  centered  solely  m  himseli, 
felt  not  for  his  kind."  James  Skinner,  who  served,  in  Sindhia's 
army  about  twenty  years  later,  shows  that  things  were  not 
mending : — "  So  reduced  was  the  actual  number  of  human  beings, 
and  so  utterly  cowed  their  spirit,  that  the  few  villages  that  did  con- 
tinue to  exist  at  great  intervals,  had  scarcely  any  communication 
with  each  other,  and  that  communication  was  often  cut  off  by  a 
single  tiger  known  to  haunt  the  road."  About  the  end  of  the 
century  Arthur  Wellesley  gave  the  following  description  of  this 
miserable  renmant : — "They  are  the  most  mischievous,  aeceitful  race 
of  people  that  I  have  even  seen  or  read  of.  I  have  not  yet  met  with 
a  Hindu  who  had  one  good  qnality,  and  honest  Mussulmans  do  not 
exist." 

Let  the  praisers  of  past  time  take  whichever  period  they  will,  and 
compare  it  with  the  present  state  of  things.  In  British  India  the 
people  are  as  dense,  per  square  mile,  as  in  the  most  populous  parts 
of  Europe.  Primary  education,  though  not  compulsory,  is  general 
Each  division  has  its  own  laws,  admmistered  la^ly — almost  uni- 
versally— by  judges  of  its  own  creed  and  color.  Universities  are  in 
full  work.  The  mcidence  of  the  land  revenue  has  been  reduced  to 
one-half  the  net  produce,  about  a  third  of  Akbar's  rate.  Other  taxa- 
tion falls  at  an  average  rate  of  4  per  cent,  of  the  ratio  that  ob- 
tains iu  England ;  and,  if  it  be  true  that  "thirty  or  forty  millions" 
are  spent  on  or  by  foreigners,  not  more  than  halt  of  the  smaller  sum 
goes  out  of  the  country.  The  rest  is  spent  in  India,  and  it  surely 
does  not  much  matter  to  the  country  at  large  whether  it  be  spent  by 
British  oflBcers  and  soldiers,  or  whether  it  be  spent,  and  hoaraed,  by 
Mohammedans  and  Hindus.  There  is  more  money  in  circulation  than 
there  ever  was  before,  and  the  rate  of  wages  has  risen — ^for  skilled 
labor — ^at  a  rate  far  higher  than  any  rise  m  the  price  of  the  neces- 
saries of  life. 


THE  PO  VERTT  OF  IXDIA.  158 

Yet,  amidst  aU  these  sims  of  improvement,  there  remains  that 
general  depression  of  the  level  of  human  existence  which  leads  to 
constant  complaints  of  the  "  Poverty  of  India,"  and  which,  in  elBfect, 
constitutes  a  perpetual  reproach  to  a  nation  that  has  undertaken  to 
manage  the  affairs  of  these  helpless  communities.  Such  an  under- 
taking can  only  be  justified  in  the  forum  of  modern  opinion,  if  it 
can  be  shown  that  the  process  by  which  the  condition  of  the  people 
has  been  improved  is  still  goinff  on,  and  that  "  less  bad  "  is  in  the 
way  to  be  converted  into  something  better.  If  the  constituencies 
are  to  stop  their  ears  and  fold  their  hands  in  idle  optimism,  it  is 
much  to  be  feared  that  the  human  nature  which  is  present  in  all 
public  men  may  take  refuge  in  routine  and  mutual  admiration, 
until  some  catastrophe  worse  than  that  of  '67  awakes  them  when 
too  late.  No  ideal  height  of  perfection  is  arrived  at  yet.  Far  too 
much  of  the  work  of  India  is  still  done  by  Europeans,  far  too  laree 
a  portion  of  her  revenues  is  expended  on  warhke  and  political  estab- 
lisnments  and  on  unprofitable  undertakings.  The  rate  of  wages  for 
unskilled  labor  is  insufficient  for  respectable  existence,  in  times  of 
scarcity  fails  to  support  existence  at  all. 

A  moderate  statement  is  sure  to  displease  extreme  persons  of  both 
sides.  Nevertheless,  declamations  about  "  thirty  or  JPorty  millions  " 
— as  if  ten  millions  of  pounds  sterhng  was  a  kind  of  negligable 
(juantitv — do  not  not  convey  any  real  moral.  The  Home  charges 
when  the  last  decennial  report  was  made  up  were : 

Net  expenditure  chargeable  against  revenue       •       •  £18,299,976 

Capital  expenditure  on  productive  public  works      •        •  2,613,029 

Remittances  (net)            1,059,016 

Increase  of  balance        •       •  .     •       .       .       .  808,965 

Total 17,780,986 

Against  this  is  to  be  set  "  receipts  "         ....  8,661,858 

Leaving,  net  disbursements £14,119,128 

This  is  the  sum  drawn  for  in  1882-3,  and  realized  by  the  sale  of 
"  Secretary  of  State's  Bills ; "  and  it  was  below  the  average  of  the 
past  ten  years.  It  included  items  of  which  no  reasonable  native  of 
India  ought  to  complain ;  such  as  interest  on  debt  and  guaranteed 
railways,  and  the  purchase  of  stores;  things  that  it  has  not  been 
found  possible  to  produce,  as  yet,  in  India.  The  salaries  of  Indian 
councilors  and  officials  at  the  Secretary's  Office  cannot  be  materially 
diminished  so  long  as  the  present  method  of  government  continues 
to  exist.  The  pensions  and  furlough  allowances  follow  the  same 
rule :  so  long  as  any  European  officers  are  employed,  they  must  have 
leave  to  Europe ;  and  when  they  retire  they  are  entitled  to  a  provis- 
ion for  their  old  age,  part  of  which  comes  from  enforced  savings  or 


164  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

deduction  from  salary.  None  of  these  latter  items  is,  in  itself,  large; 
and  the  aggregate  only  comes  to  20  per  cent,  of  the  whole  "  Home" 
expenditure.  It  is  not,  therefore,  probable  that  the  Home  charges 
can  be  materially  curtailed  for  the  present,  and  we  must  look  upon 
it  that  India  has  to  pay  a  tribute  of,  say,  fifteen  million  per  annum, 
for  which  she  receives  some  sort  of  equivalent,  in  past  or  in  present 
service.  Even  if  it  were  to  be  regarded  solely  as  tne  latter  it  would 
only  come  to  £3  per  annum  for  the  agency  of  every  forty  of  the 
people,  which  is  no  heavy  wage.  But  it  is  obviously  much  more 
than  pay  for  present  work. 

If  any  reduction  is  possible  it  must  be  in  the  Indian  expenditure ; 
and  accordingly  it  is  to  this — by  far  the  larger  portion  of  the  whole 
— that  the  attention  of  reformers  must  be  invited.  The  heaviest 
item  is  that  of  "Army  Service,"  and  it  must  be  confessed  than  an 
outlay  of  over  seventeen  millions  looks  enormous.  The  "  Salaries, 
etc.,  of  the  Civil  Administration  "  form  an  item  of  over  ten  millions, 
and  it  is  startling  to  find  a  sum  of  nearly  seven  millions  set  down  as 
expended  on  "  rublic  Works  not  classed  as  Keproductive."  Total, 
say,  thirty-four  millions. 

Here,  one  would  be  disposed  to  think,  is  matter  on  which  retrench- 
ment might  be  brought  to  bear  if  persons  honestly  anxious  for 
economy  were  to  take  the  several  items  in  hand  with  the  due  depart- 
mental Knowledge. 

Beginning  with  Civil  Administration,  it  may  be  allowable  to  ob- 
serve that  the  general  scheme  is  really  obsolete,  being  based  on  a  state 
of  things  that  Jias  ouite  passed  away ;  one  in  which  there  were  neither 
railroads,  telegrapns,  nor  steam  vessels ;  and  which  it  was  considered 
necessary  that  tne  subordin^^te  .Tr^idencies  should  communicate 
direct  with  the  H'ome  Government  and  be  provided  with  the  complete 
machinery  of  a  Grovemor  and  Council.  -But  Bengal  is  larger  than 
the  Madras  Presidency,  While' that  of  Bombay  is  scarcely  larger  than 
a  single  commissipnenship  in  the  Punjaub  or  m  the  United  Provinces 
of  the  North-west  and  Audh.  Yet  each  of  these  is  efficiently 
administered  by  a  single  Lieutenant-Governor.  There  appears  to  be 
no  valid  reason  why  Madras  and  Bombay  should  not  henceforth  be 
upon  the  same  footmg.  This  would  save  a  great  part  of  the  money 
now  spent  on  councilors,  aids-de-camp,  body-guards,  and  such  like 

?)mps.  In  the  interior  administration,  on  the  other  hand,  the  minor 
residencies  have  an  advantage  over  the  Lieutenancies,  for  while 
each  of  these  has  to  maintain  Commissioners  in  considerable  num- 
bers in  addition  to  a  Board  of  Revenue,  the  Presidency  of  Madras 
has  a  Board  but  no  Commissioners,  while  that  of  Bombay  has  only 
two  Commissioners  and  no  Board.    This  might  be  equalized. 

Turning  to  the  Military  Staff  we  find  a  similar  extravagance. 
Although  the  Commander-in-Chief  is  supreme  over  the  whole  Indian 


THE  PO  VERTT  OF  INDIA,  155 

Army,  there  are  at  Madras  and  Bombay  minor  Commandershin- 
Chiei,  each  with  a  full  staff  of  Military  Secretary,  Adjutant-GeneraJ, 
Principal  Medical  Officer,  etc.,  etc.  Kow  it  is  a  notorious  fact  that 
the  Commission  over  which  the  late  Sir  Ashley  Eden  presided 
advised  five  years  ago  that  this  anomaly  should  cease,  and  that  the 
Divisions  at  Madras  and  Bombay  should  be  commanded,  like  other 
divisions,  by  a  Major-General  in  each,  with  the  usual  divisional  staff. 
It  looks  as  if  notmng  but  an  incorrigible  passion  for  patronage — to 
use  iio  harsher  word— had  preventea  the  adoption  of  this  salutary 
reform.  Amonff  minor  mihtary  extravagances  may  be  mentioned 
the  Colonels'  allowances.  In  the  old  Bengal  Army,  for  instance, 
there  were  seventy-five  colonels — one  to  each  Sepoy  regiment. 
Under  the  present  system  «very  officer  becomes  a  Colonel  after  a 
certain  number  of  years'  service.  It  is  believed  that  there  are  now 
about  250  of  these,  each  of  whom  receives  llOOZ.  a-year.  This 
abuse,  however,  will  die  out  with  the  present  incumbents. 

As  regards  non-productive  Public  Works,  we  can  only  say  that 
great  and  constant  care  is  needed  to  see  that  these  never  transcend 
the  legitimate  needs  of  a  poor  country.  At  the  same  time  it  is 
always  to  be  remembered  that  the  country  is  enormously  large — 
eight  times  as  populous  as  Great  Britain — ^yet  yielding  a  far  smaller 
annual  revenue.  The  unskilled  laborer  is  miserably  poor,  but  his 
obligatory  contributions  to  the  income  of  the  State  is  only  seven 
pence  halfpenny  a  year.  As  to  that  part  of  the  national  wealth 
which  is  represented  by  precious  metals,  the  figures  are  remarkable. 
"Ever  since  accurate  returns  of  trade  are  available,  the  imports 
have  exceeded  the  exports  .  .  •  •  During  the  forty-four  years 
beginning  with  1839-40  and  ending  with  1882-3,  the  total  imports 
of  treasure  into  India  have  amounted  to  about  419,000,000." 

We  have  no  means  of  knowing  what  amount  of  bullion  was  in 
circulation,  or  available  for  coimng,  before  1839;  but  there  is  no 
reason  to  suppose  that  it  was  greater  in  amount  than  the  sum  since 
added.  Prices  ot  provisions  and  clothing,  and  population  have  not 
doubled  since  then.  Clo;thing  is  notoriously  cheaper  since  the  ports 
of  India  have  been  completely  opened  to  the  Manchester  trade ;  and 
the  number  of  persons  who  wear  good  and  abundant  garments  has 
enormously  increased,  so  that  there  has  been,  in  this  respect,  an  addi- 
tion to  the  resources  of  the  people. 

We  will  conclude  with  a  story  which  strongly  illustrates  this  por- 
tion of  our  subject.  In  the  year  1861,  in  a  certain  district  which 
.wiM  included  in  the  area  of  a  considerable  local  famine,  the  English- 
man in  charge  of  the  district  was  accosted  in  a  garden  he  was  visit- 
ing by  a  fine-looking  man,  evidently  of  extreme  old  age,  and  blind 
from  senile  cataract,  who  was  seated  near  the  entrance-gate.  Invited 
to  join  him,  the  Englishman  took  a  seat  by  his  side,  and  opened  the 


m 


THE  LlBBAIiY  MA0A2INK 


conversation  by  some  remark  on  the  hardness  of  the  times.  **Hard 
times,  indeed,  Sahib ! "  said  his  new  acquaintance ; "  I  never  remember 
prices  being  so  high  since  the  Chalisa,  "  The  Chalisay^  replied  the 
Englishman  ; "  why  that  was  in  1784."  "  Ay,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  I  was  then  a  young  man,  serving  in  Himmat  Bahddur's  Gosains. 
Flour  was  then  selling  eight  m^s  (kilograms)  for  the  rupee,  as  it  is 
now.  But  it  was  harder  then  than  now."  "  Was  it  ?  And  how  do 
you  account  for  that  ? "  asked  the  Englishman.  "  Well,''  answered 
the  veteran,  with  something  hke  a  wink  of  his  sightless  eye,  "  I 
reckon  there's  more  money  in  the  country  now  than  there  was 
then." 

We  submit,  then,  that  the  poverty  of  India,  if  great,  has  diminished, 
and  is  diminishing.  But  it  is  an  element  that  we  ought  never  to  for- 
get for  a  moment.  And  the  first  duty  of  a  KoyafConmiission  or 
a  Parliamentary  Inquirjr  should  be  to  spy  out  the  nakedness  of  the 
land. —  Wesi^ninsten'  xieview. 


CURKENT  THOUGHT. 


The  Reasoning  Power  in  Children. 
— The  London  Journal  of  Education  con- 
tains a  scries  of  questions  put  to  a  num- 
ber of  school -children,  of  from  six  to 
eight  years,  for  the  purpose  of  testinff 
their  reasoning  power.  *  *  The  child  ren , 
it  is  said,  "enjoyed  the  questioning 
greatly,  and  it  was  more  difficult  to  keep 
the  en  to  the  point  than  to  extract  answers 
from  them."  One  of  the  questions  pro- 
pounded was,  **  Why  do  children  have  to 
fro  to  bed  so  much  earlier  than  grown 
people?**  The  following  are  some  of  the 
answers  to  this  problem : — 

A.  "  Because  it  is  better  for  them,  don't 
know  why ;  is  it  to  make  them  strong  ?  " 
— B,  '* Because  they  are  not  so  old;  I 
don't  know  anything  else. " — C.  **  Because 
they  are  so  little;  to  make  them  get  up 
early." — J).  ** Because  they  get  so  tired; 
I  think  it  is  a  good  plan.*' — M,  *'  Because 
they  get  so  tired,  and  because  they  are 
smaUer.'* — F.  **  Because  children  are 
younger  and  they  must  get  more  sleep, 
and  that  they  don't  get  so  tired  as  grown- 
up people." 

Another  question  was  :  "Do  crossing- 
sweepera  like  fine  or  wet  weather  better  ? 
and  why?"  The  following  were  the  an- 
swers : — 

A.  "Wet:  because  they  have   more 


crossings  to  sweep,  and  wiU  get  more 
money." — B.  "  Fine  ;  because  it  does  not 
rain/ — C,  "Wet weather:  because  they 
get  more  money." — D.  "Fine:  because 
he  can  be  outter  more,  and  can  sweep  the 
roads  more.  Do  they  get  money  for  it? 
1  ..^ihouldn't  do  it  unless  I  had  money 
given  to  me.** — E.  "  Fine  weather :  well 
perhaps  they  do  like  wet  weather  for 
more  sweeping  ;  they  like  it  wet,  and  then 
to  leave  off  raming  while  they  sweep.*' — 
F.  "  Wet :  because  they  get  more  money, 
because  people  don't  want  to  walk  in  the 
mud.*' 

Another  problem  laid  before  the  Juven- 
ile philosophers  was,  "If  your  porridge 
is  hot,  why  do  you  eat  the  outside  first?" 
Here  are  some  of  the  replies  : — 

A.  "Because  it  would  be  cooler;  I 
don't  know  why." — B.  "Because  it  is 
colder,  because  Uie  edge  of  the  plate  goes 
round  it." — G.  "  The  edge  :  because  It  is 
cooler,  because  the  plate  is  cold. " — D.  '  *  I 
should  eat  the  edge  of  the  plate  first,  be- 
cause it  is  cooler ;  because  it  touches  the 
mug,  and  the  mug  is  cold. " — E.  "  Round 
the  edge,  because  it  is  coolest,  because  it 
is  against  a  cold  basin." — F.  "  Because  it 
is  cooler ;  I  don't  know  why  it  is  cooler. " 

Another  series  of  questions  was :  * '  What 
do  dogs  think  about?    Can  they  talk  to 


CURRENT  THOVGHT. 


167 


each  other,  and  how?"  The  answers 
wore  as  follows  : — 

A.  "  Oh  1  I  don't  know ;  I  don't  know 
if  they  think  or  not ;  they  talk  in  their 
way;  I  don't  know  what  they  say." — 
B.  "  Don't  know  ;  I  don't  think  they 
do  think,  "—a  * '  They  don't  think  at  all, 
do  they  ?  They  can  bark,  not  talk  prop- 
erly ;  but  then  they  understand  each 
other."  D.  ** Think  about  nothing  but 
eating,  except  they  can  bark. ' ' — E.  *  *  Some 
dogs  think  about  biting  people ;  some 
about  eating  things ;  ana  some  dogs  talk 
about  being  kind  to  people.  They  talk 
in  a  dog-laugua^  that  people  can't  under- 
stand."—7^.  *•  Biting  and  fighting;  I 
don't  know  anytliing  else,  les,  they 
bark." 

More  practical  than  most  questions  pro- 
pounded to  these  six  or  eight  years'  old 
girls  was  this :  **  What  age  do  you  think 
It  to  be  nicest  to  be  ;  ana  why?"  Here 
follow  some  of  the  answers : — 

A,  "I  don't  know;  1  don't  want 
to  grow  old  all  of  a  sudden." — B. 
**  Twelve,"  but  she  was  too  shy  to  tell 
the  reason  why. — C.  *'  Seven,  because  it  is 
then  a  year  older;  because  then  I  should  not 
have  to  go  to  school  so  long. " — D.  *  *Nine, 
because  I  think  then  I  should  know  a  little 
more."— -S.  '*  Well,  for  myself,  I  should 
think  about  thirty,  because  you  would  be 
of  age,  and  could  do  nearly  what  you 
liked.  I  should  go  to  theaters  and 
crickets,  and  play  football  and  run  races. 
Wouldn't  I  do  any  work?  Oh,  yes  ;  if  I 
had  my  own  choice,  I  should  not  mind 
being  a  coachman.  I  like  horses,  and  I 
like  dogs,  too  ;  but  I  haven't  had  much 
to  do  with  dogs."— F.  **  Twenty,  because 
I  could  wear  trousers  then.  And  what  age 
would  tfou  like  to  be  ?" 

Thb  Ownbrshif  of  Ideas. — At  a  re- 
cent meeting  of  the  New  York  Nineteenth 
Century  Club,  composed  mainly  of  men 
of  letters,  the  subject  of  discussion  was 
"The  Idea  of  Property  in  Literature." 
Mr.  Charlton  T.  Lewis,  himself  an  author 
■aid: — 

"  It  1b  a  superstition  that  there  can  be 
such  a  thing  as  property  in  ideas.  To 
wish  to  have  enforced  such  a  theory  is 
to  fish  to  turn  back  the  wheels  of  pro- 
gntB.  We  who  live  to-day  are  the  heirs 
of  all  the  a^.  Enforce  the  theory  of 
property  in  ideas  and  there  can  be  no  ad- 
Tuce.  There  are  ideas  which  have  been 
liroofht  into  th«  world  within  the  memoiy 


of  men  in  this  room.  One  is  Ricardo's 
idea  of  rent,  the  foundation  of  the  entire 
modern  system  of  political  economy.  An- 
other is  that  of  the  conservation  of  force ; 
another  Darwin's  idea,  which  has  been 
seized  and  utilized  by  Herbert  Spencer. 
What  a  tremendous  loss  to  society  there 
would  have  been  if  these  ideas  had  not 
been  free  to  all  to  be  built  upon  and  de- 
veloped !  It  is  also  a  superstition,  that 
authors  believe  in,  that  they  are  a  favored 
class  for  whom  there  should  be  special 
legislation  apart  from  the  others  of  the 
State.  Authors  are  not  a  class.  We  are 
simply  those  who  express  the  opinions  and 
give  utterance  to  tlie  developments  of  so- 
ciety. Legislation  for  a  class  is  always 
pernicious,  and  it  would  be  a  detriment  to 
the  many  to  enact  laws  which  would  bene- 
fit simply  a  few  authors.  The  question 
should  be  :  *  What  legislation  on  Uiis  sub- 

J'ect  will  benefit  the  whole  community  ? ' 
jQi  authors  be  the  best  and  noblest  of 
mankind,  but  let  them  not  expect  special 
privileges.  The  utterances  of  Tennyson 
and  Arnold  and  Huxley  on  this  question 
are  founded  on  the  false  assumption  that  a 
man  has  an  intrinsic  and  perpetual  and 
eternal  and  infinite  right  in  the  pro- 
duct of  his  own  mind.  Here  is  the  fun- 
damental error  in  the  whole  discussion. 
If  I  write  a  book  it  is  mine.  I  can  do 
with  it  as  I  please — burn  it  up,  lock  it 
up,  or  publish  it.  Now,  when  I  give  it 
to  the  world,  what  is  its  commercial 
value  then  ?  It  is  dependent  on  the  action 
of  society  which  may  create  a  monopoly 
of  it  in  the  hands  of  a  publisher.  Here 
comes  in  the  question  of  deprivation.  If 
it  is  a  coat  I  have  made  I  am  entitled  to  a 
monopoly  of  that,  for  while  one  man  is 
wearing  it  no  other  man  could  use  It,  and 
he  is  deprived  of  no  benefit  that  he  may 
complam  of.  But  with  a  book  it  is  differ- 
ent. It  is  no  deprivation  to  me  if  others 
are  reading  it  as  well  as  I  myself.  The 
man  who  pens  the  pages  of  a  book  can 
justly  have  no  monopoly  in  fact.  It  is 
not  his  work  alone.  It  is  the  product  of 
society  of  which  he  is  but  a  part ;  society 
which  has  moulded  and  developed  him, 
and  he  is  only  the  medium  of  expressing 
the  growth  of  that  society  and  of  putting 
into  book  shape  the  results  of  its  teachings 
and  influence.  I  think  it  is  expedient  only 
that  the  author  should  have  copyright  con- 
trol for  a  limited  time.  Congress,  under 
the  Constitution  I  claim,  cannot  give  ah* 
solute  property  in  literature  in  ideas/' 


15$ 


THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 


Thouohtb  on  the  Theater.— The 
Rev.  H.  R.  Haweis  reoentlj  delivered  a 
Sunday  evening  discourse  on  '*  The 
Theater/'  an  abstract  of  wiiich  is  given 
in  the  PaU  MaU  Oazette:— 

"The  Church  of  the  future,  hesaid,  would 
have  to  make. room  for  the  drama  among 
other  things,  as  merely  to  repeat  the  names 
of  the  great  dramatists  past  and  present 
proved  that  the  drama  was  an  instinct  that 
could  never  be  stamped  out — rtan  was 
essentially  a  dramatic  animal.  Expression 
was  the  imperative  mood  of  his  nature. 
The  Cliurch  and  stage  was  not  an  unholy 
alliance.  The  whole  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  mass  was  in  itself  intensely  dra- 
matic, and  all  through  the  middle  ages 
sacred  plays  were  peiiormed  in  churches. 
In  1378  the  Dean  and  Chapter  of  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral  petitioned  Richard  II.  to 
stop  the  performance  of  plays  outside  the 
cathedral,  because  they  had  spent  so  much 
on  their  miracle  plays  and  dreaded  secular 
competition.  The  clergy  in  those  days 
objected  to  the  secular  stage  because  it 
interfered  with  their  interest,  and  it  must 
h%  added  satirized  their  foibles.  Must,  he 
asked,  an  immoral  tendency  be  inseparably 
connected  with  a  play?  Let  the  •ublime 
roll  of  the  Shakesperean  drama  answer 
that.  Are  actors  neccssarilv  immoral? 
Shades  of  Siddons  and  Garrick  answer  me 
from  Westminster  Abbey,  while  the  noble 
figure  of  Macready  steps  forth  from  his 
own  autobiography.  The  actor  who  imper- 
sonated a  villain  was  not  necessarily  a 
bad  man,  he  is  in  a  well-balanced  play  en- 
gaged in  giving  a  true  presentment  of  life 
with  that  right  moral  thrust  to  which  he 
is  indispensable.  He  is  only  the  storm- 
cloud  in  the  finished  picture.  He  Is  lifted 
into  the  dignity  of  a  representative  person. 
He  li  purified  in  the  fire  of  the  universal 
sympathy.  He  goes  down  to  his  house 
justified.     MacTMdy,  a  scrupulously  re- 


ligious man,  was  the  accredited  imper- 
sonator of  villains — to  is  Henry  Irving — 
but  he  is  not  the  prisoner  at  the  bar  or  the 
condemned  felon.  In  speaking  of  the 
ballet,  Mr.  Haweis  said  that  not  the  dis- 
play of  the  human  outline  or  the  exposure 
of  tlie  human  body  were  wronf,  but  the 
conditions,  times,  and  seasons  oi  such  dis- 
plajy.  He  alluded  to  bathing  costumes, 
swimming  2xhibitions,  and  fashionable 
toilets,  which  left  little  to  the  imagination, 
and  said  as  long  as  such  displays  of  out- 
line were  covered  by  the  conventionalities 
of  'spectacle'  or  'fashion'  it  was  irrational  to 
condemn  all  ballet  dancing,  and  cruel  and 
censorious  to  brand  as  infamous  the  ladies 
of  the  ballet  as  a  class — many  of  them 
good  girls  and  virtuous  married  women. 
He  opoke  to  principles  only,  not  to  details 
—dancing  was  as  legitimate  an  instinct  as 
acting,  and  the  human  body  would  always 
hold  itB  own  as  the  most  beautiful  object 
in  nature,  as  it  was  the  last  outcome  of 
the  Creator's  finished  work.  What  danc- 
ing and  tohai  acting  were  legitimate  was 
a  very  different  question,  and  one  not 
fully  to  be  dealt  with  on  that  occasion.  '* 

Some  English  CrviL-SERvicE  Ques- 
tions.— The  London  Standard  contains 
what  purports  to  be  a  portion  of  the  series 
of  questions  propounded  to  candidates  for 
Scholarships  in  the  Marlborough  Govern- 
ment School. —  . 

'^Explain  the  meaning  of  the  Canonical 
Books;  of  the  Yulfinite;  of  the  Authorized 
Version;  of  the  Vatican  Codex;  of  the 
Synoptists;  of  the  Evangelical  Prophet. 
Where  do  the  following  Characters  occur? 
Ariel,  MegMerilies,  Sydney  Carton,  Great- 
heart,  Jessica,  Dinah  Morris,  Major  Dob- 
bin, Amyas  Leigh,  John  Ridd,  Meph- 
istophiles,  Harpagon,  Jean  Yaljean. 
'  Knowledge  comes,  but  wisdom  lingers. ' 
What  is  meant  by  saying  that  there  is 
more  knowledge  than  wisdom  howadavV" 


,f 


THE  EIGSEB  LIFE:  ROW  18  IT  TO  BE  BUaTAntEBf  160 


THE  HIGHEE  LIFE:  HOW  IS  IT  TO  BE  SUSTAINED? 

In  an  article  on  "Science  and  the  Bishops,"*  Professor  Huxley 
writes  thus:  "That  this  Christianity  is  doomed  to  fall  is,  to  my 
mind,  beyond  a  doubt."  The  Christianity  of  which  he  predicts  the 
fall  is  denned  to  be  "  that  varying  compound  of  some  of  the  best 
and  some  of  the  worst  elements  of  Paganism  and  Judaism,  moulded 
in  practice  by  the  innate  character  of  certain  people  of  the  Western 
World,  which  since  the  second  century  has  assumed  to  itself  the  title 
of  orthodox  Christianity. "  * '  The  fall, ' '  he  says,  ' '  will  be  neither 
sudden  nor  speedy ;"  because  enlightenment  has  always  been  slow 
in  dispersing  darkness.  But  this  Christianity,  he  holds,  will  disap- 
pear just  as  rapidly  as  men  in  general  come  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
truth.  Now  that  definition  might  suggest  the  inquiry,  What  is 
Professor  Huxley's  view  about  the  Christianity  of  the  first  century? 
How  is  that  to  be  distinguished  from  the  singular  compound  which 
dates  from  the  second  century?  Can  "orthSiox  Christianity"  fall 
without  involviag  in  its  fate  the  Christianity  of  the  Apostles?  To 
such  an  inquiry  Professor  Huxley  himself  gives  a  partial  answer. 
He  aflSrms  that  a  faith  which  is  in  any  way  bouna  up  with  *  *  the 
miraculous"  will  be  rejected  by  all  enlightened  persons,  not  because 
a  **  miracle"  is  a  priori  impossible,  but  because  no  miracle  is  sup- 
ported by  evidence  which  can  satisfy  those  who  understand  the  na- 
ture of  proof. 

Professor  Huxley  shows  his  characteristic  lucidity,  both  of  thought 
and  statement,  in  what  he  is  accustomed  to  lay  down  concemmg 
miracles  and  the  laws  of  nature.  He  makes  admissions  which,  u 
they  had  been  made  and  apprehended  a  couple  of  centuries  ago, 
would  have  cleared  the  air  of  an  immeasurable  quantity  of  futile 
argument.  He  points  out  that  a  law  of  nature,  wnich  is  a  general- 
ization from  our  experience  of  the  past,  can  have  no  authority  to 
pronounce  any  alleged  fact  whatsoever  to  be  impossible,  but  that  it 
makes  anything  reported  as  a  violation  of  it  extremely  improbable; 
that  we  reasonablv  require  the  stronger  evidence  of  that  which  iz 
the  more  improbable;  and  that  writiags  of  unknown  origin,  by  un- 
known authors,  do  not  supply  the  kina  of  evidence  which  scientific 
training  allows  men  to  regard  as  incontrovertible.  He  disbelieves 
the  miracles  affirmed  by  orthodox  Christianity,  not  because  they 
are  impossible  in  the  nature  of  things,  but  because  they  are  supported 
by  evidence  which  seems  to  him  absurdly  inconclusive.  He  says, 
with  M.  Renan,  not  that  miracles  could  not  occur,  but  that  as  a 

*  MmteerUh  Century,    November,  1887  •,  reprinted  in  The  Library  Magazine, 
Januaiy,  188$, 


160  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

matter  of  history  they  have  not  occurred.  I  believe  that  it  will  be 
entirelv  to  the  advantage  of  Christianity  that  we  should  dismiss  the 
idea  01  **  the  miraculous"  from  our  contentions  and  our  thoughts. 
The  claim  made  in  the  name  of  miracles  has  had  a  pestilent  effect 
upon  the  Christian  cause.  We  are  all  famihar  with  the  logical 
argument: — our  Lord  and  his  apostles  wrought  miracles;  miracles 
could  only  be  wrought  by  supernatural  power;  it  is  at  our  peril  if 
we  refuse  to  accept  the  authority  of  those  who  had  supernatural 

Eower  at  their  back.  Such  an  argument  obviously  challenges  the 
eenest  criticism  of  the  evidence  in  favor  of  the  alleged  miracles; 
the  kind  of  criticism  with  which  we  sift  reports  of  modem  miracles, 
if  indeed  we  think  it  worth  while  to  criticise  them  at  all.     It  sug- 

fests  to  us  to  refuse  belief  to  the  Christian  creed  until  we  are  satis- 
ed  that  the  evidence  for  the  miracles  is  such  as  could  prove  the 
most  improbable  things  to  the  most  scientifically  skeptical  mind.  If 
it  is  said  that  we  are  warranted  by  the  goodness  oi  the  Gospel  in 
being  content  with  inferior  evidence  of  the  miracles,  we  are  so  far 
abandoning  the  argument  from  the  miraculous.  But  in  adopting 
this  argument  at  aD,  we  are  departing  from  our  Lord's  method  ana 
incurring  his  reproach ;  and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  we  are  so  far 
spoiling  our  Christianity.  It  was  his  custom  to  make  light  of  won- 
ders, that  is,  of  miracles ;  to  assume  that  they  might  be  shown  by 
false  prophets,  to  repel  with  aversion  the  support  which  his  hearers 
were  ready  to  give  him  on  the  ground  of  wonders ;  to  gneve  with 
indignant  disappointment  over  the  demand  for  wonders.  When  he 
said,  **  Except  ye  see  signs  and  wonders,  ye  will  not  beheve!"  was 
he  praising  the  disposition  which  he  notes?  Is  it  not  certain  that 
he  was  deploring  it?  If  critics  will  not  allow  us  to  take  for  granted 
that  these  words  from  the  "Fourth  Gospel'"  were  spoken  by  Jesus, 
we  can  show  that  they  express  what  is  indicated  by  sayings  and 
actions  recorded  in  the  Synoptic  Gospels;  and  we  must  observe  that 
it  is  very  remarkable  if  this  was  the  view  of  our  Lord's  mind  which 
commended  itself  to  Professor  Huxley's  second  century.  When  it 
is  urged  that  in  those  ages  the  demand  for  miracles  was  imiversal, 
and  liad  the  natural  effect  of  caUing  forth  the  supply,  we  answer 
that  the  repudiation  in  the  New  Testament  of  the  method  of  believ- 
ing because  of  miracles  is  by  so  much  the  more  striking. 

Is  it  open  to  the  bishops,  then,  to  shake  hands  with  Professor 
Huxley  on  the  terms  which  he  seems  to  have  some  hope  that  they 
will  accept — ^that  they  will  give  up  miracles,  and  he  wiU  **  estimate 
as  highly  as  they  do  the  purely  spiritual  elements  of  the  Christian 
faithf"  That  question  raises  another.  How  are  we  to  conceive  of 
these  purely  spiritual  elements  of  the  Christian  faith  ?  Recognizing 
as  I  do  to  the  full  "the  supreme  importance  of  the  purely  spiritual 
in  our  faith,  on  which  the  Bishop  oi  Manchester  has  insisted,  and 


THE  HIGHER  LIFE:  HOW  18  IT  TO  BE  SUSTAINED?  161 

the  admission  of  which  Professor  Huxley  so  courteously  welcomes, 
I  think  it  may  be  especially  advantageous  at  the  present  moment  to 
consider  what  this  pnrase  means  ana  involves.  In  the  competition 
between  the  various  creeds  which  are  soliciting  general  acceptance, 
and  endeavoring  to  commend  themselves  to  open  minds,  we  can 
desire  no  better  test  to  be  applied  to  them  than  this,  What  support 
does  each  provide  for  the  spiritual  interests  of  mankind?    If  the 

Question  which  I  have  put  at  the  head  of  this  article,  *  *  The  Higher 
,ife:  how  is  it  to  be  sustained?"  be  regarded  as  a  kind  of  challenge 
addressed  to  these  creeds,  I  believe  that  the  most  legitimate  and  the 
most  effective  defence  of  Christianity,  and  that  which  wiU  best  bring 
out  its  proper  character  and  authority,  wiU  consist  in  answering  the 
challenffe. 

The  purely  spiritual  elements  of  the  Christian  faith"  might  in- 
clude botn  the  truest  Christian  dispositions  and  the  spiritual  objects 
of  Christian  belief.  What  are  the  dispositions  which  make  up  or 
minister  to  tl^e  higher  life  of  mankind?  We  say  that  they  are  such 
:is  these — reverence,  trust,  self-condemnation,  self-mastery,  self- 
devotion,  respect  for  fellow-men  and  desire  of  their  well-being,  in- 
dignation against  wrong,  peace,  joy,  patience,  hope,  love.  I  do  not 
give  these  as  an  exhaustive  catalogue,  but  as  indicating  the  qualities 
which  men  agree  to  admire  as  the  noblest  and  deepest  of  which  their 
nature  is  capable.  I  assume  that,  if  any  of  these  are  to  wither, 
the  life  of  our  race  will  be  by  so  much  the  poorer ;  and  it  seems  to 
me  reasonable  to  contend  that  whatever  beliefs  these  demand  for 
their  sustenance  have  an  extremely  powerful  force  in  their  favor. 

Professor  Huxley  is  the  professed  champion  of  scientific  agnosti 
cism.  We  could  not  have  a  better  representative  of  *  *  the  thousands 
of  men,  not  the  inferiors  of  Christians  in  character,  capacity,  or 
knowledge  of  the  questions  at  issue,  who  will  have  nothmg  to  do 
with  the  Christian  Churches,"  on  the  ground  that  the  evidence  in 
support  of  the  improbable  things  which  the  Gospels  relate  appears 
to  them  utterly  inadequate.  Bfe,  no  doubt,  looks  up  to  Mr.  Her- 
bert Spencer  as  the  constructive  philosopher  of  his  school ;  and  he 
could  justly  appeal  to  the  blameless  character  of  this  illustrious 
thinker,  to  his  zeal  for  human  progress,  and  even  to  the  righteous 
anger  with  which  he  denounces  all  forms  of  aggression.  The  great 
naturalist  whose  personal  history  the  world  is  now  studying  has 
done  more  than  anv  one  else  to  dijBfuse  the  spirit  of  scientific  agnos- 
ticism ;  and  the  unfolding  of  his  private  life  snows  him  to  be  entitled 
to  no  less  admiring  esteem  as  a  man  than  as  a  discoverer.  But  Mr. 
Huxley  is  the  controversialist,  who  is  continually  challenging  those 
who  differ  from  him,  and  whose  frank  candor  and  reasonableness,  as 
remarkable  as  his  courage  and  lucidity,  make  it  agreeable  even  to  a 
poorly  equipped  opponent  to  offer  what  he  finds  to  say  in  reply. 


m  THE  UBBABT  MAGAZINE. 

It  iB  Profeasor  Huxley's  point  to  lay  stress  upon  the  need  and  tho 
nature  of  proof.  Scientific  men  are  trained  to  look  for  evidence 
and  to  demand  it  and  to  be  governed  by  it.  He  holds  that  there  is 
demonstrative  evidence  in  support  of  the  principle  of  evolution  as 
explaining  nature  and  man.  He  looks  back,  and  sees  everything 
growing  out  of  its  antecedents.  TV  hen  he  can  see  antecedents  no 
longer  behind  the  molecules  of  the  cosmic  nebula,  what  he  has  to 
say  is  simply  that  he  does  not  see  them;  he  afiSrms  nothing  and 
accepts  no  affirmation  about  what  is  beyond  his  intellectual  vision. 
He  recognizes  the  method  of  evolution  in  man  as  well  as  in  the  in- 
ferior animals  and  in  the  inanimate  world ;  in  the  mind  and  thoughts 
of  man  as  well  as  in  his  body.  He  admits  the  mysteriousness  of 
human  nature,  and,  as  he  cannot  trace  thought  and  matter  to  their 
junction,  he  professes  himself  an  agnostic  with  reference  to  the 
questions  which  divide  the  spiritualist  and  the  materialist.  But  he 
nnds  evolution  to  be  as  much  the  law  of  the  mental  world  as  of  the 
physical.  *  *  The  fundamental  proposition  of  evolution  is,  that  the 
whole  world,  living  and  not  livmg,  is  the  result  of  the  mutual  inter- 
action, according  to  definite  laws,  of  the  forces  possessed  by  the 
molecules  of  which  the  primitive  nebulosity  of  tne  universe  was 
composed."  Mr.  Huxley  regards  the  antecedent  causes,  within  the 
world  of  our  knowledge,  as  adequately  explaining  effects  within  the 
same  world ;  everything,  to  him,  is  what  it  is  on  account  of  the 
things  that  went  before  it,  and  it  could  not  be  otherwise  than  as  it 
is.  He  finds  no  reason  for  excepting  men's  states  of  consciousness 
from  this  general  order;  what  any  one  feels  at  any  moment  is  the 
result  of  his  o^anization  and  the  forces  brought  to  bear  upon  it. 
He  does  not  amrm  it  to  be  impossible  that  an  unseen  Being  should 
— say  in  answer  to  human  prayer — interfere  with  the  course  of  na- 
ture; but  he  finds  no  necessity  for  resorting  to  such  an  explanation 
of  anything  which  has  actually  occurred.  So  far  as  he  can  see, 
things  have  always  gone  as  it  was  inevitable  that  they  should  go. 
Morality,  like  everything  else,  has  grown  out  of  the  interaction  of 
the  primary  forces.  The  interest  or  the  desire  of  the  strongest  has 
prevailed.  Experience  soon  taught  men  that  union  creates  strength, 
and  they  were  thus  induced  to  join  themselves  together;  and  the 
united  group,  stronger  than  the  strongest  single  person,  has  been 
able  to  impose  its  common  interest  upon  the  action  of  individuals. 
In  this  way  the  social  instincts  have  been  cultivated,  and  considera- 
tion for  others  has  been  bred  as  a  persistent  element  in  human  nature. 
What  a  man  feels  and  what  he  does,  at  any  moment,  are  the  results 
of  his  inherited  nature  and  the  forces  from  without  that  have  acted 
upon  it.  He  could  not  do  otherwise  than  as  he  does,  or  feel  other- 
wise than  as  he  feels.    Man  is  an  automaton.    That  is  a  conclusion 


THE  HIQHEB  LIFE:  HOW  18  IT  TO  BB  SUSTAINED t  161 

nrhich  seems  to  Professor  Huxley,  as  a  scientific  observer,  to  be 
irredstible  and  incontrovertible. 

I  do  not  know  that  Professor  Huxley  has  allowed  the  argument 
to  lead  him  to  the  confident  assurance  as  to  the  future  which  Mr. 
Herbert  Spencer  entertains  and  expresses.  The  same  forces  which 
have  thus  far  socialized  mankind  must  necessarily,  in  Mr.  Spencer's 
view,  go  on  to  make  the  world  a  happier  and  a  better  one.  We 
may  trust  to  nature  for  that  result.  Any  one  who  understands  the 
working  of  the  natural  forces  will  see  that  no  other  result  is  possible. 

Let  us  suppose  these  to  be  ultimate  truths  concerning  man  and  his 
destiny,  brought  to  light  by  scientific  investigation  and  demonstrated 
by  scientific  evidence — ^the  propositions,  I  mean,  that  man  is  an 
automaton,  and  that  the  forces  which  act  within  him  and  upon  him 
can  only  work  together  for  good.  It  will  then  be  rational  for  us  all 
to  contemplate  these  truths,  and  to  adjast  ourselves  to  them.  Even 
in  so  speaking  we  seem  to  give  way  to  the  inveterate  d"3lusion  of 
supposmg  ourselves  to  have  a  choice  as  to  what  we  shall  do.  Ac- 
cording to  the  theory  of  naturalism,  we  shall  all  of  us — ^the  wisest 
and  the  most  foolish  alike,  the  Spencer  and  the  Darwin  as  well  as 
the  idiot  and  the  lunatic — ^f eel  and  judge  and  act  precisely  as  the 
primary  molecular  forces  originally  determined  that  we  should.  I 
observe  that  so-called  "determinists"  are  accustomed  to  say,  in  self- 
defence,  *  *  Of  course  we  shall  speak  as  our  fellow-men  do.  We  are 
not  going  to  let  our  determinism  reduce  us  to  silence  and  inaction. 
If  you  theologians  taunt  us  with  being  by  our  own  account  nothing 
more  than  automata  addressing  other  automata,  we  can  meet  you 
with  an  argumentum  ad  hominem;  your  own  idea  of  a  God  implies 
that  all  things  are  determined  beforehand  by  his  wiU."  It  is  true 
that  we  theists  are  in  this  difflcultv.  But  our  agnostic  opponents 
are  persons  who  make  it  their  profession  to  be  guided  and  governed 
by  science,  and  it  is  a  boast  made  on  behalf  of  science  that  its  truths 
never  conflict  with  one  another.  Mr.  Cotter  Morison,  who  professes 
to  be,  as  an  agnostic  and  determinist,  a  devotee  of  science,  writes  as 
f oUows : — 

"  Not  less  marked  in  another  respect  is  the  difference  between  the  truths  derived 
from  religion  and  the  truths  derived  from  science.  The  truths  of  science  are  found  to 
be  in  complete  harmony  with  one  another.  Where  this  harmony  is  wanting,  it  is  at 
once  felt  that  error  has  crept  in  unawares.  We  never  give  a  thought  to  the  satemative 
hypothesis,  that  tniths  in  different  sciences  or  departments  of  knowledge  may  be 
inconsistent  and  mutually  hostile,  and  yet  remain  truths.  On  the  contrary,  we  find 
that  the  discovery  of  new  truth  has  invariably  among  its  results  the  additional  effect 
of  corroborating  other  and  older  truths,  inst^  of  conflicting  with  them." 

Mr.  Morison,  as  I  said,  professes  to  be  a  determinist.  * '  The  doc- 
trine of  determinism,"  he  says,  "is  now  so  generally  accepted,  that 
it  will  not  be  needful  to  dwell  upon  it  at  any  length  here."     He 


IM  TEE  LIBRAMT  MACfAZINS. 

puts,  however,  a  strangely  superficial  and,  as  I  should  have  thought, 
unscientific  interpretation  upon  determinism.  He  seems  to  take  it 
as  meaning  nothing  more  than  that  human  nature  inherits  much  and 
is  capable  of  being  modified  by  training  for  better  and  for  worse: — 

"  It  will  perhaps  be  said  that  this  view  does  away  with  moral  responsibility ;  that 
those  who  hold  it  cannot  consistently  blame  any  crime  or  resent  any  mjury ;  tnat  we 
should  not  on  this  hypothesis  reproach  a  garrotter  who  half  murders  as ;  he  is  a 
machine,  not  a  man  with  free  will,  capable  of  doing  and  forbearing  according  to  the 
moral  law.  To  which  the  answer  is,  that  the  sooner  the  idea  of  moral  responi^ility  is 
got  rid  of,  the  better  it  will  be  for  society  and  moral  education.  The  sooner  it  is  per- 
ceiyed  that  bad  men  will  be  bad,  do  what  we  will,  though,  of  course,  they  may  be 
made  less  bad,  the  sooner  shall  we  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  welfare  of  society 
demands  the  suppression  or  elimination  of  bad  men,  and  the  careful  cultiyation  of  the 
good  only  " 

"Though,  of  course,  they  may  be  made  less  bad!"  May,  or  may 
not,  according  to  the  virtue  and  effort  of  those  who  choose  to  make 
them  less  bad  or  to  let  them  alone  1  Why,  Mr.  Monson  talks  as  if  he 
and  the  philosophers  and  educators  stood  outside  the  course  of  natura 
and  were  not  subject  to  the  law  of  necessary  evolution,  while  the 
rest  of  mankind  form  a  part  of  nature;  as  ii  mankind  in  general 
were  the  field,  and  the  few  who  understand  science  were  the  culti- 
vator, who  may  do  as  he  pleases  about  cultivating  the  field.  No 
wonder  that,  aiter  abolishing  moral  responsibility  as  an  unscientific 
absurdity,  and  therefore  with  it  both  merit  and  blame,  he  goes  on, 
in  the  same  paragraph,  to  use  language  which  is  nonsensic^  unless 
it  impUes  it.  "The  soldier  who  deserts  in  presence  of  the  enemy  is 
deservedly  shot.  In  civil  life  there  are  forms  of  criminality  which 
are  worse^  than  desertions;  they  are  open  hostilities  to  the  best  in- 
terests of  humanity."  And  he  goes  on  to  discuss  the  nature  of 
duty,  which  he  justly  interprets  as  what  is  owed.  "The  sense  of 
duty,"  he  says,  is  the  recognition  of  claims;  and  the  altruistic  man 
is  one  who  is  prompt  in  acknowledging  claims."  But  what  is  this 
but  a  sense  of  "moral  responsibility,"  which  has  just  been  repudi- 
ated  as  unscientific?  Ana  who  or  what  can  have  "claims"  on  as,  if 
we  are  merely  products  of  a  necessary  evolution?  Duty  and  claims 
are,  on  that  hypothesis,  quite  as  unmeaning  as  moral  responsibility. 
Is  not  this  doctnne  of  determinism,  if  it  be  held  with  the  rigor 
which  alone  is  scientific,  absolutely  Irreconcilable  with  the  universal 
and  persistent  conditions  of  human  life?  Can  any  one  man  live  for 
a  day,  for  an  hour,  upon  the  assumption  that  he  and  other  men  are 
automatic  machines?  But,  **of  course"  fas  Mr.  Monson  says),  when 
the  devotees  of  science  come  to  deal  witn  moral  questions,  tney  put 
their  determinism  on  the  shelf,  and  talk  like  their  neighbors,  prais- 
ing, blaming,  exhorting,  warning,  measuring  out  just  rewards  and 
just  punishments,  as  if  men  were  not  automata  but  could  go  this 
way  or  that. 


THE  EHQHER  LIFE:  MOW  IS  IT  TO  BE  STTSTAlNEBf  165 

Let  us  suppose,  then,  that  we  are  disciples  of  Mr.  Herbert  Spencer, 
speaking,  because  we  cannot  help  it.  as  rf  we  had  some  kind  of  free- 
dom of  action,  but  bending  our  minds  upon  the  action  of  the  forces 
inherent  in  humanity  wmch  have  gradually  and  necessarily  im- 
proved mankind,  and  which  cannot  possibly  fail  to  brin^  about  a 
perfect  society.  It  is  through  the  contemplation  of  these  ferces  that 
our  morality  will  be  formed  and  nourished.  Mr.  Spencer  gives  a 
reasonable  account  of  what  it  will  be.  It  will  be  a  nicely  adjusted 
combination  of  care  for  ourselves  and  consideration  for  others.  We 
shall  make  it  our  aim  to  be  at  ease  and  agreeable.  We  shall  cherish 
our  bodily  health,  not  only  for  the  .most  obvious  reason,  but  also 
because  those  who  are  in  good  health  are  in  good  spirits,  and  those 
who  are  in  good  spirits  can  make  themselves  agreeable  to  their 
neighbors,  and  their  neighbors  will  in  return  make  themselves 
agreeable  to  them.  So,  with  the  innocent  illusion  that  we  are  by 
our  own  endeavors  doing  something  which  miffht  have  been  left 
undone  to  forward  it,  we  shall  be  consciously  jrielding  to  the  move- 
ment which  carries  us  on  to  the  paradise  of  universal  ease.  That  is 
the  morality,  I  think,  which  conforms  itself  as  closely  as  human 
nature  wiU  allow  to  the  conclusions  of  natural  science. 

Mr.  Spencer  himself  follows  his  argument  with  a  more  doctrinaire 
fidelity  than  seems  possible  to  others  of  .his  school.  Mr.  Cotter 
Morison,  who  seems  to  have  little  taste  for  scientific  consistency, 
calls  out  loudly  for  rigorous  methods  of  suppression,  without  which 
he  sees  our  modem  society  threatened  with  ruin.  *  *  The  welfare  of 
society  demands  the  suppression  or  elimination  of  bad  men. "  '  *  What 
shall  be  done  with  those  who  cannot  learn  belongs  to  another  branch 
of  inquiry,  and  concerns  politics  rather  than  morals. "  "  Society  has 
a  right  to  suppress  the  bad  man  in  some  effectual  way,  and,  above 
all,  prevent  his  leaving  a  posterity  as  wicked  as  himself. ''  It  would 
be  iuterestinff  to  learn  what  practical  measures  Mr.  Morison  would 
recommend  for  the  caiTyinff  out  of  his  views — how  he  would  have 
"the  bad"  first  discriminated  and  ticketed,  and  then,  if  not  put  to 
death  or  mutilated,  restricted  to  the  company  of  their  own  sex. 
On  the  other  hand  Mr.  Morison  ffives  high  praise  to  saintly  enthusi- 
asms which  Mr.  Spencer  would  condemn  as  irrational  and  mis- 
chievous, and  devotes  several  paffes  to  the  glorification  of  Sister 
Affnes  Jones,  Mother  Margaret  Hallahan,  and  Sister  Dora  Pattison. 
*  *  Such  flowers  of  exquisite  perfume  and  beauty,  ^rown  in  the  garden 
of  the  soul,  still  arrest  the  attention  of  a  rationalistic  age. ' '  And  he 
has  a  notion  that  flowers  like  these  may  be  "cultivated"  by  the 
approbation  of  society.  His  concluding  words  are,  "An  ideal  society 
would  be  one  in  which  an  ideal  education  habitually  stimulated  and 
inflamed  the  ^ood  passions,  while  it  starved  and  discouraged  the 
bad."    The  jmilosopher  Hume  was  a  more  consistent  advocate  of 


166  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

the  comfortable  virtue  of  which  Mr.  Spencer  proclaims  the  certain 
triumph : — 

*  *  W  hat  philosophical  truths  can  be  more  advantageous  to  society 
than  these  here  delivered,  wliich  represent  virtue  in  aU  her  genuine 
and  most  engaging  charms;  and  make  us  approach  her  with  ease, 
familiarity,  and  affection?  The  dismal  dress  falls  off,  with  which 
many  divines  and  some  philosophers  have  covered  her,  and  nothing 
appears  but  gentleness,  humanity,  beneficence,  affability — nay,  even 
at  proper  intervals,  play,  froUc,  and  gayety.  She  talks  not  of  use 
less  austerities  and  rigors,  suffering  and  self-denial.  She  declares 
that  hfdv  sole  purpose  is  to  make  her  votaries,  and  all  mankind, 
during  every  period  of  their  existence,  if  possible,  cheerful  and 

happy The  sole  trouble  which  she  demands  is  that  of  Just 

caTculation  and  a  steady  preference  of  the  greater  happiness." — Hux* 
ley's  Hume, 

But  Mr.  Huxley  has  too  vivid  a  perception  of  the  conditions  of 
human  life  to  be  taken  captive  by  this  picture;  he  has  too  much — 
may  we  not  say? — of  the  Christian  in  him  to  contemplate  it  with 
much  pleasure.  The  jpassage  calls  up  to  his  mind  the  pilgrims  who 
toil  pamfi^lly,  not  without  many  a  stumble  and  many  a  cruise,  along 
the  rough  and  steep  roads  whicn  lead  to  the  higher  life ;  * '  the  hour 
of  temptation  in  wnich  the  question  will  crop  up  whether,  as  some- 
thing has  to  be  sacrificed,  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  not  worth  two  in 
the  bush;"  the  image  of  virtue  as  '*an  awful  goddess,  whose  min- 
isters are  the  furies,  and  whose  highest  reward  is  peace."  His  own 
final  deliverance  about  morality  is  a  singular  one  for  this  rigorous 
and  exacting  preacher  of  a  scientific  rationalism: 

"In  whichever  way  we  look  at  the  matter,  morality  is  based  on 
feeling,  not  on  reason.  .  .  .As  there  are  Pascals  and  Mozarts, 
Newtons  and  Eaffaelles,  in  whom  the  innate  faculty  for  science  or 
art  seems  to  need  but  a  touch  to  spring  into  full  vigor,  and  through 
whom  the  human  race  obtains  new  possibilities  of  knowledge  and 
new  conceptions  of  beauty :  so  there  have  been  men  of  moral  genius 
to  whom  we  owe  ideals  of  duty  and  visions  of  moral  perfection, 
which  ordinary  mankind  could  never  have  attained.  "-^/Jirf. 

Mr.  Huxley  would  hardly,  with  Mr.  Morison,  regard  these  ex- 
ceptional apprehensions  of  moral  beauty  as  products  which  ordinary 
mankind  may  hope  to  raise  by  assiduous  cultivation;  but  he  seems 
to  deny  himself,  as  Mr.  Morison  does,  the  right  of  blaming  treachery 
and  foulness  and  cruelty  more  than  he  womd  blame  the  want  of  an 
ear  for  music  or  of  an  eye  for  form. 

On  the  whole,  how  is  the  scientific  view  of  things  related  to  those 
dispositions  which  I  have  enumerated,  or  what  we  may  call  the 
higher  life  in  general?  The  following  are  effects  whidt  seem  at- 
tributable to  it.    It  assures  men  that  they  will  add  to  their  happinan 


THE  HIGHER  LIFE:  HOW  tS  IT  TO  SE  StTSTAiNEDf  167 

by  considering  the  feelings  of  others,  and  in  that  way  promotes 
••altruism."  It  trains  men  in  the  habit  of  trying  to  understand 
things  as  they  are  and  to  represent  them  as  tney  are,  and  is  thus 
favorable  to  truthfulness.  It  brings  men  face  to  face  with  inviolable 
laws,  to  which  every  man  must  adjust  himself;  and  it  thus  deepens 
and  strengthens  the  sense  of  order.  It  brings  them  face  to  face 
also  with  the  Unknowable,  and  contributes  to  form  such  religion  as 
the  Unknowable  can  inspire,  that  is,  chiefly,  a  sentiment  of  awe  and 
a  sense  of  inadequacy.  It  seems  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  rever- 
ence, seltreproaoh.  self-respect,  self-devotion,  hope,  aspiration,  or 
with  the  higner  flights  of  love  and  joy.  It  offers  no  explanation  of 
duty,  unless  by  suggesting  that  it  is  a  disguise  of  compulsion  or  in- 
terest. What  it  has  professed  is  that  it  can  let  these  sentiments 
alone,  leaving  them  outside  the  sphere  of  knowledge  and  reason,  to 
assert  their  existence  as  they  may,  and  to  be  cherished  by  those  who 
like  them. 

Mr.  Cotter  Morison  frankly  admits  that  *'a  belief  in  the  Un- 
knowable kindles  no  enthusiasm."  ''Science,"  he  says,  '*wins  a 
verdict  in  its  favor  before  any  competent  intellectual  tribunal,  but 
numbers  of  men,  and  the  vast  majority  of  women,  ignore  the  finding 
of  the  jury  of  experts.  They  cUng  passionately  to  the  beUef  in  the 
supernatural.  .  .  .  Above  sdl,  they  will  believe,  in  spite  of  science 
and  the  laws  of  their  own  consciousness,  in  a  good  God  who  loves 
them  and  cares  for  them."  Mr.  Darwin,  with  his  perfect  simplicity, 
records,  in  his  autobiography,  how  the  more  exalted  feelings  wither 
under  the  influence  of  agnosticism.  "In  my  journal  I  wrote  that, 
while  standing  in  the  midst  of  the  grandeur  of  a  Brazilian  forest, 
'  It  is  not  possible  to  give  an  adequate  idea  of  the  higher  f eeUn^  of 
wonder,  admiration,  and  devotion  which  fill  and  elevate  the  mmd. ' 
I  well  remember  my  conviction  that  there  is  more  in  man  than  the 
mere  breath  of  his  body.  But  now  the  grandest  scenes  would  not 
cause  any  such  convictions  and  feelings  to  reach  my  mind."  In 
contrast  with  this  action  of  scientific  agnosticism  on  the  higher  na% 
ture,  it  may  be  shown  that  the  Christian  theory  accounts  for  duty, 
calls  out  trust  and  worship  and  devotion,  feeds  a  self-respect  which 
involves  shame  and  repentance,  animates  to  the  most  beneficial 
exertion,  justifies  love,  joy,  self-renouncement,  enthusiaem.  These 
sentiments,  we  say,  are  the  best  and  highest  part  of  human  nature, 
and  have  more  right  to  rule  our  minds  than  the  conclusions  of  sci- 
ence and  logic. 

Is  that  so,  or  not  ?  Let  it  be  assumed  that  there  is  a  rivalry,  at 
least,  if  not  an  absolute  antagonism,  between  science  and  what,  to 
use  a  single  word,  we  may  call  the  soul.  Which  of  the  two  au- 
thorities has  the  primary  claim  on  our  loyalty  ?  We  might  be  glad 
if  we  could  say  that  we  can  pay  equal  deference  to  both.    I  do  not 


168  THE  LIBRARY  MAQAZINM. 

think  we  can.  But  in  any  case  that  question  may  oe  a&ked ;  and  it 
is  evident  that  the  agnostics  take  for  granted  that  it  is  science  that 
has  the  primary  claim.  And  their  science,  as  we  have  seen,  knows 
nothing  of  the  convictions  and  sentiments  of  the  higher  life.  What 
it  knows  is  evolution,  transformation  of  energy,  order  of  nature, 
determinism.  I  say  their  science;  they  themselves,  for  the  most 
part,  profess  admiration  of  these  affections.  They  will  regard  them 
as  beautiful  things  which  they  do  not  understand.  They  will  even 
set  to  work  to  cultivate  them  by  encouragement  We  Christians 
welcome  such  personal  acknowledgments  as  in  all  respects  a  valua- 
ble tribute;  but,  beinff  confronted  with  the  science  of  the  agnostics, 
we  deny  its  -primary  daim  on  our  loyalty,  and  we  hold  that  we  are 
bound  to  place  the  soul,  for  the  purposes  of  allegiance  and  surrender, 
above  the  scientific  faculty.  The  most  important  question  put  to 
men  has  always  been  whether  they  would  follow  tne  light  from 
heaven.  For  the  intelligent  part  of  this  generation  the  question 
appears  to  have  taken  this  form,  Which  of  the  two  will  you  follow, 
science  or  the  soul?  Science,  which  looks  backward  and  downward, 
or  the  soul,  which  looks  upward  and  forward?  Science,  which  in- 
vestigates phenomena,  ana  takes  things  to  pieces  to  see  how  they 
have  grown ;  or  the  soul,  which  drinks  in  spiritual  life,  and  so  gains 
power  to  create  poetry  and  art  and  the  social  affections  and  religion  ? 

The  Christianity  of  the  New  Testament  appealed,  in  the  most 
emphatic  and  almost  exclusive  manner,  to  the  spiritual  consciousness 
in  men.  I  admit  that  historic  Christianity  has  been  very  far  from 
contenting  itself  with  this  appeal.  It  has  sought  to  impose  its  creed 
upon  men's  minds  instead  of  offering  it  to  them  as  an  awakening 
and  inspiring  Gospel.  It  has  presented  a  Church,  a  Book,  mirax^les, 
to  coerce  them  into  accepting  its  doctrines,  instead  of  conveying  a 
voice  from  heaven  to  their  souls,  and  trusting  to  the  self-commendmg 
power  of  that  voice.  Those  whose  object  it  is  to  overthrow  ana 
extirpate  the  religion  of  Christendom  will  bring  against  it  all  that 
thev  can  find  to  its  disadvantage.  Those,  on  the  other  hand,  who 
undertake  to  defend  the  traditional  Christianity  against  attack  are 
in  some  degree  responsible  for  evoking  unpleasant  assaults  like  that 
of  Mr.  Cotter  Monson,  and  will  meet  them  as  best  thev  can.  What 
I  desire  to  do  in  this  paper  is  to  claim  attention  for  what  is  primary 
and  essential  in  Christianity,  as  compared  with  what  rival  systems 
have  to  offer,  and  to  follow  the  order  which  Christians  are  bound  to 
regard  as  having  the  highest  sanction.  If  we  are  to  judge  by  the 
methods  set  before  us  in  the  New  Testament,  it  belongs  to  Chris- 
tianity to  assume  spiritual  needs,  to  appeal  to  the  spiritud  conscious- 
ness, and  to  seek  confirmation  in  spiritual  evidence. 

I  hope  to  avoid  sermonizing;  but  I  must  briefly  remind  my  read- 
ers of  what  is  patent  in  the  Gospels,  and  what  will  scarcely  be 


THE  HIGHER  LIFE:  HOW  tS  IT  TO  BE  SUSTAINED f  169 

questioned  by  any  reasonable  freedom  of  criticism.  Christ  came 
proclaiming  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven ;  he  did  this  with  authority  in 
the  Fathers  name ;  nis  chief  pretension  was  to  forgive  sins.  It  was 
not  his  plan  to  announce  himself  as  a  supernatural  being,  and  to 
perform  miracles  as  his  credentials;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  deeply 
displeased  by  the  demand  for  miracles,  and  repelled  the  support 
which  men  were  ready  to  give  to  a  miracle- worker.  But  from  the 
beginning  to  the  end  he  assumed  authority  as  having  come  from  the 
Father;  ne  taught,  and  gave  commands,  and  organized  his  followers 
and  made  plans  for  the  future,  as  one  having  authority.  The  ad- 
herents he  desired,  and  whom  alone  he  expected  to  win,  were  those 
who  were  childlike,  and  ready  to  believe  in  a  heavenly  Father.  To 
them  he  offered  pardon,  guidance,  grace,  and  help  of  all  kinds.  The 
Galileans  whom  he  selected  and  appointed  as  his  envoys,  were 
simple,  trustful  men,  Avho  believed  m  him  because  they  could  not 
douDt  his  assurance.  And  when  these  envoys  went  fortn  after  his 
death  to  proclaim  him  as  Lord,  they  still  made  the  same  remarkable 
offer — that  of  forgiveness  and  reconciliation  to  the  Father.  He  was 
exalted,  they  said,  to  give  repentance  to  Israel  and  remission  of  sins. 
The  word  committed  to  them  was  *  *  God  forgives  mankind,  be  ye 
reconciled  to  God."  And  St. Paul,  the  chief  founder  of  the  Church, 
was  accustomed  to  protest  that  he  stood  on  the  self -commending 
power  of  this  message,  which  was  as  light  to  those  of  his  hearers 
who  had  eyes  to  see. 

So  far,  then,  as  the  Christianity  of  to-day  is  true  to  its  origin, 
that  is  what  it  must  primarily  be  saying  to  this  generation.  It  can- 
not abandon  the  office  of  reporting  a  voice  from  heaven,  without 
renouncing  the  proclamation  and  the  power  which  brought  Christen- 
dom into  existence.  It  still  offers  forgiveness  of  sins  in  the  name  of 
Christ  and  of  the  Father;  it  is  still  careless  of  arguments  and  arts 
to  win  the  support  of  those  to  whom  reconciliation  to  God  is  un- 
meaning or  unattractive.  That  offer,  I  say,  is  both  the  beginning 
and  the  heart  of  Christianity:  it  made  the  first  Christians,  and  no 
man  ever  became  a  Christian  such  as  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  would 
have  acknowledged  as  a  fellow-believer,  who  did  not  accept  it.  It 
is  futile,  I  would  urge,  to  enter  into  controversy  about  the  Trinity, 
or  miracles,  or  the  efficacy  of  prayer,  or  the  relation  of  science  to 
religion,  with  those  to  whom  tnere  is  no  Father  in  heaven,  and  to 
Avhora  Christ  is  a  well-meaning  enthusiast.  And  schemes  of  Chris- 
tianity which  leave  out  what  it  mainly  was  in  the  first  century, 
representing  it  as  a  form  which  was  taken,  in  accordance  with  the 
laws  of  thought  of  the  period,  by  exceptionally  pure  and  fervid 
aspirations  after  moral  excellence,  though  they  may  seek  to  enable 
men  who  cannot  believe  in  a  genuine  voice  from  heaven  to  acquiesce 
in  the  name  of  Christians,  do  not  differ  in  kind  from  the  ethics  of 


170  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

an  agnostic.  The^r  obviously  retain  no  power  to  call  out  and  sustain 
those  qualities  which  I  have  spoken  oi  as  constituting  by  general 
admission  the  higher  hfe  of  men. 

The  primary  question  at  issue,  I  repeat,  is  whether  the  authority 
which  Christ  clauned  was  real  or  imaginary.  That  he  professed  to 
have  a  commission  from  the  Father  to  introduce  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  and  to  draw  men  into  it,  that  he  invited  his  hearers  to  come 
to  him  that  he  might  give  them  rest,  and  that  he  assured  men  of 
the  forgiveness  of  their  sins,  I  assume  to  be  a  matter  of  history. 
I  know  how  much  there  is  to  be  said  about  the  natural  impulse 
which  prompted  men  in  the  old  times  who  were  bent  on  improving 
their  fellows  to.  claim  a  direct  commission  from  heaven,  and  I  can 
quite  understand  how  easy  it  is  to  speak  of  Gautama  Buddha  and 
Jesus  and  Mohammed  as  similarly  remarkable  persons.  Unbelievers 
pronounce  with  confidence  that  the  authority  was  imaginary.  I 
wish  to  fix  attention  upon  the  opposite  belief,  that  the  autliority 
was  real,  as  being  the  primary  ana  life-giving  afltonation  of  Chris- 
tianity. 

Agnostics  will  smile  at  the  simplicity  of  those  who  can  imagine 
that  the  power  giving  existence  to  this  universe  can  have  anything 
special  to  do  with  the  poor  human  creatures  dwelling  on  this  speck 
of  a  globe.  "The  miraculous,"  it  may  be  said,  "is  the  old  stum- 
bling-block ;  and  w^hat  can  be  so  great  a  miracle  as  a  man  charged 
with  a  communication  from  the  incomprehensible  Creative  Power 
to  this  human  race?  Can  it  be  supposed  that  the  appearing  of  such 
a  man  is  to  be  accounted  for  by  the  evolution  which,  according  to 
science,  explains  everything?'*  Let  it  be  frankly  admitted  that  a 
strain  hardly  to  be  borne  is  put  upon  our  spiritual  faith  by  this  initial 
Christian  acknowledgment.  We  must  be  able  to  say  to  ourselves 
with  a  resolution  not  to  be  shaken  by  infinities  of  space  or  time  or 
quantity,  * '  Though  worlds  on  worlds  in  myriad  myriads  roll,  What 
know  we  greater  than  the  soul?"  But  if  we  bring  ourselves  to  pay 
such  deference  to  the  soul  and  its  demands  and  confessions  and  in- 
terests, as  to  refuse  to  surrender  the  belief  that  a  God  speaks  to  us 
from  heaven,  the  greater  and  more  incredible  this  wonder,  the  more 
reasonable  is  it  that  we  should  face  without  quailing  any  difficulties 
which  it  involves,  and  accept  any  conclusions  to  which  it  irresistibly 
leads.  The  agnostic  position  may  claim  to  relieve  us  of  many  per- 
plexities; if  it  did  not  involve  tne  sacrifice  of  all  that  is  best  and 
most  indispensable  in  life,  it  would  be  the  simplest  of  creeds  to 
adopt.  But  one  who  believes  Jesus  Christ  to  have  been  charged 
with  a  commission  from  hea^fen  will  not  think  it  incredible — can 
hardly  regard  it  as  improbable — ^that  a  person  so  exceptional  should 
go  through  exceptional  experiences  and  do  exceptional  acts.  If 
we  are  to  believe  that  the  man  Jesus  of  Nazareth  had  a  special  com- 


THE  mGHER  LIFE:  HOW  18  IT  TO  BE  8V8TAINEDf  171 

mission  to  reveal  the  heavenly  Father,  we  are  admitting  what  every 
a^ostic  would  repudiate  as  a  stupendous  miracle,  and  1  cannot  im- 
agine that  if  an  agnostic  were  persuaded  to  believe  this,  he  would 
obstinately  stumble  at  smaller  miracles  as  incredible. 

The  belief  that  Christ  was  authorized  to  open  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven  and  to  declare  the  forgiveness  of  sins  will,  it  is  obvious, 
carry  many  presumptions  with  it.  It  would  not  be  strange  if  it 
should  hurry  believers  into  a  positiveness  of  statement  on  many 
points  which  might  need  to  be  afterward  modified.  So  it  has  been 
seen  that  students  of  science,  when  they  were  under  the  first  im- 
pressions made  on  their  minds  by  the  regularitv  of  the  order  of  na- 
ture, hurriedly  affirmed  that  any  variation  of  the  general  order  was 
impossible;  and  that  now  the  protagonist  of  science  modifies  that 
affirmation  into  the  statement  that  any  event  for  which  the  recog- 
nized laws  of  nature  cannot  account  is  so  improbable  as  to  require 
exceptional  proof  of  its  occurrence. 

It  was  inevitable  that  those  who  were  induced  by  Christ's  envovs 
to  believe  in  him  as  having  come  from  the  Father  and  eone  to  the 
Father,  should  reeard  with  reverence  the  institutions  and  the  society 
which  he  foundea.  The  apostles  reported  that  he  had  spoken  mucn 
of  a  Spirit  or  Breath  of  Goa,  best  to  oe  understood  through  thinking 
of  the  air  which  moves  around  the  earth  and  men;  and  that  he  had 
promised  that  those  who  should  form  a  society  looking  up  to  him 
and  bound  together  by  their  allegiance  to  him  should  have  this  Spirit 
given  to  them  as  the  power  of  their  common  life.  This  promise 
seemed  to  the  first  Christians  to  have  been  fulfilled.  The  Church 
of  Christ  came  into  existence,  an  imperfect  and  growing  realization 
of  a  living  ideal;  having  for  its  chiei  institutions  a  washing  of  for- 
giveness and  adoption,  and  a  common  partaking  of  bread  and  wine 
as  representing  the  person  of  the  Lord.  This  society  has  come  down 
to  our  own  day,  but  in  a  most  broken  and  divided  condition ;  and 
the  nature  of  it  has  been  very  much  confused  by  claims  made  on 
behalf  of  the  whole  body  and  of  particular  sections  of  it.  The  au- 
thoritative view  of  the  Church  appears  to  be  that  it  is  an  ideal  sys- 
tem, having  its  truest  existence  m  the  living  divine  purpose,  and 
realizing  it^lf  in  features  and  fragments  which  yet  ask  to  oe  united 
in  the  wondrous  whole"  of  a  perfected  humanity.  But  the  believers 
in  Christ  also  looked  back  from  him ;  and  the  history  of  the  Jews 
was  seen  culminating  in  their  Messiah,  and  the  "old  covenant"  re- 
ceived a  glory  from  nim  to  whom  it  led  up.  When  they  came  into 
contact  with  the  external  worid,  the  acknowledgment  of  a  Son  of 
Man  as  revealing  the  Father  seemed  to  them  to  throw  light  on  aJl 
the  goodness  and  all  the  hopes  of  the  heathen  nations.  ''Of  a 
truth  I  perceive,"  said  the  Apostle  of  the  Jews,  "that  God  is  no  re- 
specter of  persons," — ^that  is,  of  nationality  or  professed  creed — ^"bot 


m  TEE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

in  every  nation  he  that  feareth  him  and  worketh  righteousness  is 
acceptable  to  him.  The  Apostle  of  the  Gentiles  proclaimed  every- 
where that  the  God  whom  ne  preached  was  the  God  of  mankind, 
who  had  been  revealing  himself  in  less  complete  ways  to  all  nations. 
We  follow  the  original  Christian  teaching,  when  we  recognize  most 
reverently  all  that  is  true  and  good  in  the  beUefs  and  practices  of 
non -Christians,  as  having  the  same  origin  with  the  revelation  given 
in  Christ. 

It  was  equally  inevitable  that  they  should  contemplate  Christ 
himself  with  a  peculiar  reverence,  and  should  wonder  at  his  nature. 
They  would  naturally  recall  with  especial  interest  what  Christ  had 
said  about  himself,  it  was  evident  that  he  had  been  slow  to  put 
forward  definite  pretensions;  he  did  not  even  announce  himself  as 
the  Messiah,  but  contented  himself  at  first  with  proclaiming  the 
Kinffdom  of  Heaven,  and  speaking  with  authority  in  the  name  of 
the  neavenly  Father.  But  his  way  of  speaking  of  "my  Father" 
impUed  that  he  was  the  Son  of  God;  and  nis  disciples  came  by  de- 
grees to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  Messiah.  All  that  they  saw 
of  him  helped  them  to  beUeve  that  he  was  of  a  perfection  above 
their  imagmations.  They  called  him  the  Messiah,  the  Son  of  God; 
and  when  they  found  themselves  constrained  to  believe  that  he  had 
risen  from  the  dead  they  saw,  in  this  triumph  over  death,  their  faith 
confirmed  and  enlarged.  His  divine  nature  grew  as  they  contem- 
plated him ;  and  visions  of  what  he  must  have  been  to  the  Jewish 
fathers,  and  to  the  creation,  and  of  what  be  was  to  the  spiritual  life 
of  every  man  and  to  that  of  the  whole  Church,  gradually  steadied 
themselves  into  positive  assurance,  and  took  shape  in  words  which 
endeavored  to  express  those  relations.  It  was  a  matter  of  course 
that  the  Christians  should  worship  their  Lord  as  a  God,  but  they 
seem  to  have  escaped  for  some  time  being  troubled  with  the  problem 
of  his  relation  to  the  One  God.  But  the  problem  could  not  fail  to 
demand  solution ;  and  such  solution  as  they  could  arrive  at  came 
through  the  name  of  the  Son.  The  union  between  the  perfect  Son 
and  tne  supreme  Father  seemed  to  them  to  be  so  close  as  not  to 
break  or  infringe  upon  the  unity  of  God. 

Christ  was  preached  at  first  without  the  help  of  books,  just  as  he 
might  now  be  preached  to  a  heathen  race  by  a  missionary  who  had 
left  his  Bible  behind  him.  But  in  the  course  of  time  the  oral  state- 
ments of  the  companions  and  witnesses  of  Jesus  began  to  be  written 
down;  and  letters  of  instruction  were  written  by  apostles,  which 
were  treasured  up  by  those  who  received  them.  The  documents 
which  were  most  valued  by  Christians  came  together,  apparently, 
by  some  natural  process  of  selection  and  collection.  A  concealing 
cloud  rests  upon  the  history  of  the  early  Churdi  for  a  sing;ularly 
important  period  of  some  three-quarters  of  a  century;  ana  when 


THE  mGEER  LIFE:  HOW  18  IT  TO  BE  SUSTAINED?  178 

that  is  lifted  the  volume  of  the  ''New  Covenant'^  is  seen  already 
existing  and  closed  against  additions.  When  we  look  at  it  we  can- 
not wonder  at  the  authority  it  acquired.  To  those  who  are  wor- 
shipping Jesus  Christ,  and  finding  him  to  be  the  way  to  the  Father, 
this  volume  offers  itself  as  containing  all  that  can  be  known  about 
him,  and  all  that  can  be  known  about  the  early  years  and  original 
beliefs  of  the  society  which  owes  its  foundation  to  him.  It  cannot 
be  thought  surprising  that  the  reasonable  reverence  for  such  a  vol- 
ume should  have  degenerated  into  an  assertion  of  its  infallible  truth. 
All  spiritual  conceptions  which  have  become  popular  have  suffered 
some  kind  of  degradation  into  carnal  forms.  Criticism  has  shown 
that  the  New  Testament  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  mechanically 
accurate  book;  that  we  have  scarcely  any  solid  confirmation  from 
without  of  its  own  statements  as  to  authorship;  that  the  history  of 
which  it  is  a  record  is  curiously  separate  from  the  contemporary- 
history  of  which  we  possess  other  records.  Its  authority  depends 
primarily  upon  its  reception  by  the  Church,  but  much  more  sub- 
stantially upon  its  own  cnaracter.  To  those  who  see  nothing  super- 
natural m  Christ  it  will  be  full  of  problems  at  once  fascinatmg  and 
irritating;  while  those  who  believe  in  him  will  find  it  difficult  not 
to  read  it  as  true  from  beginning  to  end.  But  modern  Christians 
will  do  well  to  bear  in  mind  that,  while  the  Church  was  being 
founded  in  Asia  and  Greece  and  Italy,  and  throughout  the  period 
covered  by  the  New  Testament  itself,  the  Church  had  no  sacred 
book  of  its  own ;  and  that  the  apostles,  though  they  claimed  dis- 
ciplinary authority,  had  evidently  no  thought  of  claiming  infallibility 
for  any  utterances  of  theirs.  The  destruction  of  the  flieory  of  the 
infaUibihty  of  the  Bible  has  been  one  of  the  means  by  wnich  we 
have  been  prevented  from  resting  in  the  external  and  mechanical, 
and  driven  to  what  terrifies  us  at  first  as  the  intangibility  and  vague- 
ness of  the  Sphrit. 

And  what  as  to  the  future  of  mankind  and  of  individual  men  ? 

The  belief  in  Christ  could  not  fail  to  generate  expectations  of  its 

own.     We  learn  from  the  New  Testament  that  the  first  Christians 

had  their  thoughts  turned  steadily  with  keen  interest  toward  a  crisis 

which  was  to  occur  at  the  close  of  their  age.     This  is  the  feature  of 

the  New  Testament  which  creates,  perha^,  our  chief  difficulty  in 

"eading  it  as  we  do  for  our  instruction.     The  word  "crisis"  means 

judgment,  and  it  was  a  judgment  that  was  looked  for,  but  it  was 

.sailed  by  various  names :  it  was  a  day  of  the  Lord,  a  presence  or  an 

inveiling  of  the  Son  of  Man,  a  coming  of  Christ,  a  reconstitution  of 

Jl  things,  a  conclusion  of  the  ages.     For  the  Christians  of  the  New 

Testament  age,  this  manifestation  filled  the  horizon  of  their  hopes 

md  fears.     It  was  to  be  in  the  main  a  heavenly  event,  but  it  was  to 

'ave  its  earthly  effects  and  signs,  and  the  chief  among  these  w^as  to 


m  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

be  the  destruction  of  the  Holy  City  of  the  Old  Coyenant.  Those 
who  look  back  on  the  close  of  that  age  with  the  spiritual  insight  of 
Christian  faith  can  see  that  the  epoch  proved  itself  a  momentous 
one  in  the  divine  government  of  the  world,  and  that  it  was  not 
unfitly  described  by  the  prophetical  imageiy  under  which  it  was 
foretold.  But  the  anticipations  of  what  then  came  to  pass,  which 
have  so  lai^  a  record  m  the  New  Testament  writings,  have  not 
been  exactly  suited  to  the  spiritual  condition  of  those  who  have 
lived  in  the  subsequent  ages,  and  the  devout  use  of  the  Scriptural 
language  of  expectation  nas  given  birth  to  some  difficulties  of  belief. 
We  have  little  direct  ^dance  of  any  kind  in  forming  ideas  as  to 
what  will  happen  to  me  world  in  future  ages  or  to  human  beings 
when  they  die.  It  is  impossible  for  those  who  believe  that  Jesus 
Christ  revealed  the  Eternal  Father  to  look  forward  without  hope ;  it 
is  impossible  to  contemplate  Christ  as  risen  from  the  dead  without 
taJdng  for  granted  ^hat  there  is  a  future  life  for  men ;  it  is  impossi- 
ble, we  must  add,  to  think  of  the  Christ  of  the  Gospels  as  ruling  the 
world  without  associating  the  thought  of  judgment  and  punishment 
with  the  triumph  of  his  power.  But  it  is  left  to  the  faith  and  hope 
and  fear  of  the  believers  in  Christ  to  create  for  the  most  part  their 
own  imagery  of  what  the  world  of  the  future  and  the  life  beyond 
the  grave  will  be.  And  many  Christians  of  our  day  find  the  tradi- 
tional imagery  of  the  Church  failing  them,  as  not  suited  to  modern 
knowledge,  without  being  moved  by  a  common  imaginative  impulse 
vigorous  enough  to  clothe  the  spiritual  substance  of  their  expecta- 
tions in  acceptoble  forms. 

Most  important  of  all  the  inferences  which  must  in  the  nature  of 
things  be  drawn  from  the  acknowledgment  of  Christ's  mission,  are 
those  whici  bear  upon  the  spiritual  remtions  of  men  with  God.  No 
single  term  sums  up  more  aoequately  the  purpose  of  Christ's  coming 
than  that  which  declares  him  to  be  the  way  to  the  Father.  If  any- 
thing will  be  admitted  to  be  certain  as  to  the  purport  of  his  teacn- 
ing,  It  is  that  he  invited  men  to  trust  in  God  by  assuring  them  that 
he  was  a  Being  in  whom  they  mi^ht  reasouably  trust,  Qiat  he  en- 
couraged them  to  pray  to  him,  and  that  he  declared  the  will  of  the 
Father  to  be  the  ffround  and  rule  of  all  duty.  His  disciples  repeated 
this  teaching,  ana  reinforced  it  by  their  proclamation  of  their  Mas- 
ter as  a  Son  of  God  who  had  gone  down  into  human  death  and  been 
raised  to  the  Father's  riffht  hand.  The  old  agnostic  contention  that 
prayer  is  made  irrational  by  the  fixed  order  of  the  universe  has  been 
modified  by  Professor  Huxley  into  the  admission  that  prayer  may 
be  rational  if  there  is  a  Bein^  who  can  hear  it  and  who  cares  for 
those  who  oflfer  it,  together  with  a  challenge  to  believers  to  show 
that  prayer  has  in  any  instance  been  demonstrably  efficacious. 
Cluistians  may  be  preserved  from  giving  unwise  answers  to  this 


THE  HIGHEB  LIFE:  HOW  18  IT  TO  BE  SUSTAnfEDf  175 

challenge  by  remembering  two  principles  which  have  authority  to 
dominate  any  theory  of  prayer.  In  one  of  the  Prayer-book  Collects 
we  are  taught  to  address  God  thus:  ''Almighty  Ood,  the  fountain 
of  all  wisdom,  who  knowest  our  necessities  before  we  ask,  and  our 
ignorance  in  asking."  And  this  acknowledgment  rests  upon  what 
was  laid  down  bv  Jesus  when  he  was  teaching  his  followers  how  to 
pray :  *  *  Tour  Father  knoweth  what  things  ye  have  need  of  before 
ye  ask  him."  The  other  principle  is  statea  in  words  dear  to  all 
English  Christians : — 

"  Prayer  is  the  soul's  sincere  desire, 
Uttered  or  unexpressed ; 
The  motion  of  a  hidden  fire 
Which  trembles  in  the  breast." 

The  two  principles  are  combined  by  St.  Paul  when  he  says  that 
we  know  not  what  to  pray  for  as  we  ought,  but  that  the  Spirit  in 
our  hearts  intercedes  for  us  in  unspoken  sighs.  Surely  the  conten- 
tion that,  if  a  Christian  would  like  something,  the  act  of  putting  it 
into  the  words  of  a  petition  and  addressing  the  petition  to  th^ 
Almighty  will  be  a  means  of  obtaining  it,  is  sOien  to  these  principles 
and  is  forbidden  by  them.  The  lo^(^  conmient  on  them  mi^ht  be 
that  prayer  is  made  irrational  by  Cnrist's  teaching,  more  decidedly 
than  oy  the  fixed  order  of  the  universe.  If  desire  unexpressed  is 
prayer,  and  if  we  have  a  Father  who  knows  better  than  we  do  what 
we  want,  why,  it  may  be  asked,  should  we  do  anything  so  futile  as 
to  put  our  desires  into  words,  and  address  them  to  God  ?  Yet  Christ 
ana  his  apostles  taught  men  to  pray.  They  taught  men  to  place 
themselves  as  dependent,  desiring  creatures  at  the  feet  of  a  perfect 
heavenlv  Father,  and  to  utter  in  simple  human  lan^age  the  aspira- 
tions which  the  belief  in  such  a  Father  might  stir  m  a  childlike  na- 
ture. Prayer  is  for  those  who  have  become  as  little  children,  not 
for  philosophers  engaged  in  estimating  mechanical  forces.  We  shall 
continue  to  pray  trustfully  and  devoutly,  so  long  as  we  believe 
through  Jesus  that  we  have  access  to  the  Father,  and  shall 
decline  controversy  about  the  mechanical  efficacy  of  calculated  re- 
quests. "To  labor  is  to  pray,"  said  the  ancient  Christian  maxim, 
and  it  is  certainly  truer  to  regard  prayer  as  the  spiritual  breath  of 
labor,  of  voluntary  effort,  than  to  imagine  that  it  can  be  utilized  as 
a  substitute  for  effort.  Work  or  action,  also,  according  to  the 
Christian  revelation,  must  look  to  God,  and  make  his  wifi  its  law 
and  end:  he  has  an  absolute  claim  on  all  that  we  can  do;  there  can 
be  nothing  better  for  us  than  to  please  God.  ' '  Under  its  theologi- 
cal aspect,"  as  Mr.  Huxley  says,  *  morality  is  obedience  to  the  will 
of  Goo."  Duty  means  what  the  heavenly  Father  can  claim  from 
his  creatures  and  children.  That  is  a  reasonable  and  satisfying  ex- 
planation of  the  word ;  no  other  does  justice  to  its  power  over  the 


176  THE  LIBRART  MAGAZINE. 

universal  mind.  We  speak,  it  is  true,  of  duty  toward  God  and  duty 
towajd  our  neighbor ;  out  duty  to  man  is  included  in  and  sustained 
by  duty  to  the  father  and  Maker  of  men.  "MoraUty  is  obedience 
to  the  will  of  God/'  and  the  will  of  God  is  to  be  learned  from  any 
modes  in  which  it  has  pleased  or  shall  please  him  to  make  it  known. 
To  one  who  believes  in  a  Divine  Ruler  of  the  world,  no  knowledge  or 
criterion  of  dutv  is  more  valid  than  that  which  is  obtained  from  the 
testimony  of  general  experience,  pjointing  out  by  what  affections 
and  acts  the  Tvell-being  of  mankind  is  promoted. 

I  have  distin^ished  between  the  conclusions  of  agnosticism  and 
those  of  agnostics.  In  no  one's  case  is  it  more  necessary  to  do  this 
than  in  that  of  Mr.  Darwin.  He  has  little  of  the  Christian  in  him 
who  can  read  without  an  emotion  of  reverence  that  statement  of 
his :  * '  The  safest  conclusion  seems  to  me  that  the  whole  subject  is 
beyond  the  scope  of  man's  intellect;  but  man  can  do  his  duty." 
Duty  is  a  word  without  meaning,  or  rather  implying  a  delusion,  to 
pure  scientific  agnosticism ;  but  mr.  Darwin's  attitude  was  that  of 
a  man  humbly  veiling  his  face,  in  conscious  ignorance,  and  yet  in 
recognition  and  trust,  before  a  Power  of  righteousness  and  love  to 
Avhich  he  felt  himself  bound.  No  one  speaks  sincerely  of  duty 
without  implying  such  a  Power  and  a  relation  binding  man  to  it. 
And  to  recognize  the  imperative  authority  of  righteousness  and  love 
is  to  beUeve  m  God.  A  Christian  who  professes  that  he  knows  God 
with  his  intellect,  knows  nothing  yet  as  he  ought  to  know.  The 
only  promise  of  laiowing  God  which  we  can  claim  is  that  which  is 
made  to  faith  and  hope  and  love. 

It  is  a  mysterious  condition  of  our  human  existence — a  manifest 
part  of  the  discipline,  as  Christians  would  say,  by  which  we  are 
trained — that  our  understanding  is  brought  up  against  insuperable 
diflBiculties,  like  the  invisible  wall  which  stoppea  BSaam's  ass.  Any 
scheme  of  philosophy  which  professes  to  evade  contradictions  or  to 
solve  them  convicts  itself  oi  superficiality.  Our  intellect  gets  un- 
ceremoniously buffeted  by  contradictions  whenever  it  makes  excur- 
sions into  the  world  behmd  the  senses.  If,  for  example,  there  is 
one  thing  which  the  principle  of  evolution  seems  to  make  evident,  it 
is  tiiat  there  is  no  beginning  of  things:  it  is,  indeed,  impossible  for 
us  to  conceive  an  absolute  beginning.  But  it  is  equally,  or  almost 
equally,  impossible  to  us  to  imagine  an  absence  of  beginning.  And 
evolutionists,  quite  naturally,  however  unscientifically,  talE  of  the 
primordial  atoms  of  the  universe.  It  is  not  merely  that  we  are 
made  aware  of  things  lying  beyond  our  knowledge,  but  that  con- 
tradictory conclusions  seem  forced  upon  our  understandings.  Space 
and  time  ought,  one  might  have  imagined,  to  be  simple  things,  but 
the  consideration  of  them  leads  us  into  insoluble  proolems.  So  we 
have  to  confess  ourselves  to  be  helpless  before  the  problems  of  pre- 


r 


THE  HIQHEB  LIFE:  HOW  18  IT  TO  BE  SUSTAJNEDf  177 

destination  and  choice  of  action,  of  the  existence  of  evil  in  the  uni- 
verse, of  a  ffood  Power  from  whom  all  things  proceed,  of  the  nature 
of  spirit,  of  the  clothing  of  infinity  with  the  finite,  and  the  like. 
St.  raul  held  that  human  conceptions  of  things  beyond  the  sense- 
world  are  no  better  than  the  mental  attempts  of  young  children, 
and  may  hereafter  similarly  make  us  smile.  The  frank  apprehension 
of  the  inadequacy  of  our  conceptions  and  of  their  transitional  char- 
acter wiU  render  it  easier  to  acquiesce  in  traditional  religious  terms  or 
statements  which  may  not  be  quite  to  our  mind,  as  well  as  in 
formally  contradictory  propositions.  When  we  try  to  discover  a 
purpose  in  this  perplexing  discipline,  we  are  led  to  the  conclusion 
that  we  are  intended  to  learn  a  distrust  of  our  reasoning  faculties, 
as  of  instruments,  ui=;ef  ul  and  necessary  indeed,  but  stamped  with 
inferiority  and  inadequacy.  We  follow  our  best  Christian  teachers 
in  holding  that,  with  regard  to  the  ffreater  things  of  Mfe,  the  mind 
or  spirit  which  trusts  and  hopes  and  loves  is  the  superior  organ  of 
knowledge,  and  that  human  beings  are  put  to  the  test  whether  they 
will  be  guided  by  the  superior  organ  or  the  inferior. 

It  is  to  these  aflfectioos,  of  faith  and  hope  and  love,  that  the  reve- 
lation of  God  given  in  Christ  appeals.  It  assumes  that  in  each  man 
there  is  a  spiritual  need,  of  which  it  seeks  to  awaken  a  disturbing 
consciousness.  This  communication  has  the  power — and  no  theory 
of  Ufe  which  does  not  profess  to  come  from  God  can  claim  a  like 
power — to  move  himian  nature  to  its  depths  and  to  raise  it  to  its 
proper  worth.  What  gracious  or  animatmg  sentiment  is  there  which 
it  does  not  call  forth?  By  its  declaration  of  the  good  purposes  of 
God  it  creates  hope,  and  nurses  its  vivifying  warmth  under  any 
de{)ressing  discouragements.  By  its  dispmy  of  condescending 
divine  tenderness  it  softens  the  heart,  and  opens  its  pores  to  the 
best  influences.  By  its  assurance  of  a  fatherly  mind  in  God  it  con- 
strains men  to  have  confidence  in  the  Supreme  Power.  It  teaches 
them  to  blame  themselves,  as  they  look  upon  the  goodness  against 
which  they  have  sinned  and  the  standard  of  purity  and  love  exhib- 
ited in  the  Son  of  Man.  By  presenting  the  Son  of  Man  as  divine, 
it  makes  everv  man  sacred  and  dear  to  his  fellow-men.  It  gives  an 
entirely  satisfying  law  of  life,  a  sure  basis  of  duty,  a  universal  and 

{)rogressive  moraEty.  It  so  far  explains  the  sufferings  and  trials  of 
ife  as  to  induce  men  to  bear  them  with  a  refininff  patience.  It 
holds  out  a  light  from  beyond  the  grave  which  dispels  the  ffloom  of 
death.  It  opens  a  fount  of  joy  too  deep  to  be  exhausted.  If  bv 
the  decay  of  Christian  faith  all  these  stimulants  of  the  higher  life 
should  lose  their  power  upon  human  souls,  what  could  compensate 
to  mankind  for  the  loss? — Rkv,  J.  Llkwblltn  Davies,  in  The  Fort- 
nigkdy  Review, 


178  THE  LIBRART  MAGAZINE. 


SPECIAL  COLLECTIONS  OP  BOOKS.* 

A  FEW  persons  in  different  paxts  of  the  world  are  engaged  in  the 
work  of  gathering  special  collections  of  books;  but  there  ought  to 
be  thousands  engaged  in  it  instead  of  dozens,  as  now.  I  do  not 
refer  to  the  collecting  of  books  because  of  their  age  or  binding,  or 
to  gratify  any  particmar  taste,  whim  or  fancy  of  the  collector,  but 
to  the  making  of  collections  that  shall  be  oi  positive  and  very  im- 
portant service  to  the  world.  I  have  in  mind  a  long  and  a  very 
elaborate  article  in  a  large  encyclopedia.  For  certain  reasons  I  do 
not  wish  to  mention  the  subject  of  that  article.  In  it  the  writer 
has  referred  to  a  great  number  of  books  as  his  authorities.  I  will 
say  that  I  have  r^d  the  article  more  than  once,  and  made  a  hst  of 
the  books  referred  to;  hence  I  know  whereof  I  speak.  Now  if  I 
wished  to  write  an  article  on  the  same  subject  and  refer  to  the  same 
books,  or  if  I  wished  simply  to  verify  the  references  of  this  author, 
there  is  not  a  Ubrary  in  America  which  contains  the  necessary  books, 
and,  furthermore,  not  all  the  libraries  in  America  together  contain 
the  books  necessary  for  me  to  do  this  work.  But  supposing  that 
twenty  or  thirty  years  ago  some  one  had  begun  to  collect  books  on 
that  subject,  he  would  have  by  this  time  aU  tnat  the  writer  in  ques- 
tion referred  to,  and  no  doubt  many  more  on  the  same  subject. 

In  an  old  bookstore  in  Germany  I  saw  a  large  pile  of  books,  and 
was  told  that  they  were  to  be  sent  to  America,  and  that  they  all 
pertained  to  pearls  and  precious  stones.  The  collector  wished  to 
coUect  everything  that  existed  in  any  language  on  that  particular 
subject.  Such  a  collection  will  be  invaluable — ^a  kind  oi  pearl  of 
great  price.  I  know  a  person  who  is  collecting  editions  of  Virgil — 
copies,  reprints,  illustrative  essays,  etc.,  which,  as  the  collection 
approaches  completeness,  will  be  more  and  more  valuable,  not  es- 
pecially or  solely  to  himself,  but  to  the  world.  The  reader  can  have 
no  difficulty  in  understanding  what  I  mean  by  collections  that  will 
be  of  service.  We  are  getting  farther  and  farther  away  from  the 
time  when  printing  began.  Early  printed  books  have  nearly  all 
gone  to  the  paper  mills,  or  to  the  dogs.  Many  books  and  pam- 
phlets that  were  printed  in  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  it 
is  now  exceedingly  difficult  to  find.  To  save  the  books  that  have  been 
printed  and  stm  exist,  and  to  collect  others  that  are  now  being 
printed  or  that  may  be  printed  on  any  given  subject,  and  to  have 


♦  Dr.  Merrill  desires  us  to  say,  that  as  he  wishes  to  foUow  up  this  matter;  he  wiU 
esteem  it  a  favor  if  any  one  who  is  making  a  special  collection  of  books  or  pamphlets, 
in  any  department,  or  upon  any  subject,  will  communicate  with  him  by  letter.  His 
address  is,  Andover,  Mass.— £d.  Lib.  Mao. 


SPECIAL  COLLECTIONS  OF  BOOKS.  179 

such  books  gathered  into  one  place,  are  objects,  it  seems  to  me, 
greatly  to  be  desired. 

•  One  may  not  choose  Pearls  or  Virgil.  Let  him  select  Bibles, 
Hymn-books,  Almanacs,  American  Colleges,  money,  Artesian  Wells 
— there  are  thousands  of  important  subjects  on  which  the  world 
demands  from  time  to  time  the  fullest  possible  information;  and 
when  one  com^  to  study  such  a  subject  in  order  to  impart  such 
information  he  naturally  asks,  **  Where  is  the  literature  of  this  sub- 
ject?" And  the  only  reply  that  can  be  given  is  (generally  speak- 
ing), **it  has  never  been  collected.  It  is  scattered  all  over  the  civ- 
ilized world."  Persons  object  that  they  have  not  means  for 
special  collections;  but  every  one  who  buys  books  will  find  when  he 
is  fifty  years  old  that  he  has  wasted  a  great  deal  of  money  on  those 
that  are,  after  all,  of  very  Uttle  value.  Supposing  a  large  part  of 
this  money  had  been  expended  on  a  special  collection?  It  is  not  so 
much  the  lack  of  means,  as  a  lack  of  the  necessary  disposition. 

Newspapers,  periodicals,  and  the  town  Ubraries  furnish  far  more 
reading  matter  than  one  needs ;  so  that  one  is  not  obliged  to  buy 
many  books  for  reading.  As  a  rule,  one's  private  library,  however 
proud  he  may  be  of  it,  is  not  of  much  value  to  the  world,  and  has 
m  fact  very  little  money  value,  although  it  has  cost,  it  may  be,  a 
large  sum.  Go  to  the  auction  rooms  wnere  the  fine  Ubrary  of  some 
"gentleman  deceased"  is  being  sold.  Its  owner  prized,  beyond 
measure  this  Uttle  volume,  and  that  one,  and  that  one;  he  would 
not  have  parted  with  them  for  money.  Now  half  a  dozen  of  these 
treasures  are  tied  together  in  one  bundle,  and  the  lot  sold  for 
twenty -five  cents.  I  have  books  that  are  precious  to  me  partly  be- 
cause I  use  them,  and  partly  because  they  have  been  my  companions 
so  long.  Some  of  them  have  been  twice  around  Cape  Horn.  They 
have  made  the  journey  between  Boston  and  Jerusalem  no  less  than 
six  times,  and  have  traveled  with  me  thousands  of  miles  besides. 
They  have  outhved  many  ocean  storms,  and  so  have  I.  Why  should 
not  I  be  attached  to  them?  They  begin  to  lookahttle  battered, 
and,  were  I  to  sell  them  at  auction,  it  is  not  likely  that  they  would 
bring  much  more  than  enough  to  pay  for  printing  the  auctioneer's 
catalogue.  Miscellaneous  collections  are  of  very  little  use  to  the 
world,  whOe  special  collections  are  invaluable.  If  young  persons 
would  commence  the  collecting  of  books,  articles,  pamphlets,  etc. , 
on  any  given  subject,  and  follow  it  up  for  a  period  of  years,  they 
would  be  surprised  at  the  results.  It  would  be  a  far  more  noble 
and  u^ful  work  than  indulging  the  stamp-collecting  mania. 

What  to  do,  where  to  look  for  books,  how  to  go  to  work,  and 
other  such  topics,  I  have  left  myself  no  room  to  discuss.  1  would 
like  to  speak,  also,  of  my  own  experience;  for  in  a  small  way,  and 
according  to  my  limited  means,  i  am  making  a  collection  which 


180  THE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINB. 

will  be  of  great  use  to  somebody,  even  if  I  should  not  live  to  make 
much  use  of  it  myself. 

Books^  pamphlets,  discussions,  essays  and  articles  scattered  in* 
different  periooicals  and  newspapers,  sometimes  a  dozen  pages,  more 
or  less,  in  a  book  wholly  foreign  to  the  subject  in  which  you  are 
interested — all  these  belong  to  the  literature  of  a  subject.  Quite 
likely  some  person  wiU  tefl  you,  *  *  Oh,  there  are  only  two  or  three 
books  on  that  subject  that  are  good  for  anything!"  In  following 
up  the  literature  of  a  subject,  do  not  be  balked  by  any  such  non- 
sense as  that.  The  chances  are  ten  to  one  that  the  person  does  not 
know  the  hterature  of  the  subject  fully,  and  is  referring  to  books 
that  he  happens  to  know  about ;  for  certainly  that  would  be  a  very 
insignificant  subject  which  should  be  thus  circumscribed  and  meager 
in  its  hterature. — Selah  Mersill. 


AN  ESKIMO  "IGLOO,"  OR  SNOW-HOUSE. 

There  is  probably  no  Arctic  subject  so  interesting,  and  yet  so 
httle  understood,  as  the  one  which  neads  this  article.    There  is  a 

ganeral  idea,  no  doubt  founded  on  the  sup{)Osed  simpUcity  of  the 
skimo  constructors,  and  the  very  little  that  is  done  with  the  same 
material  in  our  own  land,  that  these  snow-houses  are  of  the  most 
simple  construction,  and  that  the  building  of  the  same  may  be  learned 
at  once  or  in  a  short  while,  when  the  real  truth  of  the  matter  is, 
that  a  farmer's  boy  could  construct  as  good  a  Fifth  Avenue  brown- 
stone  house  at  first  trial,  as  the  average  white  man  could  build  the 
Eskimo  ighoy  or  snow-house,  with  such  limited  information.  The 
most  prevalent  idea  that  I  find  regarding  these  hyperborean  habita- 
tions is,  that  they  are  simply  dug  out  of  the  side  of  a  deep  bank  of 
snow,  with  prolmbly  a  few  flat  blocks  of  snow  covering  the  top. 
Some  pei>ple  give  these  constructors  of  the  snow-house  the  credit  of 
building  wholly  of  blocks  laid  flat-wise,  but  i^equiring  no  more  skill 
than  the  laying  of  bricks  or  wooden  blocks  in  building  a  toy  play- 
house by  t£ie  children.  None  of  these  ideas  can  be  said  to  be  at 
all  correct,  in  giving  due  credit  to  a  class  of  constructors  that  in  in- 
genuity and  dexterous  handicraft  equal  those  of  almost  any  in  the 
world;  however  hard  it  is  to  compare  such  radically  different 
methods  together.  \ 

The  igloo  is  a  comparatively  thin  dome  of  snow,  built  of  blocks 
of  that  material,  ana,  considering  the  very  fragile  character  of  its 
constituents,  the  rapidity  of  its  construction,  its  great  strength  when 
made,  the  architectural  knowledge  of  the  dome  displayed,  and  its 


Air  ESKIMO  ''iQLOOr  OR  SNOW-HOmS,  1»1 

almost  perfect  adaptation  to  the  people,  climate  and  purpose  for 
which  it  is  constructed,  it  is  a  masterpiece  of  handicraft. 

The  snow-house  is  a  habitation  of  sheer  necessity,  and  does  not 
exist  in  an^  part  of  Esddmo-land  where  other  kinds  of  material  can 
be  had,  so  it  is  not  co-extensive  with  the  race  of  people  as  many 
suppose.  They  are  almost  wholly  a  sea-coast  abiding  people,  and 
in  many  parts  of  their  country  the  ocean  beach  furnishes  them  with 
driftwood,  carried  there  by  the  currents,  and  if  this  is  in  large 
quantities  it  is  always  used  for  the  construction  of  their  dwellings. 
Man^  of  the  rivers  emptying  into  the  Arctic  Ocean  have  their  upper 

Eortions  in  more  or  less  neavily  wooded  countries,  and  the  trees  they 
ring  down  in  the  spring  freshets  are  spread  over  the  coasts  for 
many  miles  on  either  side  of  the  mouths,  while  no  little  quantity 
gets  caught  in  the  great  ocean  currents  that  course  for  long  dis- 
tances over  the  polar  area,  and  is  thus  carried  far  beyond  any  local 
limits  of  distribution.  This  is  well  shown  on  the  west  coast  of 
Greenland,  where  driftwood  is  brought  by  an  ocean  current  that 
swings  around  Cape  Farewell  from  the  Polar  Sea,  and  into  which  it 
has  never  been;  nor  is  it  well  known  from  whence  the  driftwood 
comes,  whether  Europe,  Asia,  or  America.  On  King  William's 
Land  I  found  drift  logs  (but  not  enough  to  construct  houses)  among 
Eskimo  who  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  standing  timber,  and  who 
believed  that  this  grew  on  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  and  was  pulled  up 
yearly  when  the  ice  broke  up,  and  was  thrown  upon  the  beach.  As 
the  Eskimo— the  only  builders  of  snow-houses — live  only  in  North 
America,  no  other  country  concerns  us  here.  The  Mackenzie  River 
is  the  only  river  of  this  continent  worthy  of  the  name,  which  empties 
inta  the  Arctic  Sea  and  whose  headwaters  are  in  timbered  regions. 
All  of  Eskimo-land  to  the  west  is  supplied  with  wood,  and  for 
many  miles  to  the  east,  after  which  the  snow-builders  are  met.  It 
is,  therefore,  the  unsupplied  Arctic  coasts  of  North  America  that 
nearly  wholly  determine  the  geographical  limit  of  the  snow-house. 
It  was  my  fortune — or  misfortune — to  have  my  first  Arctic  expedi- 
tion thrown  into  the  very  heart  of  this  region,  and  to  live  for  two 
winters — a  little  over  one  year  in  time — ^under  the  dome  of  Eskimo 
snow-houses.  Nearly  one  whole  winter  was  spent  m  traveling,  and 
the  making  of  an  igloo  every  night  for  camp  during  that  time — ^for 
the  snow-house  is  as  much  the  Eskimo's  tent  when  traveling,  as  it  is 
his  house  when  stationary — ^gave  me  an  unusual  chance  to  see  these 
curious  habitations,  in  alK)ut  all  the  phases  through  which  they  could 
pass. 

Let  us  now  describe  the  building  of  a  snow-house ;  and,  to  do  so 
clearly,  we  will  begin  at  the  very  first  principles,  and  imagine  a 
sledcmg  party  during  a  winter's  trip  to  be  near  the  end  of  their 
day  ^  journey,  at  a  point  where  no  snow  houses  exist,  and  where  they 


^ 


m  THE  LIBRAttY  MAGAZtNS. 

must,  of  course,  be  built.  Let  it  be  a  single  sledge,  and  a  single 
snow-house  to  be  built,  in  order  to  simplify  matters.  As  dusk  com- 
mences falling,  or  the  dogs  show  great  fatigue,  or  anything  else 
determines  camping  time,  the  Eskimo  man  or  men  begin  a  sharp 
lookout  for  a  favorable  camping  spot.  This,  as  one  would  expect, 
is  where  there  is  a  la^e  bank  of  snow,  and  this  must  be  on  the 
shores  of  a  lake  of  suflacient  depth  not  to  have  frozen  to  the  bottom 
(eiffht  feet  four  inches  was  the  thickest  lake  of  ice  I  ever  encountered 
and  measured).  The  object  of  this  is  to  get  water  for  the  evening's 
meal,  diffring  through  the  thick  ice  to  obtain  it;  otherwise  snow  or 
ice  would  nave  to  be  melted,  entailing  about  an  hour's  loss  of  time, 
and  also  considerable  waste  of  oil,  which  is  very  valuable  to  them, 
especially  on  an  inland  journey.  As  the  igloo  is  being  built  by  one 
man,  if  there  is  another  spare  one  m  the  party,  or  even  a  boy,  he 
will  be  digging  through  the  ice  to  the  water  underneath. 

But  the  eye  alone  cannot  determine  whether  the  snow-bank  is 
favorable  or  not  for  the  building  of  the  igloo,  as  its  texture,  on  which 
more  depends  than  any  other  equality,  is  wholly  beyond  the  power 
of  sight  to  foretell.  To  determine  this  consistency  a  rod  about  the 
diameter  of  a  lead  pencil,  and  two  or  three  feet  in  length,  is  used  to 
thrust  into  the  snow-bank  and  determine  its  texture.  This  rod  was 
formerly  made  of  bone,  but  they  now  use  the  iron  rod  of  their  seal- 
spears,  the  metal  being  procured  from  the  whalers.  They  may 
thrust  their  spears  into  the  snow  clear  around  the  shore  of  a  large 
lake  for  a  mile  along  the  bank  of  a  river,  and  then  have  to  move  on 
further.  While  nothing  looks  more  silly  and  absurd  than  this  jab- 
bing away  at  the  surface  of  tne  snow  it  is  a  really  very  necessary  pre- 
liminary operation.  The  snow,  which  is  good  on  tot),  may  be  found 
friable  and  worthless  underneath,  and  this  will  oe  revealed  by 
thrusting  in  the  tester  to  the  lower  strata.  More  commonly  an 
apparently  good  bank  of  snow  is  resting  on  a  mass  of  boulders  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill,  where  large  enough  blocks  cannot  be  cut.  On 
the  other  side  a  thin  covering  of  loose  powdered  snow,  that  the  eye 
would  reject,  may  cover  a  splendid  bank  of  the  very  best  matenal 
for  building.  The  testing  hnished,  and  a  good  spot  found,  the 
sledges,  which  have  generally  been  stopped  on  the  middle  of  the 
lake  or  river,  are  brought  up  alongside,  where  it  is  easier  to  watch 
the  dogs  and  prevent  their  stealing  anything  from  the  sledge,  which 
they  are  very  prone  to  do  if  they  have  not  been  fed  for  a  couple  of 
days. 

The  construction  of  the  snow-house  now  begins.  The  only  im- 
plement needed  is  a  snow-knife.  Formerly  these  were  made  of  bone 
irom  the  reindeer;  but  now,  where  they  are  in  contact  with  white 
men,  as  whalers  or  fur  traders,  or  can  obtain  them  by  inter-tribal 
barter,  they  use  the  largest  butcher-knives  they  can  secure,  and  put 


AN  ESKIMO   'IQLOOr  OR  8N0W-H0U8E.  183 

on  a  handle  lar^  enough  to  grasp  with  both  hands.  With  this 
snow-knife  the  builder  cuts  a  wed^e-shaped  piece  from  the  bank  of 
snow,  the  perpendicular  face  of  which  is  the  size  of  the  front  of 
the  contemplated  blocks.  This  is  thrown  awav.  The  blocks  are 
now  cut  ana  laid  alongside  of  the  trench  from  which  they  are  taken. 
Geometrically  they  are  about  two  to  three  feet  long,  a  foot  to  a  foot 
and  a  half  deep,  and  five  to  ten  inches  thick;  more  popularly  de- 
scribed, they  are  about  the  size  of  a  common  bed  pillow,  the  faces 
and  ed^es,  of  course,  being  flat  as  the  knife  cuts  them.  There  is  con- 
siderawe  variation  in  the  size,  however,  as  some  Eskimo  pride  them- 
selves on  the  large  blocks  thev  can  cut,  while  the  less  ambitious 
builders  content  themselves  with  smaller  ones  that  are  not  so  liable 
to  break.  The  former  class  generally  construct  the  better  igloos,  as 
my  experience  goes.  There  are  nearly  always  two  or  three  men 
with  each  sledge  and  one  or  two  women,  so  while  one  man  makes 
the  igloo  another  cuts  the  blocks  and  a  third  is  digging  at  the  well. 
The  builder  having  selected  his  spot  for  the  contemplated  house, 
be  stands  upon  it  and,  with  knife  in  hand,  leaning  forward,  he 
sweeps  its  point  over  the  snow  describing  a  circle  on  its  surface, 
with  nis  feet  as  a  center.  This  is  the  line  to  be  followed  by  the 
base-course  of  snow- blocks.  If  the  igloo  is  to  be  a  temporary  one, 
used  only  for  the  Right,  the  circle  will  be  a  small  one,  not  over  (and 
probably  less  than)  ten  feet  in  diameter;  and  if  for  a  permanent  or 
semi-permanent  occupation,  it  will  be  larger,  giving  more  room  and 
comfort  inside.  This  circle  is  made  on  a  bank  sloping  at  about 
thirty  degrees  from  the  horizontal,  and  this  would  have  a  tendency 
to  ' '  pitclr '  the  axis  of  the  igloo  fonvard  or  toward  the  door,  whicii 
is  always  at  the  lowest  or  'down-hill"  point  of  the  circle.  The 
first  base-block  on  the  circle  is  always  placed  on  the  extreme  right- 
hand  side  as  the  constructor  looks  toward  the  door.  The  next  one 
is  further  down  hill,  and  so  on  around  tiU  the  circle  is  completed. 
Now,  one  of  the  most  common  ideas  of  the  igloo,  even  by  those 
who  have  read  almost  every  Arctic  description  about  it,  is  that  it 
is  made  up  of  continuous  layers  of  these  blocks  superimposed  upon 
each  other,  like  brick  work  in  making  a  chimney ;  an  idea  which  is 
not  correct.  This  line  of  blocks  is  rather  a  continuous  one  from 
bottom  to  top,  or  a  spiral,  one  very  similar  to  the  old-style  bee- 
hives, made  of  a  continuous  rope  from  bottom  to  top ;  so  that,  when 
the  base-course  of  blocks  is  fimshed,  the  first  block  laid  in  the  course 
is  cut  in  half  by  a  diagonal  from  its  lower  right  comer  to  the  top 
left  one,  and  on  this  diagonal  edge  the  next  block  is  laid  which 
begins  the  spiral,  which,  when  finished,  completes  the  igloo;  the 
spiral  running  in  the  opposite  direction  from  tne  hands  oi  a  watch 
laid  horizont^y. 


184  THSS  LtBBAMY  MAGAZlNJB. 

As  each  block  is  put  in  its  place,  the  snow-knife  is  worked  up  and 
down  between  it  and  the  block  to  its  right  and  the  course  of  blocks 
on  which  it  rests,  this  furnishing  a  snowy  powder  which  acts  like 
mortar  when  the  blocks  are  cemented  together  bv  a  sUght  blow  of 
the  hand  on  each  of  the  two  free  edffes.  It  should  be  remembered 
that  the  snow-blocks  are  not  laid  flatwise  as  with  common  brick- 
work, but  on  their  edges;  the  thickness  of  the  block  being  the 
thickness  of  the  igloo,  and  taking  the  fewest  number  of  blocks 
possible  to  construct  the  buildmg.  It  may  seem  curious  to  the  un- 
mformed  how  these  snow-bloclS,  held  only  on  two  edges — the 
under  and  right-hand  one  as  the  builder  faces  ii  from  the  inside, 
where  he  stands  during  the  entire  construction  of  the  block- work — 
should  be  able  to  hold  themselves  in  this  position,  especially  when 
near  the  completion  of  the  igloo,  and  the  flat  blocks  are  almost  hori- 
zontal. When  a  snow-block  is  put  ^nto  position,  a  wedge-like  piece 
is  cut  downward  from  it  where  it  joins  its  neighbor,  as  well  as  an 
equal  one  from  the  latter,  both  being  thrown  away.  Near  the  bot- 
tom of  the  igloo  the  bases  of  these  wedges  are  very  narrow,  but  as 
the  top  is  approached  they  become  wider  and  wider,  until  the  igloo 
apex  is  reacned,  when  the  bases  of  the  two  wedges  cut  from  the 
sides  touch  each  other,  and  the  block  left  is  itself  a  wedge.  In 
short,  all  the  side  joints  of  the  block- work  are  vertical ,  and  point  to 
the  top  of  the  snow-house,  and  this  necessitates  that  wedges  should 
be  cut  from  the  sides  that  will  increase  ss  they  lean  more  and  more 
inward ;  and  in  this  wedge-Uke  or  trapezoidal  form  we  find  the  ex- 
planation of  their  not  dropping  down,  they  being  driven  into  an 
acute  angle  which  holds  them  without  support  from  the  constructor, 
until  he  can  get  another  block. 

Although  if  a  building-block  of  snow  was  placed  flat-wise  on  the 
level  ground,  and  even  a  light- weighted  Eskimo  was  to  step  on  its 
upper  face,  it  would  probably  break,  yet  so  very  strong  is  the  igloo 
from  its  peculiar  dome-like  construction  that  two  or  three  heavy 
men  can  walk  over  a  weU-built  one  without  any  fear  of  its  falling 
in  with  them.  In  fact,  after  the  block-  work  of  the  snow-house  is 
finished,  sortie  of  the  persons  present — a  small  boy  is  generally  pre- 
ferred— must  climb  over  the  top  of  the  dome  to  chink  the  joints 
thoroughly,  for,  in  the  rough  construction  many  holes  are  left  between 
the  ioints  that  must  be  stopped  up.  This  **  chinking"  is  done  by 
cutting  slices  of  snow  from  tne  outer  edge  of  the  snow-block  with 
the  knife  in  one  hand,  and  with  the  other  hand,  as  a  chnched  fist, 
running  the  cut  portion  into  the  chinks,  which  completely  closes 
them.  The  lower  half  or  two-thirds  of  a  moderate-sized  igloo  can 
be  "chinked"  while  standing  on  the  original  snow-bank  at  its  foot, 
but  beyond  this  some  one  nas  to  crawl  up  over  it  and  finish  the 
chinking  at  the  top  of  the  dome. 


AN  ESKIMO  ''IGLOOr  OR  SNOW-HOUSK  iH') 

When  this  is  done  the  snow-house  is  finished  outside,  except  in 
the  very  coldest  weather,  when  a  bank  of  loose  snow  is  thrown  over 
it,  which  may  vary  from  a  foot  to  three  feet  in  depth,  according  to 
the  temperature,  and  the  consistency  of  the  snow ;  a  foot  of  this 
material  which  * '  packs' '  well,  being  worth  three  feet  of  friable,  sand- 
like snow  when  tne  wind  is  blowing,  and  when  it  does  not  blow  an 
unbanked  igloo  is  quite  warm  enougn  in  the  severest  winter  weather. 
Inside,  the  oed — which  takes  up  at  least  two-thirds  of  the  place— is 
also  made  of  snow,  from  a  foot  and  a  half  to  two  feet  high,  and  this 
curious  bedstead  is  prevented  from  melting  by  a  generous  supply  of 
m^sk-ox,  polar-bear  and  reindeer  skins,  being  interposed  between 
the  body  of  the  sleeper  and  the  snow  beneath.  Sometimes  this 
mattress  is  insufficient  for  this  purpose,  and  then  the  bed  adapts  itself 
to  the  human  form  somewhat  after  the  manner  of  a  kid  glove,  but 
far  l^s  agreeable.  The  door  is  a  very  small  hole  through  which 
one  has  to  enter  on  one's  hands  and  knees,  and  at  night-time  it  is 
closed  by  a  large  snow-block.  The  first  impression  is  that  a  lot  of 
persons  put  inside  such  an  hermetically  sealed  little  pen,  and  as  thick 
as  the  proverbial  sardines  in  a  box,  would  smother  to  death  in  the 
course  of  a  long  night;  but  on  the  contrary,  the  snow-blocks  are  as 
porous  as  lumps  of  white  sugar,  and  as  the  native  stone  lamp  creates 
a  draft  of  heated  air  upward,  which  escapes  from  the  top  of  the 
dome,  the  house  is  supplied  by  a  constant  pouring  of  n«sh  air 
through  the  walls  to  supply  its  place.  I  douot  very  much  if  our 
own  much  larger  sleepmg-rooms  are  half  as  well  ventilated  as  these 
boreal  buildings. 

The  comfort  that  is  to  be  had  in  these  pecuUar  habitations  it  ap- 
pears almost  bordering  on  the  sensational  to  relate.  The  idea  of 
conducting  an  expedition  of  twenty-two  persons  and  forty  to  fifty 
dogs  continuously  throughout  the  Arctic  winter  and  living  oflf  the 
country,  would  have  been  deemed  insanity.  With  the  help  of  igloos 
and  reindeer  clothing  it'  was  done  with  less  discomfort  than  the 
average  twenty- two  workmen  of  New  York  will  endure  in  going 
through  a  severe  winter.  With  the  help  of  the  igloo  (which  neces- 
sitates the  employment  of  Eskimo  skilled  in  their  construction,  of 
courae)  the  matter  of  cold,  preposterous  as  the  statement  may  seem, 
becomes  almost  entirely  eliminated  from  any  Arctic  problem,  instead 
of  being  the  pivot  on  which  they  seem  to  swing  and  against  which 
the  greatest  precautions  are  taKen. — Fbbdekiok  Sohwatka,  in  I%€ 
Independent. 


180  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZHTE. 


DETHRONING  TENNYSON. 

A  Contribution   to   thb  Tennyson-Darwin   CoNTBOVERgT. — Com- 
municated BY  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne. 

The  quarter  from  whence  the /(Mowing  lucvhration  is  addressed 
camm/otjaU  to  ^i/ve  it  weight  with  thejt^'icums  reader  whose  interest 
has  been  aroused  hg  the  arguments  vn  support  of  Lord  YeruUvm^s 
preteTisions  to  the  a/uthorship  of  Hamdet.  1  regret  that  I  can  offer  no 
further  evidence  of  the  writer^ s  credentials  to  consideration  than  such 
as  m^y  he  su^^hed  hf  her  own  ingenious  amd  inUlUgent  process  of 
ra^dnative  vnferencej  hut  in  literary  cvli/wre  and  in  togicai precision 
it  will  he  appa/rent  that  her  contribution  to  the  controversial  'iteralure 
of  the  day  %s  worthy  of  the  cornparison  which  she  is  not  afraid  to  chal- 
lenge— is  worthy  to  be  set  beside  the  most  learned  and  the  most  Imni- 
nous  exposition  of  the  so-called  Baconia/n  theory, — ^A.  C.  S. 

HantoeU,  Nov.  29, 1887. 

•'The  revelations  r^pecting  Shakespeare  which  were  made  in  the 
columns  of  the  Dadly  Telegraph  have  attracted  great  attention  and 
caused  no  little  sensation  here."  With  these  impressive  and 
memorable  words  the  Paris  correspondent  of  the  journal  above 
named  opens  the  way  for  a  fresh  flood  of  correspondence  •n  a  sub- 
ject in  which  no  Englishman  or  Enghsh woman  now  resident  'n  any 
asylum — so-called — for  so-called  lunatics  or  'diots  can  fail  to  cake 
a  Keen  and  sympathetic  interest.  The  lamented  DeUa  Bacon,  how- 
ever, to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  the  apocalyptic  rectification  of 
our  errors  with  regard  to  the  authorship  of  Harfdet  and  Othdio^ 
might  have  rejoic^  to  know — before  she  went  to  Heaven  in  a 
strait- waistcoat — that  her  mantle  had  fallen  or  was  to  fall  on  the 
shoulders  of  a  younger  prophetess.  If  the  authority  of  Celia  Hob- 
bes — whose  hand  traces  these  Hues,  and  whose  brain  nas  excogitated 
the  theory  now  in  process  of  exposition — ^should  be  considered  In- 
suflBcient,  the  Daily  Telegraphy  at  all  events,  wiU  scarcely  refuse  the 
tribute  of  attentive  consideration  to  the  verdict  of  Professor  Poly- 
carp  ConoUy,  of  Bethlemopolis,  IT.  I.  S.  (United  Irish  States),  South 
Polynesia.  The  leisure  of  over  twenty  years,  passed  in  a  padded  cell 
and  in  investigation  of  intellectual  problems  has  sjufflced — indeed,  it 
has  more  than  sufficed — to  confirm  the  Professor  in  his  original  con- 
viction that  "Miss  Hobbes"  (I  am  permitted — and  privueged — ^to 
quote  his  own  striking  words)  "had  made  it  impossible  any  longer 
to  boycott  the  question — and  that  to  assert  the  contrary  of  so  s3f- 
evident  a  truth  was  to  stand  groveling  in  die  quicksands  of  a  petri- 
fied conservatism. '  ^ 


DETHROmm  TM2!fT802f.  187 

The  evidence  that  the  late  Mr.  Darwin  was  the  real  author  of  the 
poems  attributed  to  Lord  Tennyson  needs  not  the  corroboration  of 
any  cryptogram:  but  if  it  did,  Miss  Lesbia  Hume,  of  Earlswood, 
has  authorized  me  to  say  that  she  would  be  prepared  to  supply  any 
amount  of  evidence  to  that  effect.  The  first  book  which  brought 
Mr.  Darwin's  name  before  the  public  was  his  record  of  a  voyage  on 
board  the  Beagle.  In  a  comparatively  recent  poem,  written  under 
the  assumed  name  of  *' Tennyson,"  he  referred  to  the  singular  man- 
ner in  which  a  sleeping  dog  of  that  species  **  plies  his  function  of  the 
woodland."  In  an  earlier  poem.  The  Princess^  the  evidence  de- 
rivable from  allusion  to  proper  names — that  of  the  real  author  and 
that  of  the  pretender — is  no  less  obvious  and  no  less  conclusive  than 
that  which  depends  on  the  words  "hane  hog,"  ''bacon,"  "shake," 
and  "spear."  The  Princess  asks  if  the  x^rince  has  nothing  to  occu- 
py his  time — "quoit,  tennis^  ball — no  games?"  The  Prince  hears  a 
voice  crying  to  him — "Follow,  follow,  thou  shalt  torn."  Here  we 
find  half  the  name  of  Dari^^;  the  latter  half,  and  two*thirds  of  the 
name  of  Termyaon — the  first  and  the  second  third — ^at  once  associ- 
ated, contrasted,  and  harmonized  for  those  who  can  read  the  simplest 
of  cryptograms. 

The  well-known  fact  that  Bacon's  Essays  were  written  by  Lord 
Coke,  the  Novum  Organon  by  Eobert  Greene,  and  the  New  Ata- 
larUis  by  Tom  Nash  (assisted  by  his  friend  Gabriel  Harvey),  might 
surely  have  given  pause  to  the  Baconite  assailants  of  Shakespeare. 
On  tne  other  hand,  we  have  to  consider  the  no  less  well-known  fact 
that  the  poems  issued  under  the  name  of  ' '  William  Wordsworth' ' 
were  actually  written  by  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  who  was  naturally 
anxious  to  conceal  the  authorship  and  to  parade  the  sentiments  of  a 
poem  in  which,  with  characteristic  self-complacency  and  self-conceit, 
ne  had  attempted  to  depict  himself  under  the  highly  idealized  like- 
ness of  "the  Happy  Warrior."  Nor  can  we  reasonably  pretend  to 
overlook  or  to  ignore  the  mass  of  evidence  that  the  works  hitherto 
attributed  to  Sir  Walter  Scott  must  really  be  assigned  to  a  more 
eminent  bearer  of  the  same  surname — ^to  Lord  Chancellor  Eldon : 
whose  brother,  Lord  Stowell,  chose  in  like  manner  (and  for  obvious 
reasons)  to  disguise  his  authorship  of  Bon  Jucm  and  Childe  HarolcTs 
Pilgrimage  by  hiring  a  notoriously  needy  and  disreputable  youne 
peer  to  father  those  productions  of  his  erratic  genius.  The  parallel 
case  now  before  us 

[Bat  here,  we  renet  to  say,  the  language  of  yOsA  Hobbes  becomes— to  put  it  mildly 
— contumelious,  we  are  compelled  to  pass  over  a  paragraph  in  which  the  name  of 
Tennyson  is  handled  after  the  same  fashion  as  is  the  name  of  Shakespeare  by  her  trans- 
ntlantic  precuraors  or  associatea  in  the  art  or  the  task  of  a  literary  detective.— Ed. 


<.- 


188  TMB  LIB&ABT  MAQAZOm. 

Not  all  the  caution  displayed  by  Mr.  Darwin  in  the  practice  of  a 
studious  self-effacement  could  suffice  to  prevent  what  an  Irish  lady 
correspondent  of  my  own — Miss  Cynthia  Berkeley,  now  of  Colney 
Hatch — ^has  very  aptly  described  as  *  *  the  occasional  slipping  off  of 
the  motley  mask  from  hoof  and  tail."  When  we  read  of  ** scirrhous 
roots  and  tendons,"  of  '* foul-fleshed  agaric  in  the  holt,"  of  "the 
fruit  of  the  Spindle-tree  {Euonynma  ewrop€ms\^^  of  ''sparkles  in  the 
stone  Avanturine,"  **of  shale  and  homblenae,  rag  and  trap  and 
tuflf,  amygdaloid  and  trachyte,"  we  feel,  in  the  expressive  words  of 
the  same  lady,  that  *'the  borrowed  plumes  of  peacock  poetry  have 
fallen  from  the  inner  kernel  of  the  scientific  lecturer's  pulpit."  But 
if  any  more  special  evidence  of  Darwin's  authorship  should  be  re- 
quired, it  wiU  be  found  in  the  various  references  to  a  creature  of 
whose  works  and  ways  the  great  naturalist  has  given  so  copious  and 
so  curious  an  account.  *' Crown  thyself,  worm!" — could  tnat  apos- 
trophe have  issued  from  any  other  lips  than  those  which  expounded 
to  us  the  place  and  the  importance  of  worms  in  the  scheme  of  na- 
ture ?  Or  can  it  be  necessary  to  cite  in  further  proof  of  thi&  the 
well-known  passage  in  Maud  beginning  with  what  we  may  call  the 
pre-Darwinian  line — **A  monstrous  eft  was  of  old  the  lord  and 
master  of  earth?" 

But  the  final  evidence  is  to  be  sought  in  a  poem  published  long 
before  its  author  became  famous,  under  his  own  name,  as  the  ex- 
ponent of  natural  selection,  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest,  and  of  the 
origin  of  species.  The  celebrated  Unes  which  describe  Nature  as 
"so  careful  of  the  type,  so  careless  of  the  single  life,"  and  those 
which  follow  and  reject  that  theory,  are  equally  conclusive  as  to 
the  authorship  of  these  and  all  other  verses  in  which  the  same  hand 
has  recorded  the  result  of  the  same  experience — '  *  that  of  fifty  seeds 
she  often  brings  but  one  to  bear." 

But — as  the  Earl  of  Essex  observed  in  his  political  comedy,  Lovers 
Labor^s  Lost  — "satis  quod  sufflcit."  The  question  whether  Shake- 
speare or  Bacon  was  the  author  of  Hamlet  is  now,  I  trust,  not  more 
decisively  settled  than  the  question  whether  Maud  was  written  by  its 
nominal  author  or  by  the  author  of  The  Origin  of  Species 

'  Feeling  deeply  the  truth  of  these  laM  words^  I  have  accepted  the 
office  of  laying  before  the  reader  the  theory  maintained  hy  the  un- 
fortvmxite  lady  who  has  intm4(f>ed  me  with  the  charge  of  her  manu- 
script — A.  C.  Swinburne,  in  The  Nineteenth  CerUury. 


r 


CUBBENT  TEOUQET. 


189 


CTJERENT  THOUGHT. 


The  Catholic  Scientific  Congress. 
—The  Rev.  Augustine  F.  Hewitt,  in  the 
(kUhoUe  World,  thus  speaks  of  the  pro- 
posed "International  Scientific  Congress 
of  Catholics/'  which  is  appointed  to  be 
held  at  F^ris  during  the  week  beginning 
April  8,  1888:— 

"The  specific  end  and  object  of  this 
Congress  is  to  promote  the  aevelopment 
of  science  for  the  defence  of  the  faith. 
Theology,  in  the  strict  sense  of  the  word, 
18  excluded  from  its  circle  of  topics.  Its 
direct  scope  is  not  Apologetics.  It  is 
intended  to  furnish  materiaJ^  and  aids  to 
those  who  professedly  engage  in  the  great 
work  of  CMstian  Apologetics,  by  directly 
laboring  for  the  development  of  the 
various  branches  of  science.  It  will 
occupy  itself  with  the  impulse  and  direc- 
tion which  ought  to  be  given,  at  the  pre- 
sent time,  to  the  scientific  researches  of  ^ 
Catholics,  and  with  the  method  to  be 
followed  in  order  to  make  these  researches 
subservient  to  the  Christian  cause  without 
sacrificing  anything  of  the  most  frank 
orthodoxy  or  the  most  entire  scientific 
sinoerity.  Natural  Theology  is  included 
in  the  programme  as  a  department  of 
Rational  Philosophy;  and  Biblical 
Science,  so  far  as  it  is  concerned  with  the 
relations  of  the  Scriptures  to  the  sciences 
and  secular  history,  excluding  all  ques- 
tions concerning  tne  extent  of  their  in- 
spiration. The  commission  has  invited 
Catholic  scholars  and  scientists  to  prepare 
memoirs  and  reports,  which,  after  b^ing 
examined  and  approved,  will  be  present- 
ed to  the  Congress  for  discussion,  but 
there  will  be  no  votes  taken  or  decisions 
formulated  on  their  respective  topics. 
The  principal  object  to  be  aimed  at  in 
these  papers  will  be  to  determine  the 
actual  state  of  science,  in  respect  to  those 
gueslions  which,  by  their  relations  to 
'hristian  faith,  have  a  special  interest  for 
catholics.  The  acts  of  the  Congress  will 
e  published,  including  such  papers  as 
lay  be  selected,  or  abstracts  of  the  samef 
n  this  way  will  gradually  be  collected 
1  encyclopedia  which  will  be  of  tlie 
reatest  value  and  interest." 

The  Legend  of  Locrtne.— The  leg- 
id  which  Mr.  Swinburne  has  dramatissed 
thus  told  by  Milton  in  his  History  of 
igland,  wherein  he  does  little  more  than 


summarize  the  account   of  Geoffrey  of 
Monmouth: — 

"  After  this,  Brutus  in  a  chosen  phce 
builds  Troia  nova,  changed  in  time  to 
Trinovantum,  now  London  :  and  be^an 
to  enact  Laws,  Heli  being  then  high 
priest  in  Judaee ;  and  having  govem'd 
the  whole  He  24  years,  dy'd,  and  was 
buried  in  his  new  Troy.  His  three  sons 
Locrine,  Albanact,  and  Camber  divide 
the  Land  by  consent.  Locrine  had  the 
middle  part,  Lo^gria;  Camber  possess'd 
Cambria  or  Wales;  Albanact  Albania, 
now  Scotland.  But  he  in  the  end  by 
Humber  Ein^  of  the  Hunns,  who  with  a 
Fleet  invaded  that  Land,  was  slain  in 
fight,  and  his  people  driv'n  back  into 
Loegria.  Locrine  and  his  Brother  goe 
out  against  Humber;  who,  now  marchmg 
onward,  was  by  them  defeated,  and  in  a 
River  drown'd,"which  to  this  day  retains 
his  name.  Among  the  spoils  of  his  Camp 
and  Navy,  were  found  certain  young 
Maids,  and  Estrildis,  above  the  rest,  pass- 
ing fair;  the  Daughter  of  a  King  in 
Germany ;  from  whence  Humber,  as  he 
went  wasting  the  Sea-Coast,  had  led  her 
Captive :  whom  Locrine,  though  before 
contracted  to  the  Daughter  of  Corineus, 
resolvs  to  many.  But  being  forc'd  and 
threatn'd  by  Corineus,  whose  Autority, 
and  pouer  he  fear'd,  Quendolen  the 
Daughter  he  yeelds  to  marry,  but  in  ^ecret 
loves  the  other :  and  oft-times  reUnng  as 
to  som  privat  Sacrifice,  through  Vaults 
and  passages  made  under  ground ;  and 
seven  years  thus  enjoying  her,  had 
by  her  a  Daughter  equally  fair,  whose 
name  was  Sabra.  But  when  once  his 
fear  was  off  by  the  Death  of  Corineus, 
not  content  with  secret  enjoyment,  divorc- 
ing Quendolen,  he  makes  Estrildis  now 
his  Queen.  Guendolen  all  in  rage  departs 
into  Cornwall ;  where  Madan,  the  Son 
she  had  by  Locrine,  was  hitherto  brought 
up  by  Corineus  his  Grandfather.  And 
gathering  an  Army  of  her  Fathers  Freinds 
and  Subjects,  giv^  Battail  to  her  Husband 
by  the  River  Sture  ;  wherein  Locrine  shot 
with  an  Arrow  ends  his  life.  But  not  so 
ends  the  fury  of  Guendolen ;  for  Estrildis 
and  her  Daughter  Sabra,  she  throws  into 
a  River ;  and  to  leave  a  Monument  of 
revenge,  proclaims,  that  the  stream  be 
thenceforth  call'd  after  the  Damsels  name ; 


100 


THE  UBRAMT  MAGAZINE. 


which  bj  length  of  tliD6  Is  changed  now 
to  Sabrina  or  Seyem." 

An  Ideal  Son. — Apropos  of  Joseph 
Hofmann,  the  wonderful  boy-pianist,  ^ii. 
James  Pajn  sa^rs,  in  the  Independent: — 

"Boys  of  genius  are  not  always  a  bless- 
ing to  parents,  but  when  it  is  of  a  kind  to 
attract  the  public  I  can  fancy  no  offspring 
so  delightful.  Instead  of  one's  father,  to 
have  children  who  can  clothe  and  feed 
and  locate  us  in  fashionable  neighbor- 
hoods must,  as  the  poet  Calverly  ob^rves, 
be  *most  golluptious.'  How  careful  one 
would  be  of  such  precious  olive  branches. 
How  solicitous  (if  their  talents  lay  in  a 
vocal  direction)  that  the  winds  of  Heaven 
did  not  visit  their  bronchial  tubes  too 
roughly.  How  willingly  ^ould  we  in- 
dulge them  but  not  spoil  them  (and 
especially  their  voices).  How  in  supply- 
mg  them  with  every  luxury  we  should 
*study  the  wholesomes.'  It  is  only  music 
alas  I  that  supplies  us  with  infant  phe- 
nomenons  of  the  paying  class.  By  bend- 
ing the  tender  joints  the  wrong  way,  and 
immersing  them  in  oil-baths,  it  is  said, 
indeed,  that  the  gifts  of  the  eymnast  can 
be  greatly  developed,  for  which  calling 
the  usual  expensive  materials  for  a  start 
in  life — education  at  the  public  schools 
and  the  University,  tutor,  reading  with  a 
conveyancer,  etc.— can  be  dispensed  with. 
Nothing  is  wanted  but  a  pole,  a  suit  of 
tinseled  rahnent  and  a  square  piece  of 
carpet.  But  after  all  what  are  the  emolu- 
ments of  an  acrobat  to  a  father?  No, 
there  has  never  been  anything  but  music 
worth  the  attention  of  a  youthful  genius 
(from  the  parental  point  of  view)  except, 
indeed,  in  one  instance,  that  of  Master 
Betty,  the  youthful  Hoscius,  who  made 
£20,000  for  his  family  before  he  was 
fourteen.  That  is  my  notion  of  a  son, — 
not  a  son  and  heir,  but  quite  the  other 
way — a  son  who,  without  causing  any 
one  to  deplore  his  loss,  makes  his  parents 
independent." 

Learnino  a  Language.  —  A  corre- 
spondent of  Science,  who  signs  himself 
simply  "  W."  gives  the  following  answer 
to  the  question,  ''Whether there  is  any 
practical  method  of  learning  to  read  a  lan- 
guage without  the  use  of  a  dictionary?" — 

"The  present  writer  has  learned  to  read 
readily  two  languages  without  the  use  of 
either  dictionary  or  grammar,  and  believes 
his  method  not  only  possible,  but  the 
better  way,  when  a  knowledge  of  the 


language,  not  its  grammar,  is  the  one 
desue.  His  plan  has  been  to  begin  with 
some  easy  author,  and  follow  its  text 
closely  while  some  one  reads  aloud  an 
English  or  some  other  familiar  translation. 
By  following  such  a  plan  through  a  dozen 
or  more  books,  one  may  then  venture  on 
some  simple  author,  dispensine^  with  both 
dictionary  and  translation  so  &  as  possi- 
ble, and  learning  the  meanings  of  the  new 
words,  as  they  appear,  from  the  context. 
After  having  read  twenty  or  thirty  novels 
or  similar  works  in  this  way,  he  should 
begin  the  study  of  the  ^mmar,  and  will 
then  be  surprised  to  find  that  conjugations 
and  declensions  are  no  longer  a  task. 
After  one  has  learned  a  language,  a  dic- 
tionary is  very  useful;  but  ne  certainly 
can  never  get  a  thorough  and  exact  knowl- 
edge of  words  from  English  synonyms." 

Shakespearian  CuRiosmES. — ^Mr.  J. 
O.  Halliwell-Phillipps  has  lately  issued 
"  A  Calendar  of  the  Shakespearian  Rari- 
ties, Drawings,  and  Engravings,  preserved 
at  Hollingbury  Copse,  near  Brighton. 
Of  existing  collections  he  says: — 

"  It  is  very  difficult  to  meet  with  pic- 
torial illustrations  of  the  life  of  Shake- 
speare that  belong  to  even  a  small  antiq- 
ity.  With  the  exception  of  the  very  few 
engravings  to  be  met  with  in  periodicals, 
in  editions  of  the  poet's  works,  and  in 
Ireland's  Warwickshire  Avon,  and  which 
are  sufficiently  common,  any  of  the  kind 
which  were  executed  before  Uie  commence- 
ment of  the  present  century  are  of  exceed- 
ingly rare  occurrence.  TTie  Bodleian 
Library,  so  rich  in  English  topography, 
has  none;  while  in  that  enormous  literary 
warehouse,  the  British  Museum,  there 
are  hardly  any  of  the  slightest  interest. 
There  are,  indeed,  only  two  large  and  im- 
portant collections  of  drawings  and  en- 
gravings illustrative  of  Sh&esp^uian 
biography.  One  of  these,  that  now  pre- 
served at  the  birth-place,  was  found  by  the 
late  Mr.  W.  O.  Hunt  and  myself  in  years 
gone  by,  when  we  ransacked  Stratfoia-on- 
Avon  and  its  neighborhood  for  every  relic 
of  the  kind.  The  other,  the  present  one, 
is  all  but  entirely  the  result  of  purchases 
from  other  localities.  Each  collection  is, 
at  present,  of  unique  interest,  and  is  likely 
to  remain  so.  It  is  not  possible  that  an- 
other, of  equal  value  to  either,  could  now 
be  formed,  and  even  many  of  the  engrav- 
ings and  lithographs  oi  forty  or  fifty 
years  of  age  are  of  great  rarity,  obtainable 
only  by  aocideat/' 


RIGETAND  WROITa.  m 


EIGHT  AND  WEONG, 

I  SUPPOSE  the  words  ** right"  and  ** wrong''  enter  more  largely 
into  human  life  than  any  other.  They  are  amonff  the  first  words 
that  are  uttered  by  chilcfren  at  their  play:  *' You  nave  no  right  to 
do  this!"  "That  is  wrong!"  They  are  most  profusely  used,  or 
abused,  in  the  commonest  affairs  of  daily  existence  by  the  most  ig- 
norant and  uncultivated,  and  generally — ^which  is  noteworthy — 
with  an  appeal  to  the  universcu  validity  of  the  conceptions  they 
represent,  as  though,  in  the  secure  judgment  of  the  universe,  the 
gainsayer  must  be  in  bad  faith.  Every  one  talks  of  right  as  if  it 
were  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  pronounce  upon.  And  yet  in 
practice  it  is  the  haraest.  Consider  how  terrible  are  the  problems 
which  may  be  raised  r^arding  even  the  simplest  and  least  ques- 
tioned rights.  Parental  right,  for  example,  springiug  as  it  does 
from  the  most  sacred  of  human  relations,  how  easy  to  deride  and 
decry  it,  if  we  regard  merely  the  blind  irrational  impulse  to  which 
each  individual  tne  accident  of  an  accident,  owes  his  procreation. 
Again,  think  how  large  a  part  of  human  activity  is  consumed  in  the 
endeavor,  mostly  fruitless,  to  settle  questions  of  right.  The  whole 
machinery  of  justice,  with  its  legislatures,  its  courts  of  various  in- 
stance, ite  judges,  advocates,  and  attorneys  attends  coutinually  upon 
this  very  thing.  And  yet  the  glorious  uncertainty  of  the  law  nas 
become  a  byword.  Fleets  and  armies  are  still  the  last  resource  of 
civilization  for  determining  the  rights  of  nations.  Now,  as  in  the 
time  of  Brenntts,  the  sword  is  the  ultimate  makeweight  in  the  scale 
of  justice.  It  may  be  said  that  the  history  of  right  throughout  the 
ages  is  one  long  martyrdom.  It  is  ever  l>eing  crucified  a&esh  and 
put  to  an  open  shame.  But,  speaking  generally,  we  may  assert  that 
the  idea  of  right  has  hitherto  Deen  venerated  by  mankind  at  large 
as  absolute,  supersensuous,  divine.  The  rights,  whether  of  nations 
or  of  the  individual  of  whom  they  are  composed,  have  been  held  to 
rest  upon  ethical  obligation,  and  that  upon  noumenal  truth.  Justice 
has  been  accounted  a  matter  of  the  will,  according  to  the  dictum  of 
the  Eoman  jurisconsult,  "Justitia  est  constana  et  perpetua  voluntas 
jtts  suum  Guiqtce  trtbuendi.^^  Wrong  has  been  referred,  not  to  the 
exterior  act  but  to  the  interior  mental  state :  * '  Mens  reafacit  reum. ' ' 
The  world  on  the  whole  has  not  doubted  that  what  is  just  exists  by 
lature,  that  universal  obligation  is  a  prime  note  of  right,  that  a 
iolation  of  right  entails,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  universe,  re- 
ributive  suffering  upon  the  wrong-doer. 
I  do  not,  of  course,  mean  that  the  vast  majority  of  men  have  ever 
Md  these  views  as  philosophers.  They  made  their  way  into  the  popu- 
jc  mind  through  the  religious  traditions  which  are  the  only  philoso- 


192  THE  LIBRABT  MAQAZINB. 

9 

phies  available  for  the  multitude.  The  morality  of  the  old  civiliza- 
tion  of  Egypt,  of  India,  of  Judea,  was  bound  up  with  their  religions. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  ancient  phase  of  Hellenic  and,  more 
strongly  still,  of  Eoman  civilization.  It  is  the  special  rfory  of 
Buddhism  that  it  established  the  supremacy  of  the  moral  mw  over 
gods  and  men  and  the  whole  of  sentient  existence.  To  Christianity 
the  human  race  owes  the  supreme  enforcement  of  the  autonomy  of 
conscience  as  the  voice  of  Him  whom  it  is  better  to  obey  than  man. 
But  now  the  old  ethical  conceptions  are  everywhere  falling  into  dis- 
credit. The  very  principles  on  which  the  ideas  of  right  and  wrong 
have  hitherto  rested  are  very  widely  questioned,  nay,  more  than 

Suestioned.  '*No  one,''  observes  a  recent  thoughtful  writer,  **can 
eny  either  the  reality  or  the  intensity  of  the  actual  crisis  of  moral- 
ity. Nor  is  the  crisis  confined  to  certain  questions  of  casuistry.  On 
the  contrary,  it  extends  to  the  most  general  rules  of  conduct,  and 
through  those  rules  to  the  very  principles  of  ethics  themselves." — 
"By-and-by,"  a  popular  professor  in  the  Paris  School  of  Medicine 
recently  prophesied  to  his  admiring  pupils,  **bv-and-by,  when  the 
rest  of  the  world  has  risen  to  the  intellectual  level  of  France,  and 
true  views  of  the  nature  of  existence  are  held  by  the  bulk  of  man- 
kind, now  under  clerical  direction,  the  present  crude  and  vulgar 
notions  regarding  morality,  religion,  divine  providence,  deity,  the 
soul,  and  so  forth,  wUl  be  swept  entirely  away,  and  the  dicta  of 
science  will  remain  the  sole  guides  of  sane  and  ^ucated  men.  .  .  , 
Churchmen  and  moral  philosophers  represent  the  old  and  dying 
world,  and  we,  the  men  of  science,  represent  the  new."  And  sim- 
ilarly, Mr.  Herbert  Spencer  assures  us  that  **the  establishment  of  the 
rule  of  right  conduct  upon  a  scientific  basis  is  a  pressing  need." 

Nc^  let  us  inquire  wnat  is  the  substitute  for  **the  present  crude 
and  vulgar  notions  regarding  morality"  proposed  to  the  world  by 
"men  of  science,"  as  physicists  modestly  call  themselves,  in  disdain- 
ful ignorance  of  all  science  except  their  own.  The  inquiry  is  of 
much  pith  and  moment,  for  this  among  other  reasons,  that  the  public 
order  reposes  upon  the  idea  of  right.  Social  relations  can  be  ex- 
plained and  justified  only  by  moral  relations.  Of  course  there  is 
diversity  of  operation  in  the  attempts  at  ethical  reconstruction.  But 
in  all  worketh  one  and  the  self  same  spirit.  They  all  aim  at  pre- 
senting the  world  with  *'an  independent  morality,"  by  which  tney 
mean  a  morality  deduced  merely  from  physical  law,  grounded  solely 
on  what  they  call  "experience,"  and  on  analysis  of  and  deduction 
from  experience;  holding  only  of  the  positive  sciences,  and  rejecting 
all  pure  reason,  all  philosophy  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word.  They 
aU  insist  that  there  is  no  essential  difference  between  the  moral  and 
the  pliysical  order;  that  the  world  of  ideas  is  but  a  <1evelopment  of 
the  world  of  phenomena.    They  all  agree  in  the  negation  of  primary 


BIGHT  AND  WRONG.  193 

aSd  of  final  causes,  of  the  soul  and  of  free-wUl.  Instead  of  finality, 
they  teU  us,  necessity  reigns;  mechanical  perhaps,  or  it  may  be 
dynamical,  but  issuing  practically  in  the  elimination  of  moral  hberty 
as  a  useless  spring  in  the  machinery  of  matter.  I  venture  to  say 
that  in  the  long  run  there  are  only  two  schools  of  ethics — ^the  hedo- 
nistic  and  the  trcmacendentdl.  There  are  only  two  sides  from  which 
we  can  approach  a  question  of  right  and  wrong — the  physical  and 
the  spiritual ;  there  are  only  two  possible  foundations  of  morality — 
conscience  and  concupiscence  ;*  the  laws  of  universal  reason,  or  what 
Professor  Huxley  calls  **the  laws  of  comfort. '*  The  '*men  of  sci- 
ence" are  agreed  in  anathematizing  the  transcendental.  Their 
method  is  P^ly  physical.  They  concieve  of  man  merely  as  **em 
genissendes  Thier,^^  an  animal  whose  motive  principle  is  what  they  call 
•'happiness;"  who,  in  Bentham's  phrase,  "has  been  placed  by  nature 
under  the  governance  of  two  sovereign  masters,  pain  and  pleasure." 
Such  are  the  foundations  of  the  new  independent  morality.  Let  us 
now  follow  it  out  in  some  of  its  details. 

And  first  let  us  learn  of  one  concerning  whom  a  well-informed 
writer  recently  testified  that  **in  this  country  and  America  he  is  the 
philosopher,"  and  whose  works,  rf  less  imphcitly  received  as  oracles 
in  France  and  Germany,  have  done  much  to  shape  and  color  current 

rulation  in  those  countries.  I  need  hardly  say  that  I  speak  of 
Herbert  Spencer.  The  doctrine  unf oldea  at  such  great  length 
by  this  patient  and  perspicuous  thinker  appears  to  me  to  amount  to 
this,  in  the  last  resort:  that  all  the  actions  of  society  are  determined 
by  the  actions  of  the  individual;  that  all  the  actions  of  the  individ- 
ual are  regulated  by  the  laws  of  Uf e ;  and  that  all  the  laws  of  life 
are  purely  physical. 

Turn  we  to  another  eminent  teacher,  hardly  less  influential.  Con- 
sider  the  following  account  of  human  nature  which  Professor  Hux- 
ley sets  before  us  in  his  Lay  Sermons^  enforcing  it  by  an  epigram  of 
Goethe : — 

"  All  the  multifarious  and  complicated  activities  o£  men  are  comprehended  under 
thrpe  catej^ories.  Either  they  are  directed  toward  the  maintenance  and  development 
of  the  body,  or  they  effect  transitory  changes  in  the  relative  positions  of  the  body,  or 
they  tend  toward  the  continuance  of  the  species.  Even  those  manifestations  oi  in. 
tellect,  of  feclinff ,  of  wit,  which  we  rightly  name  the  higher  faculties,  are  not  excluded 
from  this  classification,  inasmuch,  as  to  every  one  but  the  subject  of  them,  they  are 
known  only  as  transitory  changes  in  the  relative  position  of  parts  of  the  body.    Speech, 

•I  use  the  word  in  its  proper  philosophical  sense:  "a  certain  power  and  motion  of 
the  mind,  whereby  men  are  driven  to  desire  pleasant  things  that  they  do  not  possess. " 
Listen  in  this  connection  to  Professor  Huxley's  dogmatic  utterance:  "I say  that 
natural  knowledge,  seeking  to  satisfy  natural  wants,  has  found  the  idea  which  alone 
can  still  spiritual  cravings.  I  say  that  natural  knowledge,  in  desiring  to  ascertain  tlio 
law  of  comfort,  has  been  driven  to  discover  the  laws  of  conduct,  and  to  lay  the  founda- 
tions of  a  new  morality. " — "  A  new  morality  "  based  ultimately  on  "the  law  of  com- 
fort! "  Glad  tidings  of  great  joy,  indeed,  to  a  benighted  nineteenth  century. 


184  THE  LIBBABT  MAGAZmS, 

gesture,  and  ever3r  other  form  of  human  action  are,  in  the  long  run,  resolvable  Into 
muscular  contraction. " 

I  do  not  overlook  the  words  "to  every  one  but  the  subject  of 
them. ' '  And  most  certainly  I  have  no  desire  to  force  upon  Mr. 
Huxley's  langua^ge  a  meaning  which  it  does  not  lo^cally  convey. 
But  surely  he  wm  agree  with  me  that  knowledge  which  is  confined 
to  one's  inner  consciousness,  and  can  never  become  the  property  of 
another,  cannot  have  much  effect  upon  society  at  large.  It  may  be 
dismissed  by  any  philosopher  aiming  at  the  practical,  which  assm^dly 
is  Professor  Huxley's  aim.  A  man,  dwelhn^  in  the  depths  of  his 
own  consciousness,  he  tells  us,  may  think,  if  he  pleases,  m  terms  of 
spirit.  But  the  moment  that  man  attempts  to  influence  another,  he 
must  put  away  everything  that  is  not  muscular  contraction.  *'  Weitre 
hringt  es  kein  Mensch,^^  says  the  incomparable  genius  who,  in  three 
lines,  reduces  human  life  to  an  aflfair  of  feeding  one's  self,  begetting 
children,  and  doing  one's  best  to  feed  them.  1  know  it  may  be  an- 
swered, '*Well,  but  the  professor  leaves  us  the  unknown  and  un- 
knowable subject,  beyond  the  hmits  of  consciousness  as  of  physical 
science."  What  of  that?  Pray  what  has  morality  to  do  with  the 
unknown  and  unknowable? — ** Nihil  volit/um  quin prcBcognitxim^'^  is 
indeed  a  mediaeval  axiom,  and  so,  as  I  fear,  may  be  ''suspect"  to 
Professor  Huxley.  But  although  mediaeval,  it  is  unquestionably  true. 
On  morality,  the  unknown  and  unknowable  can  have  only  a  nominal 
influence.  The  real  influence  is  left  to  the  teaching  which  sees  in 
the  exercise  of  our  highest  faculties  only  "muscular  contraction.'* 
PubUc  morality  must  be  founded  on  pubhcly  acknowledged  facts. 
It  cannot  depend  upon  a  subjective  consciousness  unable  to  manifest 
itself  intellectually.  Professor  Huxley,  like  Mr.  Spencer,  really 
treats  ethics  as  a  branch  of  physics.  And  this  is  in  truth  the  doc- 
trine— whether  explicitly  avowed  or  not — of  the  whole  Positivist  and 
experimental  school,  f'urther.  Eight,  they  will  have  it,  is  not  abso- 
lute but  relative,  a  matter  of  calculation  and  reasoning;  it  is  nothing 
but  the  accord  of  the  individual  instinct  with  the  social  instinct ;  the 
momentary  harmony  of  the  need  manifested  in  me,  and  of  the 
exigences  of  the  species  to  which  I  belong.  In  hke  manner  Wrong 
is  the  absence  of  such  accord,  the  want  of  such  harmony;  "a  natur^ 
phenomenon  like  any  other,  but  a  phenomenon  that  at  a  given 
moment  is  found  to  be  in  opposition  to  the  eventual  good  or  the 
race." 

And  this  agrees  with  Bentham's  doctrine  that  what  we  call  a 
crime  is  really  a  miscalculation,  an  error  in  arithmetic.  The  old 
conception  of  conscience  as  the  formal  principle  of  ethics,  the  in- 
ternal witness  of  the  Supreme  Judge,  "a  prophet  in  its  informations, 
a  monarch  in  its  peremptoriness,  a  priest  m  its  blessings  and  anathe- 
mas," is  put  aside  as  outworn  rhetoric.    The  moral  sense,  we  are 


RIGHT  AND  WRONG,  W 

assured,  is  not  primitive,  not  innate,  but  a  mere  empirical  fact 
transformed  and  established  by  heredity;  a  "phenomenon"  (so  they 
call  it)  variable  and  varying  with  the  exigences  of  the  race.  General 
utility,  the  good  of  the  species  is,  then,  the  only  scientific  and  ex- 
perimental criterion  of  human  action,  the  sole  rule  of  right  and 
wrong;  and  morality  consists  in  the  apprehension  of  that  principle, 
and  in  conformity  with  it.  And  so  Mr.  John  Morley,  in  nis  book 
on  Compromise^  dogmatically  afllrms,  "Moral  principles,  when  they 
are  true,  are  only  registered  generalizations  from  exi)erience. " 
Human  society,  in  the  view  of  this  sage,  is  not  an  organism  but  a 
machine — ^just  as  the  individual  men  of  whom  it  is  composed  are 
machines ;  a  kind  of  company,  as  some  one  has  happily  expressed  it, 
which  insures  against  risKs  by  applying  the  principles  of  soUdarity 
and  reciprocity,  the  taxes  being  the  premium.  And  as  right  springs 
from  the  fact  of  living  together,  so  duty  springs  from  the  necessity 
of  living  together.  The  primary  fount  of  moraUty,  M.  Littre  has 
discovered — I  believe  the  glory  of  the  discovery  belongs  to  him — is 
in  the  contest  between  egoism,  the  starting-point  of  wiich  is  nutri- 
tion, and  altruism,  the  starting-point  of  which  is  sexuality.  In 
these  organic  needs  he  finds  the  origin  of  justice.  It  is  a  merely 
physiological  fact,*  the  highest  degree  of  the  social  instinct,  the 
expression  of  a  multitude  of  sensations,  images,  ideas,  springing 
successively  from  various  circumstances  in  many  generations,  and 
welded  together,  so  to  speak,  in  the  brain,  by  the  force  of  habit, 
the  invention  and  use  of  language,  and  the  action  of  time.  Thus 
there  arises  a  tradition,  which  becomes  the  pubUc  opinion  of  the 
community,  giving  birth  to  "those  uniformities  of  approbation  and 
disapprobation" — the  phrase,  I  think,  is  Dr.  Bain's — which  encour- 
age and,  so  to  speak,  consecrate  such  and  such  conduct  as  tending 
to  the  general  good ;  or,  in  other  words,  as  likely  to  result  in  the 
largest  number  of  pleasant  sensations  for  the  largest  number  of 
people.  Thus  the  test  of  the  moral  value  of  an  action  is  not  the 
intention  of  the  doer,  but  the  result  of  the  deed.  In  the  new  ethics 
the  maxim  so  often  and  so  ignorantly  cited  to  the  reproach  of  the 
Society  of  Jesus,  that  "the  end  justifies  the  means,"  finds  place  in 
all  its  nakedness,  as  a  very  cardinal  doctrine.  It  gives  rise  m  prac- 
tice to  some  curious  applications,  as  when  Mr.  Cotter  Morison,  in 
his  recent  volume,  exalts  "the  bairen  prostitute"  at  the  expense  of 
"the  prolific  spouse." 

But  in  truth  intention  must  be  beside  the  question  in  the  new 
morality,  for  its  professors,  one  and  all,  through  their  identification 
of  moral  necessity  with  physical  necessity,  are  inevitably  led  to 

•  Elflewhere  he  allows  juBtice  to  be  "  an  irreducible  psychical  fact."    I  suppose  Irre- 
iudble  means  ultimate. 


196  TEE  LIBMABT  Mj^QAZINE. 

.Determinism.  ''The  doctrine  of  free  will  is  virtually  unmeaning." 
Mr.  John  Morley  tells  us.  And  with  the  quiet  contempt  of  one  wno 
is  most  ignorant  of  what  he  is  most  assured,  he  opposes  to  those 
fatuous  persons  who  hold  it,  "sensible  people  who  accept"  what  he 
calls  the  * '  scientific  account  of  human  action. "  That  account  is  that 
ev^ery  act  is  really  the  outcome  of  universal  necessity;  that  free 
will  is  merely  a  name  by  which  .we  veil  our  ignorance  of  causes,  an 
illusion  properly  explained  by  Mr.  Spencer  as  the  result  of  a  vast 
collection  oi  detailed  associations  whereof  the  history  has  been  lost. 
Do  we  venture  to  hint  a  doubt  that  this  doctrine  degrades  man  by 
reducing  him  to  a  machine?  Mr.  Morley  loftily  admonishes  us  that 
we  are  'using  a  kind  of  lan^age  that  was  invented  in  ignorance  of 
what  constitutes  the  true  digmty  of  man.'*  ""What  is  Nature  it- 
self, ' '  he  inquires,  *  *  but  a  vast  machine,  in  which  our  human  species 
is  no  more  than  one  weak  spring!"  Society  then,  and  its  supposed 
interests  being  the  one  rule  of  right  and  wrong,  it  is  idle  to  talk  of 
any  natural  rights  of  man.  We  are  taught,  in  terms,  that  "the  only 
reason  for  recognizing  wny  supposed  right  or  claim  inherent  in  any 
man  or  body  of  men,  other  tnan  what  is  expressly  conferred  by 
positive  law,  ever  has  been  and  still  is,  general  utiUty,"  and  we  are 
referred  to  "Bentham,  Austin,  and  Mifl"  as  having  "conclusively 
settled  that."  "We  are  assured  that  "a  natural  right  is  a  mere  fig- 
ment of  the  imagination, ' '  or  what  is  apparently  regarded  as  more 
heinous  still,  '  *  a  metaphysical  entity. "  Do  we  venture  to  suggest 
that  slaver V,  for  example,  may  be  considered  as  opposed  to  a  man's 
natural  right  to  freedom  ?  No,  we  are  told ;  the  true  objection  to 
slavery  is  that  it  is  opposed  to  the  good  of  the  community.  Lord 
Sherbrooke,  some  years  ago,  affirmed  that  the  principle  of  abstract 
right  had  never  been  admitted  in  England;  a  statement  which  im- 
plies, at  the  least,  deficiency  of  information  or  shortness  of  memory. 
*  If  it  is  the  sound  English  doctrine,"  observed  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold, 
by  way  of  comment  on  this  text,  ' '  that  all  rights  are  created  by  law, 
and  are  based  on  expediency,  and  are  alterable  as  the  public  advan- 
tage may  require,  certainly  that  orthodox  doctrine  is  mine."  AU 
rights  the  creation  of  law!  Well,  well,  it  is  always  a  pity  when 
Mr.  Arnold  lays  aside  his  garland  and  singing  rooes,  and  dalhes 
with  philosophy.  But  such  an  accomplished  scholar  might  have 
remembered  that  the  doctrine  of  which  he  thus  makes  solemn  pro- 
fession is  precisely  the  doctrine  of  the  ancient  sophists  so  admirably 
refuted  by  Plato.  Besides,  he  surely  possesses  some  acquaintance 
with  the  language  and  literature  of  (jrermany.  And  the  knowledge 
that  the  idea  of  NaturrecM  is  the  very  founaation  of  scientific  juris- 

?rudence  in  that  country  might  have  served  to  make  him  pause. 
Eowever,  there  can  be  no  question  that  the  apostle  of  culture  is 
here  the  mouthpiece  of  the  vulgar  beUef  that  material  power,  the 


m&BT  Am)  ymom,  m 

force  of  numbers,  furnishes  the  last  reason  of  things  and  the  sole 
orgun  of  justice;  a  beUef  which  finds  practical  expression  in  the 
political  dogma  that  any  *' damned  error"  becomes  right  if  a  numeri- 
cal majority  of  the  male  adult  inhabitants  in  any  country  can  be 
induced,  by  rhetoric  and  rigmarole,  to  bless  it  and  approve  it  with 
their  votes. 

Now  what  are  we  to  say  of  this  new  morality?  The  first  thing 
which  I  shall  take  leave  to  say  is  that  it  is  not  moral  at  all.  Pace 
Professor  Huxley,  I  venture  to  assert  that  you  can  derive  no  ethical 
conception  whatever  from  ''the  laws  of  comfort,"  that  in  mere 
physics  there  is  no  room  for  the  idea  of  right.  I  say  it  for  this 
reason — ^that  the  mechanical  view  of  the  universe  offers  no  spiritual 
ground  of  existence,  that  out  of  it  no  true  individual  can  '* emerge." 
pTo  one  that  I  know  of,  with  the  exception  of  Mr.  John  Morley, 
praises  or  blames  a  machine,  ft  is  only  m  the  organic  sphere  that 
an  ethical  principle  can  be  found.  View  human  life  from  the  merely 
physical  side,  and  force  takes  the  place  of  right.  The  strongest  are 
the  best.  They  survive;  they  prove  their  goodness  by  surviving. 
And  further  tlian  this  the  experimental  sciences  cannot  bring  us. 
In  a  world  of  mechanism,  rignt  is  a  meaningless  word,  for  it  has 
neither  object  nor  subject.  Again,  I  say  that  out  of  needs,  personal 
or  racial,  out  of  the  interest,  whether  of  the  individual  or  of  the 
community,  you  cannot  extract  an  atom  of  morality.  For  the  first 
thing  about  the  moral  law,  as  about  all  law,  is  a  sanction,  an  obli- 
gation. To  labor  for  the  good  of  humanity,  to  sacrifice  my  private 
gratification  to  the  general  welfare,  may  be  an  admirable  rule  if  it 
comes  to  me  in  the  name  of  Eternal  Justice,  or,  which  is  really  the 
same  thing,  in  the  name  of  Grod.  Not  so  if  it  appeals  to  me  in  the 
name  of  utility.  I  ask  what  is  useful  for  myself,  for  my  own 
pleasure.  Why  should  I  not  if  man  is  merely  a  pleasurable  animal? 
bo  not  mistake  me.  I  grant  that  pleasure  is  a  mighty  spring  of 
individual  life.  But  I  deny  that  it  is  the  source  of  ethics.  The 
only  morality  you  can  derive  from  it  is  the  morality  of  money,  for 
which  pleasures,  physical  and  intellectual,  of  all  kinds,  may  be  pur- 
chased: **IHmna  huma/naque  pidchris  dwittis  parent — Pleasure 
and  pain  govern  the  world, ' '  Bentham  tells  us.  *  *  It  is  for  these 
two  sovereign  masters  alone,"  he  insists,  **to  point  out  what  we 
ought  to  do,  as  well  as  to  determine  what  we  shall  do."  Well, 
surely  the  pleasure  and  pain  which  come  home  to  the  individual  are 
his  individual  pleasure  and  pain.  But  they  tell  us  "Our  sole  ex- 
perimental and  scientific  criterion  of  human  action — ^the  ^eatest 
nappiness  of  the  greatest  number — does  carry  with  it  an  obhgation. 
The  precept  really  is :  Work  for  the  general  advantage,  for  you  will 
find  your  own  adfvantage  in  doing  so. " 

To  this  I  reply,  first,  Where  is  the  obligation,  the  binding  tie? 


198  THE  LTBRATtT  MAGAZINE. 

In  place  of  it  you  present  me  with  nothing  but  a  mere  motive. 
And  in  the  second  place  I  observe  that  the  proposition  on  which 
that  motive  is  basea  is  untenable.  It  is  by  no  means  universally 
true  that  in  working  for  the  general  advantage  I  shall  find  my  own. 
On  the  contrary,  upon  many  occasions  the  general  advantage  points 
one  way  and  my  private  advantage  another.  Nay,  is  it  too  much 
to  say  that  my  own  private  and  personal  advantage  will  seldom  be 
identical  with  the  general  advantage  in  a  world  where  the  struggle 
for  existence  and  the  survival  of  the  fittest  are  primary  laws?  The 
truth  is  that  the  general  advantage  is  an  abstraction  which  concerns 
only  the  abstraction  called  humanity.  If  pleasure,  happiness,  good, 
is  tne  criterion  of  action,  it  is  pretty  certain  to  mean  in  practice  our 
own  individual  pleasure,  happiness,  good.  Let  us  look  at  the  old 
precept,  "Thou  shalt  not  commit  adiutery,"  in  the  light  of  the  new 
morality.  I  present  that  injunction  to  a  young  man  burning  with 
a  passion  for  a  married  woman.  He  replies,  reasonably  enough, 
*  *  why  should  I  not  commit  adultery  ?"  *  *  Because  it  is  for  the  gen- 
eral interest,  which  is,  in  truth,  your  own  interest,  that  you  should 
not.  Don't  you  see,  some  day,  whea  you  marry,  if  you  ever  do 
marry,  some  one  may  commit  adultery  with  your  wife."  **MayI 
yes;  I  will  run  that  risk.  Meanwhile  I  shall  enjoy  the  supreme 
pleasure  of  gratifying  the  strongest  desire  which  I  have  ever  experi- 
enced." The  answer  seems  to  me  conclusive.  If  pleasure  be  the 
sanction  of  ethics,  be  assured  an  immediate  and  certain  pleasure  will 
be  found  a  stronger  sanction  than  a  future  and  contingent  pleasure. 
In  fact,  in  any  system  of  morals  based  on  physics,  the  only  criterion 
of  right  and  wrong,  in  the  long  run,  is  force;  the  only  reason  for 
respecting  the  person  or  property  of  another  is  that  he  can  compel 
respect  for  it.     Yes;  nothing  remains  but — 

"  The  simple  rule,  the  good  old  plan, 

That  they  should  take,  who  have  the  power, 
And  they  should  keep  who  can." 

Physical  laws  give  us  mere  facts.  And  the  authority  of  a  mere 
fact  is  its  materi^  force.  You  can  no  more  extract  nioraUty  from 
mere  facts  than  sunbeams  from  cucumbers — perhaps  less.  6ut  do 
we  not  speak  of  respecting  facts?  True.  But  the  word  "respect" 
here  means  only  recognition;  it  implies  no  element  of  moral  judg- 
ment. '  *  Let  us  not  fight  against  facts, ' '  says  Euripides,  *  *  for  we 
can  do  them  no  harm."  We  recognize,  as  prudent  men,  their  char- 
acter of  necessity.  And  so  we  shape  them  to  our  ends.  Far  other- 
wise is  it  with  the  moral  law.  We  discern  in  it  not  something  that 
we  can  make  serve  us,  but  something  which  we  must  serve.  It 
humiliates,  it  commands  us;  our  respect  for  it  is  religious.  There 
is  a  whole  universe  between  mechanical  necessity  and  jethical  ne69S- 


mOHt  AND  VmONG.  1^ 

sity.  Physical  law  says,  "Given  such  and  such  antecedents,  and 
such  and  such  consequences  follow. ' '  Moral  law  says,  *  *  From  such 
circumstances  such  action  ought  to  follow."  Physicial  law  declares 
*  *  This  is  how  things  are. ' '  Moral  law  declares,  *  *  This  is  how  things 
ought  to  be."  You  cannot  get  that  ought  from  a  universe  of 
observed  facts,  from  an  infinite  series  of  experiences.  **The  word 
ougM^^^  Kant  observes,  "expresses  a  species  of  necessity  which  na- 
ture does  not  and  cannot  present  to  the  mind  of  man.  .  .  .  The 
word,  when  we  consider  tne  course  of  nature,  has  neither  applica- 
tion nor  meaning."  No.  It  belongs  to  another  order.  A  foct  is 
isolated  and  contmgent.  But  the  distinctive  note  of  a  moral  prin- 
ciple is  universal  necessity,  the  inconceivabilitj  of  the  contrary. 
What  commands  my  respect  for  another's  claim  is  not  the  amount  of 
brute  force  with  which  he  can  back  it,  but  its  justice.  More,  a 
primary  note  of  justice  is  respect  for  weakness.     **Nay,  nay,"  it 


- — J  -      — -J  — J  — —  —  — 

I  undervalue  the  ethical  traditions  which  he  at  the  root  of  national 
character.  So  far  as  pubhc  opinion  represents  those  traditions,  it 
is  a  force  of  indubitable  value  for  good.  And  so  far  it  is  an  eflFect, 
not  a  cause.  It  is  in  no  sense  the  creative  principle  of  morality. 
Not  majorities  but  minorities — usually  very  small  minorities-r-are 
the  "helpers  and  friends  of  mankind"  on  the  path  of  ethical  pro- 
gress. How,  in  the  absence  of  a  perpetual  miracle — which  Dr. 
Bain,  I  suppose,  does  not  postulate — ^how  should  it  be  otherwise,  when 
we  consiaer  the  units  of  which  the  majority  is  composed?  Surely 
Goethe  was  not  altogether  unfounded  when  he  wrote,  ' '  Nothing  is 
more  abhon'ent  to  a  reasonable  man  than  an  appeal  to  a  majonty, 
for  it  consists  of  a  few  strong  men  who  lead,  of  knaves  who  tem- 
porize, of  the  feeble  who  are  hangers  on,  and  of  the  multitude  who 
follow  without  the  slightest  idea  of  what  they  want."  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  highest  moral  acts  which  the  world  has  witnessed  have 
been  performed  in  the  very  teeth  of  an  uniformity  of  social  dis- 
approbation. A  primary  token  of  greatness  in  pubUo  life  is  to  be 
aosolutely  unswayed  by  the  '  *  ardor  civium  pra/oa  jubentium, '  *  And 
pravity  it  is,  as  often  as  not,  for  which  they  clamor.  Did  Socrates, 
aid  Jesus  Christ,  found  themselves  upon  the  public  opinion  of  the 
communities  in  which  they  lived  ?  What  a  source  for  the  motive 
or  the  sanction  of  the  monu  law! 

But  more;  as  I  pointed  out  just  now,  the  theories  of  Naturalism, 
one  and  all  of  them,  held  by  the  prophets  of  the  new  ethics,  involve 
Determinism.  The  attempt  to  appljr  the  laws  of  natural  history  to 
social  relations  issues,  logically  'and  inevitably,  in  the  doctrine  of 
complete  moral  irresponsibility.    For  moral  obligation  presupposes, 


300  Tim  LtBBAnr  MAQAZtNB. 

nay,  postulates,  a  certain  freedom  of  the  will.  It  is  a  necessity  ad- 
dressed to  free  activities ;  not,  of  course,  absolutely  free,  but  relatively 
— ^f ree  in  the  mysterious  depths  of  consciousness  to  choose  between 
motives.  **2?t^  kannst  Mensch  sein,  weU  du  Menach  sem  soUst,^^ 
Here  is  the  only  ground  of  merit  and  demerit,  the  only  sufficient 

J'ustification  of  that  penal  legislation  without  which  society  could  not 
lold  together.  Unless  you  admit  free  will  and  goodness  in  itself^ 
absolute  riffht  and  the  possibilitjr  of  choosing  right,  no  reasonable 
theory  of  ttie  criminal  law  is  possible.  View  the  mgdefactor  merely 
in  the  light  of  physical  science,  and  what  you  have  to  deal  with  is 
not  a  free  agent  responsible  for  the  evil  he  has  done,  because  he 
knew  the  wrong  and  mi^ht  have  refrained,  but  a  temperament 
dominated  by  irresistible  mipulses,  a  machine  urffed  to  the  fatal 
deed  bv  cerebral  reaction.  If  the  murderer  merely  obeyed  physi- 
ological fatahty  in  slaying  his  victim,  it  is  monstrous  to  punish  liim. 
Where  there  is  no  responsibiUty  there  is  no  guilt.  "But  his  execu- 
tion will  deter  others.^'  Deter  others!  Is  that  a  sufficient  reason 
for  killing  an  innocent  person?  **But  any  punishment  short  of 
death,  at  all  events,  may  be  remedial."  How  remedial,  if  Deter- 
minism is  true?  Velle  non  discitur.  Such  is  the  working  of  the 
new  ethics  in  the  sphere  of  criminal  iurisprudence.  Its  mfluence 
throughout  the  whole  of  the  public  order  cannot  help  being  equally 
monstrous.  It  saps  the  idea  of  responsibility  in  mdividual  con- 
sciences. Its  carcunal  principle  is  supplied  by  the  maxim  of  Hel- 
v6tius,  taken  in  all  its  nudity  and  crudity,  "Tout  dement  legitime 


stronger."  **To  do  a  great  right  do  a  little  wrong, 
may  not  be."  "The  dictum,  'All's  well  that  ends  well,'"  Kant 
excellently  observes,  * '  has  no  place  in  morals. ' '  Morality  is  nothing 
if  not  absolute.  It  is  nothing  but  a  mere  regulation  of  pohce  in  any 
system  of  philosophy,  falsely  so  called,  based  solely  upon  the  physical 
sciences,  which  are  essentisoly  relative. 

In  opposition  to  the  teachers  whose  views  we  have  been  consider- 
ing, I  venture  to  think  that  there  is  a  hirfier  law  than  that  which 
finds  expression  in  the  sterile  formulas  of  Naturalism,  a  law  which  is 
not  derived  from  the  force  of  habit,  from  imitation,  from  human 
respect,  from  selfishness,  personal  or  tribal,  called,  in  the  sli|)shod 
jargon  of  the  day,  "utility;"  a  law  which,  as  Aquinas  writes,  is 
immutable  truth,  wherein  everv  man  shares  who  comes  into  the 
world.  That  old  doctrine  of  Natural  Right,  now  so  contemptuously 
rejected  as  a  chimera  of  the  schools  or  an  idol  of  the  den,  1  hold  to 
be  a  sound  doctrine,  and  the  only  sure  foundation  of  ethics  and 
jurisprudence.  I  believe  in  the  existence  of  justice  anterior  to  all 
experience,  and  wholly  independent  of  empirical  deductions.    I  am 


ttlGHT  AND  WRONa.  301 

persuaded  that  the  moral  law  exists  apart  from  the  ephemeral  race 
of  man ;  that  it  existed  before  that  race  came  into  bein^,  and  will 
exist  after  that  race  has  vanished  from  the  earth ;  that  it  is  abso- 
lutely binding  upon  us,  as  upon  the  totality  of  existence ;  and  that 
we  possess  an  organon  whereby  we  may  discover  it.  I  shall  pro- 
ceed to  give  my  reasons  for  this  faith  mat  is  in  me,  and  without 
which  human  life  would  lose  for  me  all  its  dignity  and  value.  In 
what  I  am  about  to  write  I  prescind  entirely  from  aU  theological 
theories  and  religious  symbols.  I  admit,  or  rather  I  insist,  that 
morality  is  in  a  true  sense  independent.  I  mean  this,  that  our  in- 
tuitions of  right  and  wron^  are  first  principles  anterior  to  all  sys- 
tems, just  as  are  the  intuitions  of  existence  and  of  number.  Now 
morality  is  a  practical  science.  Its  subject  is  man  as  he  lives,  moves, 
and  has  his  oeing  in  the  well-nigh  infinite  complexity  of  human 
relations.  Its  conclusions  must,  therefore,  have  to  do  with  the 
concrete,  the  conditioned,  for  it  is  the  science  of  human  life.  But 
then  it  views  man  transcendentaUy — not  only  going  beyond  the 
facts  of  sense  by  means  of  our  imaginative  facmty,  but  grasping 
that  spiritual  substance  which  cannot  fall  within  the  ranffe  of 
physics.  It  is  only  in  the  light  of  the  ideal  atmosphere  whicn  en- 
velops and  penetrates  our  intellect,  and  which  is  the  very  breath  of 
life  to  our  spiritual  being,  that  we  can  discern  ethical  prmciples.  I 
very  confidently  afllrm  that  the  progress  of  the  physical  sciences 
has  not  in  the  least  changed  the  moral  conditions  oi  human  exist- 
ence. And  Mr.  Huxley  must  pardon  me  if  I  say  that  when  he 
informs  the  world  that  **  natural  knowledge,  in  desiring  to  ascertain 
the  laws  of  comfort,  has  been  driven  to  discover  the  law  of  con- 
duct," he  does  but  darken  counsel  by  words  without  knowledge. 
It  would  be  as  reasonable  to  assert  that  ethical  knowledge  affords 
an  explanation  of  the  common  pump.  There  is  this  essential  dif- 
ference between  the  natural  and  the  moral  order^  that  physical  sci- 
ence deals  with  facts,  and  the  generalizations  obtained  from  them 
by  means  of  the  principle — assumed  but  never  proved — of  the  am- 
formity  of  nature,  while  ethical  science  starts  from  self-evident  in- 
tuitions and  categorical  assertions.  Thus  its  principles  are,  in  the 
strictest  sense,  transcendental.  Not  to  experience  does  the  ethical 
"ought"  appeal,  but  to  the  reason  of  thmgs.  It  is  founded  not 
upon  the  physical,  but  upon  the  metaphysical;  not  the  relative,  but 
upon  the  absolute;  not  upon  the  phenomenal,  but  upon  the  nou- 
menal.  Not  among  the  beggarly  elements  of  the  external  universe, 
but  in  the  inner  world  of  consciousness,  of  volition,  of  finality,  must 
we  see  the  ultimate  bases  of  right  and  duty.  Yes ;  in  its  own  sphere 
morality  is  autonomous.  It  is  absolutely  mdependent  both  of  re- 
ligious systems  and  of  the  physical  sciences.  It  is  a  branch  of  what 
Leibnitz  called  qumdain  perennia  jphilosqphia — a  universal    meta- 


f» 


m  THE  LIBBAR7  MAQAZINS. 

physic  which  endures  though  "creeds  pass,  rites  change,  no  altar 
standeth  sure;''  though  steam  and  electricity  and  dynamite  revolu- 
tionize the  external  conditions  of  human  nfe.  "Whether  we  call 
that  philosophy  natural,  or  intuitive,  or  traditional,  certain  it  is  that 
it  emoodies  a  number  of  first  principles  which  are  part  of  oar  intel- 
lectual heritage,  and  of  which  we  may  say  in  tne  words  of  the 
traffic  poet,  *  *They  are  from  everlasting,  and  no  man  knows  their 
birtnplace."  Among  these  are  the  ideas  and  principles  which  are 
creative  of  morality.  The  savage  who  does  not  in  some  way  dis- 
tinguish between  right  and  wrong  is  not  extant ;  and  if  he  were,  he 
would  not  be  man,  out  something  lower.  There  is,  there  can  be, 
no  new  morality  in  the  sense  of  new  original  principles.  The  con- 
ception of  moral  right  was  not  absent  from  mankina  before  biology 
became  a  science,  or  until  the  Eoyal  Society  was  founded  ;;^  neither 
by  any  process  of  chemistry  or  physics  can  it  be  reduced  to  the 
attractions  or  repulsions  of  matter,  or  its  presence  detected  by  in- 
struments, however  fine.  The  rule  of  ethics  is  the  natural  and 
permanent  revelation  of  reason.  Let  us  see  what  that  revelation  is. 
And  first  T  must  say  that  the  Positivism,  the  Naturalism,  the 
Materialism  rampant  in  the  present  day  appear  to  me  to  be  in  truth 
a  great  insurrection  against  reason.  What  is  the  most  certain  por- 
tion of  all  my  knowledge?  Surely  it  is  this,  that  I — the  thinking 
being-exist/  In  strictness  aJl  my  knowledge  is  subjective.  Ol 
what  is  external  to  myself  I  know  nothing  except  its  potentiality. 
My  knowledge  of  it,  directly  or  indirectly,  is  dependent  upon  my 
sensations,  which  tell  me,  to  some  extent,  its  qualities,  but  do  not 
tell  me  what  it  really  is  or  whether  it  is  anything  if  attraction  be 
made  of  its  quaUties.     The  forms  of  intuition  ana  of  rational  induc- 


our  consciousness  of  the  first  principles  of  morality  is  an  indubitable 
fact.  As  surely  as  I  am  conscious  of  myself  so  am  I  conscious  of 
moral  obligation.  ** There  is,"  writes  T^urgot,  "an  instinct,  a  senti- 
ment of  what  is  good  and  right  that  Providence  has  engraven  on  all 
hearts,  which  is  anterior  to  reason,  and  which  leads  the  philosophers 
of  all  ages  to  the  same  fundamental  principles  of  ethics."  1  am 
quite  willing  to  leave  "Providence" — ^the  divme  concept — out  of  the 
question  here.  I  wish  just  now  to  go  merely  by  the  facts  of  our 
moral  nature.  And  one  of  these  facts — ^the  primary  one — ^is,  I  say, 
the  sense  of  ethical  obligation.  Aristotle  considered  it  the  special 
attribute  of  man  that  he  is  a  moral  being,  enjoying  perception  of 
good  and  evil,  justice  and  injustice,  and  the  like.  It  is  the  doctrine 
of  the  Politics  that  this  marks  man  off  from  the  rest  of  animate 
nature.    We  know  now  more  than  that  great  master  knew  concern- 


niQMT  AND  WRONG.  203 

ing  the  creatures  inferior  to  man  in  the  scale  of  beine.  For  myself, 
1  cannot  deny  the  rudiments,  at  least,  of  the  ethical  sense  to  "some 
of  them,  the  raw  material  of  the  morality  which  is  to  be.  I  believe 
with  Professor  Huxley — and  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to  agree  with 
him — ^that  "even  the  highest  faculties  of  feeling  and  intellect  begin  to 
germinate  in  lower  forms  of  life. ' '  Nature  appears  to  me  a  vast  hier- 
archy of  being,  in  which  one  order  passes  into  another  by  gradations 
so  fine  as  to  reauire  ''larger,  other  eyes  than  ours"  to  trace  them. 
Without  thougnt — Eeason — in  the  ground  of  things,  this  wide 
sphere  of  life  is  uniateUigible  to  me.  I  hold  with  Kant  that  mere 
senseless  mechanism  is  quite  insufficient  to  explain  organic  products 
With  him,  I  regard  the  entire  history  of  organic  life  as  a  process  of 
development,  brought  about  by  the  action  of  immaterial  causes  upon 
the  forces  and  properties  of  matter.  But  unquestionably  it  is  of 
man  only  that  we  can  predicate  consciousness  in  the  full  sense  of  the 
term.  Nature,"  said  Schelling,  "sleeps  in  the  plant,  dreams  in 
the  animal,  wakes  in  the  man.'°  Everywhere  throughout  her  vast 
domain  we  seem  to  see  the  striving  after  individuality.  Everywhere 
there  is,  in  some  sort,  a  principllof  unity,  be  it  in  the  atom  of  the 
inorganic  world,  the  cell  m  the  lower  vegetable  forms,  or  the  whole 
organism  in  the  higher.  The  plant  has  life  in  itself.  Is  it  conscious 
of  that  Ufe?  "For  'tis  my  faith  that  every  flower  enjoys  the  air  it 
breathes."  So  Wordsworth,  soaring  in  the  high  reason  of  his  fan- 
cies. Who  shall  say  that  he  is  wrong?  But  in  the  animal  world  we 
have  a  further  development  of  individuaUty.  The  action  of  mechan- 
ism becomes  less  and  less.  Here  is  motion,  self -originated ;  here  is 
some  degree  of  spontaneity ;  here  is  consciousness,  imperfect,  indeed, 
but  extending  we  know  not  how  far ;  here  are  psychical  faculties  well 
marked,  however  scantily  developed ;  here  is  a  certain  accountable- 
ness.  But  in  man  we  have  more.  Of  him  solely,  I  say,  can  coq- 
sciousness  be  predicated  in  the  full  meaning  of  the"  word.  He  alone 
can  recognize  and  will  the  creative  thought  of  his  being.  He  alone 
is  free,  for  he  exists  for  himself  and  not  for  another.*  He  alone  ia 
an  individual  in  the  completest  sense.  He  is  more;  he  is  a  person. 
Thing,  individual,  person  — ens^  mppodtum^  hypostasis^  as  the 
scholastics  have  it— tnese  are  the  three  degrees  in  the  dynamic  evo- 
lution of  being.  At  what  period  in  history  the  personality  of  man 
emerged,  we  Know  not.  But  assuredly,  whenever  the  period  was, 
his  personality  was  due  to  the  growth,  side  by  side  with  sensuous 
and  instinctive  impulses,  of  another  very  diflFerent  faculty,  which 
gave  him  quite  otner  grounds  of  action.  That  was  the  dawn  of 
reason,  which  rendered  man's  liberty  possible,  which  enabled  him  to 

*I  need  hardly  say  that  I  have  before  my  mind  the  definition  of  freedom  given  by 

Aristotle  in  the  Metc^ytiei,  ikwBtfiot  ap^pmnt  4  mvrw  lKCff«  km  it.%  oAAov  »r. 


S04  THE  LtBRABY  MAGAZmB. 

become  poteiis  su%  master  of  his  fate,  by  emancipating  him  from 
the  yoke  of  instinct  as  no  other  animaf  is  emancipated.  A.  free 
voHtion  is  spontaneity  in  no  degree  subject  to  physical  necessity. 
It  may  be  truly  called  man's  distinctive  endowment,  although  the 
foreshadowings,  the  presentiments,  the  germs  of  it— i^iM^^t^ra  r^ 
kv^fmitivii^  i»n% — may  be  found  in  the  lower  animals.  It  is  the 
essence,  the  very  form  of  his  personality.  It  is  the  basis  as  of  ethics, 
so  of  jurisprudence  and  of  poUtics — which  are,  in  truth,  mere  branches 
of  ethics — according  to  tne  pregnant  dictum  of  Hegel.  The  exist- 
ence of  free  wiU  is  right.  It  is  to  personality  that  rights  attach, 
and  aU  rights  imply  correlative  duties.  You  cannot  predicate  rights 
where  you  cannot  predicate  duties.  Eights  and  duties  spring  up 
from  the  same  essential  ground  of  human  nature.  They  are  differ- 
ent aspects  of  one  and  the  same  thing.  From  each  duty  issues  a 
right,  the  right  to  perform  the  duty,  with  precisely  the  same  logical 
force  and  warrant  as  from  necessity  issues  possibility.  The  power 
of  willing  right  right,  and  the  consciousness  that  he  ought  to  wiU  it, 
is  a  primary  fact  of  man's  nature.  -And  this  free  volition,  deter- 
mined by  the  idea  of  good,  is  in  itself  a  revelation  of  the  moral  law. 
The  autonomy  of  the  will  is  the  object  of  that  lexperfecta  liberiatia, 
"The  ethical  faculty,"  as  we  read  in  the  Critique  oj  Pure  Reaaon^ 
''enunciates  laws  which  are  imperative  or  objective  laws  of  free- 
dom." 

Natural  right,  it  is  sometimes  said,  arises  from  the  inalienable 
idea  of  the  person  in  himself.  The  statement  requires  to  be  guarded. 
It  is  only  in  society  that  personality  is  realized,  Unvs^  homo  nvUis 
homoy  Hence  tnat  other  dictum,  which  must  be  received  with 
the  like  caution,  that  right  is  the  offspring  of  civilization.  True  it 
is  that  right  is  not  the  attribute  of  man  in  Rousseau's  "state  of  na- 
ture. ' '  The  pre-civilized  epoch  in  which  that  filthy  dreamer  sought 
his  Utopia  was  in  truth  an  epoch  of  the  reign  of  force,  of  hideous 
cruelty,  of  cannibalism,  of  dirt  unspeakable ,  of  sexual  promiscuity,  of 
lying  and  hypocrisy.  And  such  is  the  state  which  his  doctrines  tend 
to  bring  back.  Unquestionably  it  is  society  alone  that  gives  validity 
to  right,  for  man  is,  in  Aristotle's  phrase,  "a  political  animal."  If 
we  follow  the  historical  method  only,  we  must  pronounce  the  birth- 

Klace  of  right  to  have  been  the  family,  from  which  civil  polity  has 
eon  developed.  But  if  we  view  the  matter  ideally,  we  must  say 
that  the  experience  of  the  race  is  here  merely  an  occasion,  not  a 
cause ;  it  does  not  create,  it  merely  reveals  right.  The  social  organ- 
ism exhibits  that  which  lies  in  the  nature  of  man,  deep  down  in  the 
inmost  recesses  of  his  being,  but  which  could  never  have  come  out 
of  him  in  isolation.  It  is  m  history  that  the  idea  of  right  unfolds 
itself.  It  is  in  the  fellowship  of  successive  generations  that  the  idea 
becomes  increasingly  realized  as  man  becomes  more  ethical.    For 


BIGBTAND  WRON&.       '  205 

man  is  not  onhr  ''a  political  animal,''  he  is  also  "a  historical  ani- 
maL"  And  this  it  is,  even  more  than  the  Aristotelian  criterion, 
that  marks  him  ofF  from  the  rest  of  sentient  existence.  He  is  "made 
and  moulded  of  thing;?  past. "  He  is  a  part  of  all  that  his  ancestors 
have  been.  Bygone  generations  are  incarnate  in  him.  He  is  a  link 
between  the  civuization  which  has  gone  and  the  civilization  to  come. 
And  what  is  civilization  but  the  progressive  realization  by  man  of 
the  end  of  his  being,  which  end  is  ethical?  Consider,  on  the  one 
hand,  the  Red  Indian  who  tortures  his  captive  enemy,  his  untutored 
mind  not  doubting  that  he  is  merely  exercising  a  right ;  and,  on  the 
other,  contemplate  John  Howard  on  his  circumnavigation  of 
charity,"  not  counting  his  life  dear  so  that  he  may  r^ress  the 
wrongs  of  criminals.  Thus  has  the  idea  of  right  grown  in  the 
human  conscience.  But  an  idea,  in  the  true  sense  of  tne  word,  it  is. 
Its  root  is  in  the  transcendental.  All  human  rights  are  really  but 
different  aspects  of  that  one  great  aborigjinal  right  of  man  to  belong 
to  himself,  to  realize  the  idea  of  his  being,  fii  strictness,  positive 
law  does  not  make  but  merely  recognizes  and  guarantees  them.  A 
Praetorian  edict,  an  act  of  Parliament,  is  not  their  source  but  their 
channel.  Our  codes  are  merely  formulas  in  which  we  endeavor, 
with  greater  or  less  success,  to  apply,  in  particular  conditions  of  life 
and  social  environment,  the  dictates  of  that  universal  law  which  is 
absolute  and  eternal  justice.  This  is,  in  Burke's  magnificent  lan- 
guage, **that  great  immutable,  pre-existent  law,  prior  to  our  devices 
and  prior  to  aU  our  sensations,  antecedent  to  our  very  existence,  by 
which  we  are  knit  and  connected  in  the  eternal  frame  of  the  um- 
verse,  out  of  which  we  cannot  stir."  This  law,  the  great  Roman 
orator  had  declared  two  thousand  years  before,  "no  nation  can 
overthrow  or  annul :  neither  a  senate  nor  a  whole  people  can  relieve 
us  from  its  injunctions.  It  is  the  same  in  Athens  and  in  Rome;  the 
same  yesterday,  to-day,  and  forever."  This  is  the  law  of  which 
Hooker  majestically  proclaims,  "Her  seat  is  the  bosom  of  God,  her 
voice  the  harmony  of  the  world :  all  things  in  heaven  and  earth  do 
her  homage;  the  very  least  as  feeling  her  care,  and  the  greatest  as 
not  exempted  from  her  power." 

"God  is  law,  say  the  wise."  In  Him  the  moral  order  is  eternally 
conceived,  eternally  realized.  But  the  science  of  ethics  leads  to, 
does  not  start  from,  the  divine  concept.  "If  us,  as  know  so  little, 
can  see  a  bit  o'  good  and  rights,  we  may  be  sure  as  there's  a  good 
and  a  rights  bigger  nor  what  we  can  Know."  So  Mrs.  Wintnrop 
in  Sil<is  Mamer;  truly  enough.  The  moral  law  is  a  natural  revela- 
tion of  an  order  of  verities  eternal,  transcendental,  noumenal.  The 
correspondence  of  that  law  with  the  needs  of  our  nature  proclaims 
as  witn  the  voice  of  an  archangel  and  the  trump  of  God,  that  final 
causes  are  a  necessary  element  in  ethics.    From  the  fact  of  moral 


306  THB  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

obligation  we  reason  to  its  source  in  the  Infinite  and  Eternal.  It  is 
a  dictum  of  Leibnitz  that  the  true  way  of  proving  the  existence  of 
God  is  to  seek  the  reason  of  the  existence  for  the  universe,  which 
is  the  totality  of  contingent  things,  in  the  substance  whicli  bears 
within  itself  the  reason  of  its  existence.  The  ephemeral  race  and 
the  debile  reason  of  man  are  among  the  most  contingent  forms  of 
being.  Only  in  the  Self -Existent  can  a  base  be  found  for  ethical 
ideas.  The  great  legists  to  whom  we  owe  the  vast  fabric  of  Eoman 
jurisprudence  knew  this  well.  Hence  their  emphatic  recognition  of 
the  transcendental  foundation  of  private  right,  it  was  an  expression 
of  the  august  doctrine  which  they  had  learned  from  the  philosophers 
of  the  Porch  that  universal  reason  governs  the  world ;  that  the  lives 
of  men  should  be  regulated  by  that  supreme  order  which  is  justice 
in  the  soul,  beauty  in  the  body,  and  harmony  in  the  spheres.  But 
it  is  to  the  Founder  of  Christianity  and  the  doctors  of  His  religion 
— conspicuous  among  them  the  masters  of  the  mediaBval  school — 
that  tne  world  owes  the  clearest,  the  most  prevailing,  the  most 
cogent  teaching  as  to  the  universality  of  right  and  the  solidarity  of 
mankind.  Now  this  characteristic  of  universality  is,  I  venture  to 
think,  the  first  and  the  most  essential  note  of  ethics.  The  theory 
of  the  moral  law  must  be  founded  on  reason.  To  make  of  it  a  mere 
deduction  from  experience  is  to  perform  a  mortal  operation  upon  it, 
is  to  reduce  right  and  wrong  to  a  question  of  temperament,  of  en- 
vironment, of  cuisine,  of  latitude  and  longitude.  Kant  knew  this 
weU.  Hence  the  rule  which  he  lays  down  for  our  conduct,  the 
maxim  by  which  we  may  trjr  and  test  its  ethical  worth :  Act  so 
that  the  motive  of  thy  will  may  always  be  equally  valid  as  a 
principle  of  universal  lemslation.  I  do  not  say  that  tnis  maxim  is 
alone  adequate  as  the  nmdamental  thought  of  ethics.  It  may  be 
open  to  the  criticism  that  it  is  rather  the  uniform  view  of  a  criterion 
than  the  pregnant  principle  of  morals.  But,  at  all  events,  in  its 
recognition  of  universality  it  is  built  upon  the  everlasting  rock. 
What  a  change  to  turn  rrom  the  ampler  ether,  the  diviner  air  of 
this  noble  ideSism,  to  the  stifling  empirical  doctrine  prevailing  in 
our  own  country.  I  suppose  that  empiricism  is  due  to  the  influence 
of  Locke,  whose  reign  is  oy  no  means  over.  There  can  bejio  ques- 
tion that  his  method  if  not  his  actual  teaching  does  lead  to  empiri- 
cism. There  can  be  as  little  that  the  moral  philosophy  of  his  disciple 
Paley  is  essentially  empirical.  Schopenhauer,  in  correction  of  a  far 
greater  thinker,  ooserves  that  when  Spinoza  denies  the  existence  of 
right  apart  from  the  State,  he  confounds  the  means  for  asserting 
right  with  right  itself.  This  is  unquestionably  true.  But  the  belief 
that  human  law  can  be  the  ultimate  ground  and  the  only  measure 
of  right  appears  upon  the  face  of  it  so  untenable  that  one  is  lost  in 
wonSer  how  it  could  possibly  have  obtained  such  credit.    All  right 


RIGHT  AND  WBOMf,  307 

the  creation  of  positive  law  I  The  ri^ht  to  existenoe,  for  example? 
or  the  right  of  self-defence?  or  the  rie;ht  to  use  to  the  best  advan- 
tage one^s  mond  and  spiritual  facmties?  Imagine  a  number  of 
settlers  in  a  new  country  before  they  have  haa  time  to  frame  a 
poUty.  Are  they  then  devoid  of  these  rights  ?  Surely  it  is  sufficient 
to  a&K  such  a  question.  But  we  are  told  that  these  rights  arise  from 
a  contract  express  or  implied.  As  a  matter  of  fact  society  is  not 
founded  upon  convention,  although  I  allow  a  virtual  compact 
whence  is  derived  the  binding  obligation  of  laws  regarding  things  in 
themselves  indifferent.  But  if  the  rights  which  I  have  instanced 
exist  at  all — and  in  practice  every  one  admits  their  existence — they 
possess  universal  validity.  A  contract  may  or  may  not  be.  It  is 
contingent.  But  these  rights  must  be.  They  are  absolute.  Eight 
is  founded  on  necessity.  What  is  necessary  and  immutable  cannot 
proceed  from  the  accidental  and  changeable.  To  me  it  is  evident, 
upon  the  testimony  of  reason  itself,  that  there  are  certain  rights  of 
man  which  exist  anterior  to  and  independently  of  positive  law, 
which  do  not  arise  ex  contractu  or  qtuisi  ex  contractu^  and  which 
may  properly  be  called  natural,  because  they  originate  in  the  nature 
of  thm^.  And  here  let  me  express  my  regret  at  the  scanty  and 
uncertain  treatment  which  this  subject  has  received  from  one  who 
is  by  common  consent  the  most  accomplished  of  English  jurisprudents. 
In  his  Ancient  Lww^  Sir  Henry  Mame  tells  us  that  **the  law  of 
Nature"  as  the  great  Roman  lurisconsults  conceived  of  it,  "con- 
fused the  past  and  the  present;''  that  "logically  it  implied  a  state 
of  nature  which  once  had  been  regulated  by  natural  law,"  while 
"for  all  practical  purposes  it  was  something  belonging  to  the  present, 
something  entwined  with  existing  institutions,  something  which 
could  be  distinguished  from  them  by  a  competent  observer."  The 
law  of  nature,  as  I  understand  it,  and  as  I  believe  the  Roman  juris- 
consults, following  the  great  Hellenic  philosophers  from  Aristotle 
downward,  understood  it,  belongs  to  the  domain  of  the  ideal.  It  is 
the  type  to  which  positive  law  should  endeavor,  as  far  as  may  be, 
to  approximate;  but  the  approximation  must  vary  indefinitely 
according  to  social  conditions.  I  am  well  aware  that  what  is  nou- 
menaUy  true  may  be  phenomenally  false;  that  in  the  life  of  men, 
principles  must  hie  viewed  not  in  the  abstract  but  in  the  concrete,  as 
emboaied  in  actual  facts  and  institutions.  I  quite  agree  with  Sir 
Henry  Maine  that,  in  jurisprudence  we  must  ngorously  adhere  to 
the  historical  method.  But  it  also  appears  to  me  that  the  historical 
method  alone  is  insufficient.  Its  conclusions  must  be  tested,  must 
be  corrected  by  that  reason  which  is  the  ultimate  court  of  appeal. 
The  law  of  nature  is  an  expression  of  the  nature  of  things  in  their 
ethical  relations.  The  natural  rights  of  man  have  an  ideal— which 
means  most  real — value,  as  showing  the  goal  to  which  society  in 


206  THE  UBRAEt  MAGAZINE. 

unison  with  individual  eflf9rts  should  tend.  We  live  in  a  world  of 
objects  conditioned  by  ideas.  A  right  is  that  one  possession  of  the 
individual,  with  which,  in  virtue  of  tne  moral  law,  no  power  outside 
him  can  interfere.  The  office  of  positive  law  is  to  guard  those 
rights.  ''The  faculty  of  constraint,"  Kant  says,  "aims  at  the 
vindication  of  mv  natural  rights  by  suppressing  their  violation." 
Positive  law  is  tne  rule  of  reciprocal  libertv,  the  guardian  of  the 
natural  rights  of  the  individual  which  are  the  rule  of  his  liberty. 
The  idea  of  personality  is  limited  by  the  idea  of  solidarity.  In  the 
true  social  tneory  these  ideas  are  reconciled,  not  abolished.  For, 
pace  Mr.  John  Morley,  society,  like  the  individual,  is  an  organism, 
not  a  machine.  Hence  we  may  accept  E^ant's  definition  of  freedom, 
* '  the  rights  of  the  individual  so  far  as  they  do  not  conflict  with  the 
riffhts  of  other  individuals. ' '  With  this  proviso  it  must  be  main- 
tamed  that  man  is  naturally  free;  that  he  has  a  natural  right  to  the 
normal  development  and  exercise  of  his  various  faculties,  and  there- 
fore that  he  has  a  right  to  the  means  necessary  to  their  development. 
It  appears  to  me  of  the  utmost  importance  to  insist  upon  these 
truths  at  the  present  day,  when  there  is  so  strong  and  so  growing  a 
tendency  in  the  popular  mind  to  believe  that  virtue  and  diSy,  justice 
and  injustice,  are  mere  matters  of  convention;  when  for  the  eternal 
distinction  between  true  and  false,  right  and  wrong,  we  are  so  per- 
emptorily bidden  to  substitute  the  uncouth  shibboleths  of  a  sect  of 
physicists.  I  had  occasion,  not  long  ago,  to  cite  the  well-known 
dictum,  '*The  rights  of  man  are  in  a  middle."     The  printers  were 

f:ood  enough  to  make  of  it,  **The  rights  of  man  are  in  a  muddle." 
n  a  muddle  indeed  I  My  object  in  this  paper  has  been  to  let  in,  if 
possible,  a  little  light  upon  the  weltering  chaos ;  to  help  my  readers, 
in  however  small  a  degree,  to  give  order  and  fixity  to  their  concep- 
tions upon  social  relations.  But  one  is  nothing  in  England  if  not 
what  is  called  ** practical."  Tour  average  Englishman  does  not 
care  greatly  whether  there  be  a  God  or  not,  provided  the  price  of 
stock  does  not  fall.  There  is  truth  in  Mr.  Carlyle's  account  of  him, 
that  if  you  want  to  awaken  his  real  beliefs,  y^ou  must  descend  info 
**his  stomach,  purse,  and  the  adjacent  regions."  Kant  teUs  that  a 
man  has  reason  and  understanding.  Eeason  seems  to  have  well-nigh 
departed  from  the  British  mind  since  the  overthrow  among  us  of 
the  Aristotelian  philosophy  by  ITobbcs  and  Locke.  I  quoted,  at  the 
beginning  of  tins  paper,  the  statement,  which  seems  to  me  quite 
correct,  that  Mr.  Heroert  Spencer  is  emphatically  the  philosopher  of 
the  present  day  in  England  and  in  Ajnerica.  Tfo  wonder.  His  is 
essentially  what  the  French  call  a  raiaon^  cTepicier,  a  grocer's  intel- 
lect. He  is  most  industrious,  most  precise,  most  conscientious,  most 
clear  when  he  chooses,  within  certam  limits.  But  they  are  narrow 
limits,  like  the  four  walls  of  a  shop.     Of  the  vast  horizons  beyond, 


PAB8EEI8M  AND  BUDDHISM.  ^m 

he  has  no  knowledge.  "The  vision  and  the  faculty  divine,"  essen- 
tial to  all  philsosph;^'  worthy  of  the  name,  is  not  in  him.  His  popu- 
larity is  an  emphatic  testimony  to  the  singular  unidealism — i  had 
almost  written  the  congenital  imbecility — of  the  English  mind  in 
respect  of  eternal  and  divine  things.  I  suppose  an  e&rt  should  be 
made  to  heal  it.  But  who  is  sufficient  for  these  things?  Exariwe 
aliquis.  Meanwhile,  in  order  to  put  myself  in  touch  with  the  na- 
tional sentiment,  I  shall  point  to  two  practical  applications  of  this 
doctrine  of  right  upon  wriich  I  have  been  insisting;  to  its  bearing 
upon  the  qu^tions  of  political  power  and  private  property  raised  so 
imperiously  by  Democracy  ana  Socialism.  But  I  must  do  that  in 
another  paper. — ^W.  S.  L^ly,  in  The  FortmgMiy  Heview. 


-       PAKSEEISM  AND  BUDDHISM. 

Ma3sy  of  the  more  intelligent  class  of  unbelievers  refer  to  the 
rehgions  of  the  East,  such  as  Confucianism,  Brahmanism,  Buddhism, 
Parseeism,  and  Mohammedanism,  as  being  so  nearly  on  the  same 
plane  with  Christianity  that  it  is  impossible  to  accept  it  to  the  ex- 
clusion of  their  claims.  Without  considering  here  the  numerous 
marks  by  which  the  Catholic  and  divine  reUgion  is  separated  from 
all  srvst^ems  and  creeds  merely  human,  we  may  arm  ourselves  against 
cavils  of  this  kind  by  a  glance  at  the  real  cnaracter  of  two  of  the 
most  vaimted  of  the  great  Oriental  cults ;  not,  however,  condemning 
them  with  the  hastiness  of  iffiorance,  but  rather  taking  them  in 
their  most  favorable  aspect.  It  must  be  premised  that  all  of  these 
systems  embody  portions  of  the  primitive  traditions  of  the  race,  and 
are  so  far  true  and  similar  to  the  Catholic  religion;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  have  two  great  evils,  apart  from  the  crowning  one  of 
their  very  existence  outside  the  church's  pale:  first,  the  divine  tra- 
ditions are  only  partially  retained,  and  are  often  so  distorted  and 
corrupted  as  to  be  nearly  unrecognizable ;  and,  second,  their  special 
claims  have  little  or  no  logical  foundation,  and  utterly  vanish  under 
a  rigid  application  of  the  mws  of  evidence.  We  have  here  to  con- 
sider the  latter  of  these  characteristics,  referring  only  incidentally  to 
the  doctrinal  features  of  the  religions  whose  bases  we  examine. 

Both  of  the  names  at  the  heaid  of  this  article  represent  reformed 
religions  which  branched  oflf  from  the  ancient  Brahmanical  stock 
centuries  before  the  birth  of  Christ.  Zoroaster,  about  twelve  cen- 
turies B.C.,  revived  a  pure  monotheism  which  admitted  no  rival  to 
the  one  Supreme  Deity,  not  even  Ahriman,  who  is  far  from  holding 
the  conspicuous  place  which  is  given  him  in  the  dualistic  theolog}'^ 
'alsely  attributed  to  the  Zoroastrian  or  Parsee  religion.    Buddha, 


310  TBE  LIBRAB7  MAQAZINR 

seven  hundred  years  later  founded  an  atheistic  philosophy  which 
denied  the  reality  of  all  things,  admitting  neither  immortality  nor  a 
soul  to  be  immortal,  neither  an  actual  universe  nor  a  God  to  create 
it.  So  the  devas^  or  gods  of  the  Brahmans,  became  the  diva^  or 
demons  of  the  Parsees,  and  with  the  Buddhists  degenerated  into 
mere  legendary  beings  or  gobUns,  treated  w?th  contempt,  and  only 
carried  about  m  puppet-shows  as  servants  to  Buddha. 

The  reUgion  of  Zoroaster,  which  more  than  once  threatened  to 
overspread  the  globe,  is  now  of  small  extent.  About  seven  thousand 
of  the  Parsees  are  to  be  found  in  the  vicinity  of  Yezd,  in  their 
original  country,  Persia,  but  the  principal  part  of  them,  now  number- 
ing only  from  one  hundred  to  one  nundred  and  fifty  thousand, 
inhabit  Bombay  and  a  few  other  places  in  India.  '  *  The  descend- 
ants of  those  who  remained  in  Persia  have  gradually  decreased  in 
numbers  and  sunk  in  ignorance  and  poverty,  though  still  preserving 
a  reputation  for  honesty,  chastity,  industry,  and  obedience  to  law 
superior  to  that  of  the  other  Persians.  The  Parsees  of  India  are 
considered  a  very  superior  people,  and  some  of  the  wealthiest  mer- 
chants of  that  country  are  numbered  among  them.  Their  religious 
tenets,  too,  are  remarkably  pure,  and,  contrary  to  popular  notions, 
include  neither  dualism  nor  tne  worship  of  the  elements.  This  then, 
may  be  taken  as  one  of  the  best  of  Asiatic  religions;  and,  fortu- 
nately, we  have  at  hand  a  means  of  acquiring  a  very  accurate  knowl- 
edge of  it.  In  addition  to  the  investigations  of  European  scholars 
we  have  from  the  pen  of  Dadabhai  Naaroji,  an  enlightened  Parsee 
of  the  priestly  caste,  two  works,  written  some  years  ago  while  he 
was  professor  of  Guzerati  at  the  University  College,  London,  and 
treating  respectively  of  the  manners  and  customs  and  of  the  religion 
of  his  people.  All  their  sacred  books  and  all  their  prayers  are 
composed  in  the  ancient  Zend,  and  there  is  not,  according  to  this 
unexceptionable  d.uthority,  a  single  person  among  them,  either 
priest  or  layman,  who  is  able  to  read  that  language.  **The  whole 
religious  education  of  a  Parsee  child  consists  in  preparing  by  rote  a 
certain  number  of  prayers  in  Zend,  without  unaerstanding  a  word 
of  them;  the  knowledge  ot  the  doctrines  of  their  reUgion  being  left 
to  be  picked  up  from  casual  conversation."  Until  about  1835  there 
was  no  book  from  which  the  doctrines  of  the  Parsee  religion  could 
be  gathered ;  but  about  that  time  a  kind  of  a  catechism  was  written 
in  Guzerati,  the  popular  language,  with  the  view,  it  is  said,  of 
counteracting  the  influence  of  Christian  missionaries.  From  this 
work  we  extract  the  following: 

"  Q.  What  is  our  religion?— ud.  Our  religion  is  Jie  worship  of  God. 

"  Q.  Whence  did  we  receive  our  religion? — A,  €k)d'8  true  prophet — ^the  true 
Zurthoflt  Ashantamftn  Anashirwftn — brought  the  religion  to  us  from  G^. 

*'  Q.  Wliat  religion  has  our  prophet  brought  us  from  God? — A.  The  disciples  of 
our  prophet  Irnve  recorded  in  several  books  that  religion,    Many  of  these  books  were 


PAB8EEI8M  AJH)  B  UDDHISM.  211 

destroyed  during  Alexander's  conquest ;  the  remainder  of  the  books  were  preserved 
with  great  care  and  resDect  by  the  Sassanian  kings.  Of  these  again  the  greater  portion 
were  destroyed  at  the  Mohammedan  conquest  by  Elhalif  Omar,  so  that  we  have  now 
very  few  l)ooks  remaining — viz.,  the  Vandidad,  the  Yazashn6,  the  Visparad,  the 
Khardeh  Avesta,  the  Y istasp  Nusk,  and  a  few  Pehlevi  books.  Resting  our  faith  upon 
these  few  books,  we  now  remain  devoted >to  our  good  Mazdiashna  religion.  We  con- 
sider these  books  as  heavenly  books,  because  Qoa  sent  the  tidings  of  these  books  to  us 
through  the  holy  Zurthost." 

It  will  be  seen  from  this  that  the  Parsee  rell^on  depends  solely 
upon  the  interpretation  of  a  few  books,  written  in  a  language  which 
is  intelligible  only  to  a  handful  of  European  scholars — ^who  have 
deciphered  it,  after  incalculable  labor,  during  the  present  century — 
deriving  their  authority  from  their  presumed  conformity  to  the 
teaching^  of  Zurdosht,  or  Zoroaster,  who,  as  Max  MiiUer  observes, 
is  considered,  not  a  divine  beine  nor  even  a  son  of  God,  but  "simply 
a  wise  man,  a  prophet  favorea  by  God,  and  admitted  into  God's 
immediate  presence;  but  all  this  on  his  own  showing  only,  and 
without  any  supernatural  credentials,  except  some  few  miracles  re- 
corded of  him  in  books  of  doubtful  authority." 

Buddhism,  though  originating  in  India,  has  in  that  country,  as 
well  as  in  China,  Tartary,  and  elsewhere,  been  greatly  corrupted, 
and,  in  the  course  of  its  long  and,  in  India  itself,  unsuccessful 
struggle  with  Brahmanism  and  other  cults,  has  been  in  some  cases 
badly  confused  with  them  and  impregnated  with  their  doctrines.  It 
must  be  judged,  however,  by  its  own  proper  tenets,  and  by  its  state 
in  Thibet  and  Ceylon,  the  northern  and  southern  centres  of  the 
pure  and  ancient  teaching.  We  need  not  give  any  special  con- 
sideration to  the  paradoxical  nihilism  of  its  metaphysics,  and  it  is 
also  necessary  to  exclude  the  esoteric  philosophy  known  to  the  initi- 
ated, which  rests  upon  a  different  basis,  and  has  a  significance  too 
profound  and  an  amhation  too  startling  for  it  to  be  here  unmasked. 
Even  as  an  exoteric  religion  Buddhism  has  a  special  interest,  on 
account  of  its  aggressive  character,  and  the  fact  that  numbers  of 
highly  intelligent  Americans  and  Europeans  have  recently  given  in 
their  adhesion  to  it.  It  is  possible  that  it  may  spread  to  an  alarm- 
ing extent  in  the  near  future. 

"  Various  agencies — among  them  conspicuously  the  wide  circulation  of  Mr.  Edwin 
A.mold'8  beautiful  poem,  The  Light  cf  Ana — have  created  a  sentiment  in  favor  of 
Buddhistic  philosophy  which  constantly  ^ains  strength.  It  seems  to  commend  it«e1f 
especially  to  free-thmkers  of  every  shade  of  opinion.  Three  Frencli  gentlemen  of  high 
position,  who  recently  visited  Ceylon  and  made  public  profession  of  Buddliism  by 
taking  the  '  Three  Refuges '  at  Colombo  and  Galle  temples,  told  the  high-priest  that  the 
whole  school  of  French  Fositivists  were  practically  Buddhists  and  would  not  hesitate 
\o  follow  the  example  set  by  themselves.  And  it  is  reported  to  the  author  [of  Olcott's 
Buddhist  Catechism,  whose  preface  we  are  quoting]  by  a  Singhalese  gentleman  of  high 
birth  that  the  eminent  Prof.  Ernst  Haeckel,  in  a  conversation  which  occurred  during 
his  recent  visit  to  Ceylon,  told  him  that,  so  far  as  explained  to  him,  the  Buddhistic 
theory  of  the  eternity  of  matter  and  force,  and  other  particulars,  were  identical  with 
the  latest  inductions  of  science."    Col.  Olcott  adds;  '*  This  good  opinion  of  Buddhism 


212  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

must  increase  in  strength  among  scientific  men  as  its  corruptions  are  cleared  awaj,  and 
the  veritable  teaching  of  the  Lord  Buddha  is  discovered." 

Passing  over  the  absurdity  of  speaking  of  the  eternity  of  matter 
as  an  induclMm  of  science,  and  not  stopping  to  reconcile  this  with 
the  Buddhist  metaphysics,  these  extracts  show  that  the  main  strength 
of  the  system  is  in  its  general  agreement  with  the  rationalistic 
schools  of  European  thou^t,  to  whose  soul-starved  votaries  it  offers 
a  means  of  satisfying  their  innate  spiritual  cravings  without  con- 
forming their  lives  to  an  inflexible  Cfiie  of  morals,  or  bowinff  their 
intellects  to  the  yoke  of  divine  faith.  There  is,  however,  an  absence 
of  guarantees  for  its  objective  truth  almost  as  complete  as  we  have 
already  noticed  in  the  case  of  Parseeism.  It  is  not  said  that  any 
divine  revelation  was  made  to  its  founder ;  indeed,  Buddhism  knows 
no  Supreme  Being  from  whom  to  expect  such  a  revelation. 

Let  us  appeal  to  the  latest  and  most  reliable  authority,  and  see 
what  this  greatest  of  Oriental  cults,  which  claims  to  numoer  vrithin 
its  ranks  considerably  more  than  a  third  of  the  human  race,  has  to 
say  of  its  own  origin.  Such  an  authority  we  find  in  the  publication 
quoted  above,  A  Buddhist  Catechism^  according  to  the  Uanon  of  the 
Southern  Churchy  by  Henry  S.  Olcott.  This  work  *  *  has  been  re- 
vised and  criticised  by  a  committee  of  'elders'  who  are  thoroughly 
orthodox  Buddhists,''  and  its  correctness  is  vouched  for  by  H.  Bum- 
angala,  **  High- Priest  of  the  Sripada  and  Galle,  and  Principal  of  the 
Widyodaya  rarwina,"  of  Ceylon,  and  recommended  by  him  for 
use  in  Buddhist  schools.  Up  to  the  spring  of  1885,  17,000  copies 
of  it  in  Singhalese  and  15,000  in  Burmese  have  been  distributed 
through  the  Buddhist  homes  and  schools  of  Ceylon  and  Burmah. 
It  has  also  been  translated  into  the  French,  German,  Japanese, 
Siamese,  Tamil,  and  other  languages.  Being  written  by  a  European 
convert,  and  intended  largely  for  circulation  in  Christian  countries, 
it  would  naturally  contain  the  strongest  possible  presentation  of  the 
case.  Referring  to  the  first  American,  from  the  fourteenth  Singha- 
lese, edition,  edited  by  Prof.  Elliott  Coues,  one  of  the  most  learned 
and  talented  of  American  scientists,  we  find  that  Gautama,  Rdnce 
Sidddrtha,  the  head  of  the  S4kya  tribe,  after  seeking  unsuccessfully 
through  the  Brahmans,  and  afterward  by  independent  experiments, 
to  attain  to  a  knowledge  **of  the  causes  of  sorrow  and  the  natm^ 
of  man,"  finally  went  one  evening  to  the  Bodhi  or  Asvattha  tree. 
We  then  read : — 

*'  Q.  48.  What  did  he  do  there?— -4.  He  determined  not  to  leave  the  spot  until  he 
attained  the  Buddhaship. 

"  Q.  49.  At  what  side  of  the  tree  did  he  seat  himself?—^.  The  side  facing  the  east. 

"  Q.  50.  What  did  he  obtain  that  night?— ^.  The  knowledge  of  his  previous  births, 
of  the  causes  of  re-birth,  and  of  the  way  to  extinguish  desires.  Just  before  the  break 
of  the  next  day  his  mind  was  entirely  opened  like  the  full-blown  lotus-flower;  the 
light  of  supreme  knowledge,  or  the  Four  Truths,  poured  in  upon  him;  he  had  beconie 
Buddha— the  Enlightened,  the  AU-knowing." 


THS  PHT8t0L0Q  Y  OF  AN  O^STEtt,  6l8 

This  is  supplemented  in  questions  102  and  103  by  the  statement 
that  the  entire  system  of  Buddhism  came  to  his  mind  during  tliis 
^at  meditation  of  forty -nine  days  under  the  Bo  tree.  Now,  there 
IS  in  the  whole  book  not  a  single  word  of  evidence  that  Gautama 
Buddha's  experience  was  anything  more  than  a  delusion,  and  there 
seems  to  be  actually  no  defence  of  the  system  possible,  except  on 
purely  rational  grounds  as  a  body  of  philosophy,  every  element  in 
which  is  to  be  accepted  or  rejected  on  its  own  ments.  This  is 
clearly  stated  in  the  Va^im.:L 

"  Q.  Are  there  any  dogmas  in  Buddhism  'which  we  are  required  to  accept  on 
faith?^^.  No;  we  are  earnestly  enjoined  to  accept  nothing  whatever  on  faith,  whether 
it  be  written  in  books,  handed  down  from  our  ancestors,  or  taught  by  the  sages.  Our 
Lord  Buddlia  has  said  that  we  must  not  believe  a  thing  said  merely  because  it  is  said; 
nor  traditions  because  they  have  been  lianded  down  from  anticjuity;  nor  rumors,  as 
such;  nor  writings  by  sa^  because  sages  wrote  them;  nor  fancies,  that  we  may  sus- 
pect to  have  been  Inspired  in  us  by  a  deva;  nor  for  inferences  :lrawn  from  some  hap- 
hazard assumption  we  may  have  made;  nor  because  of  what  seems  an  analogical 
necessity;  nor  on  the  mere  authority  of  our  teachers  or  masters.  But  we  arc  to  believe 
when  the  writing,  doctrine,  or  saying  is  corroborated  by  reason  and  consciousness." 

Of  the  Sacred  books,  the  Tripitikas,  the  answers  to  questions  94 
and  97  show  that,  though  they  are  revered  **as  containing  all  the 
parts  of  the  Most  Excellent  Law,  hy  the  knowing  of  which  man  can 
save  himself  [from  the  miseries  of  existence  and  of  re-births,  Q.  64]," 
they  are  not  considered  to  be  inspired. 

"the  Four  Truths  referred  to  above  are  the  summing-up  of  the 
whole  system  on  its  practical  side.  These  are  enumerated  by  Col. 
Olcott,  but  are  more  clearly  stated  by  Barthelemy  Saint-Hilaire  in 
the  following  language:  **1.  Pain  is  the  inevitable  heritage  of  man 
in  life;  2.  The  cause  of  pain  arises  from  acts,  activity,  desires, 
passions,  and  faults;  3.  Pain  for  man  may  cease  forever  through 
Nirvana;  4.  The  way  to  reach  this  final  end  of  pain  is  that  taught 
by  Buddha."  The  same  author,  who  is  the  foremost  of  the  sci- 
entific students  of  Buddhism,  explains,  on  the  authority  of  the  sacred 
books  and  the  modem  priesthood,  that  **  Nirvana  had  for  Buddha 
no  other  meaning  than  nothingness,  from  which  man  never  returns 
because  he  no  longer  exists."  The  way  taught  by  Buddha  consists 
in  "complete  conquest  over  and  destruction  of  this  eager  thirst  for 
life  and  pleasures,  which  cause  sorrow'"  {Q,  61),  and  this  conquest  is 
attained  by  following  certain  prescribed  rules  of  thought  and  con- 
duct. The  whole  is  based  upon  what  looks  very  much  Uke  what 
the  Lord  Buddha  calls  a  "hap-hazard  assumption"  of  the  transmi- 

S ration  of  souls  (or,  less    incorrectly,   metempsychosis),  which  no 
huddhist  seems  to  dre^m  of  either  questioning  or  attempting  to 
prove,  and  which  is  unprovable  on  accoimt  of  the  admitted  fact  that 
there  is  ordinarily  not  the  slightest  recollection  of  the  events  of 
any  former  passage  through  earth-life. 
One  who  stands  Avithin  the  temple  of  Catholic  Truth,  with  its 


^ 


314  TE£:  imiUST  MAQAZINS. 

broad  and  mighty  foundations  under  his  feet,  its  beautiful  and  radi- 
ant domes  above  him,  and  the  serene  influence  within  his  breast  of 
the  unspeakable  Presence  by  which  it  is  pervaded,  will  not  fail  in 
properly  characterizing  such  a  system,  which  teaches  {Q.  128) 
goodness  without  a  God;  a  continued  existence  without  what. goes 
by  the  name  of  'soul;'  happiness  without  an  objective  heaven;  a 
method  of  salvation  without  any  vicarious  Saviour ;  a  redemption 
by  one's  self  as  the  redeemer,  and  without  rites,  prayers,  jjenances, 
priests,  or  intercessory  saints;  and  a  s^wm/rmmh  hcmmi  attsunable  in 
this  life  and  in  this  world."  When  we  see  on  what  slight  grounds 
are  built  these  mighty  Babels  of  human  pride,  we  realize  now  true  is 
that  bold  assertion  of  Donoso  Cortes  that  there  has  been  established 
since  the  prevarication  of  man,  between  the  truth  and  human  rea- 
son— 

"  A  lasting  repugnance  and  an  invincible  repulsion.  ...  On  the  contrary,  between 
human  reason  and  the  absurd  there  is  a  secrect  affinity  and  a  close  relationship.  Sin 
has  united  them  with  the  bond  of  indissoluble  matrimony.  The  absurd  triumphs  over 
man  precisely  because  it  is  devoid  of  all  rights  anterior  and  superior  to  human  reason. 
Man  accepts  it  precisely  because  it  comes  naked;  because,  being  devoid  of  rights,  it 
has  no  pretensions.  His  will  accepts  it  because  it  is  the  offspring  of  his  understanding, 
and  his  understanding  takes  delight  in  it  because  it  is  its  own  offspring,  its  own  verbum, 
because  it  is  a  living  testimony  of  its  creative  power.  In  the  act  of  its  creation  man  is 
like  unto  God  and  calls  himsSelf  Gkxi.  And  if  he  be  Qod,  like'  unto  God,  in  man's 
estimation  all  else  is  nothing.  What  matters  it  that  the  otlier  be  the  Gkxi  of  truth,  if 
he  is  himself  the  God  of  the  absurd?  At  least  he  will  be  independent  like  God,  he 
will  be  sovereiffn  like  God  ;  by  adoring  his  own  production  he  will  adore  himself  ;  by 
magnifying  it  he  will  be  the  magnifier  of  himself. " 

— ^Mbbwin-Maeib  Snkll,  in  The  Catholic  World. 


THE  PHYSIOLOGY  OF  AN  OYSTER. 

That  most  charming  naturalist  and  ffenial  observer  of  all  things 
animate,  Frank  Buckland,  used  to  say  fliat  oysters,  like  horses,  have 
their  points.     He  tells  us  that — 

**  The  points  of  an  oyster  are,  first  the  shape,  which  to  be  perfect  should  resemble 
very  much  the  petal  of  a  rose-leaf.  Next,  the  thickness  of  the  shell ;  a  first-cla^ss 
thoroughbred  native*  should  have  a  shell  of  the  tenuity  of  thin  china  or  a  Japanese 
tea-cup.  It  should  also  have  an  almost  metallic  ring,  and  a  peculiar  opalescent  lustre 
on  the  inner  side ;  the  hollow  for  the  animal  of  the  oyster  should  be  as  much  like  an 
egg-cup  as  possible.  Lastly,  the  flesh  itself  sliould  be  white  and  firm,  and  nut-like  in 
taste.  It  is  by  taking  the  average  proportion  of  meat  to  shell  that  oysters  should  be 
critically  judged.  The  oysters  at  tlie  head  of  the  list  are  of  course  *  natives; '  the  pro- 
portion of  a  well-fed  native  is  one-fourth  meat.  The  nearest  approach  to  natives,  both 
m  beauty  and  fatness,  are  the  oysters  of  Milford  in  South  Wales.  The  deep-sea  oysters, 
such  as  the  white-faced  things  dredged  up  in  the  Cliannel  between  England  and  Prance, 
are  one-tenth  meat ;  while  the  very  worst  are  some  Frenchmen,  which  are  as  thin  and 
meager  as  French  pigs. " 

*  "  Natives "  are  oysters  artificially  reared,  those  foimd  naturally  being  termed 
seaoysteiB.  ... 


THE  PHTStOLOG  T  OF  AN  0  TSTER  215 

Such  are  some  points  of  an  oyster.  But  we  nineteenth-century 
mortals  have  but  httle  time  to  observe  and  consider  all  the  points  of 
even  such  things  as  he  very  near  to  our  hearts  (I  speak  anatomically, 
of  course) — ^thmes  fit  for  digestion.  I  have  no  doubt  that  by  some, 
perhaps  many  (3  my  readers,  the  '  *  petal  of  a  rose-leaf' '  and  the 

Japanese  tea-cup"  will  be  dismissed  as  mere  poetry,  and  that  for 
them  the  philosophy  of  oysters  may  be  sunmiea  up  in  the  one  state- 
ment, "the  flesh  should  be  white  and  firm  and  nut-like  in  ta^te;" 
that  is  if  nv4rlike  expresses  with  any  due  adequacy  so  pure  and 
concentrated  a  relish.  It  is  perhaps  well  for  us  that  we  are  able 
thus  to  seize  upon  the  points  of  real  vital  importance,  and  to  eschew 
those  which  do  not  immediately  concern  us.  We  sit  down  to  dinner 
and  swallow  our  oysters  without  any  idea  of  how  they  came  to  be 
raised,  and  without  realizing,  perhaps  without  knowing,  that  they 
are  complex  organized  creatures  instinct  with  life  and  motion. 

Motion  ?  Yes,  motion.  As  I  write  there  Ues  before  me  tastefullv 
disposed  on  its  natural  dish  an  oyster  in  the  form  in  which  it  glads 
the  sight  of  hungry  mortals  wnen  they  have  taken  their  seats  at 
table.  With  fine  scissors  I  snip  oft  a  deUcate  slice  of  the  so-called 
•* beard"  which  constitutes  the  oyster's  gills;  and  this  slice  I  place 
on  a  glass  slip,  covering  it  with  a  thin  glass  dish,  and  then  trans- 
ferring it  to  tne  stage  of  my  microscope.  Would  that  you  could  see 
the  trembUng,  quivering,  glancing  life  that  is  thus  disclosed.  The 
field  of  the  microscope  is  occupied  by  the  yellowish  translucent 
material  of  which  the  gill  is  constructed.  Across  it  run  a  number 
of  closely  set  parallel  bars,  and  here  and  there  between  the  bars  is 
an  elongated  slit.  Each  sUt  is  the  centre  of  a  Httle  living  whirlpool; 
for  the  edges  of  the  bars  that  bound  it  carry  a  vast  number  of 
delicate  microscopic  translucent  hairs  which  are  ^yaving  to  and  fro 
in  ceaseless  motion.  The  waves  travel  in  one  direction  down  one 
side  of  the  sht  and  in  the  opposite  direction  up  the  other  side  of  the 
slit.  Hence  the  appearance  of  an  elongated  living  whirlpool.  In 
the  eight  or  ten  square  inches  of  gill-surface  there  must  be  tens  of 
thousands  of  these  trembling  Ufe-whirlpools,  all  of  which  you  sud- 
denly engulf,  with  a  gentle  smothered  smack  of  the  lips. 

'* I  suppose,"  says  Trof essor  Huxley,  ''that  when  the  sapid  and 
slippery  morsel — which  is  and  is  gone,  like  a  flash  of  gustatory  sum- 
mer hghtning — glides  alonff  the  palate,  few  people  imagine  that  they 
are  swallowing  a  piece  ol- machinery  (and  goinff  machinery  too) 
ffreatly  more  complicated  than  a  watch."  All  that  I  propose  to 
do  here  is  to  say  a  few  words  suitable  for  those  who  do  not  like  to 
be  altogether  ign(Jrant  of  such  matters,  but  have  neither  the  time 
nor  the  inclination  to  be  fully  instructed,  on  the  life-history  of  the 
oyster  from  its  birth  to  its  descent  into  the  eager  and  expectant 
tomb.    I  would  that  I  could  induce  each  one  of  my  readers  to  ex- 


5516  THE  LIBBART  MAQAZtNS. 

amine  an  oyster.    I  am  not  asking  him  to  dissect  it.     All  that  is 
necessary  is  to  turn  over  its  parts  with  a  toothpick. 

First  let  him  notice,  before  the  oyster  is  opened,  how  tiffhtly  the 
two  valves  of  the  shell  are  closed.  An  oyster,  if  the  sheU  be  not 
chipped  or  otherwise  iniured,  may  live  for  two  months  or  more 
oat  of  water,  especially  if  it  be  placed  with  the  hinge  uppermost. 
The  water  withm  the  shell  is  thus  retained  in  the  most  favorable 
position  for  keeping  the  gills  moist.  But  if  the  shell  be  chipped, 
the  water  drains  away  or  evaporates,  and  the  creature  dies. 

The  opening  of  an  oyster,  like  many  another  apparently  simple 
operation,  requires  some  skill  and  is  based  upon  previous  knowled^. 
"rtie  hollow  between  the  valves  of  the  shell  is  occupied  by  the  living 
moUusk.  From  valve  to  valve  there  passes  a  powerful  muscle,  the 
scar  of  the  attachment  of  which  is  readily  seen  near  the  center  of 
the  inner  face  of  an  empty  shell.  It  is  by  means  of  this  muscle  that 
the  oyster  closes  its  valves  with  such  a  firm  grip.  To  open  the 
oyster  it  is  necessary  to  skillfully  insert  a  strong  flat  knife  between 
the  Uving  mollusk  and  its  shell,  and  to  cut  the  muscle  close  to  its 
point  of  attachment.  When  this  is  done,  the  shell  gapes  about  half 
an  inch  through  the  action  of  an  elastic  cushion  near  the  hinge, 
which  when  the  shell  is  closed  is  in  a  state  of  compression,  but 
which  when  the  oyster  dies  and  the  muscle  relaxes,  or  when  the 
muscle  is  severed,  serves  by  its  elasticity  to  force  the  shell  a^ape. 

When  the  oyster  has  been  opened  and  the  valve  of  the  shell  has 
been  removed,  the  following  points  about  its  structure  may  be  readily 
made  out,  and  all  the  more  readily  if  it  be  placed  in  a  soup-plate  of 
water.  In  the  first  place,  the  mollusk  will  perhaps  not  occupy  the 
whole  surface  of  the  shell.  This  is  due  to  severe  muscular  spasms 
consequent  to  the  shock  its  system  has  recently  undergone.  6ut  in 
the  hving  state,  closely  applied  to  the  whole  of  the  interior  of  the 
two  valves,  are  the  two  lobes  of  the  mantle,  which  are  given  oflf 
from  the  body  as  thin  layers  of  fleshy  substance,  the  edges  of  which 
are  thickened  and  bear  a  coarse  reddish-brown  or  dusky  fringe. 
In  the  contracted  mollusk,  as  it  lies  in  the  shell  before  us^  tne 
mantle-lobes  may  be  recognized  by  their  fringed  edffes. 

Our  next  task  is  to  find  out  which  is  head  and  which  is  tail  in 
our  oyster;  or  rather — since  it  hath' neither  head  nortaQ — its  top 
and  bottom,  its  front  and  rear.  The  hinge  is  at  the  top,  the  valves 
of  the  shell  on  either  side.  The  oyster  usually  rests  on  its  larger 
and  more  convex  left  valve,  so  that,  like  a  flounder,  it  lies  on  its 
side.  The  hinder  margin  of  the  shell  is  usually  somewhat  straighter 
than  its  anterior  edge.  This  and  the  shape  of  the  shell  will  gener- 
ally serve  to  distinguish  right  from  left  and  front  from  back.  But 
the  front  of  the  contained  mollusk  itself  may  readily  be  distinffuished 
from  its  rear  by  the  sickle-shaped  gills,  four  ia  number,  whi^  curve 


...J 


Tas  PHT8I0L0Q  TOP  AN  0  7STER.  ^Vt 

round  in  front  of  the  body,  and  lie  between  the  mantle-lobes.     The 

Sills  are  often  spoken  of  as  the  ''beard."  And  in  addition  to  this 
eshy  beaM  there  is  also  a  kind  of  fleshy  mustax^he,  consisting  of 
two  flaps  on  each  side  arising  from  the  corners  of  the  wide  sUt^ike 
mouth,  which  must  be  sought  in  front,  beneath  a  sort  of  hood  under 
the  hinge.  It  Hes  in  the  vestibule — a  cavity  which  extends  for  some 
distance  above  the  body.  The  mouth  leads  into  a  coHed  alimentary 
canal  which  terminates  just  above  the  hinder  end  of  the  sickle-shaped 
gills  in  another  large  chamber.  The  observer  will  have  no  diflBculty 
&  recognizing:  the  curved  gills  with  their  delicate  radiating  striations, 
will  readilv  find  the  vestibule  and  mouth  at  their  upper  ends,  and 
may  pass  his  toothpick  into  the  large  posterior  chamber  which  runs 
along  the  whole  length  of  their  inner  edges,  communicating  with 
the  tubes  of  their  somewhat  spongy  substance,  and  opening  widely 
beneath  and  behind  the  body. 

We  have  seen  that  on  the  sides  of  the  gills  and  around  the  micro- 
scopic shts  by  which  they  are  pierced,  there  are  myriads  of  delicate, 
translucent  hairs  continually  lashing  the  water.  Upon  the  activity 
of  these  hairs  the  oyster  depends  for  food,  for  oxygen,  for  ver}'^  life. 
At  first  sight  the  oyster  would  seem  to  be  in  bad  case.  It  is  fixed 
and  sedentary  all  its  adult  life.  Its  ancestors  had  indeed,  like  most 
bivalve  moUusks  that  now  exist,  a  fleshy  foot  projecting  between 
the  inner  gill-plates,  by  means  of  which  "^thej^  could  perform  some 
sort  of  sluggish  motion.  But  through  lazy  and  seoentary  habits 
the  oyster  tnbe  has  lost,  or  well-nigh  Tost,  tnis  foot;  the  oyster  has 
literally  one  foot — and  that  its  only  one — in  the  ^ave.  This, 
however,  is  no  very  great  disadvantage,  for  though  the  cockle  is 
able  to  hop  with  some  effect,  the  monopedal  profession  of  mollusks 
would  give  them  but  a  lame  chance  of  a  bvemiood  had  they  no 
other  method  of  capturing  their  prey.  The  food  of  the  oyster  con- 
sists of  such  microscopic  organisms  and  organic  particles  as  float 
freely  in  the  water.  By  the  lashing  of  the  invisible  gill-hairs  a 
current  of  water  is  set  up  which  partly  sweeps  upward  along  the 
gill-plates  to  the  vestibule,  and  partly  passes  m  at  the  slit-hke  gill- 
meshes,  and  thus  through  their  spongy  and  tubular  structure  mto 
the  posterior  chamber.  Thus  throu^  the  edges  of  the  shell,  and 
between  the  mouth  margins,  a  constant  current  passes  inward ; 
while  an  equally  constant  current  passes  outward  through  the  pos- 
terior chamber.  The  blood  in  the  gills  is  thus  aerated ;  the  ejecta 
from  the  aJimentaiy  canal  (and  also  the  kidney)  are  swept  out ;  and 
at  the  same  time  food-bearing  water  is  carried  to  the  vestibule 
where  the  myriad  transparent  hairs  which  cover  the  "mustaches" 
sweep  the  unsuspecting  minutiae  into  the  slit-like  mouth. 

I  often  wonder  whether  so  tasty  a  morsel  as  the  oyster  itself 
possesses  a  sense  of  taste.    Were  Nature  just,  this  sense  should  be 


n 


218  THE  LIBRARY  MAQAZINS: 

well  developed.  One  would  fain  hope  that  our  sapid  friend's  fleshy 
mustaches  may  minister  to  taste;  that  for  him  too  there  may  be 
some  gleams  of  "gustatory  smnmer  lightning."  As  a  hope,  how- 
ever, it  must  remain:  there  is  no  conclusive  evidence  that  the  oyster 
possessses  a  sense  of  taste.  Indeed  it  does  not  appear  that  Nature 
has  been  in  any  way  lavish  toward  the  oyster,  m  the  matter  of 
sensory  endowments.  Its  sense  of  hearine  has  ^one  along  with 
the  foot,  in  which  organ  the  auditory  sac  is  lodged  m  less  sedentary 
mollu^.  Smell,  or  rather  some  sense  by  means  of  which  it  can 
test  the  incoming  water,  it  may  have.  A  sense  of  touch,  distributed 
especially,  it  may  be,  along  tlie  mantle-fringe,  is  undoubtedly  pres- 
ent. There  are  no  eyes;  but  the  dusky-colored  mantle- fringe  is 
probably  vaguely  sensitive  to  Ught.  For  when  the  shadow  of  an 
approaching  boat  is  thrown  on  to  a  bed  of  oysters  they  are  said  to 
close  their  valves  before  any  undulation  of  the  water  can  have 
reached  them.  I  have  not  been  able  to  glean  any  anecdotes  of  the 
intelligence  of  oysters.  The  most  favorable  report  I  can  give  is  from 
the  pages  of  the  Rev.  W.  Bingley's  Animal  Isiography : — 

''  The  oyster  has  been  represented,  by  many  authors,  as  an  animal  destitute  not  only 
of  motion,  but  of  every  species  of  sensation.  It  is  able,  however,  to  perform  move- 
ments which  are  perfectly  consonant  to  its  wants,  to  the  dan^rs  it  apprehends,  and  to 
the  enemies  bv  which  it  is  attacked.  Instead  of  being  destitute  of  sensation,  oysters 
are  even  capable  of  deriving  some  knowledge  from  experience.  When  removed  from 
situations  that  are  constantly  covered  with  the  sea,  they  open  their  shells,  lose  their 
water,  and  die  in  a  few  days.  Bu^  when  taken  from  similar  situations,  and  laid  down 
in  places  from  which  the  sea  occasionally  retires,  they  feel  the  effect  of  the  sun's  rays, 
or  of  the  cold  air,  or  perhaps  apprehend  the  attacks  of  enemies,  and  according  learn 
to  keep  their  shells  dose  till  the  tide  returns.  " 

From  this  it  would  seem  that  if  an  oyster  be  left  high  and  dry  he 
briefly  considers  his  situation :  if  he  deems  it  probable  that  the  tide 
will  rise  and  a^ain  submerge  him,  he  shuts  his  shell  and  determines 
to  hold  out  as  fong  as  he  can.  But  if  he  thinks  there  is  no  chance 
of  the  tide's  returninff  he  gives  way  to  despair,  opens  his  valves, 
and  dies.  As  to  his  racts,  however,  Mr.  Bingley  seems  to  be  riffht. 
Just  as  some  fresh- water  organisms  may  be  gradually  accustomed  to 
water  with  a  greater  and  ffreater  amount  oi  salt,  until  they  can  live 
in  sea- water  which  would  nave  killed  them  had  they  been  suddenly 

f)laced  in  it,  so  may  oysters  be  gradually  accustomed  to  a  longer  and 
onger  exposure  to*  the  air  without  gaping.  And  this  fact  is  turned 
•to  practical  account  in  the  so-callea  oyster-schools  of  France.  But 
on  the  amount  of  intelligence  involved  in  the  process  I  leave  others 
to  speculate;  for  I  am  terribly  skeptical  of  our  ever  attaining  to 
much  knowledge  of  molluscan  psychology. 

During  the  summer  months  oysters  become  **sick,"  and  are  then 
out  of  season.  But  the  sickness  is  not  unto  death  but  unto  life. 
For  if  a  sick  oyster  be  examined,  the  mantle-cavity  and  the  inter- 


r 


spaces  between  the  gills  will  be  found  to  be  packed  with  a  granular 
slimy  substance,  known  to  fishermen  as  ** white  spat,"  and  disclosed 
under  the  microscope  of  the  naturalist  as  a  teeming  mass  of  devel- 
oping eggs.  As  development  proceeds,  the  granules  become  colored, 
and  the  fishermen  then  call  them  "black  spat."  Frank  Buckland 
hkens  the  spat  in  his  condition  to  very  fine  slatepencil-dust;  and  he 
found  from  experiment  that  the  number  of  developing  eggs  in  an 
oyster  varies  from  276,000  to  829,000.     He  says:— 

"  One  tn^  hot  day  the  mother-oyster  opens  her  shell,  and  the  young  escape  from  it 
in  a  cloud,  which  may  be  compared  to  a  puff  of  smoke  from  a  railway  engine  on  a  still 
momiug.  Each  little  oyster  is  provided  at  birth  with  swimming  organs,  composed  of 
delicate  cilia,  and  by  means  of  thesd  the  little  rascal  begins  to  ]^y  about  the  moment 
he  leaves  his  mother's  shell.'' 

The  "Httle  rascal"  in  some  respects  resembles  and  in  other  re- 
spects differs  from  its  mother.  It  resembles  its  mother  in  having  a 
sneU  of  two  valves,  but  the  valves  are  smooth  and  transparent  as 
glass;  symmetrical,  and  united  by  a  straight  hinge.  The  mouth, 
which  as  yet  of  course  has  no  mustache,  is  large  and  opposite  the 
hinge,  'there  are  no  gills.  The  shell  is  closed  by  a  muscle  similar 
in  function  to  that  of  me  mother,  but  diflferent  in  position.  But  the 
most  noticeable  point  of  difference  between  the  httle  rascal  and  its 
mother  is  the  possession  of  an  oval  cushion  projecting  between  the 
ed^es  of  the  valves,  and  bearing  on  its  edges  the  deHcate  swimming 
hairs  by  which  the  little  embryo  moUusk  propels  itself  through  the 
water  amid  its  myriad  companions,  and  enjoys  for  a  while  a  vigor- 
ous and  active  life.  By  means  of  special  muscles,  the  cushion  with 
its  swimming-hairs  may  be  withdrawn  into  the  shell,  whereupon 
the  oyster  sinks. 

It  IS  pleasant  to  think  that  even  the  sedate  and  sedentary  native 
enjoys,  if  only  for  a  few  days,  an  active,  frisky,  mischievous  boy- 
hood. In  this  it  resembles  the  vast  majority  of  bivalve  moUusl^. 
Our  oyster  is  indeed  peculiar  in  aflfording  any  protection  to  its 
young.  Most  bivalves,  and  even  such  near  relations  as  the  Portu- 
guese oyster  and  the  American  oyster,  are  cast  adrift  so  soon  as 
they  are  bom,  and  undergo  no  period  of  incubation  beneath  the 
mantle- wing  of  the  mother.  A  curious  example  of  a  somewhat 
similar  protection  is  afforded  by  the  fresh- water  mussel.  The  eggs 
in  this  case  become  lodged  in  the  chambers  of  the  outer  gUls.  Here 
they  develop  into  embryos  so  unlike  the  parent  that  they  used  to  be 
regarded  as  parasites.  They  are  minute  bivalve  shells,  with  tri- 
angular valves.  The  hinge  runs  along  the  base  of  the  triangle, 
while  the  apex  is  curved  round  into  a  strong  toothed  beak.  The 
small  fry  remain  for  a  long  time  in  the  gUl  oi  the  parent,  the  neigh- 
borhood of  fish  such  as  perch  or  sticklebacks  seeming  to  have  some 
influence  in  determining  their  ejection.     They  then  swim  by  flapping 


m  TEE  LIBRARY  MAGAZMB., 

their  valves,  and  ere  long  attach  themselves,  by  fine  threads  with 
which  they  are  prpvided,  to  one  of  the  fish,  and  hang  there,  snapping 
their  valves  until  they  bury  them  in  the  skin  of  the  fidi.  Becoming 
thus  enveloped  in  the  skin  they  there  undergo  a  complete  metamor- 

f^hosis,  by  which  they  are  converted  into  tiny  mussels  which  are  set 
ree  and  drop  to  the  bottom.  This,  in  the  case  of  the  mussel,  Is 
Nature's  provision  for  the  preservation  of  the  race.  Were  the  fry 
hatched  as  free-swimming  embryos,  they  would  inevitably  be  swept 
away  by  the  seaward  current  of  the  river,  and  the  m^issel,  as  a  fresn- 
water  race,  would  be  unable  to  maintain  its  existence. 

The  existence  of  the  adult  oyster  is  not  altogether  free  from 
danger.  What  with  sponges  tunneUng  in  their  shells,  dog-  whelks 
boring  neat  holes  ana  sucking  their  sapid  juices,  and  artful  star- 
fishes waiting  for  them  to  gape,  and  then  inserting  insidious  fingers, 
they  have  rather  a  lively  tmie  of  it.  But  the  short  active  hS  of 
the  oyster- fry  is  beset  with  yet  greater  dangers.  It  is  a  sensitive 
little  thing,  and  succumbs  to  the  cold  of  inclement  seasons.  It  is 
also  a  tasty  little  morsel,  and  is  greedily  swallowed  by  any  marine 
monster  that  has  a  big  enough  mouth — for  there  are  epicures  in 
plenty  among  the  marines.  And  when,  tired  of  the  giddy  dance  of 
youth,  he  would  fain  settle  down  into  sedate  and  sedentary  bearded 
oysterhood,  it  is  but  too  probable  that  the  inexorable  tides  and 
currents — of  the  very  existence  of  which  he,  like  many  another  gay 
youngster,  was  doubtless  ignorant — have  swept  him  out  into  the 
deep  sea,  or  to  some  uncongenial  spot,  where  he  is  choked  so  soon 
as  he  endeavors  to  settle. 

The  settlement  of  young  oysters  is  spoken  of  by  the  fishermen  and 
oysters  farmers  as  a**faUof  spat."  It  is  part  of  the  business  of 
oyster-culture  to  collect  the  spat,  which  may  then  be  transferred  to 
some  locality  especially  fitted  for  the  growth  and  fattening  of  the 
young  mollusks.  For  this  purpose  tiles  are  employed,  covered  with 
a  layer  of  chalk,  which  is  afterward  easily  removed,  together  with 
the  young  oysters  adhering  to  it.  These  are  placed  on  tne  bottom. 
But  they  are  apt  to  get  covered  with  slime,  or  to  lose  the  roughness 
of  their  surface,  and  thus  to  become  unsuitable  for  the  reception  of 
the  spat.  To  obviate  this  difficulty  floating  collectors  are  now  in 
some  places  employed.  These  are  moored  near  the  surface  where 
the  oyster-fry  disport  themselves  before  their  shells  become  so  thick 
as  to  weigh  them  down.  Floating  cars  or  frames  containing  seed- 
oysters  are  also  sometimes  employed  ^vith  considerable  success. 

When  they  first  settle,  and  adhere  to  the  tiles  and  collectors,  oi 
to  the  gravel,  dead-shells,  etc.,  which  form  the  natural  collecting 
medium  (or  "culch,"  as  it  is  termed),  they  are  very  minute.  But 
they  grow  rapidly,  and  in  six  or  eight  months  attam  the  size  of  a 
threepenny-piece,  when  they  are  known  as  * '  brood. "    The  diameter 


WEATHER  CHANGES.  «21 

of  an  oyster  at  two  years  is  about  two  inches ;  another  inch  is  added 
in  liie  third  year;  alter  which  the  ^wth  is  much  less  rapid.  As 
a  mle^  the  oyster  does  not  attain  its  majority  until  the  third  or 
fourth  year,  and  produces  the  greatest  quantity  of  spat  from  the 
fourth  to  the  seventh  year.  The  spatting  season  usually  commences 
in  May,  but  depends  much  on  the  temperature,  beinff  deferred  till 
a  later  penod  in  a  cold  season.  In  a  warm  lake  on  tne  south  coast 
of  Sweden — which  forms  a  natural  hothouse  for  oyster-culture — 
oysters  are  found  to  contain  ripe  spat  as  early  as  the  end  of  March. 
The  spatting  season  may  continue  until  the  end  of  September.  And 
one  ox  the  most  curious  facts  in  the  natural  history  of  the  oyster  is 
this:  that  so  soon  as  she  has  laid  her  eggs  the  mother-oyster  changes 
her  sex  and  bea>mes  a  male.     Whether  this  change  of  sex  takes 

filace  several  times  in  a  season,  and  if  so,  how  often,  is  not  known, 
t  is  a  curious  arrangement:  but,  depend  upon  it,  it  has  not  been 
instituted  by  Nature  without  a  purpose. — Peof.  0.  Lloyd  Morgan, 
in  Mv/rrwy^8  Magasme. 


WEATHEE  CHANGES. 

No  subject  is  so  much  talked  about  and  so  little  understood  as  the 
weather.  Men  are  still  to  be  found  of  excellent  education  in  other 
respects  who  connect  change  of  weather  with  the  phases  of  the 
moon,  and  consult  their  almanacs  for  rain  or  fine  weather  with  all 
the  credulousness  of  Zadkiel.  These  empirics  swear,  it  may  be,  by 
the  Shepherd  of  Banbury,  and  eagerly  watch,  like  him,  m  what 
direction  a  sheep  looks  wnen  it  first  rises,  or  whether  a  swallow  flies 
low  or  high.  Others  observe  the  barometer,  and  perhaps  register 
its  figures;  but  are  so  little  acquainted  with  the  conditions  of  weather 
that  when  the  glass  rises  durm^  rain  (owing  to  the  observer  being 
in  front  of  a  cyclone)  they  are  mclined  to  doubt  the  sanity  of  their 
oracle,  and  to  foUow  the  old  gentleman's  example  who,  under  such 
circumstances,  opened  the  window  and  flung  his  barometer  out  on 
the  lawn,  exclaiming,  "Perhaps  you  will  now  believe  that  it  does 
rainl"  Yet  a  third  group  of  the  unscientific  weather-wise  revel  in 
statistics  of  rainfall,  forgetting  that  these  can  only  show  the  climate, 
not  pro^osticate  the  weather  of  any  locality,  which  is  due  to  the 
distribution  of  surrounding  pressure.  To  obtain  a  Imowledge  of 
this  it  is  necessary  to  seardi  the  daily  charts  issued  by  the  Meteor- 
ological Ofiice;  and  to  peruse  them  to  advantage  the  student  must 
be  well  acquainted  with  the  exact  meanings  of  isobars,  anticyclones 
and  hemicyclones,  cols,  depressions,  and  gradients.  This  is  one 
branch  of  nis  subject  on  wnich  Mr.  Abercrombie  in  his  PopvJ^ar 
ta^^osition  of  the  ffoMre  of  Weaiher  Changes  from  Day  to  Day^  be- 


222  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

stows  much  oare.  Then  he  explains  the  cliaraoter  and  value  of 
variations — ^how  diurnal  variation  modifies  but  never  alters  the  rai- 
eral  character  of  the  weather.  Thus  his  readers  are  conducted  to 
the  methods  of  forecasting  which  are  at  present  in  vogue. 

First,  are  pointed  out  what  helps  a  plain  man,^  as  Macaulay 
called  an  ordinary  man  of  common-sense,  has  besides  his  senses  to 
warn  him  of  storms  ahead ;  next  the  extended  wisdom  of  the  public 
meteorologist  is  estimated,  of  him  who  in  his  offtce  receivos  periodi- 
cal barograms  from  the  Atlantic,  puts  together  synoptic  charts,  and 
adds  his  own  knowledge  of  the  nature  of  the  weather  and  the  mo- 
tion of  depressions  in  his  district.  Thus,  feeling  the  pulse,  as  it 
were,  of  the  approaching  weather,  the  modem  scientific  meteorolo- 
gist issues  his  lorecasts,  and,  it  may  be,  saves  much  valuable  property 
and  many  still  more  valuable  lives,  appearing  to  rival  Jupiter  or 
^olus  in  his  power  over  the  winds  and  waves.  An  exhaustive 
treatise  on  modem  meteorolo^  has  long  been  desired,  and  iix. 
Abercrombie  has  herein  done  his  best  to  supply  it.  It  will  not  only 
satisfy  the  needs  of  the  student;  but,  as  enabling  them  to  appreciate 
the  information  supplied  to  the  papers  each  morning  by  the  Meteor- 
ological Department,  seafaring  men,  farmers,  and  country  gentle- 
men will  find  their  account  in  reading  this  book. 

After  some  paragraphs  on  the  use  of  svnoptic  charts,  the  author 
explains  with  usefiu  diagrams  the  seven  londamental  shapes  of  iso- 
bars— hues  of  equal  atmospheric  pressure— ^n  the  due  consioeration  of 
which,  in  juxtaposition  with  the  diurnal  influences  of  the  observer's 
locality,  all  tme  prognostication  of  weather  is  founded,  according  to 
modem  meteorologists.  An  excellent  chapter  on  clouds  succeeds, 
paying  especial  attention  to  the  cirrus.  Following  Ley,  Mr.  Aber- 
crombie attaches  especial  importance  to  this  form  of  cloud  when 
considered  in  reference  to  its  surroundings;  indeed," the  most  valua- 
ble addition  of  recent  times  to  weather-lore  is  undoubtedly  in  the 
methodical  observation  of  cirrus  clouds."  In  short,  with  one  eye 
on  the  clouds  and  the  other  on  his  barometer,  even  if  unaided  oy 
telegraphic  messages,  an  observer  can,  after  a  somewhat  empiric 
fashion,  forecast  his  own  weather  fairly  well.  The  author  generally 
points  out  the  grain  of  scientific  truth  which  frequently  underlies 
popular  weather  proverbs;  and  it  is  amusing  to  hear  with  what 
gravitv  he  draws  deductions  from  the  fact  of  tne  scal]^  taken  by  the 
New  Mexican  Indians  growing  damp  before  rain.  "Trom  this,"  he 
says,  ' '  we  may  assume  that  scalps  are  slightly  hygroscopic,  probably 
from  the  salt  which  they  contain."  It  is  matter  of  the  commonest 
observation  that  all  hair  becomes  damp  before  rain. 

The  more  advanced  chapters  of  the  book  give  instances  of  cyclones 
with  their  interpretation  from  barograms,  and  e2q)lain  the  impor- 
tance from  a  national  point  of  view  of  careful  and  successive  meteo- 


r 


WEATHER  0EAN0E8.  928 

grams  for  any  nseful  weather  prognostication.  The  influences  of 
neat  and  cold,  of  wind  and  storms,  upon  the  climate  of  any  place  as 
well  as  upon  the  weather  to  be  expected,  are  elucidated,  and  by  the 
aid  of  figures,  synoptical  charts,  and  meteograms,  made  clear  to  the 
most  orSnary  understanding.  There  are  two  good  chapters  on  the 
local  and  diurnal  variation  of  weather,  after  perusing  which,  the 
reader  should  be  able,  not  only  to  estimate  the  factors  which  make 
up  the  weather  in  his  own  lociality,  but  also  the  data  required  for 
national  forecasting.  This  is  maSnly  a  question  of  money  to  pro- 
cure a  succession  ox  barometrical  readings,  and  of  skilled  observers 
who  can  read  these  barograms  with  a  careful  eye  to  local  and  di- 
urnal variation  around  them.  Meteorology  is  certainly  not  at 
present  (although  its  students  hope  it  is  always  drawing  nearer  to 
it)  an  exact  science.  The  best  prognostics  are  liable  to  disturbing 
influences,  which  have  not  been  tdcen  into  account.  Only  a  per- 
centage of  forecasts  can  reasonably  be  expected  to  turn  out  correct. 
A  much  larger  percentage,  however,  when  thus  scientifically  calcu- 
lated, is  claimed  as  correct  by  modem  meteorologists  than  would  be  the 
case  were  the  weather  merely  estimated  empirically,  and,  as  it  were, 
by  rule  of  thumb.  "Natural  aptitude,  ana  the  experience  of  many 
years'  study,  are''  still  **the  qualifications  of  a  successful  forecaster.^' 
How  completely  weather  can  upset  calculations  was  curiously 
shown  when  we  were  reading  this  book.  Throughout  autumn  the 
prevailing  tone  of  British  weather  had  been  persistently  anticy- 
clonio.  On  the  evening  of  October  21  the  conditions  were  threaten- 
ing, and  the  cone  was  noisted  for  a  southerly  gale  in  some  of  the 
districts.  On  the  next  day  (Saturday),  however,  the  barometer 
rose,  and  some  improvement  in  the  weather  was  manifest.  But  that 
evening  a  cyclone  was  brewing  at  the  mouth  of  the  Channel  and 
traveUng  eastward  at  a  great  rate;  the  barometer  fell  rapidly,  and  a 
gale  speedily  swept  over  the  Channel  Islands  and  the  southern  coast 
of  England,  fraught  with  some  loss  of  life  and  much  damage  to 
shipping.  It  has  been  pointed  out  that  for  rapidity  of  formation 
ana  motion  very  few  parallels  to  this  gale  exist.  It  has  been  com- 
pared to  those  of  October  23, 1883,  and  of  November  1,  1872.  The 
swiftness  of  the  career  of  these  gales  was  so  great  that  they  did  not 
allow  time  for  mariners  to  get  out  of  their  way.  Unless  the  officials 
at  the  Meteorological  Office  had  been  at  their  posts  all  night,  and 
been  furnished  with  frequent  telegrams  of  the  weather  in  the  south- 
west, it  would  have  been  impossible  to  forecast  these  gales.  In 
short,  if  government  is  to  do  its  duty  by  our  seafaring  population, 
in  order  to  insure  reasonable  correctness  in  the  weather  forecasts, 
more  money  must  be  expended.  Whether  it  is  worth  while  doing 
so  may  be  judged  from  the  consideration  that  not  property  so  much 
a9  lives  are  at  stake. — M.  G.  "WATKms,  in  The  Acmeiny, 


9d4  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 


SOME  AMEEICANISMS, 

It  is  not  aflfectation  or  mere  pedantry  to  speak  of  the  American 
language,  for  it  is  becoming  more  and  more  distinct,  not  only  in 
matters  of  pronmiciation  and  in  colloquial  phrases,  but  in  the  novel 
meanings  attached  to  many  old  words,  and  in  the  fertile  invention 
of  new  words.  Our  American  cousins  not  infrequently  express 
themselves  as  employing  our  common  language  in  a  way  superior  to 
the  English,  and  doubtless  the  insular  pronunciation,  with  its  rising 
inflections,  sound  as  peculiar  to  them  as  the  more  or  less  nasal  twang 
— if  the  gentle  criticism  may  be  ventured — and  the  falling  inflection 
sound  to  us. 

Not  that  uniformity  prevails  throughout  the  wide  area  of  the 
United  States.  There  are  marked  provincialisms,  as  is  the  case 
with  different  districts  in  Great  Britain,  so  that  a  "down-Easter" 
from  Maine,  or  the  typical  '*  Yankee,"  or  the  resident  in  the  Great 
"West  differ  from  each  other  in  this  respect,  while  all  of  them  are 
unlike  the  drawl  common  in  the  South.  In  the  older  communities 
there  are,  of  course,  to  be  found  many  refined  and  truly  cultured 
persons,  to  whose  conversation  it  is  a  pleasure  to  listen,  and  who 
reveal  in  phraseology  and  intonation  nothing  of  what  are  usually 
understooa  as  Americanisms.  It  must  also  be  cheerfully  admitted 
that  average  people  in  the  United  States  speak  with  much  greater 
ease  and  appropriateness  than  persons  of  a  corresponding  position 
and  ^ucation  in  England.  This  is  to  be  accounted  for  partly  by 
the  system  of  recitations  pursued  in  the  schools,  and  partly  by  the 
social  freedom  which  permits  ready  talk  on  almost  every  subject. 

Without  drawing  undue  refinements  by  way  of  distinction,  and 
without  insisting  upon  local  and  accidental  peculiarities,  and  es- 
pecially without  indulging  in  hypercriticism  or  ridicule,  it  may  be 
mteresting  to  indicate  some  of  the  meanings  in  which  familiar  words 
are  used  across  the  water,  and  to  expEiin  some  of  the  modem 
phrases  which  are  continually  being  devised  as  additions  to  the  re- 
ceived vocabulary. 

An  ordinary  ^ictiona^y  does  not  define  the  peculiar  terms  and 
idioms  commonly  used  by  Americans.  They  can  be  understood,  al- 
though they  prefer  to  place  the  accent  on  tne  penultimate  syllable 
of  **  observatory"  or  *  conservatory,"  or  when  thev  make**  vase" 
rhyme  with  **case,"  or  when  they  contract  "cannot^'  into  ** can't," 
a  sound  exactly  like  that  of  Kant,  the  German  metaphysician.  They 
prefer  to  sajr  *  Italian"  and  *' national,"  and  to  pronounce  ** sched- 
ule" as  if  it  were  "skedule,"  and  to  call  the  last  letter  of  the 
alphabet  **zee,"  and  to  spell  certain  words  in  a  way  peculiar  to 


_.j 


SOME  AMEBlGANISMa.  225 

themselves,  as  "meager,"  "scepter,"  "center,"  "traveler,"  "un- 
equaled,""plow,"  '* develop, ""skepticism," "defense,"  "offense," 
"wagon,"  '  check"  (a  draft  on  a  oanker),  and  many  others  that 
might  be  cited.  Public  speakers  often  place  undue  emphasis  upon 
the  articles  a  and  the^  particularly  on  the  former,  which  is  made  to 
sound  like  "  ay , "  thus  giving  it  undue  prominence  and  an  odd  effect 
before  the  noun. 

Young  ladies  are  much  addicted  to  the  use  of  the  word  "verra," 
as  they  pronounce  "very,"  and  they  describe  themselves  as  "mad"* 
when  they  are  slightly  vexed ;  and  while  they  would  on  no  account 
mention  "leffs" — which  are  always  "limbs"  — they  describe  all  in- 
sects under  the  generic  name  of  "bug;"  but  the  leg  of  a  fowl  is  the 
"second  wing."  Young  ladvdom  also  uses  the  word  "awful"  for 
"very"  in  the  Eastern  and  Middle  States,  where  "awful  hungry," 
"awful  handsome,"  and  so  on,  are  continually  heard.  When  she  is 
about  to  adorn  herself,  or  to  trim  a  bonnet  or  some  article  of  dress, 
she  says  that  she  will  "fix  herself"  or  "fix  it  up;"  but  the  same 
word  is  used  in  connection  with  meals,  as  "tea  and  fixings;"  or  if  a 
guest  is  in  doubt  over  the  bill  of  fare,  the  waiter  will  probably  say, 
"I'Ufixyou,"  and  he  then  brings  a  varied  and  numerous  assortment 
of  dishes. 

Other  words  are  employed  in  a  novel  or  an  exaggerated  sense. 
A  jug  or  mug,  however  small,  is  a  "pitcher;"  wood,  sawn  into 
planks,  is  "lumber;"  when  a  man  states,  "I  feel  bad,"  he  refers, 
not  to  moral  depravity,  but  to  the  state  of  his  health,  just  as  "I  feel 
good"  means  that  he  is  well  and  happy.  "Big"  is  used  not  only 
for  size,  but  as  descriptive  of  quahtv,  and,  in  a  vulgar  sense,  of  per- 
sons of  supposed  consequence,  as ^' big  bugs."  "Biscuit"  is  syn- 
onymous with  hot  rolls,  in  which  most  Americans  indulge  twice  a 
day,  and  then  wonder  that  they  suffer  from  indigestion;  whereas 
"crackers"  are  what  English  people  usually  understand  as  biscuits. 
"Real,"  or  "clear,"  or  *  true  grit,"  refers  to  a  person  of  superior 
worth  or  genuineness,  as  distinguished  from  one  inferior,  who  is  only 
"chaff."  These  words  evidently  come  from  the  miller,  as  "dough- 
face" may  be  traced  to  the  baker;  meaning,  a  man  easily  moved  to 
change  his  opinion,  and  who  can  be  moiuded,  like  dough,  to  any 
shape.  "Baclc"  is  often  used  instead* of  "ago;"  as** That  was  a 
long  time  back."  "Beautiful,"  and  "elegant"  are  much  misused 
terms,  being  often  apphed  indiscriminately  to  anything  good,  pleas- 
ing, or  even  tasty.  "Convenient"  has  assumed  a  new  meaning, 
and  refers  to  what  is  near  at  hand  or  within  easy  reach ;  thus,  a 
farm  is  advertised  as  "having  wood  and  water  convenient  to  the 
house."  **Cute,"  instead  of  'acute,"  has  become  almost  a  distinct 
word,  being  stronger  in  its  pecuUar  meaning  than  the  original,  and 
is  one  of  the  most  expressive  Americanisms  of  the  day.     * '  Dirt' '  is 


826  THE  LIBRAE  T  MA  QAZINE. 

generally  used  for  earth,  or  soil,  and  **rag"  for  any  piece  of  linen 
or  cotton  cloth.  "Dress"  has  almost  superseded  the  word  "gown," 
as  part  of  a  lady's  costume,  and  the  upper  portion,  or  "body,"  as  it 
is  termed  in  England,  is  the  "waist"  in  America.  Instead  of  "lead- 
ing article"  in  a  newspaper,  "editorial"  is  always  used.  "Hoard- 
ing" is  never  applied  to  a  wooden  inclosure — which  is  always 
"fence" — but  only  to  accumulating  money.  "Housekeep,"  as  a 
verb,  has  firmly  established  itself  in  American  speech.  A  letter  or 
newspaper  is  not  posted,  but  "mailed."  Such  a  term  as  "nasty 
weather"  is  never  heard;  and  the  adjective  itself  always  denotes 
something  disgusting  in  point  of  smell,  taste,  or  even  moral  charac- 
ter, and  is  never  heard  in  the  presence  of  ladies;  but  "nice"  is  used 
with  great  freedom,  and  with  wide  and  varied  meanings.  The 
pavement  of  a  street  is  always  called  the  "sidewalk."  The  Ameri- 
can substitute  for  "braces"  is  "suspenders,"  a  delicate  improvement 
upon  the  older  word  "gallowses,"  common  in  New  England. 

Surpassing  others  in  ability  is  often  expressed  by  the  word 
"whip;"  and  the  phrase,  "That  whips  all  creation,"  is  w^U  known. 
"Few"  is  used  in  the  sense  of  "Httle,"  as,  "I  was  astonished  a 
few;"  and  in  hke  manner  a  man  will  say  that  he  has  "heard  con- 
siderable" of  a  person.  Prepositions  are  employed  in  what  at  first 
seem  odd  meanings,  and  yet  in  many  cases  they  are  strictly  appro- 
priate, such  as  "on  the  street;"  or  a  letter  written  "over  his  signa- 
ture. ' '  In  the  South,  members  are  elected  to  sit "  in  the  legislature. ' ' 
A  common  phrase  is  that  "he  arrived  on  time."  But  it  sounds 
strange  to  hear  of  a  field  "planted  to  com;"  or  the  phrase  "at  the 
north;"  or  "to  be  sold  at  auction."  "In"  is  used  for  "into"  very 
generally.  "Nor"  is  frequently  substituted  for  "than;"  and  "out- 
side" for  "beside,"  or  "except,"  as  "Outside  the  Secretary  of  War, 
no  one  knew  of  the  transaction." 

As  miffht  be  expected,  certain  words  which  originated  as  vul^r- 
isms,  and  which  are  even  now  never  heard  in  go(&  society,  yet  nnd 
places  in  colloquial  speech,  because  of  their  expressiveness,  arising, 
perhaps,  more  from  the  sound  than  the  precise  signification.  Among 
these  are  "absquatulate"  and  "skedadole,"  in  Qie  sense  of  running 
away;  and  "all  to  smash,"  for  an  utter  wreck.  " Highfalutin"  is 
applied  to  exaggerated  or  bombastic  speech  or  writing.  A  "loafer" 
is  an  idler  or  dawdler.     To  "cave  in"  means  a  collapse. 

Public  meetings  are  often  held  in  the  open  air  m  newly-cleared 
districts,  and  the  stump  of  a  tree  is  a  convenient  platform.  Hence 
the  expressive  phrase  *  to  go  on  the  stump"  dunne  some  political 
agitation,  or  "campaign,"  which  is  now  the  stock  jmrase.  In  con- 
nection with  this,  the  word  "platform"  has  come  to  signify  a  state- 
ment of  principles  or  objects,  each  of  which  is  described  as  a 
"plank;"  and  a  man  who  is  supposed  to  attach  undue  importance 


80ME  .AMBBICANISMB.  227 

to  some  particnlar  scheme  or  notion  is  styled  a  "crank."  Poli- 
ticians are  said  to  be  engaged  in  ** log-rolling,''  or  to  have  ** their 
own  axes  to  grind,"  when  tney  are  thought  to  be  seeking  personal 
objects  mider  color  of  party  z^.  Another  opprobrious  epithet  ap- 
pUed  to  such  is  * '  machine  poUticians. "  A  *  *  caucus' '  is  a  preliminary 
gathering  of  a  poUtical  party  to  decide  upon  united  action;  and 
lobbying"  means  waiting  outside  the  chambers  of  legislature  so  as 
to  use  influence  for  the  passing  of  certain  measures.  Political 
nomenclature  is  constantly  changmg,  as  new  words  are  invented  by 
speakers  or  newspaper  writers,  some  of  which  have  but  transient 
currency  and  are  soon  forgotten,  such  as  **free-soiler,"  "carpet- 
bagger," ** copper-heads,"  hardshells,"  ''softshells,"  'locofocos," 
"know-nothings,"  and  many  more.  One  such  word,  "bolter,"  was 
applied  durinjj  the  Presidential  election  in  1884  to  indicate  a  section 
oi  the  Eepubhcan  party  who  for  that  time  voted  with  the  Democrats. 

"  To  be  around^'  is  used  in  the  sense  of  being  near  or  close  by: 
To  "  back  down  "  is  to  yield ;  to  "  take  the  back  track ''  is  to  retreat ; 
and  if  a  man  utters  a  mistaken  charge  or  wrongfully  a  pplies  an 
epithet,  he  will  probably  say,  by  way  of  apology,  '^  I  take  that 
back."  A  coverlet  or  counterpane  is  called  a  "  Ded-spread."  Where 
an  Englishman  would  say  "  as  the  crow  flies,"  an  American  speaks 
of  "  a  bee  line,"  and  a  railroad  free  from  tunnels  is  an  "  air-line/'  To 
be  "  under  the  weather  "  is  to  suffer  from  a  cold.  A  speaker  is  said 
to  "  voice  the  sentiment "  of  a  meeting ;  and  instead  oi  the  common 
Enghsh  phrase  that  "  it  is  well  to  wash  dirty  Unen  at  home,"  the 
Western  people  have  one  of  pungent  meaning,  when  the  offensive 
odor  of  the  animal  is  remembered,  that  "every  man  should  skin 
his  own  skunk."  To  "  play  'possum*'  is  equivalent  to  the  old  Lon- 
don trick  among  the  thieves  of  "  shamming  Abraham,'  or  pretend- 
ing to  be  dead,  as  the  opossum  does  when  escape  seems  impossible. 
'•*  it's  nuts  to  him  "  denotes  some  diflBiculty  m  comprehendmg,  or  a 
task  that  cannot  well  be  performed ;  just  as  nuts  are  hard  to  crack. 
The  "given  name"  is  the  Christian  name,  and  in  the  West  it  is  some- 
times styled  the  *  front  name."  A  *^  live  man,"  in  the  sense  of  quick, 
active,  or  a  "  live  preacher,"  or  '*  live  prayer-meeting,"  are  sufficient- 
ly expressed,  though  somewhat  inappropriate  terms. 

Traveling  has  given  rise  to  many  peculiar  phrases.  The  line  is 
always  called  "  the  railroad,"  or  "  the  roadbed,''  or  "  the  track ; "  the 
carriages  are  " cars,"  or  "steam-cars ;"  the  locomotive,  when  not  so 
nameo,  is  the  "  engine,"  with  the  "  i  "  long ;  a  siding  is  a  "  switch  ;" 
the  wooden  sleepers  are  known  as  "  ties ; "  the  station  is  a  "  depot ; " 
luggage  is  "  baggage ; "  the  guard  is  a  "  conductor ; "  and  when  he 
gives  the  signal  to  start,  he  shouts,  "all  aboard  ;"  a  passenger  riding 
with  a  free  pass  is  a  "  deadhead ; "  a  commercial  traveler  is  a 
"  drummer ; "  a  street  carriage  on  hire  is  a  "  hack ; "  and  the  street 


228  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

tramway-cars  are  *'  horse-cars."  If  inquiry  be  made  for  a  certain 
street,  tne  reply  will  be  *  *  go  so  many  blocks,  and  then  turn  to  the 
right  or  left  for  so  many  blocks  more."  When  trains  meet  at 
junctions  Avithout  causing  aelay  to  the  traveler,  he  is  said  to  **  make 
close  connections;"  a  quick  transit  is  grandiloquently  described  as 
'*  lightning  express."  The  name  of  a  well-known  ribbed  stuff, 
"  corduroy,"  has  been  given  in  new  clearings  to  a  rough  kind  of 
road,  consisting  of  loose  logs  laid  across  the  swamp.  A  **  plank- 
road"  is  formed  of  sawn  deals,  or  boards  of  considerable  thickness, 
laid  even  and  close,  crosswise.  Overshoes  are  invariably  "  rubbers," 
being  an  abbreviation  of  the  name  of  the  material. 

A  rush  of  panic-stricken  people  is  a  "  stampede, "  as  in  the  case  of 
cattle.  In  naming  the  State  of  Connecticut,  the  second  "<?"  is  never 
heard ;  and  by  many  the  State  of  Arkansas  is  pronounced  as  if  the 
last  syllable  were  "  saw;"  ^vhile  in  New  England,  pumpkins  are  in- 
variably called  "  punkins;"  and  aperson  of  note  and  wealth  is  said 
to  be  *  *  some  punfcins. ' '  A  New  Enfflander  wiU  commence  most  of 
his  sentences  with  *  wal,"  for  "  well,"  and  will  pronounce  "  can" 
as  if  it  were  Avritten  "  kin. "  He  will  talk  of  a  **  potato-patch,"  or  a 
"  wood-lot,"  or  a  **  section  of  kintry,"  or  will  make  inquiries  about 
absent  friends  by  asking  "  How's  the  folks?"  He  is  also  fond  of 
saying,  **  I  gue^,"  just  as  the  people  in  the  Northern  States  say,  **  I 
calc'late,"  and  those  of  the  South,  "  I  reckon."  A  man  who  cian  do 
no  more  is  described  as  "  played  out;"  the  odd  iobs  around  the 
house  are  known  as  "  chores;"  any  one  out  of  health  is  said  to  be 
**  sick,"  but  if  he  suffers  from  actual  vomiting  he  is  *'  sick  in  the 
stomach ;"  a  plot  of  land  chosen  for  a  dwelling  is  a  "  location ;"  any  • 
thing  specially  approved  of  is  **  real  good,"  or  "  real  nice;"  an  at- 
tack of  ague  is  * '  chills  and  fever ;' '  and  an  attempt  to  force  up  or  down 
prices  of  commodities  is  "  a  comer"  in  pork,  or  in  com,  or  in  oil. 
The  issue  of  fictitious  railroad  stock  for  speculative  or  ^mbling  pur- 
]X)ses  is  known  as  **  watering  the  stock,^'  a  term  denved  from  the 
practice  of  a  famous  drover  who  sold  cattle  by  weight,  and  gave 
tliem  salt  to  eat  to  induce  thirst,  and  then  let  them  drink  copiously 
just  before  they  wore  sold  by  live  weirfit. 

Trade  has  its  o^vn  pliniseology,  as  in  England.  A  shop  is  a  "  store, " 
and  the  different  liinds  of  commodities  are  expressed  "by  "clothing 
store,"  "  dry-goods  store"  (i.^.,  drapery,  etc.),  drug  store,"  "  gro- 
cery store, "  *  *  book  store, ' '  and  so  forth ;  but  a  butcher  keeps  a ' '  meat 
market,"  vegetables  and  fruits  are  obtained  at  a  **  vegetable  store." 
To  **  make  a  pile"  is  to  amass  large  profits.  To  '*  foot  a  bill"  means 
to  pay  it;  while  to  *'  fiU  that  bUI,"  signifies  that  the  person  fully 
comes  up  to  the  description,  or  is  able  to  accomplish  what  is  under- 
taken.    The  uniform  name  for  treacle  is  * '  molasses, ' '  and  sweatmeats 


SOMJS  AMERIGAmSM8.  229 

are  "  candies ."  One  of  the  most  popular  confections  is  called  "  mo- 
lasses candy." 

H  an  American  is  asked  whether  some  one  reaUv  did  such  and 
such  a  thin^,  and  he  wishes  to  emphasize  his  reply,  ne  will  probably 
say,  "  He  didn't  do  anything  else.  Another  intense  phrase  is  "  at 
that ;  '^  probably  an  abbreviation  of  "  added  to  that ; "  as,  "  He  has 
an  ngly  wife  and  a  shrew  at  that ; "  the  descriptive  epithet  in  this 
case  referring,  not  to  ill-favored  features,  but  to  character  and  tem- 
ber.  "  Ugly "  is  always  employed  in  this  sense,  and  not  with  ref- 
erence to  bad  looks.  A  despicable  person  is  stigmatized  as  "  a  mean 
cuss."  If  a  remark  is  not  clearly  heard  or  understood,  the  speaker 
will  be  interrupted  by  an  abrupt  '^  How  ? "  which  is  not  meant  to  be 
rude,  though  it  may  appear  so  to  a  stranger.  It  is  part  of  that  brev- 
ity and  point  which  characterize  the  American  people,  who,  as  a  rule, 
have  no  time  to  waste,  or  who,  at  anv  rate,  act  as  if  the  law  of  life 
was  ceaseless  hurry.  Indeed,  such  phrases  as  "go  ahead ; "  the  "  al- 
mighty dollar,"  and  "  hurry  np,"  are  significant  indications  of  this 
nature.  Another  is  to  be  round  in  the  use  of  verbs  in  a  peculiar 
sense,  as,  "to  collide,"  "to  enthuse,"  "to  erupt,"  "to  resurrect,"  "to 
knife,"  and  many  more.  The  burglar's  crime  has  been  designated 
"  burglarizing;"  when  caught  he  is  "  custodized;"  and  the  news  of 
his  capture  is  promptly  "itemized"  by  the  penny-a-liner  in  the 
newspaper. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  all  the  words  and  phrases  quoted  are 
in  general  use,  thougn  most  most  of  them  are  commonly  met  with: 
or  that  they  are  employed  by  good  speakers  and  writers.  Some  of 
them^  and  many  otners  that  might  be  given,  are  unquestionably  of 
English,  Dutch,  or  German  origin,  although  they  have  become 
obsolete  in  these  countries,  and  are  much  corrupted  in  America. 
Many  of  the  provincialisms  of  the  Northern  and  Eastern  counties 
of  England  have  become  naturalized  in  New  England,  as  was  to  be 
expected.  A  similar  transmission  may  be  traced  in  Virginia 
through  the  settlers  from  the  south-western  counties  of  England. 
The  primary  meaning  is  sometimes  intended,  instead  of,  as  in 
England,  the  secondary  meaning,  which  has  come  to  be  almost 
universal.  Thus,  to  "admire,"  or  to  "admire  at"  is  good  old  Eng- 
lish for  "  wonder."  "  Bright "  means  what  we  shoum  call  "  clever/' 
but  that  word,  in  America,  denotes  amiability  and  courtesy ;  whereas 
I'  amiable,"  applied  to  a  man,  is  understood  m  a  derogatory  sense,  as 
if  he  were  stupid ;  and  "  cunning  "  is  ingenious ;  but  a  "  smart  man  " 
would  act  dishonestly  if  he  couM  and  oared.  A  "  homely  "  person 
is  one  distinguished  by  great  plainness  of  features.  Land  or  property 
is  spoken  of  as  likely  to  "appreciate"  in  value.  The  old  English 
sense  of  nice,  or  excellent,  still  attaches  to  the  word  "  curious,"  as 
used  by  New  Englanders.    "  Fall "  is  our  Autumn  season,  from  the 


m  rnn  library  magazine, 

falling  of  the  leaves,  and  is  the  revival  of  a  word  found  in  Dryden 
and  other  old  writers.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  many  rich,  quaint, 
and  expressive  terms  have  fallen  into  disuse  in  England,  altnough 
they  are  still  employed  in  America,  as  might  be  easily  proved,  in  ad- 
dition to  the  instances  already  given,  if  this  were  a  paper  on  philo- 
logy. Yet  many  words,  now  in  common  use  in  the  united  States 
belong  to  the  category  of  cant  and  slang,  which,  unfortunately,  are 
to  be  found  in  every  country  and  in  every  age.  The  most  fertile 
source  of  this  in  America  is,  undoubtedly,  the  lower  class  of  news- 
papers, in  which  originate  nearly  all  the  colloquial  inelegances  and 
downright  vulgarities  of  speech.  Any  sudden  exitement,  any  politi- 
cal event,  any  popular  literary  production,  creates  and  gives  currency 
to  a  number  of  vulgar  words,  which  often  have  in  them  nothing  but 
sound,  or  a  f anciea  resemblance  to  the  action  or  character  sup- 
posed to  be  expressed.  As  Mr.  Buckle  once  said,  referring  to  tne 
loudness  of  the  English  for  burlesque  phrases  and  nicKuames, 
"  Many  of  these  words  are  but  serving  their  apprenticeship,  and  will 
eventually  become  the  active  strength  of  our  language."  There  is 
a  morality  in  the  use  of  speech,  whether  oral  or  written,  as  well  as 
in  character  and  deeds. — Db.  Aubrey,  m  Leisure  Hour, 


LITERAEY  VOLUPTUAEIES. 

Perhaps  the  greatest  pleasure  in  life  is  an  ill-regulated  passion 
for  reading.  Books  are  tne  best  of  friends,  the  most  complacent  of 
companions.  Unlike  their  authors,  they  have  no  susceptibilities  to 
be  ruffled.  You  may  toss  them  aside  in  a  passing  fit  of  impatience, 
to  find  yourself  on  as  pleasant  terms  as  ever  with  them  when  your 
liumor  changes.  In  that  silent,  though  eloquent  and  vivacious 
company,  there  can  be  no  monotony  as  wiere  are  no  jealousies ;  and 
indeed  inconstancy  becomes  a  duty  and  a  virtue,  as  with  the  sage 
King  Solomon  among  his  hundreds  of  wives.  We  may  talk  of  toss- 
ing cherished  volumes  aside,  for  the  literary  voluptuary  has  nothing 
in  common  with  the  luxurious  collector.  The  passion  for  exquisite 
Elzevirs,  for  sumptuous  editions  in  superb  bindings,  is  almost  invari- 
ably antipathetical  to  a  love  of  reading.  The  collector  is  curious 
about  margins,  typography  and  casings,  but  comparatively  indiffer- 
ent to  contents.  A  ubrary  got  together  regardless  of  expense,  can 
seldom  be  a  place  of  real  enjoyment  to  any  one,  least  of  all  to  its 
possessor.  The  books  one  loves  will  be  there — nay,  you  are  bother- 
ed by  an  embarrassment  of  riches — but  you  scarcely  recogniie  your 
most  familiar  friends  in  their  court-dresses,  and  you  approach  them 
with  formality,  in  fear  and  trembling.    Having  no  claims  to  the 


LITERARY  V0LXTPTUAR1E8,  281 

ffenius  of  a  Johnson  or  a  De  Quinoey,  you  dare  not  make  free  with 
mem  in  their  finery  as  those  distinguished  scholars  would  have 
done. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  voluptuary,  with  rare  exceptions,  has  as 
little  in  common  with  the  scholars  who  read  with  a  purpose  and 
drudge  on  severe  systems.  Drudgery  and  method  of  all  kinds  are 
inexpressiblv  distasteful  to  him.  All  is  fish  that  comes  to  his  net : 
he  is  grateful  to  the  men  who  have  been  laboring  to  please  him, 
for  sometimes,  although  not  very  often,  the  hardest  work  makes 
the  lightest  reading.  But  admiration  or  gratitude  does  not  lead 
him  to  imitation,  even  if  he  have  the  memory,  the  mental  grasp,  and 
the  style  of  Macaulay.  Yet  for  the  free-and-easy  fashion  of  his 
self-indulgence,  he  can  quote  eminent  precedents.  Dr.  Johnson 
himself  laid  down  the  law  that  reading  should  be  done  as  inclina- 
tion prompts  one :  he  was  in  the  habit  of  dipping  and  skimming 
himself,  as  he  tore  over  the  pages  with  knife  or  finger ;  he  resented 
being  asked  if  he  had  read  a  book  through,  saying  that  he  had  read 
it  as  "  one  does  read  such  books."  Scott  had  accumulated  his  rich 
and  miscellaneous  stores  by  casual  studies  of  congenial  subjects;  it 
Avas  only  when  he  was  beggared  and  slaving  for  his  creditors  that 
the  author  of  Wa/verley  ana  editor  of  Swift  consented  to  "cram"  for 
his  Life  of  BuonapaHe.  There  is  something  pitiful  in  his  rueful 
praise  of  the  magnificent  notions  of  Constable,  who  kept  crushing 
the  enslaved  genius  of  the  night-lamp  under  piles  of  contemporary 
treatises  and  ponderous  files  of  the  Moniteur.  But  Southey  was 
perhaps  the  most  melancholy  example  of  the  literary  voluptuary 
oroken  intp  harness.  He  could  seldom  write  except  on  subjects  that 
pleased  him.  In  the  face  of  disappointments  he  fcndly  believed  in 
fame  and  a  future  as  an  English  classic.  He  bequeathed  to  the  more 
kindly  appreciation  of  posterity  the  poems  that  nad  scarcely  cleared 
the  publishing  expenses :  he  devoted  invaluable  time  and  untold 
trouble  to  unpopular  histories  of  the  Brazils  and  abstruse  annota- 
tions of  Spanish  literature ;  and  laboring  indef  atigably  all  the  time 
to  maintain  his  family,  he  only  managed  to  make  the  two  ends 
meet  by  more  paying  "  pot-boilers "  for  the  periodicals.  Leading 
the  existence  of  a  hard-working  hermit  among  the  Cumberland 
hills,  he  was  compelled  to  surround  himself  witn  a  costly  library. 
Yet  for  the  hfe  of  him,  unless  for  special  purposes  when  the 
collar  was  chafing,  be  could  spare  no  time  for  the  books  in  which 
he  could  have  reveled ;  and  when  the  literary  Tantalus  died  worn 
out,  the  collection  was  dispersed  which  had  never  been  enjoyed. 

The  Uterary  voluptuary,  like  the  poet,  naacitur  nonfit  lie  must 
be  a  man  of  leisure :  he  should  be  a  man  of  some  means.  If  he 
does  work  of  any  kind,  he  generally  does  it  dilettante  fashion.  It 
is  probable  that,  as  he  gets  on  in  years,  he   finds  out  that  his 


232  THE  LIBRARY  MAOAZTNE. 

pursuits  become  more  pregnant  with  some  ultimate  purpose  and 

I)ossibly  the  tardy  ambition  will  be  awakened  of  turning  his  miscel- 
aneous  acquisitions  to  profitable  account.  Whether  he  dawdle  on 
the  last,  or  do  something  decently  creditable,  in  nineteen  cases 
out  of  twenty  the  worlcf  will  pronounce  his  life  a  wasted  one. 
Very  possible  the  world  may  be  wrong  and  ungratefuL  It  for- 
gets that  he  might  have  swelled  the  host  of  authors  who  have 
mistaken  their  vocation,  but  who  persistently  inflict  themselves  on 
the  public  from  vanity  or  for  bread.  It  ignores  the  fact  that  his 
system  of  half-unconscious  cultivation  has  made  him  an  agreeable 
and  instructive  companion,  instead  of  a  solemn  trifler  or  a  feather- 
headed  bore;  and,  of  course,  it  takes  no  account  of  his  personal 
pleasures  and  satisfaction. 

There  are  boys  and  mere  children  who  take  to  books  like  duck- 
lings to  the  water — simply  because  they  can't  help  themselves.  And 
be  it  remarked  that,  as  a  rule,  these  precocious  little  book-lovers  are 
the  best  and  brightest  of  their  species.  They  are  overflowing  with 
animal  as  well  as  intellectual  energy.  Ben&ing  their  garments  in 
the  heyday  of  high  spirits,  ready  to  risk  their  necks  after  apples 
or  bird-nests,  they  would  be  apt  to  break  the  hearts  of  their  tutors 
and  governesses,  were  it  not  for  those  welcome  intervals  of  repose. 
Wo  know  no  prettier  sight  than  that  of  a  healthy  and  high-spirited 
boy  dashing  in  head  foremost  through  the  casement  from  a  foray 
in  the  fields.  Carelessly  impulsive,  uke  a  kitten  or  a  monkey,  his 
eye  is  caught  by  some  dog-eared  little  volume  on  his  book-shell.  His 
mood  changes  as  by  enchantment :  he  makes  a  plunge  at  the  book ; 
the  flashing  eye  is  toned  down  in  intense  though  subdued  fascina- 
tion, and  in  five  minutes  with  heart  and  soul  absorbed,  he  is  thou- 
sands of  leases  away  in  some  bright  world  of  the  fancy.  No  doubt 
those  capricious  and  ill-regulated  impulses  are  highly  renrehensible 
from  the  schoolmaster's  point  of  view.  The  pedant  will  shake  his 
head  and  prognosticate  that  if  Master  Jack  does  not  a^tuallv  come  to 
the  gaUows,  he  will  at  all  events  live  to  eat  husks  with  the  swine. 
Perhaps  he  may ;  but  in  any  case  his  life  is  likely  to  be  a  lively 
one,  brightened  bv  many  a  brief  resting-time  of  bhssful  oblivion  or 
abstraction.  Ana  there  is  always  something  more  than  the  chance, 
that  he  may  translate  his  roving  fancies  into  adventures  and  success- 
ful action.  It  was  a  lad  of  9ie  kind,  successor  and  prototype  of 
many  another,  that  Kingsley  painted  in  his  Amyas  Leigh.  There 
were  few  books  in  Bideford  in  those  days,  nor  was  Amyas  what 
Captain  Costigan  would  have  called  a  "  litherary  cyracthar."  But 
the  oral  embroidery  of  the  many-colored  web  spun  from  "yams^' 
of  buccaneering  adventures  served  a  similar  purpose ;  and.  when 
Amyas  saw  the  chart  of  Sebastian  Teo,  it  was  the  spark  to  the 
powder  train  that  sent  him  flying  West/ward  So. 


LITERABT  Y0LUPfVABIE8.  233 

Books  were  scarce  at  Bideford  in  the  eighteenth  ceutury,  and, 
generally  speaking,  any  boy's  range  of  choice  is  limited.  He  is 
rough  in  his  ways — ^he  is  less  particular  than  the  Pharisees  about 
the  purification  of  his  hands — so  he  is  warned  off  valuable  volumes. 
But,  like  a  young  man  with  maidens,  he  is  in  no  wise  fastidious 
when  it  is  a  case  of  first  love.  David  Copperfield,  in  the  changed 
conditions  of  Blunderstone  Kookery^  lighted  upon  his  feet,  and 
found  blissful  forsetfulness  of  family  sorrows  "  in  the  blessed  little 
room,"  with  Fielding  and  Smollett,  Goldsmith  and  De  Foe,  Dan 
Quixote  J  GUI  Blas^  and  the  Arabian  Nights.  As  well  he  might,  for 
had  he  been  left  free  to  pick  and  choose,  he  need  hardly  have  cared 
to  enlarge  that  charmed  circle.    There  are  boys,  and  they  have  read 

greedily,  who  when  brought  up  in  the  gloom  of  Calvinistic  house- 
olds,  have  been  content  to  pick  the  stray  plums  out  of  biographies 
of  sainted  divines,  or  put  up  with  records  of  missionary  enterprise. 
Needless  to  say,  we  do  not  refer  to  such  apostolical  saints  as  Francis 
Xavier,  or  Heber,  or  the  late  Bishop  Selwyn  ;  or  to  missionaries  like 
Williams,  Moffat  and  Livingstone,  whose  style  is  as  spirited  as  their 
adventures  were  sensational.  There  are  boys  to  whom  Hume  and 
Smollett — the  history,  not  Roderick  Eandom — or  a  stray  volume  of 
the  Ann^ml  Register  have  been  godsends. 

Every  instructor  of  youth  has  found  out  to  his  sorrow,  that  while 
any  father  may  send  his  son  to  the  Pierian  springs,  scores  of  flog- 
gings will  not  lorce  him  to  drink.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  a  colt 
will  to  the  water,  cart-ropes  won't  hold  him  back.  It  may  be  one 
of  the  many  troubles  of  after-years  that  he  has  been  getting  hlme 
upon  books,  as  in  everything  else.  Yet  still  he  has  fond  recollec- 
tions of  the  volumes  that  were  his  early  friends  •.  and  the  old  strings 
that  are  touched  by  passing  associations  will  vibrate  to  the  very 
core  of  his  heart.  For  there  is  a  marvelous  tenacity  and  retentive 
ness  in  the  first  freshness  of  the  memory.  The  boyish  memory 
seizes,  with  no  sense  of  effort,  on  the  verses  that  strike  the  fancy, 
and  are  perpetually  ringing  in  the  ears.  There  is  many  an  elderly 
man  who  could  repeat,  with  scarcely  an  inaccuracy,  dozens  of  the 
Psalms  of  David  in  the  metrical  version,  although  undoubtedly  the 
poetry  leaves  much  to  desire ;  whole  pages  of  the  Lays  of  Ancient 
Rome^  or  of  Lockhart's  Spanish  Ballads^  where  hero  met  hero  in 
Homeric  combat ;  and  many  a  verse  from  Percy's  ReUques^  although 
the  English  ballad  poetry  is  too  often  tame  and  prosaic.  But  it  is 
not  only  a  Chem/  Chase  that  fires  the  blood,  with  the  pathetic  burial 
of  the  Douglas  beneath  the  bracken  bush,  after  the  deadly  fight  of 
Otterbum.  Every  boy  naturally  makes  himself  at  home  and  per- 
fectly happy  in  the  greenwood  with  Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  out- 
laws ;  and  as  one  book  expands  the  mind  and  begets  delight  in 
another,  he  is  prepared  by  the  ballads  and  metrical  romances  for 


234  TEB  LIBRAB7  MAGAZINE, 

the  pleasures  of  Ivanhoe.  He  may  be  rather  fascinated  than  pleased 
by  the  misanthropic  beauties  of  6yron ;  yet  although  he  may  rise 
to  the  Byronic  heroism  of  setting  hghtly  by  life,  he  cannot  sjonpar 
thize  with  the  cynicism  that  makes  less  than  no  account  of  a  thing 
so  agreeable.  But  Scott,  whether  he  be  writing  in  prose  or  verse, 
will  always  for  him  be  the  veritable  magician ;  for  we  cannot  think 
so  badly  of  the  rising  generation  as  to  believe  that  Scott  is  going 
out  of  favor.  Scott's  young  admirer  does  not  critically  weigh 
the  novels  with  the  poems,  or  one  of  the  novels  against  another. 
He  knows  what  pleases  him,  and  reads  on  in  faith  and  the  fullness 
of  hope,  sure  that  the  next  excitement  is  only  deferred.  Half  a 
dozen  out  of  as  many  hundreds  of  sensational  scenes  have  assured 
the  magician's  ascendency  over  him.  His  appreciation  is  versatile, 
and  he  finds  perpetual  entertainment.  His  vAooA  is  aflame,  and  he 
rapt  in  breathless  admiration,  when  the  Black  Knight  is  hewing  his 
way  through  the  oaken  palisades  of  Torquilstone,  or  Ivanhoe  is 
humbling  the  challengers  m  the  lists  of  Ashby  de  la  Zouch.  But 
he  is  quite  as  much  pleased,  though  in  a  dijflferent  way,  at  the  fox- 
hunt of  Charheshope,  or  when  the  Borderers,  "  burning  the  water," 
are  leistering  the  salmon  by  torch-Ught. 

There  has  been  a  good  deal  of  discussion  of  late  as  to  the  books 
that  ought  to  be  general  favorites  with  boys.  We  cannot  profess  to 
answer  for  other  people,  or  to  make  recommendations  to  them ;  but 
we  can  speak  confidently  of  some  of  the  books  that  delighted  our- 
selves, although  caprice  and  chance  may  have  had  much  to  do  with 
our  predilection.  Imprimis^  as  the  lettered  monk  remarks  in 
Harddy  there  was  the  Pilgrim^ a  Progress.  In  our  modesty  we  are 
inclined  to  doubt  whether  any  praise  of  ours  can  materially  add  to 
the  reputation  of  Bunyan ;  but  at  all  events  we  may  cast  a  pebble 
on  the  cairn  that  has  been  raised  to  the  immortal  tinker's  memory. 
And  Bunyan  has  one  great  pull  over  contemporaries  or  rivals  who 
may  have  been  equally  gifted.  In  the  strictest  famihes,  where  the 
rnles  are  most  severe,  any  boy  is  permitted  to  read  him  of  a  Sunday, 
So  that  one  whole  day  in  the  seven  has  been  absolutely  consecrated 
to  him  in  many  cases.  Setting  the  Scriptures  aside,  with  the 
battles  and  bloodshed  in  Genesis  and  the  Judges,  what  other  sacred 
writer  has  a  chance  with  him?  The  Pilgrim  is  Don  Quixote  in 
sober,  religious  dress.  He  is  the  champion  of  the  books  of  chivalry, 
going  in  quest  of  religious  adventure,  combating  fiery  dragons, 
quelhng  formidable  giants,  and  bidding  defiance  to  devils  as  well  as 
raging  lions.  The  cnivalrous  hero  of  Bunyan,  inspired  by  the  high- 
est and  holiest  of  missions,  faces  death  and  hell  as  well  as  more 
tangible  enemies.  What  boy  can  help  admiring  the  pluck  which 
excuses  his  frailties  and  extenuates  his  feebleness  I  Thus  Christian, 
or  Faithful,  or  Mr.  Great  Hearty  or  Mr.  Valiant-for-Truth  have 


f 


LITBRART  VOLTTPTTTAmEa,  S86 

something  more  than  the  noble  qualities  of  Spenser's  very  gentle 
and  perfect  Imight,  who  carried  the  cross  as  thev  carried  it — the 
dear  remembrance  of  their  bleeding  Lord.  Ana  we  take  it  for 
granted  that  the  most  scapegrace  of  boys  is  more  or  less  essentially 
religious,  though  he  may  oe  lost  to  all  sense  of  the  proprieties,  and 
even  addicted  to  profane  and  premature  swearing. 

Association  and  alliteration  lead  us  on  from  John  Bunyan  to 
George  Borrow.  The  men  had  much  in  common  besides  mending 
kettles,  though  Borrow  was  as  practical  as  he  was  imaginative,  ana 
he  had  tran3ated  thought  into  action.  Eeading  Borrow  in  later 
life,  he  often  rubs  us  up  the  wrong  way.  We  remark  his  inconsis- 
tencies and  resent  his  prejudices.  To  be  a  good  Christian,  as  we 
believe  him  to  have  been,  he  was  the  most  inveterate  of  haters,  and 
he  denounces  Antichrist,  the  Church  of  Kome,  and  all  their  works, 
with  even  more  virulence  and  unfairness  than  Charles  Kinsley. 
He  even  puts  out  his  hand  sacrilegiously  to  touch  the  edihce  of 
Scott's  honor  and  fame.  But  a  boy  is  naturallj^  indifferent  to  po- 
lemics, and  does  not  collate  the  writings  of  the  objects  of  his  admira- 
tion. We  liked  Borrow  little  less  than  Scott  or  Bunyan,  and  for 
similar  reasons.  He  is  imarinativo,  he  is  sjrmpathetic,  his  stj^le  is 
strong  and  picturesque,  and  the  tone  of  his  oooks  is  invariably 
manly.  Indeed  he  is  so  imaginative  that  we  can  never  be  altogether 
sure  how  far  his  professed  facts  are  fabulous.  So  much  the  oetter 
so  far  as  a  bojr  is  concerned.  He  writes  with  all  the  realism  of  a 
De  Foe,  implying  that  he  pledges  his  conscience  to  the  truth  of 
what  he  reads  Uke  romance.  In  La/oenqro  and  the  Romcmy  Rye  we 
never  know  how  far  he  means  us  to  believe  in  his  self-accr^ited 
power  of  spells,  snake-charming  and  pugilism.  As  for  the  Bible  in 
Sjpain,  which  was  our  special  lavorite,  it  is  a  book  by  itself.  That 
the  writer  went  thither  as  the  agent  of  the  Church  Missionary 
Society,  there  can  be  no  doubt  whatever.  Whether  evervthing  he 
told  is  true  was  between  his  conscience  and  himself.  St.  Paul  him- 
self was  never  in  more  perpetual  perU,  nor  had  Christian,  when  he 
reached  the  gates  of  the  celestial  citj,  more  reason  to  be  grateful  to 
Providence  lor  close  shaves  and  hair-breadth  escapes.  But  this  we 
know,  that  the  sensational  episodes  in  the  Bible  in  Spain  have  each 
and  all  been  branded  indelibly  in  our  memory.  The  night-voyage 
across  the  estuary  of  the  Tagus,  when  the  boat  was  steered  by  the 
gibbering  idiot  through  the  waves  and  the  storm ;  the  hiding  in  the 
gipsy  hovel,  when  he  was  being  guided  to  Madrid  by  an  outlaw 
and  murderer ;  the  narrow  escape  in  rugged  Finisterre,  when  he 
was  arrested  and  nearly  shot  for  Don  Canos ;  the  incarceration  in 
the  horrible  "  Saladero"  of  Madrid,  to  which  he  submitted  for  the 
sake  of  proselytizing  among  the  prisoners,  and  where  he  fraternized 
with  the  most  diabolical  scounarels.    And  these  are  only  a  few 


236  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE.. 

among  many  of  the  episodes  that  give  those  books  of  his  their  vivid 

originalitv. 

From  Bunyan  and  Borrow  we  easily  pass  to  other  volumes  of 
travel,  adventure,  and  sport.  It  must  be  remembered  that  in  the 
days  to  which  we  are  going  back  no  books  were  written  especially 
for  boys.  There  was  no  Tom  Brownie  School-days^  there  were  no 
Treasure  IsUmds  by  Stevenson,  no  sea-stories  for  the  young  by  a 
KusseU  or  a  Ballantyne.  Like  the  reivers  of  the  Borders,  the  boys 
took  their  goods  where  they  found  them,  and  if  they  were  sharp-set, 
like  the  reivers,  were  ready  to  carry  away  everything  that  was  not 
"  too  hot  or  too  heavy."  Harris's  WUd  %^art8  tn  South  Africa  was 
an  immense  favorite — ^hot  as  far  as  climate  went,  but  very  far  from 
heavy.  The  illustrations  were  decidedly  out  of  drawing  and  per- 
spective, and  <5ometimes  repulsively  blood-bespattered,  according  to 
modem  humanitarian  notions,  but,  possibly,  on  that  account,  they 
gratified  us  all  the  more.  The  white  rhinoceros  might  be  c«ast  in 
the  mold  of  the  colossal  bulk  of  the  monstrous  mammoth,  as  the 
elephant  dwarfed  the  audacious  sportsman  who  was  tackling  him ; 
but  the  colored  pictures  corresponded  to  those  signs  in  the  fairs 
which  prepare  the  bystanders  for  the  sensations  awaiting  them  in 
the  caravans.  We  walked  in  among  the  chapters,  eager  to  gape  and 
admire ;  and  we  shall  never  forget  the  entertainments  over  which 
we  lingered.  In  fact,  we  took  a  season-ticket  to  Harris,  and  subse- 
quently to  Gordon  Cumming,  and  went  in  again  and  again.  So  that 
when  the  Zulu  war  came  oflf ,  long  after  the  last  of  the  elephants  and 
giraffes  had  withdrawn  from  the  Limpopo  to  the  far  interior ;  and 
when  the  pioneers  of  Dutch  agricultural  enterprise  had  well  nigh 
extirpated  the  gnus  and  the  hartebeests,  we  had  the  scenery  and 
politics  of  the  country  of  the  Matabili  at  our  finger-ends,  and  were 
ready  to  follow  the  changing  fortunes  of  the  campaign  in  our  famil- 
iar acquaintance  with  the  predecessors  of  Oetewayo. 

A  book  we  liked  almost  as  well  was  Lloyd's  Scandinavian,  Field- 
Sports^  perhaps  because  it  changed  all  conditions  of  temperature,  and 
inculcated  with  no  sort  of  pretension  the  virtues  of  patience  and 
endurance.  Harris  and  his  companion  had  only  to  keep  themselves 
cool  by  casting  their  clothes — always  a  dream  of  delight  to  a  boy — 
and  they  were  absolutely  surfeited  with  sport,  fike  the  hide- 
hunters  among  the  herds  of  buffalo  in  the  American  prairies,  they 
were  lost  in  the  shifting  panorama  of  the  wild  African  menagerie, 
and  had  only  to  leave  their  horses  to  look  to  themselves,  to  gallop, 
and  to  load  and  fire  right  and  left.  Whereas  Lloyd  brought  up  his 
reports  from  the  solitudes  of  Scandinavian  forests,  and  tola  of  subtle 
schemes  for  "  skalling "  the  wary  bears  that  had  been  tracked  to 
their  lairs  in  the  sylvan  recesses. 

There  was  a  similar  sense  of  adventurous  excitement,  with  all 


L2TEBART  V0LJJPTUAEIS8.  237 

the  pleasure  of  its  being  brought  nearer  home,  in  St.  John  s  Wild 
Sports  of  the  Highlcmds^  and  in  his  Tour  in  Suiherlamdshire.  He 
was  the  "  Leatnerstocking "  of  civilized  Ufe,  with  great  literary 
gifts,  though  it  was  a  surprise  and  something  of  a  shock  to  his  mo- 
desty when  the  QtuiHerly  welcomed  his  maiden  contributions,  on 
the  introduction  of  his  friend  Cosmo  Innes.  How  breathlessly  we 
followed  him  on  his  last  successful  quest  after  "  the  muckle  hart  of 
Braemore!" — ^the  mighty  beast  much  regretted  by  the  shepherd 
who  had  delivered  him  to  his  doom  by  giving  information  to  the 
q)ortsman.  With  what  pleasure  we  accompanied  St.  John  on  his 
f^hing  expeditions  on  the  Findhom,  where,  more  than  once,  sur- 

{)rised  between  the  rocks  and  the  stream,  he  barely  saved  himself 
rom  a  sudden  descent  of  the  waters.  For  the  Findhom,  having  its 
sources  in  the  Monadhliadh  hills,  is  apt  to  rise  suddenly  in  brown 
spate  when  there  are  waterspouts  in  the  mountains ;  and  St.  John 
describes  a  "  Morayshire  flood  "  on  that  stream  and  on  the  Spey, 
^vith  as  realistic  picturesqueness  as  Sir  Thomas  Dick  Lauder.  Those 
volumes  of  his  abound  in  spirited  incident.  He  is  shooting  at 
the  "skeins"  of  the  wild  swans  which  now,  as  we  fear,  have 
well-niffh  deserted  the  Loch  of  Spynie :  dragging  himself  along  on  his 
belly  like  the  sinuous  serpent,  to  quote  Christopher  North,  a  stul  older 
sportsman,  he  is  stalking  the  shy  bean-geese,  well  guarded  by  their 
watchful  sentinels;  or  he  is  sending  a  wired  cartridge  into  the 
speckled  chest  of  a  marten-cat ;  or  he  is  cutting  off  the  retreat  of 
tne  skulking  otter,  who,  gourmand-like,  contenting  itself  with  a 
single  bite  m  the  shoulder,  has  been  making  wild  work  with  the 
salmon  and  the  sea-trout.  But  St.  John  was  one  of  these  heaven-born 
geniuses  who  are  never  more  attractive  than  when  they  are  least 
pretentious.  It  is  exciting  to  stand  on  the  shore  of  a  Sutherland- 
shire  loch,  and  watch  him  stripping  and  striking  out  for  the  trun- 
cated rook  that  is  topped  by  the  nest  of  the  osprey  or  fishing-eagle. 
But  it  is  just  as  interesting  to  walk  round  his  garden,  and  be  pre- 
sented to  the  robins  or  the  flycatchers  that  make  their  nests  in  the 
bushes  or  the  creepers.  Another  sporting  writer  of  nearly  equal 
fascination,  and  with  the  advantage  of  a  more  ambitious  field,  was 
the  "Old  Forest  Eanger."  TheKanger  gives  the  impressions  of 
veracity  to  strange  pictures  of  sport ;  to  netting  and  spearing  the 
dangerous  man-eater,  as  he  spealks  of  encounters  with  the  more  for- 
midable bison  in  impracticable  jungles,  where  the  rifles  had  to  risk 
the  shots  and  stand  their  ground,  taking  their  chance  of  tossing  and 
goring, 

But,  apart  from  sport,  it  was  Campbell  who  first  introduced  us 
to  those  striking  aspects  of  oriental  life  which  Burke,  in  his 
famous  philippics  loved  to  develop  in  his  gorgeous  imagery.  The 
Ranger  kept  to  lone  forest  and!^  tank,  avoiding  the  crowds  and 


238  THE  LIBRAET  MAGAZINE. 

bazars  in  the  sacred  cities;  but  he  showed  as  the  sporting  camp 
of  the  wealthy  civilian  satrap,  with  its  luzorious  traveling  equip- 
ments, its  train  of  servants  and  8hika/ris,  and  those  studs  of  priceless 
Arab  steeds  that  have  latterly  been  ousted  by  the  "  Walers."  The 
Ranger,  like  St.  John,  is  often  instructive  as  a  naturalist ;  some- 
times he  is  extremely  sensational,  as  when  he  describes  the  bees 
that  have  their  "  bykes "  in  the  steep  cliflfs  overhanging  the  Ner- 
budda  River,  sweejjing  down  in  their  venomous  swarms  from  their 
strongholds  on  the  intruders  who  are  rowing  up  the  ravine. 

Sea-books  have,  of  course,  an  ^extraordinary  attraction  for  boys, 
since  any  boy  who  is  worth  his  salt  aspires  to  breaking  his  neck 
some  day  in  climbing  to  the  top-gallant  cross-trees,  if  he  does  not 
dream  of  hoisting  the  black  flag  on  the  Spanish  main,  or  being  laid 
to  rest  and  enshrined  amid  the  lamentations  of  a  nation  with  Nel- 
son and  Collingwood  in  the  Abbey  or  St.  Paul's.  Marryat,  as  a 
matter  of  course,  must  be  at  every  reading  bov's  finger's  ends.  The 
juvenile  takes  Mr.  Midshipman  Easy,  who  had  the  knack  of  always 
falling  on  his  feet,  as  a  model,  ratner  than  as  a  warning ;  and  he 
deplores  these  piping  days  of  peace,  when  there  are  no  longer 
French  privateers  to  be  cut  out,  or  French  prisons  to  be  escaped 
from.  He  shudders  at  the  spectral  manifestations  of  the  phantom 
ship ;  as  he  delights  in  the  dramatic  escapes  of  the  •'  dog-fiend," 
ana  admires  the  toughness  and  sameness  of  the  starveling  Small- 
bones.  But  if  he  have  genuine  though  undeveloped  literary  appre- 
ciation, he  is  sure  to  have  cherished  an  absolute  passion  for  Tom 
Cringle.  Michael  Scott  was  almost  as  much  of  a  wizard  as  his  more 
famous  namesake  of  the  middle  ages.  He  did  not  cleave  the  Eildon 
HiUs  in  three,  or  bridle  the  TweSi  with  a  bridge  of  stone ;  but  he 
has  cast  his  spells  over  tens  of  thousands  of  readers.  Although  no 
sailor  in  all  matters  concerning  ships  and  the  salt  water,  he  has  left 
professionals  immeasurably  behina.  We  daresay  he  made  some 
technical  mistakes,  which  was  pretty  much  all  the  critics  found  to 
object  to  him.  But  what  powerful  simplicity  in  his  masculine  style ; 
what  freshness  of  fancy  and  poetry  of  diction  1  He  is  sometimes 
repulsive  in  expatiating  on  horrors  in  detail,  because  he  never 
cared  to  balk  the  vigor  of  that  most  realistic  imagination.  But  how 
he  rings  the  changes  on  comedy  and  tragedy,  on  pathos,  humor,  and 
broad  rollicking  nin  I  Proteus-like,  you  never  know  where  to  have 
him,  as  he  rises  into  earnest  eloquence  on  some  subject  that  touches 
him,  or  suddenly  subsides  into  grotesque  drollery,  that  brines  you 
back  to  the  broad  grin  from  gravity  or  sentimentality.  Then  ne  "has 
all  the  versatility  of  a  masterful  painter  like  Velasquez :  like  the  un- 
rivaled Spaniara,  he  is  at  much  at  home  in  portrait,  or  landscape, 
or  marine  studies  as  in  si^ets  de  genre.  Take  Sprawl  and  the  Com- 
modore pacing  the  deck  of  the  OazdU  or  the  John-Canoing  of  the 


UTERABT  V0LUPTVARIE8.  239 

negroea  in  the  streets  of  Kingston ;  or  the  solemn  trial-scene  of  the 
"  Cuba  fisherman ;  "  on  the  passage  of  the  Moro  in  the  tropical 
moonshine ;  or  the  hurricane  on  the  island  of  St  Andres  that  closed 
the  cruising  of  the  Midge. 

The  PUgrian^a  Progress  and  Tom  Cringles  Log  are  perfect  in 
their  way ;  but  boys  cannot  always  make  sure  of  such  delectable 
reading.  Well,  as  we  have  remarked,  they  are  noways  particular. 
Weaned  by  unhappy  chances  from  battle,  murder,  and  sudden 
deaths;  away  from  Romances  of  War,  with  forlorn  hopes,  and 
night  surprises,  and  sackings  of  convents;  separated*  by  cir- 
cumstances, if  not  by  the  breadth  of  an  ocean,  from  Cooper's 
Mohicans  and  Scouts,  or  from  Washington  Irving  and  Rip  V  an 
Winkle — they  can  make  themselves  just  as  happy  on  occasion  with 
books  that  were  intended  more  especially  for  their  seniors.  Nat- 
urally they  take  most  kindly  to  novels ;  but  some  novels  recom- 
mend themselves  unaccountably  to  their  instincts,  while  others  do 
not. 

We  may  give  the  clue  to  what  we  mean  by  recalling  some  other 
of  our  personal  experiences.  It  need  hardly  be  said  tnat  we  were 
enthusiastically  devoted  to  Lever  in  his  early  style.  We  were  by 
no  means  over  scrupulous  on  the  score  of  moraJity ;  and  as  we  heartily 
admired  JackHinton  undertaking  on  the  spur  of  the  moment  to 
ride  the  vicious  steeplechaser  at  Loughrea,  so  we  were  far  from 
thinking  the  worse  of  Harry  Lorrequer  for  wounding  a  poor  devil 
in  a  duel  for  no  reason  at  all.  But  m  our  estimate  of  Bulwer's  early 
books  we  were  more  discriminating.  It  might  have  been  supposed 
that  we  should  have  reveled  in  Paul  Cliff'ordy  as  in  a  more  genteel 
Newgate  Calendar,  with  the  moonlight  rides  and  robberies,  and  the 
meetings  of  the  "  Minions  of  the  Moon"  at  nocturnal  taverns  on 
solitary  heaths.  As  matter  of  fact,  we  did  not  care  for  it,  perhaps 
because  the  author  wrote  with  a  political  purpose,  casting  his  char- 
acters as  political  caricatures;  whereas  we  read  again  and  again 
Pelhcmi^  or  the  Ad/oervtures  of  a  OenUenicm;  partly,  perhaps,  for  the 
sake  of  the  thrilling  descent  upon  "  Daw's  baby"  in  tne  den  of 
thieves,  and  for  the  single-stick  scene  where  the  seemingly  eflfemi- 
nate  dandy,  by  way  ofpractical  repartee,  knocks  the  truculent  Lord 
Calton  out  of  time.  Yet  we  are  proud  and  happy  to  remember 
now  that  we  were  by  no  means  insensible  to  poetry  and 
pathos.  For  our  favorite  among  all  Bulwer's  fictions  was  The  Pil- 
grims of  the  Rhine^  with  its  graceful  intermingling  of  Gothic  super- 
stition and  sad  sentimentality.  It  was  a  bhssful  day  when  we 
chanced  upon  some  stray  numbers  of  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop,  as  it 
originally  came  out  in  shilling  parts.  But  what  pleased  us  most 
were  those  introdactory  chapters,  that  have  been  since  suppressed 
in  the  ordinary  editions — ^the  ^t<>h-finder's  nephew  chivalrously 


240  TEE  LIBRART  MAGAZINE. 

driving  the  dead  body  through  the  raffian  bands,  when  crime  and 
terror  were  abroad  in  the  streets  of  London ;  the  meeting  of  Joe 
Toddy  high  with  his  old  sohoohnate,  the  Mayor ;  and  the  notes  on 
evenings  below  stairs,  at  Mr.  WeUer^s  Watch^  started  in  imitation 
of  Master  Humphrey's  Clock.  Thackeray  would  doubtless  been 
caviare  to  us  in  tnose  days,  although,  indeed,  his  fame  was  scarcelv 
established.  But  we  had  an  extraordinary  weakness  for  Warren's 
Ten  Thousand  Or  Yewr^  though  the  novel  is  legal,  political,  senti- 
mental, and  was  neither  written  for,  nor  seemingly  adapted  to  ju- 
veniles. On  the  stren^h  of  Ten  Thousamd  Or  Year^  we  tried  in  vain 
to  enjoy  The  Diary  of  a  Zate  Physician,  notwithstanding  its  unde- 
niable merits  and  our  prepossessions  in  favor  of  the  author. 

As  to  famous  novels  we  were  involuntarily  fastidious  and  exact- 
ing; but  travels  and  voyages  of  any  kind  were  always  a  safe 
resource.  Our  best  and  oldest  friend  was,  of  course,  Kobinson 
Crusoe.  In  his  experience,  as  in  the  result  of  his  researches  among 
the  Caribbean  cannibals,  we  were  inclined  to  place  implicit  faith. 
Next  to  Crusoe  we  ranked  Captain  Cook,  though  the  great  circum- 
navigator had  never  enjoyed  tne  strange  opportunities  the  castaway 
had  turned  to  such  exceUent  account.  Cook  had  never  peopled  an 
island  with  talking  parrots,  nor  made  himself  a  self-taught  master 
of  the  arts  and  industries,  nor  filled  paddocks  with  the  posterity  of 
goats  caught  in  pitfalls ;  and  it  was  somewhat  wearisome  throuffh 
successive  pages  to  stand  off  and  on  the  clumps  of  palms  on  the 
coral-reefs,  "  making  short  boards "  and  taking  solar  observations. 
But  then  Cook  turned  down  pigs  among  those  palm-groves  to  breed 
and  multiply ;  he  saw  much  of  the  savages  in  tne  way  of  trade  and 
barter,  if  ne  never  saved  a  Man  Friday  from  them  to  be  his  confi- 
dant and*  cabin  steward ;  and,  after  all,  we  set  it  down  to  his  credit 
that  the  savages  did  murder  him  in  the  end.  To  Williams'  mission- 
ary enterprises  we  have  already  alluded :  and  the  missionary  by  the 
way,  profited  by  Cook's  herds  of  swine,  when  he  persuaded  his 
South  Sea  converts  to  renounce  man  and  rat  for  pork.  Campbell's 
IJves  of  the  Admirals  was  another  stand-by,  although  we  must 
confess  to  having  found  it  desperately  dull  in  later  Ufe.  But  it  was 
something  then  merely  to  read  of  such  fights  as  that  where  the 
Glatton,  contending  triumphantly  against  tremendous  odds,  gained 
herself  immortal  fame,  and  has  consequently  had  her  name  per- 
petuated in  the  navy.  Then  there  were  narratives  of  shipwreck 
that  have  riveted  themselves  in  the  memory,  though  now  we  can 
scarcely  quote  the  authorities.  The  dry  facts  of  JByron's  escape 
after  the  ^vreck  of  the  Wager  are  doubtless  to  be  found  in  Campbell; 
but  it  was  not  in  Campbell  that  we  read  of  the  barefooted  sailor- 
boy  strugglinff  through  South  American  forests  and  swamps,  be- 
neath the  buraen  of  putrid  seal-flesh,  sewn  up  in  filthy  sacking, 


r 


LITERARY  VOLUPTUARIES,  241 

with  which  the  selfish  captain  had  overweighted  him-  Then  there 
were  the  boats  of  the  Bowrvty;  there  was  the  raft  of  the  Medusa; 
and  there  were  the  deaths  and  the  escapes  of  the  many  adventur- 
ous mariners  who  went  pushing  toward  the  Pole  through  the  ice- 
floes in  their  cockle-shells,  oi  smaller  tonnage  than  some  of  our 
modem  steam  launches.  Boys  may  revel  now  from  midsummer  to 
Cliristmas  in  any  number  of  romances  specially  invented  for  them. 
Yet,  reviewing  our  reminiscences,  we  doubt  if  they  were  better  oflf 
than  their  fathers  and  grandfathers,  who  are  assumed  to  have  been 
less  fortunate.  A  feast  m  the  school-room  is  all  verv  well,  but  there 
is  far  more  flattery  and  possibly  more  fun  in  an  eight  o'clock  dinner 
in  company  of  the  seniors. 

Fresn  youth  is  the  season  where  pleasures  have  their  keenest  zest; 
but  we  must  go  on  to  the  more  mature  voluptuaries,  who  find  much 
enjoyment  stul,  although  they  have  long  ago  begun  to  feel  hhjbse. 
To  put  things  at  the  worst,  they  have  this  pull  over  their  neighbors, 
that  they  have  always  resources  of  distraction  and  abstraction.  We 
have  already  referred  to  the  opinions  of  Johnson  on  book-reading, 
and  we  may  give  his  authority  mrbatim^  according  to  Boswell :  "lie 
advised  me  to  read  just  as  inclination  prompted  me,  which  alone,  he 
said,  would  do  me  any  good;  for  I  had  better  go  into  company  than 
read  a  set  task."  And  even  when  the  veneraole  Samuel  was  com- 
paratively well  off  and  in  receipt  of  a  comfortable  Government  pen- 
sion of  £300,  he  stowed  away  his  own  library  in  a  couple  of  garrets 
which  he  rarely  took  the  trouble  to  ransack.  He  skimmed  the  pub- 
lications of  the  day  as  they  reached  him,  tearing  his  way  through 
the  leaves  with  a  ruthless  forefinger  if  no  paper-cutter  was  hancfy. 
The  literary  gourmand  may  not  follow  mat  gluttonous  example, 
but  he  has  laid  the  precepts  to  heart.  He  may  study  an  old  almanac 
faute  de  mieux,  for  every  printed  page  has  an  irresistible  attraction 
for  him,  and  he  will  snatcn  naturally  at  anything  in  type  he  comes 
across  from  a  folio  of  St.  Chrysostom  to  the  advertising  sheet  of  a 
daily  journal.  Nowadays,  happily  for  him,  it  is  seldom  that  he  is 
reduced  to  such  extremities.  Now  we  are  perpetually  on  the  move, 
and  when  a  reader  goes  on  a  journey  the  railway  bookstall  confronts 
him  with  its  attractive  show  of  wares.  The  newest  publications  are 
all  on  sale,  if  he  is  content  to  pay  the  regulation  retail  price,  in 
place  of  seeking  25  per  cent,  discount  in  open  market. 

But  the  voluptuary  is  not  the  man  to  balk  his  fancy  and  put  off  till 
to-morrow,  or  the  Greek  Kalends,  the  purchase  that  tempts  him  at 
the  moment.  There  are  the  latest  volumes  of  Spencer's  social  phi- 
losophy— of  the  histories  or  historical  lectures  of  Froude  or  Free- 
man. There  is  the  latest  novel  by  Black,  Blackmore,  or  Besant. 
There  are  the  memoirs  of  the  last  lamented  statesman  we  lost,  side 
by  side  with  the  Discourses  an  Deism^  by  the  very  reverend  and 


243  THE  LIBRABT  MAQAZINB. 

eloquent  the  Dean  of  Barchester.  There  is  the  new  volume  of  lyrics 
by  the  old  Laureate,  and  the  sporting  story  of  A  Sccmdal  m  tJie 
Ishvrea  which  has  made  sensation  in  serial  shape  in  certain  circles. 
Our  friend  who  may  be  bound  for  his  moor  in  the  north  of  Scotland 
and  who  always  makes  it  a  principle  to  be  on  the  safe  side  and  take 
ample  precautions,  lays  in  his  supplies  of  literature  to  beguile  the  way. 
He  settles  the  question  of  extravagance  with  his  conscience,  by  assur- 
ing himself  there  need  be  no  waste.  What  he  does  not  consume  be- 
tween Euston  and  Inverness  or  Invergorden  will  come  in  usefuUy  in 
the  shooting-box  when  the  floods  set  in.  He  rejoices  the  stall- 
keeper  by  his  profuse  and  promiscuous  purchases ;  but  after  all  it  is 
a  toss-up,  as  he  knows  in  his  heart,  how  far  he  wiU  turn  them  to 
immediate  account.  For  he  never  reads  unless  the  spirit  moves 
him ;  and  the  spirit,  which  is  sometimes  as  restless  as  any  imp  that 
tasked  the  ingenuity  of  the  old  wizards  to  find  it  employment,  is  at 
other  times  perversely  dull  and  sluggish.  He  might  oiten  have  saved 
his  money  could  he  have  foretold  by  any  prescience  how  he  was  to  feel 
disposed.  But  experience  has  proved  that  if  he  starts  unprovided  he 
is  sure  to  be  beset  by  a  craving  hunger.  What  makes  it  worth  his 
while  to  be  lavishly  provident  is  the  chance  of  two  phases  of  keen 
enjoyment.  One  is  when,  with  the  brain  phenomenally  animated 
by  intellectual  electricity,  he  flutters  from  work  to  work  like  the 
bee  among  the  flowers,  seeming  to  anticipate  each  author's  idea  in 
strong  magnetic  sympathy.  The  other  is  when,  abandoning  self- 
will  and  sen-control,  he  has  been  charmed  into  the  oblivion  of  ab- 
sorbed attention,  and  when  the  minutes  are  flying  by  unconsciouslj'^ 
with  the  miles.  For  the  voluptuary,  though  volatile,  is  on  occasion 
as  prehensile  as  the  creepers  that  cling  to  old  waUs,  sticking  their 
tendrils  into  bricks  and  mortar.  Couldne  sustain  the  mental  power 
and  prolong  the  grasp  that  sometimes  astonish  himself,  he  might  do 
memorable  things  on  his  own  account  in  his  day  and  generation. 

But  people  buy  books  comparatively  seldom  now,  and  more's  the 
pity.  Of  course  every  voluptuary  has  his  collection  of  favorite 
companions ;  but  he  has  for  fewer  mducementsthan  formerly  to  add 
to  it  methodically.  In  the  olden  time  a  book-lover  must  either  beg 
or  borrow ;  and  borrowing  often  led  on  either  to  buying  or  stealing. 
Now,  he  is  probably  indifferent  to  his  circulating  library  subscrip- 
tion, for  the  system  is  unsatisfactory ;  but  he  is  certainly  a  member 
of  one  good  club  at  least,  and  there  the  books  of  the  day  are  all 
displayed  on  the  tables.  Unless  it  be  a  case  of  actually  falling  in 
love,  the  average  amateur  is  apt  to  content  himself  with  slight  flirta- 
tions. But  as  there  are  invariably  exceptions  to  prove  eacn  rule,  so 
there  are  exceptions  to  the  general  and  almost  umversal  principle — 
that  buyers  wno  deal  freely  with  the  booksellers  seldom  study  their 


LITEBABY  VOLUPTUARIES.  248 

collections.    And  we  may  bring  these  desultory  notes  to  a  close,  by 
quoting  one  or  two  tjrpical  and  exceptional  instances: — 

The  first  that  suggests  itself  is  that  of  the  author  of  The  Book- 
Hunter.  As  Hill  Burton  is  dead,  we  may  speak  the  more  freely  of 
him ;  the  more  so,  that  all  that  can  be  said  is  to  his  credit.  Burton  was 
the  most  earnest  and  indefatigable  of  students.  When  he  took  up  a 
subject,  whether  for  some  grave  work  of  history  or  not,  he  was  sure 
to  thrash  it  out  thoroughly.  Thus,  when  he  undertook  the  begin- 
ning of  the  Eighteenth  Century  and  The  Reign  of  Queen  Anne^  he 
went  on  a  tour  on  the  Continent,  that  he  might  inspect  tha. battle- 
fields of  Marlborough  and  Eugene ;  and  from  his  frugal  habit  of 
turning  the  shreds  of  his  acquisitions  to  account,  came  the  series  of 
articles  subsequently  contributed  to  this  magazine — Devious  Ram- 
hle?  with  a  Dejimite  Pv/rpose.  Burton,  from  nis  youth  upward,  was 
a  book-collector  and  a  oookworm.  He  was  devoted  to  rare  and 
quaint  editions — ^like  Snuffy  Davy  in  the  Antiqucmj;  with  the  snap 
of  a  bull-dog,  he  had  the  scent  of  a  sleuth-hoxmd  m  smelling  them 
out ;  and  neither  black-letter  nor  barbarous  Latin  in  microscopic 
type  could  choke  him  off  in  his  indomitable  enthusiam  when  he  was 
foUowin^  up  a  Uterary  trail.  We  have  had  the  privilege  of  visiting 
him  in  his  library  beneath  the  Braid  Hills — indeed,  the  report  of  one 
of  those  visits  has  been  reprinted  in  the  memoir  prefixed  to  the 
Book-Hunter;  and  though  we  need  not  say  that  we  mean  nothing 
disrespectful  by  the  simile,  he  reminded  one  of  a  spider  in  the  mid- 
dle of  its  web.  Books  were  packed  behind  books  on  the  shelves  of 
the  old-fashioned  rooms  in  an  ancient  Scottish  manor-house;  we 
might  almost  say  that  the  corkscrew  staircases  of  stone  in  the  tur- 
rets and  the  grim  stone  corridors  were  padded  with  them-  The 
owner,  and  the  owner  alone,  had  the  clue  to  all  the  intricacies  of  the 
labyrinth,  and  could  have  laid  his  hand,  had  he  been  blindfolded,  on 
anything  he  wanted.  As  some  medieval  volume  from  the  presses  of 
Paris  or  Nuremberg  was  suggested  in  the  course  of  his  fascinating 
conversation,  he  would  jump  up  to  hand  it  down  for  inspection  with 
all  the  animation  of  a  boy.  When  he  felt  constrained  to  drudge,  he 
was  indefatigable  in  drudgery.  But  at  the  same  time,  although  he 
had  broken  himself  to  go  steadily  in  harness,  he  was  always  delighted 
to  kick  himself  free.  It  was  hard  to  tempt  him  into  even  the  most 
con^nial  company,  for  he  found  all  the  pleasures  of  still  better 
society  among  the  books  that  never  stood  upon  ceremony. 

A  voluptuary  of  very  different  character  was  the  late  Lord  Houghton. 
An  accomplished  man  of  the  world,  if  ever  there  was  one,  he  knew 
everybody  from  princes  and  presidents  downward,  and  was  wel- 
comed everywhere  for  his  rare  social  versatility.  Essentially  a  lit- 
erary man,  by  taste  even  more  than  by  training,  he  moved  about  in 
bis  own  atmosphere  of  literary  brightness,  and  was  as  eager  to  receive 


244  THE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINE. 

ideas  as  he  was  quick  to  oommunioate  thent  With  him  in  an  ordi- 
nary mixed  party,  it  was  flint  and  the  steel;  he  could  ^strike  sparks 
from  anything  not  absolutely  uninflammable.  And  accordingly,  his 
hospitable  house  at  Fryston  had  been  furnished  in  harmony  with  his 
tastes.  We  do  not  speak  of  the  chairs  and  the  tables.  But  the 
bookcases  that  lined  the  rooms  and  the  very  entrance-hall  were  filled 
with  popular  volumes  in  simple  but  attractive  bindings,  specially 
selected  to  combine  cultivation  with  amusement.  He  prided  him- 
self on  everything  being  readable  that  was  within  easy  reach ;  and 
readable  everythmg  was. 

A  third  instance,  and  we  have  done — ^though  this  last  example 
must  be  anonymous,  as  the  gentleman,  being  alive  and  sensitive, 
might  object  to  publicity  and  personalities.  Not  a  few  of  his  friends 
may  recognize  him.  Bfe  is  a  lawyer  in  large  practice,  the  sole  sur- 
viving partner  in  a  great  solicitor's  firm.  He  is  beset  by  troops  of 
clients,  who  insist  upon  making  him  their  friend  and  their  confidant. 
He  has  various  other  irons  in  the  fire :  he  directs  insurance  com- 
panies, and  superintends  shipping  speculations.  He  can  never  call  a 
moment  of  his  time  his  own :  nor  can  he  ever  conscientiously  give 
himself  a  holiday.  His  mania,  his  extrava^nce,  his  recreation,  is 
buying  books,  and  collecting  engravings  to  illustrate  them.  Should 
he  chance  to  play  the  truant  from  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  his  clerks 
will  probably  insinuate  that  he  is  indisposed.  Indisposed  for  busi- 
ness he  is,  but  he  has  never  had  an  hour's  illness  in  his  hfe.  The 
chance — nay,  the  certainty — is  that  he  has  given  himself  leave  of 
absence,  and  gone  off  to  a  book-sale.  And  if  he  be  there,  and  has 
set  his  heart  upon  anji;hing,  it  wiU  be  hard  to  beat  him  at  the  battle 
of  the  books.  As  a  rule,  however,  he  is  seldom  tempted  to  go  roving. 
His  fancy  is  rather  for  sumptuous  editions  and  magnificent  volumes 
de  Ivjxe^  which  can  be  obtained  by  giving  carte  hlcmche  to  the  book- 
seller and  his  agents.  His  cherished  collection,  in  which  magnifi- 
cence is  toned  down  by  good  taste,  with  its  rare  autograph  letters 
and  its  priceless  sign-manuals,  is  a  sight  to  see.  So  far  there  is 
nothing  surprising.  Money  spent  with  a  certain  knowledge  may  do 
much,  if  not  everything,  feut  the  marvel  is  that  this  man  reads  his 
books,  and  finds  leisure,  without  an  apparent  moment  of  spare  time,, 
to  have  all  the  literary  controversies  of  the  day  at  his  tongue-tip. 
And  the  only  theory  on  which  his  intimates  can  explain  the  phe- 
nomenon is,  that  this  literary  Sardanapalus  must  have  sold  himself 
to  the  fiend,  though  there  is  no  smell  of  brimstone  about  his  Russian 
leather  bindings,  and  although  he  apparently  puts  to  no  diabolical 
use  the  miscdlaneous  information  he  accumulates. — Blachjoood^ $ 
Magazine, 


POBT-TALMUDIO  HEB&BW  LtTEnATURS.  245 


POST-TALMUDIO  HEBEEW  LITEEATUEE. 

L — ^Fbom  the  Completion  of  the  Talmud  to  the  BEonrNma  of  Jew- 
ish Lttekatube  in  Eueope  : — ^a.  d.  500-104:0. 

The  Talmud  had  been  finished  m  a  tune  of  great  disaster  to  the 
Jewish  community  m  Babylonia.  During  the  rei^  of  the  Persian 
kings  Jezdegerd,  Firuz,  and  Kobad,  the  liSgian  rehgion  had  reached 
a  powerful  ascendence,  and  both  Christians  and  Jews  suffered  the 
rigors  of  persecution.  The  office  of  Resh  Geluta^  "Head  of  the 
Dispersion,"  had  been  degraded  to  a  venal  title  of  the  rich ;  the 
decline  of  the  Babylonian  schools  had  been  caused,  and  chus  the 
chain  of  ordination  had  been  interrupted  in  a  most  palpable  manner. 
In  consequence  of  this,  the  succeeding  Doctors  did  not  again 
assume  to  themselves  any  authority  in  opposition  to  tradition,  and 
confined  their  teaching  and  judgment  simply  to  the  comparison  and 
reconciliation  of  what  was  in  their  hands,  to  explanation  and  opinion ; 
hence  they  were  called  Sdbordvm^  "  Decisors,''  "  Opinionists."  The 
period  of  the  Saboraim  extends  from  about  a.  d.  500  to  657.  This 
period,  however,  is  divisible  into  two  parts,  and  it  is  only  the  first 
part,  that  is,  from  the  death  of  Rabina,  a.  d.  500,  to  the  death  of 
Rabbi  Giza  and  Rabbi  Simuna,  a.  d.  550,  which  can  prop- 
erly be  denominated  the  real  Saboraim  epoch,  while  the  second  part, 
which  consists  of  the  interval  between  tne  real  Saboraim  and  the  rise 
of  the  Gaonvm^  from  a.  d.  550  to  657,  has  no  proper  designation, 
because  the  Doctors  who  lived  at  this  time,  and  tne  work  which 
they  did,  are  alike  unimportant  and  desultory.  Looking  at  the 
work  of  the  Saboraim,  we-  find  that  they  only  supplemented  and 
completed  the  work  of  the  Arruyrd/im.  The  Talmud  lay  before  them 
as  a  book  ready  to  hand,  as  an  object  of  exposition,  investigation, 
and  discussion.  Hence  their  work  was  more  of  a  practical  than  of  a 
theoretical  nature.  Rabbi  Giza,  the  President  of  the  College  at 
Sora,  Rabbi  Simuna,  President  of  the  College  at  Pumbaditha,  and 
Rabbi  of  Rob,  were  the  most  prominent  men  among  the  Saboraim, 
whose  names  have  come  down  to  us.  Of  their  disciples  and  successors 
we  hardly  know  anything.  To  the  time  of  the  Saboraim  perhaps 
belongs  the  collection  or  final  redaction  executed  in  Palestine  of 
some  of  the  lesser  treatises  of  the  Talmud,  forming  a  kind  of 
apocrypha  to  the  Talmud.  Generally  speaking  the  period  which 
follows  is  obscure  and  dark,  and  the  uninteresting  pages  of  literary 
history  are  filled  with  accounts  of  persecutions  traced  in  blood. 

About  this  time,  when  the  knowledge  of  the  H  ebrew  language 
disappeared  from  amon^  the  people  at  large,  that  alteration  had  to 
be  introduced  into  the  synagogue  service  which  involved  a  change 


*46  rSOBS  LISRAB  T  MAGAZIKB. 

in  the  office  of  the  Chazam,.  As  the  ancient  practice  of  asking  any 
one  to  step  before  the  ark  and  conduct  the  divine  service  could  not 
be  continued,  it  was  determined  that  the  Chazan,  who  was  generally 
also  the  schoolmaster  of  the  infant-school,  should  be  the  regular 
reader  of  the  liturey ,  which  he  had  to  recite  with  intonation.  Except- 
ing this  change,  tiie  usual  prayers  were  recited,  and  the  several 
sections  of  the  lessons  from  the  Law  and  the  Prophets  were  read  with 
the  help  of  the  Methurgema/n — paraphrast  or  translator — who  was 
followed  in  a  lecture  by  the  Darshmi^  or  expositor  and  preacher. 
To  this  time  also  we  must  trace  the  origin  of  the  Mmora^  or  that 

gammatico-critical  apparatus,  which  now  forms  a  part  of  the 
ebrew  text  of  the  ola  Testament.  The  desim  of  this  apparatus  is 
to  indicate  the  correct  reading  of  the  text  m  respect  of  words, 
vowels,  accents,  etc.,  so  as  to  preserve  it  from  corruption.  The  word 
Masora  denotes  tradition,  ana  the  men,  who  were  thus  engaged  with 
the  Masora,  were  called  the  Masters  of  the  Masora,  or  Masorites. 
According  to  Jewish  tradition  the  work  of  the  Masora  began  with 
Moses,  who  committed  it  to  the  wise  men  till,Ezra  and  the  so-called 

freat  Synagogue,  and  was  then  transferred  to  the  learned  men  of 
iberias,  by  whom  it  was  committed  to  writing,  and  was  called 
Masora.  fiut  the  Masorites  executed  no  new  revision  of  the  text, 
their  immediate  work  was  merely-to  write  down  the  material  given 
them  by  tradition.  This  was  the  work  of  the  Jewish  scholars,  who, 
from  the  sixth  century,  flourished  in  Palestine,  and  had  their  prin- 
cipal seat  at  Tiberias.  In  looking  at  the  contents  of  the  Masora, 
we  notice  that  they  embrace  notes  concerning : — 

I.  The  KeH  (what  is  read  in  the  margin),  and  the  Kethib  (what 
is  Avritten  in  the  text),  of  which  there  are  1359  in  the  Old  Testament, 
and  which  are  divisible  into  three  general  classes : — (1)  The  class 
nominated  Keri  and  Kethih  (read  and  written!  and  Kethib  and 
Keri  (Avritten  and  read),  which  comprises  words  read  differently 
from  what  they  are  written,  arising  from  the  omission,  insertion, 
exchanging,  or  transposition  of  a  single  letter.  This  class,  by  far  the 
greater  portion  of  the  marginal  readmgs,  may  be  called  Variations  ; 
(2)  The  class  called  KeH  vela  Kethib  (read  but  not  written),  or 
marginal  insertions  of  entire  words  not  to  be  found  written  in  the 
text ; — and  (3)  the  class  called  Kethih  veto  Keri  (written  but  not 
read),  or  omissions  in  the  margin  of  entire  words  written  in  the  text. 

II.  Ittur  Sopherim,  that  is,  the  removal  of  the  scribes,  by  which  is 
meant  the  removal  of  a  superfluous  va/u  which  has  crept  into  the 
text. 

III.  Tikhm  Scfpherim,  that  is,  emendations  of  the  scribes,  which 
refer  to  eighteen  alterations,  which  the  scribes  decreed  should  be 
introduced  into  the  text,  in  order  to  remove  anthropomorphisms  and 
other  delicate  expressions. 


P08T-TALMUBIC  HEBREW  LITERA TUBE.  247 

IV.  The  consonants  of  the  text  in  noting  about  30  letters  which  are 
larger  than  the  others,  about  30  that  are  smaller,  4  which  are  **  sus- 
pended" or  placed  above  the  line  of  the  others  in  the  same  word, 
and  9  which  are  *  *  inverted"  or  written  upside  down.  The  Masorites 
also  give  instances  where  final  letters  occur  in  the  middle  of  a  w^ord, 
and  where  initial  letters  are  found  at  the  end.  They  also  tell  us 
how  often  each  letter  occurs:  Thus,  for  instance,  Aleph^  42,377 
times;  Beth^  38,218  times;  Gimel,  29,637  times,  etc.,  etc. 

V.  Wordsy  in  noting  (1)  the  cases  of  scriptio  plena  and  defectiva; 
(2)  the  number  of  times  in  which  words  occur  at  the  beginning  of  a 
verse,  or  the  end  of  it;  (3)  words  of  an  ambiguous  meaning;  (4) 
words  which  have  over  them  the  puncta  extraordinaria^  (5)  woms 
which  present  anomaUes  in  writing  or  grammar. 

VI.  Vowd  points  and  accents  in  the  Hebrew  text. 

VII.  Verses,  in  noting  the  number  of  verses  in  each  book  of  the 
Old  Testament  which  they  notified  by  a  technical  word  or  words ; 
the  number  of  letters  in  each  book.  The  total  number  of  letters  has 
been  stated  as  815,280,  which,  however,  is  but  an  approximate  cal- 
culation. In  fine,  they  marked  25  or  28  places,  where  there  is  a 
pause  in  the  middle  of  a  verse,  or  where  a  niatus  is  supposed  to  be 
found  in  the  meaning.  The  Masora  was  originally  preserved  in 
distinct  books.  A  plan  then  arose  of  transferring  it  to  the  margins 
of  the  manuscripts  of  the  Bible.  For  this  purpose  large  curtail- 
ments were  necessary,  and  various  transcribers  inserted  in  their  mar- 
gins only  as  much  as  they  had  room  for,  or  strove  to  give  it  an 
ornamental  character  by  reducing  it  into  fanciful  shapes.  Thus 
much  confusion  still  exists,  and  a  critical  work  on  the  Masora  is  a 
great  desideratum. 

The  last  Doctors  of  the  Law  in  the  chain  of  Eabbinistic  succession 
are  the  Gaonim,  a.  d.  688-1040. 

According  to  the  Jewish  historian  Graetz,  the  title  Gaon 
originated  about  a.  d.  658.  When  Ali,  the  son-in-law  and  vizier  of 
Mohammed,  was  elected  caliph  (657)  and  the  Islamites  were  divided 
into  two  parties,  one  for  and  tne  other  a^inst  Mohammed,  both 
the  Babylonian  Jews  and  the  Nestorian  Christians  decided  in  his 
favor  ana  rendered  him  great  assistance.  Maremus,  who  supported 
AU's  commander-in-chief  in  the  siege  of  Mosul,  was  nominated 
Catholicos  while  Eabbi  Isaac,  the  President  of  the  College  of  Sora, 
who  at  the  head  of  several  thousand  Jews  aided  Ali  in  the  capture 
of  Tiruz-Shabur,  (May,  657),  was  rewarded  with  the  title,  Gaon, 
"  Excellence."  Accordingly  the  title  Gaon  is  either  of  Arabic  or 
Persian  origin,  and  propeny  belonged  to  the  presidents  of  the  Sora 
College,  who  alone  bore  that  appelEttion  at  the  beginning,  while  the 
president  of  the  subordinate  sister  college  at  Pumbaditha  was  called 
the  ''  head  of  the  college'^  by  the  Babylonians ;  and  it  was  only  in 


248  THE  LIBRAB Y  MAQAZINB. 

later  times,  especially  when  Pumbaditha  continued  alone  to  be  the 
college  of  the  Doctors  of  the  Law,  that  its  presidents  were  described 
by  the  title  of  Gaon. 

It  is  difiBoult  to  draw  the  line  between  the  last  Saboraim  and  first 
Gaonim,  since  even  the  latter  produced  no  independent  literature,  but 
only  continued  to  promote  the  study  of  the  Talmud  (and  almost  the 
Babylonian  exclusively).  The  real  literature  of  the  Gaonim  (with 
the  exception  of  the  Masora,  the  development  of  which  we  meet  in 
the  sixth,  seventh  and  eighth  centuries),  does  not  begin  until  the 
middle  of  the  eighth  century.  The  only  literary  production  of 
this  period  (viz.,  658-750)  is  the  Sheeltoth^  or  Questions  and  An- 
swers of  Kabbi  Acha  of  Shabcha,  who,  vexed  at  seeing  his  own 
pupil  preferred  at  his  election  of  Gaon  by  the  Prince  of  the 
Exiles,  went  to  Palestine,  composed  a  work  which  combined  all 
the  different  characteristics  of  the  study  of  that  time. 

To  this  period  also  belongs  the  beginning  of  the  Neo-Hehrev) 
Poetry. 

When  poetry  in  its  more  elevated  types  was  being  unfolded 
amonff  the  Arabians,  and  the  studies  of  the  Masorites  were  rendering 
the  BLebrew  language  more  flexible  as  a  poetic  instrument,  some  of 
the  earliest  and,  at  the  same  time,  the  most  grand  of  the'  syna- 
gogue anthems  received  their  imperishable  form.  Poetry  itself  now 
toiSk  among  the  Jews  the  name  of  Piut^  a  term  obviously  adopted 
from  the  Greek  itom^  and  the  poet  was,  in  like  maimer,  called 
Pdtan.  Now  these  Piyutim,  written  either  in  the  form  of  the 
dcrostdc^  or  arrangement  of  words,  lines  and  strophes,  according  to  the 
initial  letters,  or  rhyme  or  met/re^  are  to  be  found  in  the  Mcbchaaorim^ 
or  synagogue  rituals  of  the  different  countries,  which  consist  of  Kera- 
hoth  (that  part  of  the  Morning  Service  which  comprehends  the  first 
three  Benedictions)  for  the  Morning  Prayer ;  Selicnoth  or  penitential 
prayers ;  Kinoth  or  elegies ;  Hosiannas^  particularly  for  tne  seventh 
of  the  feast  of  Tabernacles ;  Bekashoth  or  petitions,  etc.,  and  as  the 
different  subjects  are  generally  taken  from  history  and  dogmatic 
theology,  their  poetical  value  is  various. 

The  earliest  PdUm  is  Jos6  ben  Jos6,  of  whom  nothing  is  known, 
except  some  pieces,  for  which  see  Zunz,  Literatnirgeschickte  der 
gynagogal-en  Poesie.  The  most  famous,  however,  of  this  period,  is 
Eleazar  Kalir,the  author  of  more  than  200  piyutim^  and  the  founder 
of  the  synagogal  poetry.  The  time  and  period  of  his  life  cannot  be 
exactly  ascertainea.  These  hymns,  which  seem  to  have  the  power  of 
the  thunder,  and  to  gleam  with  the  resplendence  of  lightning,  are 
distinguished  for  a  peculiar  grandeur  and  solemnity,  and  are  treas- 
ures of  devotion. 

THE  KARAITES-A.  D.  761-000. 

About  the  same  time^  when  Acha  ben  Shabcha  went  to  Palestine, 


I 

i 


POST-TALMUDIO  SEBHEW  LtTJSJXATURR  246 

a  movement  took  place  in  the  Jewish  community,  which  divided  or 
rather  split  it  up  mto  two  parties,  the  Talrrmaic  Jews  and  JSible 
Jews  or  Ka/rmies^  a  schism  which  has  at  present  not  been  healed. 
The  name  KarmtCy  from  the  Hebrew  Kaa^a^  "  to  read,"  "  recite,"  de- 
scribes the  radical  diflference  of  the  Karaites  from  other  Jewish 
sects.  They  are  textualists  in  opposition  to  the  traditionalists. 
Like  the  Sadducees  of  old  they  rejected  tradition,  and  adhered  to 
the  letter  of  the  Scriptures,  and  thoueh  the  Sadducees  were  not  in 
aU  respects  like  the  later  Karaites,  for  the  latter  beUeved  some 
things  which  the  former  denied,  and  vice  versd^  yet  the  ground  prin- 
i  ciple  of  both  was  the  same — opposition  to  tradition  and  zealous  at- 

tachment to  the  text  of  the  law,  and  hence  Karaism  was  the  resus- 
citation and  regeneration  of  Sadducism,  and  what  the  Sadducees 
had  sown  two  centuries  before  Christ,  was  now  gathered  in  as  the 
harvest  of  that  seed  bv  Anan,  about  762  of  our  era. 

The  exact  date  wnen  Anan,  the  son  of  David,  the  renowned 
founder  of  Karaism,  was  bom,  cannot  now  be  ascertained.  AU 
that  we  know  is  that  his  uncle  Solomon,  who  was  Prince  or  Patri- 
arch of  the  exiled  Jews,  died  childless  in  761  or  762  a.  d.;  that 
Anan  was  the  legitimate  successor  to  the  Patriarchate,  and  that  he 
was  then  old  enough  to  become  the  Prince  of  the  Captivity ;  so  that 
he  was  then  most  probably  about  thirty  years  of  age.  He  was, 
however,  prevented  from  obtaining  the  Patriarchate  by  the  brothers 
Rabbi  Jehudai,  the  blind,  and  Rabbi  Dudai,  who  were  at  that  time 
the  Gaonim,  or  the  Presidents  of  the  Academies  (the  former  at  Sora 
from  759-762,  the  latter  from  762-764  at  PumbadithaV  because  he 
rejected  the  traditions  of  the  fathers,  and  made  the  Biole  alone  the 
rule  of  his  faith,  and  his  younger  brother  Hananja  or  Achunai  was 
elected  in  his  stead.  Anan  was  not  disposed,  however,  to  submit 
meekly  to  such  a  slight,  and  his  partisans  encouraged  him  to  appeal 
to  the  Caliph  Abugafar  Almansar  against  the  decision  of  the  Col- 
leges. At  first  the  Caliph  was  disposed  to  favor  his  claim,  but  finalljr 
the  Rabbinical  party  succeeded,  and  Anan  was  obliged  to  leave  his 
country.  He  retired  to  Jerusalem,  where  he  built  a  synagogue,  the 
walls  of  which  were  stUl  standing  in  the  time  of  the  first  crusade. 
With  the  establishment  of  the  community,  the  schism  became  for- 
mal. The  Rabbinic  Jews  excommunicated  Anan  with  his  party,  and 
Anan  again  declared  he  wished  that  all  the  Rabbinical  Jews  were  in 
his  body,  he  would  then  destroy  himself,  so  that  they  might  die  with 
him. 

The  writings  of  Anan  are  unfortunately  lost,  and  we  are  mainly 
indebted  to  the  statements  and  allusions  m  the  works  of  the  Arabic 
historians,  Makrisi,  Masudi,  Sharastani  and  Abulfeda,  for  our 
knowledge  of  his  doctrinal  system.  The  ground  principles  of 
this  system   are  the   unity   of  God    and   the    justice   of    God, 


L. 


250  THE  LIBRAR T  MAQAZINR 

Anan  absolutely  rejected  the  existing  Mishna  and  Gemara, 
and  advised  his  followers  to  "search  the  Scriptures  deeply." 
He  also  rejected  the  calendar  introduced  by  Hillel  IL,  and  institut- 
ed the  scriptural  beginning  of  the  month,  which  is  when  the  new 
moon  appears.  The  Sabbath  was  to  be  kept  according  to  the  Scrip- 
tures, and  in  this  respect  he  was  stricter  in  his  theory  than  the 
Rabbins.  He  abrogated  the  use  of  phjrlacteries  by  explaining  Ex- 
odus xiii.  9,  figuratively  as  in  Prov.  iii,  3,  vi.  21.  In  matters  of 
inheritance  he  put  sons  and  daughters  upon  an  equality,  and  de- 
clared that  a  husband  has  no  right  to  ioherit  his  departed  wife's 
property.  Of  Christ,  as  the  founder  of  Christianity,  Aiian  spoke  in 
the  terms  of  the  highest  respect.  He  declared  Jesus  of  Kazareth  a 
very  wise,  just,  holy  and  God-fearing  man,  who  did  not  at  aU  wish 
to  fie  recognized  as  a  prophet,  nor  to  promulgate  a  new  religion  in 
opposition  to  Judaism,  out  simply  desirea  to  uphold  the  law  of 
Moses,  and  do  away  with  the  commandments  of  men.  And  Anan 
therefore  condemns  the  Jews  for  having  treated  Jesus  as  an  im- 
postor, and  for  having  put  him  to  death  without  weighing  the  jus- 
tice of  his  pretensions. 

The  followers  of  Anan  looked  upon  him  with  such  veneration  and 
reverence,  that  they  ordained  a  prayer  to  commemorate  his  death, 
which  the  Karaites  offer  up  for  him  every  Sabbath  to  the  present 
day,  and  which  is  as  follows — "  Our  God  and  God  of  our  Fathers, 
have  mercy  on  our  dead  and  on  your  dead,  and  on  all  the  dead  of 
all  this  people  of  the  house  of  Israel,  and  above  all  on  our  Leader 
Anan,  tne  rrince,  the  Man  of  God,  the  Patriarch  of  the  Captivity, 
who  opened  the  way  to  the  Scriptures,  enlightened  the  eyes  of  the 
Karaites,  and  turned  many  from  sin  and  transgression,  and  led  us 
in  the  riffht  way." 

After  nis  death  (765-780),  the  Ananites,  so  called  in  honor  of  their 
leader,  elected  Anan's  son,  Saul,  as  their  leader.  Supported  by 
Rabbi  Mocha — the  inventor  of  the  interlineary  system  oi  vocaliza- 
tion, called  also  the  Tiberian  or  Palestinian — ^Abigedor,  and  Malich 
Armali,  the  faithful  disciples  of  A^an,  his  son,  with  all  filial  rever- 
ence for  his  father,  had  the  wisdom  to  betake  himself  to  further 
reforms.  Some  things  instituted  by  the  founder  were  altogether 
discarded,  being  found  impracticable,  others  were  modified  or 
changed  and  new  things  introduced.  The  study  of  the  Bible  became 
now  the  chief  object,  and  the  present  system  of  accentuation  and 
vowel  points,  as  we  now  have  it  in  our  Hebrew  Bibles,  originated 
about  tnat  time.  Anan's  son,  however,  was  insignificant  both  as  a 
leader  and  a  writer.  His  literarv  labor,  so  far  as  we  know,  was 
confined  to  "Notes  upon  the  Decalogue,"  in  which  he  attempted  to 
show  that  all  the  statutes  of  Moses  were  contained  in  the  Ten  Com- 


POST-TALMTTDIC  BEBBBW  LITBRA  TXTRS.  251 

mandments.  His  son,  Josiah,  a  grandson  of  Anan,  was  still  more 
insignificant. 

But  the  greatest  luminary  among  the  Karaites  was  Benjamin  ben 
Moses  Nahavendi,  about  800-820.  He  was  not  only  an  authority  in 
Persia,  where  he  was  even  able  to  convert  Moslems  to  the  faith  of 
the  Bible,  but  his  decisions  were  sought  and  respected  in  Babylon 
and  Palestine.  But  here  again  we  have  to  lament  that  all  the  writ- 
ings of  this  immortal  reformer  of  Karaism  are  lost,  except  one 
entitled  Dinim^  which  treats  exclusively  on  penal  and  civil  laws. 
That  he  made  great  changes  which  were  highly  appreciated  by  the 
followers  of  Anan,  can  be  seen  from  the  circumstance,  that  m  con- 
sequence of  his  scriptural  teaching,  they  discarded  the  name 
Ananites,  and  henceforth  called  themselves  KaraiteSy  *'  Scriptural- 
ists,"  or  jB^ne  Mikra,  Bddley  Mihra^  or  '*  followers  of  the  Bible,"  m 
opposition  to  the  Baaley  ha-KahaZaj  or  "  followers  of  tradition." 

After  Nahavendi,  the  next  conspicuous  Karaite  Doctor  was 
Daniel  ben  Moses  el-Kumassi,  supposed  to  be  a  younger  brother  of 
the  above  mentioned  Benjamin.  He  flourished  from  820-860.  We 
may  also  mention  Eldad  ha-Dani  (about  880-890),  the  famous  traveler, 
whom  his  interesting,  but  fabulous  narratives  {Sefef  Eldad  horDani^ 
Latin  transL  by  Genebrard,  Pans,  1584),  pretends  to  tell  of  the  rem- 
nant of  the  ten  tribes,  their  laws,  customs  and  condition;  Chawi-el- 
Balchi,  the  Karaite  freethinker,  who  is  pronounced  the  first  ration- 
alistic cntic  of  the  Bible,  and  who  flourished  after  880. 

We  have  thus  reached  the  year  900,  m  which  Karaism  had 
attained  its  highest  point  of  development.  From  this  penod,  there- 
fore, we  mav  look  upon  Karaism  as  finally  fixed,  both  m  its  opposi- 
tion to  Rabbinism,  and  m  the  fundamental  articles  of  faith  by  wnich 
its  followers  demand  to  be  iudged.  But  for  Karaism  itself  this  age 
(A.  D.  900)  was  very  critical.  The  endless  variety  of  opinion  upon 
dogmas,  the  most  wayward,  arbitraiy,  and  contradictory  views  on 
interpretation  called  out  by  the  freedom  of  mquiry  in  the  scripture, 
the  mamfold  divisions  in  the  sect,  and  the  tendency  of  freethinking, 
all  this  must  be  fatal  to  a  cominunity  as  soon  as  any  strong  foe 
should  rise  against  Karaism.  The  champion  of  Kabbimsm  against 
Karaism,  to  whom  more  than  to  any  other  the  defeat  of  the  sect  as 
a  growing  heresy  is  to  be  ascribed,  was  the  Egyptian  Saadias  ben 
Joseph  Gaon,  of  whom  we  shall  speak  further  on.  The  Karaites 
ceased  after  this  time  to  have  much  literary  significance.  But  the 
communities  which  still  remain,  preserve  in  their  customs,  the  lost 
record  of  Anan  and  his  followers. 

The  last  author  among  the  earher  Gaonim  was,  as  we  have  seen, 
Eabbi  Acha  of  Shabcha,  and  for  almost  a  century  the  literature  of 
the  Gaonism  is  almost  a  blank.  The  first,  who  opens  the  series 
of  hterati  toward  the  end  of  the  ninth  oentuiy  is  Mar  Zemach  L 


m  tU^  LtBHAUr  MAQAZINS. 

ben  Pa-ltoj,  of  Pumbaditha  (872-890),  the  author  of  a  Tahnudic  Lex- 
icon entitled  Amc\  in  which  he  explains  in  alphabetical  order 
such  words  of  the  Talmud  as  bear  upon  antiquity  and  history.  Con- 
temporary with  Paltoj  was  Nahshon  ben  Zadok  of  Sura  (881-889), 
who  also  wrote  elucidations  to  difficult  passages  in  the  Talmud,  not 
in  alphabetical  order,  but  to  the  treatises  of  the  Talmud.  To  him 
is  also  attributed  the  perpetual  Kalendar  {Igaul  di  Ji.  Nahahan^ 
founded  upon  a  perioa  or  19  years;  which,  however,  was  proved 
to  be  not  quite  correct  by  the  learned  Spaniards  of  the  tenth  and 
eleventh  centuries,  but  was,  nevertheless,  made  the  basis  of 
calendar-tables  by  some  later  writers,  and  has  retained  a  place  in 
some  works  nearly  to  the  present  day.    This  same  Nal^hon  is 

?robably  also  the  author  of  the  Chronicle  entitled  Treatise  ujxm  the 
%nai7n  and  Arrwraim. 

The  third  author  of  this  period  was  Rabbi  Simeon  of  Kahira  or 
Misr  in  Egypt,  who  composed  a  compendium  of  the  most  important 
ITalachoth  from  both  Talmuds,  entitled  The  Great  Halachoth^  about 
A.  D.  900,  the  introduction  of  which  contains  the  first  known  at- 
tempt to  arrange  all  laws  under  the  old  canonical  number  of  613, 
that  is,  to  determine  accurately  these  613  precepts  from  the  Halacha 
literature  then  extant.  To  his  time  Graetz  assigns  the  Chronicle 
entitled,  the  History  of  the  Maccahees  of  Joseph  hen  Gorion^  which  is 
a  translation  of  an  Arabic  book  of  the  Maccabees,  the  TaHeh  al 
Mahkahain^  Jussuf  ihn  Gorgon,  This  book,  says  the  same  writer, 
has  been  afterward  translated  by  an  Italian  Jew,  who  by  his 
additions  displayed  great  skill  in  his  Hebrew  style,  and  which  trans- 
lation is  generally  known  under  the  title  Josippon  (Pseudo- 
Josephus). 

Another  famous  man  at  this  time  was  Isaac  (Ben-Soleiman)  El- 
Israeli,  known  under  the  name  "Ysaacus"  (845-90^  of  Egypt,  fa- 
mous as  physician,  philosopher,  and  linguist.  As  apnysician  he  was 
skillful  in  dietetics  and  uroscopy ;  the  best  of  his  works  were  pub- 
lished in  a  compendium  by  Abaallatif ,  appropriated  by  Constantmus 
Afer,  and  variously  edited  by  Jews  after  the  Arabic  and  Latin.  He 
also  wrote  a  philosophical  commentary  on  the  first  chapter  of  Gene- 
sis, treating  of  the  creation,  of  which,  however,  only  a  part  is  now 
extant.  It  bore  the  title  of  8efr  Jezirah  or  Perush^  whence  the 
error  that  he  wrote  a  commentary  on  the  book  Jezirah,  One  of 
Isaac's  pupils  was  Dunash  ben  Tamim,  famous  alike  as  physician 
and  astronomer. 

About  the  same  time  as  Eldad  ha-Dani  (whom  we  mentioned  above) 
flourished  Jehudah  ibn  Koreish  in  Fds  (about  870-900),  skille<l  in  lan- 
guages, who  besides  the  three  original  Semitic  languages,  also  under- 
stood the  Berber  language  and  was  well  read  in  the  Mishna  and 
Talmud,  the  Koran  and  Arabic  poets.    He  is  the  author  of  a  Hebrew 


POST-'TALMUDIO  HEBREW  LITERATURE,  258 

Lexicon  {Igqa/rori\\  a  Hebrew  grammar  (both  works  not  yet  found); 
Riaalah^  or  an  epistle  addressed  to  the  Jewish  community  at  Fez,  m 
which  he  rebukes  his  brethren  for  neglecting  to  study  Chaldee  para- 
phrases of  the  Old  Testament,  and  tries  to  3iowthat  it  is  impossible 
to  understand  some  portions  of  the  Bible  without  the  help  of  the 
cognate  Semitic  idioms.  This  epistle  was  published  in  the  Arabic  by 
Barg6s  and  Goldberg,  Paris,  1857 ;  extracts  are  given  by  Ewald  and 
Dukes  in  JBeitrdge  zur  Gescliiclite  der  altesten  Auslegung  des  AUen 
Testaments,  Stuttgart,  1844, 1.  116-123;  II.  117,  118. 

One  of  the  most  famous  among  the  later  Gaonim  was  Saadia  Gaon 
(a.  d.  892-942),  whom  we  have  alreadv  mentioned.  Saadia  Gaon 
ben  Joseph  ha-Pithomi,  ha-Mizri,  was  born  at  Pithom  (Al  Fayum) 
in  Egypt,  a.  d.  89*^*.  He  enioyed  the  tuition  of  an  eminent  Karaite 
teacher,  Shalmon  ben  Jerucham,  an  advantage  that  gave  him  an  en- 
largement of  mind  beyond  many  of  his  collea^es  in  the  Babylonian 
schools,  though  he  never  embraced  the  Karaite  doctrines,  but  con- 
tended for  the  necessity  of  oral  tradition.  When  little  more  than 
twenty-two  (914j  he  published  his  first  production  written  in  Arabic, 
A  Rej^utation  ^  J.  ;ia/i,  the  founder  of  Karaism,  no  more  extant.  In 
opposition  to  the  Karaites  he  also  undertook  an  Arabic  translation 
or  the  Scriptures  accompanied  by  short  annotations.  His  biblical 
works  are: — a  translation  of  the  Pentateuch  with  annotations ;  a  trans- 
lation of  Isaiah ;  a  translation  of  the  Psalms ;  of  Job ;  a  commentary 
on  the  Song  of  Songs,  and  on  other  books.  Besides,  he  also  wrote 
grammatical  and  lexical  works  on  the  language  of  the  Hebrew  Scrip- 
tures. All  this  was  done  between  the  years  915  and  928.  So  great 
was  his  reputation  that  David  ben  Sakkai,  the  Prince  of  the  Cap- 
tivity, sent  for  him  to  come  to  Sura  in  Babylonia,  where  he  was  ap- 
pointed Gaon  of  the  Academy  (928).  After  occupying  his  high 
office  a  little  more  than  two  years,  he  was  deposed  ttoough  the  jeal- 
ousy of  others,  and  his  own  unflinching  integrity.  He,  however, 
retained  his  office  in  the  presence  of  an  anti-Gaon  for  nearly  three 
years  more,  when  he  had  to  relinquish  his  dignity  altogether.  He 
then  retired  to  Bagdad,  where  he  resided  four  years  (933-937),  and 
wrote  against  the  celebrated  Masoretic  Aaron  ben  Asher,  as  well  as 
the  two  philosophical  works,  the  Commentary  on  the  Book  ofJezira 
and  the  treatise  entitled  Faith  and  Doctrine^  which  were  the  founda- 
tion of  the  first  system  of  ethical  philosophy  among  the  Jews. 
The  latter  work,  originallv  written  m  Arabic,  has  often  been 

Eublished  in  ibn  Tibboirs  Hebrew  translation.  It  was  also  trans- 
Ued  into  German.  It  consists  of  ten  sections,  and  discusses  (1)  the 
creation  of  the  world  and  aU  things  therein;  (2)  the  unity  of  the 
creation ;  (3)  law  and  revelation ;  ^)  obedience  to  God  and  disobe* 
4ience,  divine  justice  and  freedom ;  (5)  merit  and  demerit ;  (6)  the 


254  THE  LIBBAR  T  MAGAZINE. 

soul  and  immortality ;  {7)  the  resurrection ;  (8)  redemption  ;  (9) 
ward  and  punishment ;  (10)  the  moral  law. 

In  the  year  937  Saadia  was .  reinstated  as  Gaon  of  Sura,  and 
died  five  years  afterward  in  942,  in  the  fiftieth  year  of  his  age. 
Among  the  many  opponents  against  whom  Saadai  wrote,  Aaron  ben 
Asher,  the  celebrate  Masorite,  whom  we  have  mentioned  already, 
deserves  our  attention,  not  so  much  as  the  opponent  of  Saadia,  but 
as  the  great  master  of  the  Tiberian  system  of  vowels  and  accents, 
and  of  the  partial  as  well  as  entire  Masora,  who,  by  his  accurate 
edition  of  the  text  of  the  Hebrew  Bible,  which  is  the  present  textus 
recej}tu8,  immortalized  his  name. 

Aaron  ben  Moses  ben  Asher,  usually  called  Ben  Asher,  flourished 
about  A.  D.  900.  Up  to  his  time  the  Masoretic  text  was  in  a  very 
unsettled  condition,  and  in  order  to  have  an  accurate,  or  rather,  a 
settled  and  uniform  text,  Asher  devoted  the  greater  part  of  his  life 
to  collating  and  editing  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  which  he  executed 
with  such  care  and  minuteness,  and  in  so  masterly  a  manner  that, 
notwithstanding  Saadia's  opposition  to  it,  and  Ben  Naphtali's  strict- 
ures upon  it,  his  revision  superseded  aU  other  editions,  was  soon 
regarded  as  sacred,  and  became  the  standard  text  from  which 
copies  were  made,  both  in  Jerusalem  and  Egypt.  It  is  this  revision 
from  which  also  our  Hebrew  Bibles  of  the  present  day  are 
printed.    Ben  Asher  also  wrote  several  Masoretic  works.    Contem- 

S>rary  with  Ben  Asher  was  Moses  ben  David  ben  Naphtali,  of 
agdad,  who  also  distinguished  himself  by  an  edition  of  a  revised 
text  of  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  in  opposition  to  Ben  Asher,  in  which, 
however,  he  had  no  great  success. 

With  the  death  of  Saadia,  in  942,  the  last  evening-red  of  the 
Suranic  Academy  had  passed  away,  and  about  the  year  948  the 
school  had  to  be  closed.  In  order  to  secure  its  further  existence 
four  young  men  were  sent  out,  never  to  return  again,  to  interest 
their  rich  co-religionists  in  the  continuation  of  this  old  school  of  learn- 
ing. But  these  lour  men,  instead  of  helping  their  alma  mater,  were 
the  means  of  helping  others  by  founding  new  schools  of  learning  in 
Egypt,  Spain,  and  Erance.  History  has  preserved  the  names  of 
these  men  who,  on  their  voyage  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  were  taken 
captive  by  a  pirate  and  sold  into  slavery.  They  were  Kabbi  She- 
niaria  ben  Elhanan,  who  was  sold  at  Alexandria,  and  became  the 
head  of  the  Jews  in  Egypt.  Eabbi  Hushiel,  who  was  sold  on  the 
coast  of  Africa,  went  to  Kairwan,  where  he  became  chief  Rabbi ;  the 
the  third,  Nathan  ben  Isaac  Cohen,  the  Babylonian,  probably  went  to 
Narbonne,  while  the  fourth.  Rabbi  Moses  ben  Hanoch,  was  carried  to 
Cordova. 

During  the  voyage  the  pirate  became  enamored  of  the  handsome 
wife  of  Rabbi  Moses,  and  endeavored  to  force  her  to  his  wishes,  Sk« 


POST-TALMUDIC  HEBRBW  LITERATXJBB.  255 

asked  her  husband,  in  Hebrew,  if  those  drowned  at  sea  wonld  be 
resuscitated  at  the  resurrection ;  he  answered  her  with  the  verse  of 
the  Psalm  Ixviii.  22,  "The  Lord  said,  I  will  brinff  again  from 
Bashan,  I  will  bring  again  from  the  depths  of  the  sea.  On  hearing 
which,  to  save  her  honor,  she  plunged  into  the  sea  and  perished. 
On  the  vessel's  arrival,  the  Jews  of  Cordova  redeemed  Moses  and  his 
son,  although  their  abilities  were  not  at  the  time  known.  One  day, 
Eabbi  Moses,  habited  in  sackcloth,  with  his  son,  entered  the  syna- 
gogue over  which  Kabbi  Nathan  presided.  The  discussion  was  on 
a  (uffioult  passage  of  the  treatise  loma  :  after  listening  for  some 
time,  he  explained  it  so  satisfactorily  to  all  the  students  present,  that 
Kabbi  Nathan  rose  from  his  seat  and  said :  "  The  stran^r  in  sack- 
cloth is  ray  master,  and  I  am  his  scholar ; "  and  turning  to  those 
learned  in  the  law,  continued, "  Do  you  make  him  Judge  of  the  Con- 
gregation of  Cordova,"  which  they  did.  Becoming  thus  known  to 
the  inquirers  after  Eabbinical  knowledge  in  Cordova,  he  unfolded 
such  stores  of  that  kind  as  not  only  to  wm  admiration  of  the  people, 
but  to  prepare  his  way  to  the  chief  seat  of  instruction,  and  patron- 
age of  the  Cordovan  King,  Hashem  II.,  who  himself  received  instruc- 
tion from  him  in  the  laws  and  usages  of  the  peculiar  people  who 
formed  so  considerable  a  section  of  his  subjects.  Moses  was  follow- 
ed in  the  presidency  of  the  Cordova  synagogue  by  his  son  Enoch, 
who  for  manv  years  maintained  an  equal  reputation. 

When  Rabbi  Hushiel,  the  second  of  the  captives,  came  to  Kairwan. 
where  he  became  also  Head  of  the  School  from  950-980,  he  found 
the  study-of  the  Talmud  as  well  as  of  science  in  a  flourishing  state. 
Here  lived  at  this  time  a  pupil  of  the  famous  physician,  Isaac  Israeli, 
named  Abusahal  Dunash  (Adonim)  ben  Tamm,  born  about  900,  and 
died  about  960.  He  was  instructed  in  metaphysics,  medicine,  and 
philosophy.  When  twenty  years  of  age,  Dunash  wrote  an  elaborate 
critique  on  Saadia's  works.  Besides,  ne  wrote  works  on  medicine, 
astronomy,  and  the  Indian  arithmetic,  which  had  then  been  just 
introduced,  as  weU  as  treatises  on  Hebrew  grammar,  in  which  he 
treated  the  analogies  between  the  Hebrew  and  Arabic  linguistic 
phenomena,  and  a  commentary  on  the  Book  Jezira^  as  Saadia's 
work  on  it  did  not  satisfy  him.  Like  his  master,  he  was  physician 
to  the  Calif  Ismael  el-Mansur. 

About  the  same  time  there  lived  in  Italy  a  man,  whom  we  may 
justly  call  the  representative  of  Jewish  learning  in  Italy  in  the  time 
of  Saadia.  This  man  was  Sabbata'i  Donnolo  (bom  in  913,  and  died 
about  970).  Donnolo,  who  was  a  native  of  Oria,  near  Otronto,  was 
taken  captive  with  his  parents  at  the  time  when  Oria  was  plundered 
by  the  Mohammedans  of  the  Fatimite  kingdom.  While  his  parents 
were  taken  to  Palermo  and  Africa,  Donnolo  was  redeemed  at 
Trani.    Destitute  of  aU  means  for  support,  he  paved  his  own  way 


256  '  -       THE  LIBBAJRY  MAGAZINE. 

by  studying  medicine  and  astrology,  in  which  branches  he  soon 
became  famous.  Though  a  practitioner  of  medicine — ^for  he  was 
physician  to  the  Byzantine  viceroy  Eupraxios — ^he  owes  his  reputa- 
tion to  his  erudite  works  on  astronomy. 

Besides  the  Joaippon^  or  PseudoJ^osephv^^  which  originated  about 
this  time,  we  must  mention  the  Tana  aehi  Eliahu^  or  Seder  JEliahu^ 
an  ethical  Midrash,  composed  by  a  Babylonian  about  a.  d.  974. 
This  expository  work  is  remarkable  because  the  author  carefully 
inculcates  the  avoidance  of  non-Jewish  customs,  and  the  most  exact 
justice  toward  non-Jews.  Another  Midrash,  or  exposition  on  the 
rentateuch,  belonging  to  this  period  is  the  Midrash  Jdamdeiiu 
(best  edition  by  Buoer,  Wilna,  1885).  It  is  better  known  under  the 
name  of  Midrash  Tanchuma. 

But  the  more  the  study  of  the  Talmud  was  cultivated  outside  of 
Babylonia  through  the  enorts  of  those  four  men,  of  whom  mention 
has  already  been  made,  the  less  insignificant  became  the  still  exist- 
ing academy  at  Pumbaditha,  over  which  before  its  final  close  two 
men  presided,  who  deserve  our  attention,  viz.,  Sherirah  and  his  son, 
Hai  Gaon. 

Sherira  Gaon  (born  about  930,  and  died  1000)  first  taught  at 
Perez  Shibbur  and  won  such  universal  respect  in  the  Jewish  com- 
munity, that  when  raised  to  the  Gaonate,  the  office  of  Mesh  GHutha^ 
or  Head  of  the  Captivity,  becoming  vacant,  was  not  filled,  and 
Sherira  was  left  to  discharge  the  twofold  function  of  chief  ruler  in  both 
departments.  In  his  old  age  he  associated  with  himself  his  son  Hai, 
or  Haya,  in  the  direction  of  the  schools.  He  underwent  in  his  latter 
days  a  disastrous  reverse  of  fortune,  having  fallen  under  the  displeasure 
of  the  Caliph  Ahmed  Kader,  who  confiscated  his  property,  and  after- 
ward hanged  him.  He  died  at  the  age  of  seventy.  Sherira  is  said  to 
have  been  an  implacable  enemy  to  the  Christians.  But  it  is  due  to 
him,  with  respect  to  our  present  investigations,  to  remark,  that  it  is 
to  him  we  owe  tlie  most  accurate  intelligence  of  the  affairs  of 
the  Jewish  schools  in  Babylonia ;  his  book  entitled  ip'^er^A  "Epistle," 
or  in  other  copies  Ishuboth  "Kesponses,"  containing  not  only  answers 
to  a  variety  of  questions  on  the  methodology  of  the  Talmud,  but 
also  brief  personal  notices  of  many  of  the  most  distinguished  school- 
men of  the  period.  The  best  editon  is  that  published  by  Goldberg 
in  a  collection  of  treatises,  entitled  Chyphesh  Matmoni/m^  Berlin, 
1845. 

About  the  same  time  with  Sherira  lived  Eabbi  Gershon  ben  Jehuda, 
the  first  Talmudic  authority  among  the  German  Jews.  Since  the 
time  of  Charlemagne,  there  already  existed  a  college  for  the  study 
of  the  Talmud  in  if  arbonne.  For  Charlemagne  is  said  to  have  hacl 
implicit  confidence  not  only  in  the  ability,  but  also  in  the  integrity  of 
the  Jewish  merchants  in  his  realm,  and  he  even  sent  one  Isaac  as  his 


P08T-TALMUDI0  HEBREW  LITERATUBE.  257 

9 

ambassador  to  the  court  of  Haroun  Alrashid.  .  Great  privileges  the 
Jews  also  enjoyed  under  Louis  le  Debonnaire,  who  is  said  to  have 
made  them  aU-powerful.  But  this  college,  which  rather  cultivated 
mysticism  than  the  study  of  the  Talmud,  received  a  new  impulse  for 
the  study  of  the  latter  through  a  Talmudic  scholar  of  the  Suranic 
College,  who  went  there,  but  whose  name  is  not  exactly  known;  per- 
haps it  was  Nathan  ben  Isaac  of  Babylon.  It  was  probably  his 
pupil  Kabbi  Leon  or  Leontin  (Jehuda  ben  Meir),  who  is  to  be  re- 
garded as  the  founder  of  that  Tahnudic  study,  which  from  that  time  on 
became  famous  both  in  France  and  Germany.  His  pupil  was  Gershon 
ben  Jehuda  commonly  called  "Kabbenu  Gershon,"  "  the  Ancient," 
"  the  Light  of  the  Exile,"  bom  about  960,  and  died  in  1028.  He  is 
the  reputed  founder  of  the  Franco-German  Rabbinical  school  in  which 
the  studies  of  Babylonia  were  earnestly  revived.  He  was  caUed  the 
Mdor  hagolah^  "the  Light  of  the  French  Exiles,"  but  he  humbly 
acknowledged  that  for  all  he  understood,  he  was  obliged  to  his  teacher. 
He  is  also  the  founder  of  monogamy  among  the  Jews,  and  of  other 
institutions,  which  were  for  a  long  time  disputed  and  rejected,  and 
himself  was  placed  under  ban  for  attempting  the  abrogation  of  the 
Mosaic  precept  respecting  the  marriage  of  a  man  with  the  childless 
wife  of  nis  deceased  brother.  Gershon  is  the  author  of  a  commen- 
tary on  the  Talmud,  and  of  some  hymns  and  penitential  prayers. 
For  reasons  unknown,  he  went  to  Mayence,  where  he  founded  a 
coDege  which  soon  attracted  the  youth  of  Germany  and  Italy. 
Contemporary  with  this  authonty  of  the  Gennano-French  congre- 

fations  lived  at  Mayence  Rabbi  Simeon  ben  Isaac  ben  Abun  of  Le 
lans,  who  is  especially  famous  for  his  poetry. 
The  last  Gaon  was  Hai  or  Haya,  son  of  Sherira  (bom  in  969,  and 
died  in  1038).  In  early  life  he  proved  himself  a  worthy  descendant 
of  fathers,  so  illustrious  in  Isi'ael  for  their  learning  and  integrity.  At 
the  age  of  eighteen  tie  was  made  the  colleague  of  his  father,  and  two 
years  afterward,  he  received  the  degree  of  co-Gaon,  in  which  rela- 
tion he  continued  till  the  death  of  his  father  Sherira.  The  Caliph 
having  been  made  aware  that  the  charges  which  liad  brought  the  aged 
father  to  his  end  were  unfounded,  permitted  the  son  to  retain  the 
Gaonship,  the  sole  duties  of  which  he  discharged  till  his  death  in 
1038.  Hai  Gaon  was  distinguished  both  for  his  personal  virtues  and 
for  an  emdition  which  rendered  him  the  most  accomplished  Jewish 
scholar  of  his  time.  The  learned  men  of  the  nation  were  then  more 
intent  upon  the  cultivation  of  general  science  in  common  with  the 
Arabian  philosophers ;  but  Hai  abided  by  the  traditional  studies  of 
the  Hebrew  schools,  and  souffht  to  recall  and  concentrate  the  intel- 
ligence of  his  people  on  the  old,  but  fast  decaying  svstem  of  Rabbin- 
ical study.  In  this  respect  he  seemed  to  stand  lilke  a  solitary  col- 
unm  among  mouldering  ruins.  His  manifold  works,  sixteen  in  number, 


358  THE  LIBBAB  T  MA  QAZINB, 

may  be  classified  under  the  head  of — ^1-7,  Tahnudical ;  8-10,  exe- 
getioal;  11-12,  poetical;  13-14,  cabbalistic ;  15-16,  miscellaneous — ^all 
of  which  are  enumerated  in  Fiirst,  BibUotheca  Jvdcdca^  I.  355-358. 
Hai  was  the  last  rector  of  Pumbaditha. 

Contemporary  with  Hai  was  his  father-in-law,  Samuel  ben  Chofni, 
(bom  about  960,  and  died  in  1034).  He  is  generally  regarded  as  the 
last  Gaon  of  the  Suranic  School,  and  is  the  author  of  a  philosophical 
commentary  on  the  Pentateuch,  and  of  some  Talmudical  treatises. 

Hai  was  followed  by  Hiskia,  but  his  presidency  was  one  of  trouble, 
for  in  the  Calif  of  the  day  he  found  an  enemy  who  pursued  him  to 
death  in  1040.  His  two  sons,  who  were  also  brought  under  sen- 
tence to  the  8:jime  fate,  effected  their  escape  into  Spain,  where 
Hebrew  literature,  forsaking  the  now  desolated  schools  of  the 
Euphrates,  found  an  asylum  in  which  it  put  forth  a  renewed  vigor,  and 
clothed  itself  with  beauties  it  had  never  worn  since  the  times  when 
the  Prophets  wrote  with  the  pen  of  inspiration.  Indeed  the  time 
had  come,  when  the  Jewish  Spain  took  tne  heritage  of  Judea,  Baby- 
lonia, and  North  Africa,  to  increase  it  for  coming  venerations,  and 
the  opportunities  for  doing  so  were  very  favorable,  especially  in 
the  tenth  and  eleventh  centuries,  when  the  Jews  of  Spain  had  two 
men  who  by  their  public  position  and  wealth  became  tne  patrons  of 
Jewish  learning  and  made  Spain  the  centre  of  Jewish  literature  for 
the  coming  centuries.  These  men  were  Chasdcd  hen  Isaac  and 
Samxiel  harNagidy  with  whom  our  next  period  commences. — ^Besn- 
HAED  Pick. 


EAILRO ADS  IN  CHINA. 

To  the  question  which  has  been  asked  me  so  many  times  since 
my  return  to  the  United  States,  "Are  the  Chinese  going  to  build  rail- 
roads, etc.?"  I  answer  unhesitatingly,  "  Yes,  whenever  they  can  be 
shown  that  this  can  be  done  with  tneir  own  money  obtainea  at  first 
by  private  loans,  and  by  their  own  labor  under  the  direction  of  for- 
eign experts  who  will  treat  them  fairly  and  honestly."  They  will 
not  for  the  present  borrow  money  on  the  credit  of  their  government 
or  a  pledge  of  Its  revenues  for  the  purpose  of  paying  for  such  works, 
nor  will  they  grant  concessions  or  subsidies  for  foreigners.  So  far 
as  I  can  see,  they  will  not  take  money  from  any  Power  or  syndicate, 
and  agree  to  a  repayment  of  the  same  by  a  mortgage  upon  the 
works  to  be  created  thereby.  As  has  been  shown,  their  leading 
statesmen  want  railroads,  and  have  an  intelligent  understanding  of 
how  they  are  to  be  utilized  for  the  benefit  of  the  country ;  but  tney 
are  not  willing  to  have  thqm  upon  any  terms  which  will  increase 
the  European  influence  in  China,  or  give  European  Powers  the 
slightest  pretext  for  meddling  with  the  internal  affairs  of  the 
country  or  its  government, — Gbn.  James  A,  Wilson. 


_j 


PERCY   BYSaHE    BHELLEY.  259 

PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 

Nowadays  all  things  appear  in  print  sooner  or  later;  but  I  have  heard  from 
\  lady  who  knew  Mrs.  Shelley  a  story  of  her  which,  so  far  as  I  know,  has  not 
appeared  in  print  hitherto.  Mrs.  Shelley  was  choosing  a  school  for  her  son, 
ind  asked  the  advice  of  this  lady,  who  gave  for  advice — to  use  her  own 
words  to  me — "Just  the  sort  of  banality,  you  know,  one  does  come  out 
with :  Oh,  send  him  somewhere  where  they  will  teach  him  to  think  for 
himself."  I  have  had  far  too  long  a  training  as  a  school-inspector  to 
presume  to  call  an  utterance  of  this  kind  a  banality  ;  however,  it  is  not  on 
this  advice  that  I  now  wish  to  lay  stress,  but  upon  Mrs.  Shelley^s  reply  to 
it.  She  answered)  " Teach  him  to  think  for  himself?  Oh,  my  God,  teach 
aim  rather  to  think  like  other  poeple  I  " 

To  the  Hps  of  many  and  many  a  reader  of  Professor  Dowden's  volumes 
a  cry  of  this  sort  will  surely  rise,  called  forth  by  Shelley's  life  as  there 
delineated.  I  have  read  those  volumes  with  the  deepest  interest ;  but  I 
regret  their  publication,  and  am  surprised,  I  confess,  that  Shelley's  family 
should  have  desired  or  assisted  it.  For  my  own  part,  at  any  rate,  I  would 
gladly  have  been  left  with  the  impression,  the  ineffaceable  impression,  made 
upon  me  by  Mrs.  Shelley's  first  edition  of  her  husband's  collected  poems. 
Medwin  and  HoRg  and  Trelawny  had  done  little  to  change  the  impression 
made  by  those  four  delightful  volumes  of  the  ori^nal  edition  of  1839. 
The  text  of  the  poems  has  in  some  places  been  mended  since ;  but  Shelley 
is  not  a  classic,  whose  various  readings  are  to  be  noted  with  earnest  attention. 
The  charm  of  the  poems  flowed  in  upon  us  from  that  edition,  and  the  charm 
of  the  character.  Mrs.  Shelley  had  done  her  work  admirably ;  her  intro- 
ductions to  the  poems  of  each  year,  with  Shelley's  prefaces  and  passages 
from  his  letters,  supplied  the  very  picture  of  Shelley  to  be  desired.  Some- 
what idealized  by  tender  regret  and  exalted  memory  Mrs.  Shelley's  repre- 
sentation no  doubt  was.  But  without  sharing  her  conviction  that  Shelley's 
character,  impartially  judged,  "  would  stand  in  fairer  and  brighter  light  than 
that  of  any  contemporary,"  we  learned  from  her  to  know  the  soul  of 
affection,  of  "  gentle  and  cordial  goodness,"  of  eagerness  and  ardor  for 
human  happiness,  which  was  in  this  rare  spirit — so  mere  a  monster  unto 
many.  Mrs.  Shelley  said  in  her  general  preface  to  her  husband's  poems : 
'  I  abstain  from  any  remark  on  the  occurrences  of  his  private  life,  except 
iiasmuch  as  the  passions  which  they  engendered  inspired  his  poetry;  this 
s  not  the  time  to  relate  the  truth."  I  for  my  part  could  wish,  I  repeat, 
Aiat  that  time  had  never  come. 

But  come  it  has,  and  Professor  Dowden  has  civen  us  the  Life  of  Percy 

'^ysslie  Shelley  in  two  very  thick  volumes.     If  the  work  was  to  be  done, 

rofessor  Dowden  has  indeed  done  it  thoroughly.     One  or  two  things  in 

.8  biography  of  Shelley  I  could  wish  different,  even  waiving  the  question 


260  TEE    LIBEAMY    MAGAZINE. 

whether  it  was  desirable  to  relate  in  fiill  the  occurrences  of  Shelley^s 
private  life.  Professor  Dowden  holds  a  brief  for  Shelley ;  he  pleads  for 
Shelley^  as  an  advocate  pleads  for  his  client;  and  this  strain  or  pleading, 
united  with  an  attitude  of  adoration  which  in  Mrs.  Shelley  had  its  charm, 
but  which  Professor  Dowden  was  not  bound  to  adopt  from  her,  is  unser- 
viceable to  Shelley,  nay,  injurious  to  him,  because  it  inevitably  begets,  in 
many  readers  of  the  story  which  Professor  Dowden  has  to  tell,  impatience 
and  revolt.  Further  let  me  remark  that  the  biography  before  us  is  of 
prodigious  length,  although  its  hero  died  before  he  was  thirty  years  old, 
and  that  it  might  have  been  considerably  shortened  if  it  had  been  more 
plainly  and  simply  written.  I  see  that  one  of  Professor  Dowden's  critics, 
while  praising  his  style  for  "  a  certain  poetic  quality  of  fervor  and  pic- 
turesqueness,^'  laments  that  in  some  important  passages  Professor  Dowden 
^^  fritters  away  great  opportunities  for  sustained  and  impassioned  narrative." 
I  am  inclined  much  rather  to  lament  that  Professor  Dowden  has  not  steadily 
kept  his  poetic  quality  of  fervor  and  picturesqueness  more  under  control. 
Is  it  that  the  Home  Eulers  have  so  loaded  the  language  that  even  an 
Irishman  who  is  not  one  of  them  catches  something  of  their  fall  habit  of 
style  ?  No,  it  is  rather,  I  believe,  that  Professor  Dowden,  of  poetic  nature 
himself,  and  dealing  with  a  poetic  nature  like  Shelley,  is  so  steeped  in 
sentiment  by  his  subject  that  in  almost  every  page  of  the  biography  the 
sentiment  runs  over.  A  curious  note  of  his  style,  sufbsed  with  sentiment, 
is  that  it  seems  incapable  of  using  the  common  word  child.  A  great  many 
births  are  mentioned  in  the  biography,  but  always  it  is  a  poetic  babe  that 
is  born,  not  a  prosaic  child.  And  so,  again,  Andr^  Ch^nier  is,  not  guil- 
lotined, but  "  too  foully  done  to  death."  Again,  Shelley  after  his  runaway 
marriage  with  Harriet  Westbrook  was  in  Edinburgh  without  money  and 
full  of  anxieties  for  the  future,  and  complained  of  his  hard  lot  in  being 
unable  to  get  away,  in  being  "  chained  to  the  filth  and  commerce  of  Edin- 
burgh." Natural  enough;  but  why  should  Professor  Dowden  improve  the 
occasion  as  follows  ? 

"  The  most  romantic  of  northern  cities  could  lay  no  spell  upon  his  spirit  His  eye  was 
not  fascinated  by  the  presences  of  mountains  and  the  sea,  by  the  &ntastic  outlines  of  aerial 
piles  seen  amid  the  wreathing  smoke  of  Auld  Beekie,  by  the  gloom  of  the  Ganongate 
illuminated  with  shafts  of  sunlight  streaming  fh>m  its  interesting  wynds  and  alleys;  nor 
was  his  imaginution  kindled  by  storied  house  or  palace,  and  the  Yoices  of  old^  forgotten, 
far-off  things,  which  haunt  their  walls." 

These  reserves  being  made,  I  have  little  except  praise  for  the  manner  in 
which  Professor  Dowden  has  performed  his  task ;  whether  it  was  a  task 
which  ought  to  be  performed  at  all,  probably  did  not  lie  with  him  to  decide. 
His  ample  materials  are  used  witn  order  and  judgment;  the  history  of 
Shelley's  life  develops  itself  clearly  before  our  eyes ;  the  document*  of 
importance  for  it  are  given  with  sufficient  fulness,  nothing  essential  seems 


PEMCr   bY88B&    8SELLEY,  Sel 

to  have  been  kept  back,  although  I  would  gladly,  I  coiifei^s,  have  seen  more 
of  Miss  Clainnont's  journal,  whatever  arrangement  she  may  in  her  later 
life  have  chosen  to  exercise  upon  it.  In  general,  all  documents  are  so  fairly 
and  fully  cited,  that  Professor  Dowden's  pleadings  for  Shelley,  though  they 
may  sometimes  indispose  and  irritate  tne  reader,  produce  no  obscuring  of 
the  truth;  the  documents  manifest  it  of  themselves.  Last  but  not  least  of 
Professor  Dowden's  merits,  he  has  provided  his  book  with  an  excellent 
index. 

Undoubtedly  this  biography,  with  its  full  account  of  the  occurrences  of 
Shelley's  private  life,  compels  one  to  review  one's  former  impression  of 
him.  Undoubtedly  the  brilliant  and  attaching  rebel  who  in  thinking  for 
himself  had  of  old  our  sjrmpathy  so  passionately  with  him,  when  we  come 
to  read  his  full  biography  makes  us  often  and  often  inclined  to  cry  out : 
"  My  God  I  he  had  far  better  have  thought  like  other  people."     There  is  a 

fassage  in  Hogg's  interesting  account  of  Shelley  which  I  wrote  down  when 
first  read  it,  and  have  borne  in  mind  ever  since ;  so  beautifully  it  seemed 
to  render  the  true  Shelley.  Hogg  has  been  speaking  of  the  intellectual 
expression  of  Shelley  s  features,  and  he  goes  on : — 

"Nor  was  the  moral  expression  less  beautlfiil  than  the  inteHectaal;  for  there  was  a 
softness,  a  delicacy,  a  gentleness,  and  especially  (though  this  will  surprise  many)  that  air 
of  profound  religions  yeneration  that  characterizes  the  best  works  and  chiefly  &e  frescoes 
(and  into  these  they  infused  their  whole  souls)  of  the  great  masters  of  Florence  and  of 
Borne.** 

What  we  have  of  Shelley  in  poetry  and  prose  suited  with  this  charming 
picture  of  him ;  Mrs.  Shelley's  account  suited  with  it ;  it  was  a  possession 
which  one  would  gladly  have  kept  unimpaired.  It  still  subsists,  I  must 
now  add ;  it  subsists  even  after  one  has  read  the  present  biography;  it  sub- 
sists, but  so  as  by  fire.  It  subsists  with  many  a  scar  and  stain ;  never  again 
will  it  have  the  same  pureness  and  beauty  wnich  it  had  formerly.  I  regret 
this,  as  I  have  said,  and  I  confess  I  do  not  see  what  has  been  gained.  Our 
ideal  Shelley  was  the  true  Shelley  after  all;  what  has  been  gained  by 
making  us  at  moments  doubt  it  ?  What  has  been  gained  by  forcing  upon 
us  much  in  him  which  is  ridiculous  and  odious,  by  compelling  any  fair 
mind,  if  it  is  to  retain  with  a  good  conscience  its  ideal  Shelley,  to  do  that 
which.  I  propose  to  do  now  ?  I  propose  to  mark  firmly  what  is  ridiculous 
and  odious  in  the  Shelley  brought  to  our  knowledge  by  the  new  materials, 
and  then  to  show  that  our  former  beautiful  and  loveable  Shelley  neverthe- 
less survives. 

Almost  everybody  knows  the  main  outline  of  the  events  of  Shelley's 
life.  It  will  be  necessary  for  me,  however,  up  to  the  date  of  his  second 
marria^,  to  go  through  them  here.  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley  was  bom  at 
Field  rlace,  near  Horsham,  in  Sussex,  on  the  4th  of  August,  1792.  He 
was  of  an  old  family  of  country  gentlemen,  and  the  heir  to  a  baronetcy. 


He  had  one  brother  and  five  sisters,  but  the  brother  so  much  younger  ttan 
himself  as  to  be  no  companion  for  him  in  his  boyhood  at  home,  and  after 
he  was  separated  Qrom  home  and  England  he  never  saw  him.  Shelley  was 
brought  up  at  Field  Place  with  his  sisters.  At  ten  years  old  he  was  sent 
to  a  private  school  at  Isleworth,  where  he  read  Mrs.  Badcliffe's  romances 
and  was  fascinated  by  a  popular  scientific  lecturer.  After  two  years  of 
private  school  he  went  in  1804  to  Eton.  Here  he  took  no  part  in  cricket 
or  football,  refused  to  fag,  was  known  as  "  mad  Shelley "  and  much 
tormented;  when  tormented  beyond  endurance  he  could  be  dangerous. 
Certainly  he  was  not  happy  at  Eton ;  but  he  had  friends,  he  boated,  he 
rambled  about  the  country.  His  school  lessons  where  easy  to  him,  and  his 
reading  extended  far  beyond  them ;  he  read  books  on  chemistry,  he  read 
Pliny's  Natural  History^  Godwin's  Political  Justice^  Lucretius,  Franklin, 
Condorcet.  It  is  said  he  was  called  "  atheist  Shelley  "  at  Eton,  but  this  is 
not  so  well  established  as  his  having  been  called  "mad  Shelley."  He  was 
full,  at  any  rate,  of  new  and  revolutionary  ideas,  and  he  declared  at  a  later 
time  that  he  was  twice  expelled  from  the  school,  but  recalled  through  the 
interference  of  his  father. 

In  the  spring  of  1810  Shelley,  now  in  his  eighteenth  year,  entered  Uni- 
versity College,  Oxford,  as  an  exhibitioner.  He  had  already  written  novels 
and  poems ;  a  poem  on  the  "  Wandering  Jew,"  in  seven  or  eight  cantos, 
he  sent  to  Campbell,  and  was  told  by  Campbell  that  there  were  but  two 
good  lines  in  it.  He  had  solicited  the  correspondence  of  Mrs.  Hemans, 
then  Felicia  Browne  and  unmarried ;  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  charming 
cousin,  Harriet  Grove.  In  the  autumn  of  1810  he  found  a  publisher  for 
his  verse.  He  also  found  a  friend  in  a  very  clever  and  free-minded  com- 
moner of  his  college — Thomas  Jefferson  Hogg — who  has  admirably 
described  the  Shelley  of  those  Oxford  days,  with  his  chemistry,  his  eccentric 
habits,  his  charm  of  look  and  character,  his  conversation,  his  shrill  dis- 
cordant voice.  Shelley  read  incessantly.  Hume's  Essays  produced  a  power- 
ful impression  on  him ;  his  free  speculation  led  him  to  what  his  father,  and 
worse  still  his  cousin  Harriet,  thought  "  detestable  principles ;"  his  cousin 
and  his  family  became  estranged  from  him.  He,  on  his  part,  became  more 
and  more  incensed  against  the  "bigotry"  and  "intolerance"  which  produced 
such  estrangement.  "  Here  I  swear,  and  as  I  break  my  oaths,  may  Infinity, 
Eternity,  blast  me — ^liere  1  swear  that  never  will  I  forgive  intolerance."  At 
the  beginning  of  1811  he  prepared  and  published  what  he  called  a  "  leaflet 
for  letters,"  having  for  its  title  The  Necessity  of  Atheism,  He  sent  copies  to 
all  the  bishops,  to  the  Vice-Chancellor  of  Oxford,  and  to  the  heads  of 
houses.  On  Ijady  Day  he  was  summoned  before  the  authorities  of  his 
College,  refused  to  answer  the  question  whether  he  had  written  The  Neces- 
sity of  Atheism,  told  the  Master  and  Fellows  that  "  their  proceedings  would 
become  a  court  of  inquisitors  but  not  free  men  in  a  free  country,"  and  was 


PEBCr   BTSSHE   SSELLET.  SeS 

expelled  for  contumacy.  Hogg  wrote  a  letter  of  remonstrance  to  the 
aiLthorities,  was  in  his  turn  summoned  before  them  and  questioned  as  to 
his  share  in  the  "  leaflet,"  ahd,  reftising  to  answer,  he  also  was  expelled. 
Shelley  settled  with  Hogg  in  lodgings  in  London.  His  father,  excusably 
indignant,  was  not  a  wise  man  and  managed  his  son  ill.  His  plan  of  recom- 
mending Shelley  to  read  Paley*s  Natural  Theology^  and  of  reading  it  with 
him  himself,  makes  us  smile.  Shelley,  who  about  this  time  wrote  of  his 
younger  sister,  then  at  school  at  Clapnam,  "  There  are  some  hopes  of  this 
dear  little  girl,  she  would  be  a  divine  little  scion  of  infidelity  if  I  could  get 
hold  of  her,"  was  not  to  have  been  cured  by  Paley's  Isatural  Theology 
administered  through  Mr.  Timothy  Shelley.  But  by  the  middle  of  May, 
Shelley's  fether  had  agreed  to  allow  him  £200  a  year. 

Meanwhile,  in  visiting  his  sisters  at  their  school  in  Clapham,  Shelley 
made  the  acquaintance  of  a  schoolfellow  of  theirs,  Harriet  Westbrook. 
She  was  a  beautiful  and  lively  girl,  with  a  father  who  had  kept  a  tavern  in 
Mount  Street,  but  had  now  retired  from  business,  and  one  sister  much  older 
than  herself,  who  encouraged  in  every  possible  way  the  acquaintance  of 
her  sister  of  sixteen  with  the  heir  to  a  baronetcy  and  a  great  estate.  Soon 
Shelley  heard  that  Harriet  met  with  cold  looks  at  her  school  for  associating 
with  an  atheist;  his  generosity  and  his  ready  indignation  against  "intoler- 
ance" were  roused,  fn  the  summer  Harriet  wrote  to  him  that  she  was 
persecuted  not  at  school  only  but  at  home  also,  that  she  was  lonely  and 
miserable,  and  would  gladly  put  an  end  to  her  life.  Shelley  went  to  see 
her;  she  owned  her  love  for  him,  and  he  engaged  himself  to  her.  He  told 
his  cousin,  Charles  (plrove,  that  his  happiness  had  been  blighted  when  the 
other  Harriet,  Charles's  sister,  cast  him  off;  that  now  the  oply  thing  worth 
living  for  w^s  self-sacrifice.  Harriet's,  persecutors  became  yet  more  trou- 
blesome, and  Shelley,  at  the  end  of  August,  went  off  with  her  to  Edinburgh 
and  they  were  married.    The  entry  in  the  register  is  this : 

*'  August  28, 1811.  Per^r  Bysshe  SheUej,  farmer,  Snssez,  and  Miss  Harriet  Westbrook, 
St.  Andrew  Church  Parish,  daughter  of  Mr.  John  Westbrook,  London." 

After  five  weeks  in  Edinburgh  the  younff  farmer  and  his  wife  came  south- 
wards and  took  lodgings  at  York,  under  the  shadow  of  what  Shelley  calls 
that  **  gigantic  pile  of  superstition,"  the  Minster.    But  his  fiiend  Hogg 
was  in  a  lawyer's  office  in  York,  and  Hogg's  society  made  the  Minster 
endurable.    Mr.  Timothy  Shelley's  happiness  in  his  son  was  naturally  not 
increased  by  the  runaway  marriage;  he  stopped  his  allowance,  and  Shelley 
letermined  to  visit  "  this  thoughtless  man,"  as  he  calls  his  parent,  and  to 
*  try  the  force  of  truth  "  upon  him.    Nothing  could  be  efiected ;  Shelley's 
mother,  too,  was  now  against  him.    He  returned  to  York  to  find  that  in 
Kis  absence  his  firiend  Hogg  had  been  making  love  to  Harriet,  who  had 
adignantly  repulsed  him.    Shelley  was  shocked,  but  after  a  "  terrible  day  " 
^  explanation  from  Hogg,  he  *'  fully,  freely  pardoned  him,"  promised  to 


264  mi:    IIMABT   MAOAJZWE. 

retain  him  still  as  "  his  friend,  his  bosom  friend,"  and  "  hoped  soon  to  con- 
vinoe  him  how  lovely  virtue  was."  But  for  the  present  it  seemed  better  to 
separate.  In  November  he  and  Harriet,  with  her  sister  Eliza,  took  a  cot- 
tage at  Keswick.  Shelley  was  now  in  great  straits  for  money ;  the  great 
Sussex  neighbor  of  the  Shelleys  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  interposed  in  his 
favor,  and  his  father  and  grandfather  seem  to  have  offered  him  at  this  time 
an  income  of  £2,000  a  year,  if  he  would  consent  to  entail  the  family  estate. 
Shelley  indignantly  refused  to  "  forswear  his  principles,"  by  accepting  "  a 
proposal  so  insultingly  hateful."  But  in  December  his  father  agreed, 
though  with  an  ill  grace,  to  grant  him  his  allowance  of^  £200  a  year  again, 
and  Mr.  Westbrook  promised  to  allow  a  like  sum  to  his  daughter.  So 
after  four  months  of  marriage  the  Shelleys  began  1812  with  an  income  of 
£400  a  year. 

Early  in  February  they  left  Keswick  and  proceeded  to  Dublin,  where 
Shelley,  who  had  prepared  an  address  to  the  Catholics,  meant  to  "  devote 
himself  towards  forwarding  the  great  ends  of  virtue  and  happiness  in  Ire- 
land." Before  leaving  Keswick  he  wrote  to  William  Godwin,  "  the  regula- 
tor and  former  of  his  mind,"  making  profession  of  his  mental  obligations  to 
him,  of  his  respect  and  veneration,  and  soliciting  Godwin's  friendship.  A 
correspondence  followed ;  Godwin  pronounced  his  young  disciple's  plans  for 
"  disseminating  the  doctrines  of  philanthropy  and  freedom  "  in  Ireland  to 
be  unwise ;  Shelley  bowed  to  his  mentor's  decision  and  gave  up  his  Irish 
campaign,  quitting  Dublin  on  the  4th  of  April,  1812.  He  and  Harriet 
Avandered  first  to  Nant-Gwillt  in  South  Wales,  near  the  upper  Wye,  and 
from  thence  after  a  month  or  two  to  Lynmouth  in  North  Devon,  where  he 
busied  himself  with  his  poem  of  Queen  Mab^  and  with  sending  to  sea  boxes 
and  bottles  containing  a  Declaration  of  Rights  by  him,  in  theiope  that  the 
winds  and  waves  might  carry  his  doctrines  where  they  would  do  good. 
But  his  Irish  servant,  bearing  the  prophetic  name  of  Healy,  posted  the 
Declaration  on  the  walls  of  Barnstaple  and  was  taken  up ;  Shelley  found 
himself  watched,  and  no  longer  able  to  enjoy  Lynmouth  in  peace.  He 
moved  in  September,  1812,  to  Tremadoc,  in  North  Wales,  where  he  threw 
himself  ardently  into  an  enterprise  for  recovering  a  great  stretch  of 
drowned  land  from  the  sea.  But  at  the  beginning  of  October  he  and  Har- 
riet visited  London,  and  Shelley  grasped  Godwin  by  the  hand  at  last.  At 
once  an  intimacy  arose,  but  the  future  Mary  Shelley — Godwin's  daughter 
by  his  first  wife,  Mary  Wollstonecraft — was  absent  on  a  visit  in  Scotland 
when  the  Shelleys  arrived  in  London.  They  became  acquainted,  however, 
with  the  second  Mrs.  Godwin,  on  whom  we  have  Charles  Lamb's  friendly 
comment :  "  A  very  disgusting  woman,  and  wears  green  spectacles  I "  with 
the  amiable  Fanny,  Mary  Wollstonecraft's  daughter  by  Imlay,  before  her 
marriage  with  Godwin  and  probably  also  with  Jane  Clairmont,  the  second 
Mrs.  Godwin's  daughter  by  a  first  marriage,  and  herself  afterwards  tli€ 


PEROT    BY88EE    SHELLEY,  265 

mother  of  Byron's  AUegra.  Complioated  relationships,  as  in  the  Theban 
story!  and  tfiere  will  be  not  wanting,  presently,  something  of  the  Theban 
horrors.  During  this  visit  of  six  weeks  to  London  Shelley  renewed  his 
intimacy  with  Hogg ;  in  the  middle  of  November  he  returned  to  Tremadoc. 
There  he  remained  until  the  end  of  February,  1813,  perfectly  happy  with 
Harriet,  reading  widely,  and  working  at  his  Queen  Mob  and  at  the  notes  to 
that  poem.  On  the  26th  of  February  an  attempt  was  made — or  so  he  fan- 
cied— to  assassinate  him,  and  in  high  nervous  excitement  he  hurriedly  left 
Tremadoc  and  repaired  with  Harriet  to  Dublin  again.  On  this  visit  to  Ire- 
land he  saw  Killamey,  but  early  in  April  he  and  Harriet  were  back  again 
in  London. 

There  in  June,  1818,  their  daughter  lanthe  was  bom ;  at  the  end  of  July 
they  moved  to  Bracknell,  in  Berkshire.  They  had  for  neighbors  there  a 
Mrs.  Boinville  and  her  married  daughter,  whom  Shelley  found  to  be  fasci- 
nating women,  with  a  culture  which  to  his  wife  was  altogether  wanting. 
Cornelia  Turner,  Mrs.  Boinville's  daughter,  was  melancholy,  required  con- 
solation, and  found  it,  Hogg  tells  us,  in  Petrarch's  poetry;  "Bysshe 
entered  at  once  fully  in  her  views  and  caught  the  soft  infection,  breathing 
the  tenderest  and  sweetest  melancholy  as  every  true  poet  ought."  Peacock, 
a  man  of  keen  and  cultivated  mind,  joined  the  circle  at  Bracknell.  He  and 
Harriet,  not  yet  eighteen,  used  sometimes  to  laugh  at  the  gushing  sentiment 
and.  enthusiasm  of  the  Bracknell  circle ;  Harriet  had  also  given  offence  to 
Shelley  by  getting  a  wet-nurse  for  her  child ;  in  Professor  Dowden's  words, 
"  the  beauty  of  Harriet's  motherly  relation  to  her  babe  was  marred  in 
Shelley's  eyes  by  the  introduction  into  his  home  of  a  hireling  nurse  to 
whom  was  delegated  the  mother's  tenderest  oflSce."  But  in  September 
Shelley  wrote  a  sonnet  to  his  child  which  expresses  his  deep  love  for  the 
mother  also,  to  whom  in  March,  1814,  he  was  remarried  in  London,  lest  the 
Scotch  marriage  should  prove  to  have  been  in  any  point  irregular.  Har- 
riet's sister  BUza,  however,  whom  Shelley  had  at  first  treated  with  exces- 
sive deference,  had  now  become  hateful  to  him.  And  in  the  very  month  of 
the  London  marriage  we  find  him  writing  to  Hogg  that  he  is  staying  with 
the  Boinvilles,  having  "escaped,  in  the  society  of  all  that  philosophy  and 
friendship  combine,  from  the  dismaying  solitude  of  myself."  Cornelia 
Turner,  he  adds,  whom  he  once  thought  cold  and  reserved,  "  is  the  reverse 
of  this,  as  she  is  the  reverse  of  everjrthing  bad;  she  inherits  all  the  divinity 
nf  her  mother."    Then  comes  a  stanza,  beginning 

^  Thy  dewy  looks  sink  in  my  breast, 
Thy  gentle  words  stir  poison  there. " 

It  has  no  meaning,  he  says  ;* it  is  only  written  in  thought.  "It  is  evident 
om  this  pathetic  letter,"  says  Professor  Do wden,  "that  Shelley's  happi- 
3SS  in  his  home  had  been  fatally  stricken."     This  is  a  curious  way  of 

itting  the  matter.    To  me  whatis  evident  is  rather  that  Shelley  had,  to  use 


266  mM:   LinBAET  MAGAZINE. 

Professor  Dowden's  words  again — for  in  these  things  of  high  sentiment  I 
gladly  let  him  speak  for  me — "  a  too  vivid  sense  that  here  (in  the  society 
of  the  Boinville  family)  were  peace  and  joy  and  gentleness  and  love."  In 
April  come  some  more  verses  to  the  Boinvilles,  which  contain  the  first  good 
stanza  that  Shelley  wrote.  In  May  comes  a  poem  to  Harriet,  of  which 
Professor  Dowden's  prose  analysis  is  as  poetic  as  the  poem  itself.  "  If  she 
has  something  to  endure  (from  the  Bomville  attachment),  it  is  not  much, 
and  all  her  husband's  weal  hangs  upon  her  loving  endurance,  for  see  how 
pale  and  wildered  anguish  has  made  him  1"  Harriet,  unconvinced,  seems 
to  have  gone  off  to  Bath  in  resentment,  fix>m  whence,  however,  she  kept  up 
a  constant  correspondence  with  Shelley,  who  was  now  of  age,  and  busy  in 
London  raising  money  on  post-obit  bonds  for  his  own  wants  and  those  of 
the  friend  and  former  of  his  mind,  Godwin. 

And  now,  indeed,  it  was  to  become  true  that  if  from  the  inflammable  Shel- 
ley's devotion  to  the  Boinville  family  poor  Harriet  had  had  "  something  to 
endure,"  yet  this  was  "  not  much  "  compared  with  what  was  to  follow.  At 
Godwin's  house  Shelley  met  Marv  Wollstonecraft  Godwin,  his  future  wife, 
then  in  her  seventeenth  year,  ^he  was  a  gifbed  person,  but,  as  Professor 
Dowden  says-,  she  "  had  breathed  during  her  entire  life  an  atmosphere  of 
free  thought."  On  the  8th  of  June  Hogg  called  at  Godwin's  with  Shelley ; 
Godwin  was  out,  but,  "  a  door  was  partially  and  softly  opened,  a  thrilling 
voice  called  *  Shelley  I'  a  thrilling  voice  answered  *  Mary ! ' "  Shelley's  sum- 
moner  was  "  a  very  young  female,  fair  and  fair- haired,  pale  indeed,  and  with  a 
piercing  look,  wearing  a  frock  of  tartan."  Already  they  were  "  Shelley  "  and 
"  Mary  "  to  one  another ;  "  before  the  close  of  June  they  knew  and  felt,"  says 
Professor  Dowden,  "that  each  was  to  the  other  inexpressibly  dear."  The 
churchyard  of  St.  Pancras,  where  her  mother  was  buried,  became  "a  place 
now  doubly  sacred  to  Mary,  since  on  one  eventful  day  Bysshe  here  poured 
forth  his  griefs,  his  hopes,  his  love,  and  she,  in  sign  of  everlasting  union, 
placed  her  hand  in  his."  In  July  Shelley  gave  her  a  copy  of  Queen  Mab^ 
printed  but  not  published,  and  under  the  tender  dedication  to  Harriet  he 
wrote:  "Count  Slobendorf  was  about  to  marry  a  woman  who,  attracted 
solely  by  his  fortune,  proved  her  selfishness  by  deserting  him  in  prison." 
Mary  added  an  inscription  on  her  part:  "I  love  the  author  beyond  all  powers 
of  expression  ...  by  that  love  we  have  promised  to  each  other,  although 
I  may  not  be  yours  I  can  never  be  another's" — and  a  good  deal  more  to 
the  same  effect. 

Amid  these  excitements  Shelley  was  for  some  days  without  writing  t- 
Harriet,  who  applied  to  Hookham  the  publisher  to  know  what  had  hap 
pened.  She  was  expecting  her  confinement;  " I  always  fancy  somethin] 
dreadful  has  happened,"  she  wrote,  "  if  I  do  not  hear  from  him  ...  I  cannc 
endure  this  dreaaful  state  of  suspense."  Shellev  then  wrote  to  her,  beggin 
her  to  come  to  London;  and  when  she  arrived  there,  he  told  her  the  state  a 


P£BCr   ntSSHE   8BELLET.  267 

his  feelings,  and  proposed  separation.  The  shock  made  Harriet  ill ;  and 
Shelley,  says  Peacock,  ^^  between  his  old  feelings  towards  Harriet,  and  his 
new  passion  for  Mary,  showed  in  his  looks,  in  his  gestures,  in  his  speech,  tlie 
state  of  a  mind  'sanering,  like  a  little  kingdom,  the  nature  of  an  insurrec- 
tion.' "  Godwin  grew  uneasy  about  his  daughter,  and  after  a  serious  talk 
with  her,  wrote  to  Shelley.  Under  such  circumstances.  Professor  Dowden 
tells  us,  '^  to  youth,  swift  and  decisive  measures  seem  the  best.''  In  the 
early  morning  of  the  28th  of  July,  1814,  "  Mary  Godwin  stepped  across  her 
father's  threshold  into  the  summer  air,"  she  and  Shelley  went  off  together 
in  a  po6i>chaise  to  Dover,  and  from  thence  crossed  to  the  Continent. 

On  the  14th  of  August  the  fugitives  were  at  Troyes  on  their  way  to 
Switzerland.  From  Troyes  Shelley  addressed  a  letter  to  Harriet,  of  which 
the  best  description  I  can  give  is  tnat  it  is  precisely  the  letter  which  a  man 
in  the  writer's  circumstances  should  not  have  written: — 

**  My  dearest  Harriet,  I  write  to  yoa  from  this  detestable  town ;  I  write  to  show  that  I  do 
not  forget  yon ;  I  write  to  urge  yoa  to  come  to  Switzerland,  where  yon  will  at  last  find  one 
Arm  and  constant  friend  to  whom  your  interests  will  be  always  dear — ^by  whom  your  feel- 
ings wiU  never  wilfally  be  i^jared.  From  none  can  yoa  expect  this  bat  me— all  else  are 
either  anfeeling  or  selfish,  or  haye  beloved  friends  of  their  own." 

Then  follows  a  description  of  his  journey  with  Mary  from  Paris,  "through 
a  fertile  country,  neither  interesting  from  the  character  of  its  inhabitants 
nor  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  with  a  mule  to  carry  our  baggage,  as  Mary, 
who  has  not  been  sufficiently  well  to  walk,  fears  the  fatigue  of  walking." 
Like  St.  Paul  to  Timothy,  he  ends  with  commissions: — 

"  I  wish  yoa  to  bring  with  yoa  the  two  deeds  which  Tahoardin  has  to  prepare  for  yoa,  as 
also  a  copy  of  the  settlement.  Do  not  part  with  any  of  yoar  money.  Bat  what  shall  be 
done  abont  the  books?  Yoa  can  oonsnlt  on  the  spot.  With  love  to  my  sweet  little  Ian  the, 
ever  most  affectionately  yonrs,  S. 

*'  I  write  ia  great  haste ;  we  depart  directly." 

Professor  Dowden's  flow  of  sentiment  is  here  so  agitating,  that  I  relieve 
myself  by  resorting  to  a  drier  world.  Certainly  my  comment  on  this  letter 
shall  not  be  his,  that  it  "  assures  Harriet  that  her  interests  were  still  dear 
to  Shelley,  though  now  their  lives  had  moved  apart."  But  neither  will  I 
call  the  letter  an  odious  letter,  a  hideous  letter.  1  prefer  to  call  it,  applying 
an  untranslateable  French  word,  a  Mte  letter.  And  it  is  Mte  from  what  is 
the  signal,  the  disastrous  want  and  weakness  of  Shelley,  with  all  his  fine 
intellectual  rifts — ^his  utter  deficiency  in  humor. 

larriet  did  not  accept  Shelley's  invitation  to  join  him  and  Mary  in 
itzerland.  Money  difficulties  arove  the  travelers  back  to  Englana  in 
ptember.  Godwin  would  not  see  Shelley,  but  he  sorely  needed,  continu- 
7  demanded,  and  eagerly  accepted,  pecuniary  help  from  his  erring  "spir- 
sd  son.''  Between  Godwin's  wants  and  his  own,  Shelley  was  hard  pressed, 
got  from  Harriet,  who  still  believed  that  he  would  return  to  her,  twenty 


^68  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE, 

pounds  which  remained  in  her  hands.  In  November  she  was  confined;  a 
son  and  heir  was  born  to  Shelley.  He  went  to  see  Harriet,  bat  "the  inter- 
view left  husband  and  wife  each  embittered  against  the  other."  Friends 
were  severe;  "when  Mrs.  Boinville  wrote,  her  letter  seemed  cold  and  even 
sarcastic,"  says  Professor  Dowden.  "  Solitude,"  he  continues,  "  unharassed 
by  debts  and  duns,  with  Mary's  companionship,  the  society  of  a  few  friends, 
and  the  delights  of  study  and  authorship,  would  have  made  these  winter 
months  to  Shelley  months  of  unusual  happiness  and  calm."  But  alas,  cred- 
itors were  pestering,  and  even  Harriet  gave  trouble.  In  January,  1816, 
Mary  had  to  write  in  her  journal  this  entry:  "  Harriet  sends  her  creditors 
here;  nasty  woman.    Now  we  must  change  our  lodgings." 

One  day  about  this  time  Shelley  asked  Peacock :  "  Do  you  think  Words- 
worth could  have  written  such  poetry  if  he  ever  had  dealings  with  money* 
lenders?  "  Not  only  had  Shelley  dealings  with  money-lenders,  he  now  had 
dealings  with  bailiffs  also.  But  still  he  continued  to  read  largely.  In  Jan- 
uary, 1815,  his  grandfather.  Sir  Bysshe  Shelley,  died.  Shelley  went  down 
into  Sussex;  his  father  would  not  suffer  him  to  enter  the  house,  but  he 
sate  outside  the  door  and  read  Cbmt^,  while  the  reading  of  his  grandfather's 
will  went  on  inside.  In  February  was  born  Mary's  first  child,  a  girl,  who 
lived  but  a  few  days.  All  the  spring  Shelley  was  ill  and  harassed,  but  by 
June  it  was  settled  that  he  should  have  an  allowance  from  his  father  of 
£1,000  a  year,  and  that  his  debts  (including  £1,200  promised  by  him  to 
Godwin)  should  be  paid.  He  on  his  part  paid  Harriet's  debts  and  allowed 
her  £200  a  year.  In  August  he  took  a  house  on  the  borders  of  Windsor 
Park,  and  made  a  boating  excursion  up  the  Thames  as  far  as  Lechlade — an 
excursion  which  produced  his  first  entire  poem  of  value,  the  beautiful 
Stanzas  in  Lechlade  Churchyard,  They  were  followed,  later  in  the  autumn, 
by  Alastor.  Henceforth,  from  this  winter  of  1815  until  he  was  drowned 
between  Leghorn  and  Spezzia  in  July,  1822,  Shelley's  literary  history  is 
sufficiently  given  in  the  delightful  introductions  prefixed  by  Mrs.  Shelley  to 
the  poems  of  each  year.  Much  of  the  history  of  his  life  is  there  given  also; 
but  with  some  of  those  "occurrences  of  his  private  life"  on  which  Mrs. 
Shelley  forbore  to  touch,  and  which  are  now  made  known  to  us  in  Professor 
Dowden's  book,  we  have  still  to  deal. 

Mary's  first  son,  William,  was  bom  in  January,  1816,  and  in  February 
we  find  Shelley  declaring  himself  "  strongly  urged,  by  the  perpetual  experi- 
ence of  neglect  or  enmity  from  almost  every  one  but  those  who  are  sui>- 
ported  by  my  resources,  to  desert  my  native  country,  hiding  myself  a 
Mary  from  the  contempt  which  we  so  unjustly  endure."     Early  in  May  - 
left  England  with  Mary  and  Miss  Clairmont ;  they  met  Lord  Byron  ^ 
Greneva  and  passed  the  summer  by  the  Lake  of  Geneva  in  his  compan 
Miss  Clairmont  had  already  in  London,  without  the  knowledge  of  the  Sh< 
leys,  made  Byron's  acquaintance  and  become  his  mistress.    Shelley  del 


PERCY    BY88HE    SHELLEY.  269 

minedf  in  the  course  of  the  summer,  to  go  back  to  England,  and,  after  all, 
"to  make  tliat  most  excellent  of  nations  my  perpetual  resting-place."  In 
September  he  and  his  ladies  returned ;  Miss  Ciairmont  was  then  expecting 
her  confinement.  Of  her  being  Byron's  mistress  the  Shelleys  were  now 
aware;  but  "the  moral  indignation,"  says  Professor  Dowden,  "which 
Byron's  act  might  justly  arouse,  seems" to  have  been  felt  by  neither  Shelley 
nor  Mary."  If  Byron  and  Claire  Olairmont,  as  she  was  now  called,  loved 
and  were  happv,  all  was  well. 

The  eldest  daughter  of  the  Godwin  household,  the  amiable  Fanny,  was 
unhappy  at  home  and  in  deep  dejection  of  spirits.  Godwin  was,  as  usual, 
in  terrible  straits  for  money.  The  Shelleys  and  Miss  Ciairmont  settled 
themselves  at  Bath ;  early  in  October  Fanny  Godwin  passed  through  Bath 
without  their  knowing  it,  traveled  on  to  Swansea,  took  a  bedroom  at  the 
hotel  there,  and  was  found  in  the  morning  dead,  with  a  bottle  of  laudanum 
on  the  table  beside  her  and  these  words  in  her  handwriting,  and  without 
signature: — 

I  liave  long  detennined  that  the  best  thing  I  could  do  was  to  put  an  end  to  the  existence 
of  a  being  whoee  birth  was  nnfortunate,  and  whose  life  has  only  been  a  series  of  pain  to 
those  persons  who  hare  hurt  their  health  in  endeavoring  to  promote  her  welfare.  Perhaps 
to  hear  of  my  death  wiU  give  yon  pain,  bnt  yon  wiU  soon  have  the  blessing  of  forgetting 
that  snch  a  creature  ever  existed  as  .    •    •  " 

A  sterner  tragedy  followed.  On  the  9th  of  November,  1816,  Harriet 
Shelley  left  the  house  in  Brompton  where  she  was  then  living,  and  did  not 
return.  On  the  10th  of  December  her  body  was  found  in  the  Serpentine ; 
she  had  drowned  herself.  In  one  respect  Professor  Dowden  resembles  Provi- 
dence: his  ways  are  inscrutable.  His  comment  On  Harriet's  death  is: 
"  There  is  no  doubt  she  wandered  from  the  ways  of  upright  Hving."  But, 
he  adds:  "That  no  act  of  Shelley's,  during  the  two  years  which  immedi- 
ately preceded  her  death,  tended  to  cause  the  rash  act  which  brought  her 
life  to  its  close,  seems  certain."  Shelley  had  been  living  with  Mary  all  the 
time;  only  that  I 

On  the  30th  of  December,  1816,  Mary  Godwin  and  Shelley  were  married. 

I  shall  pursue  "  the  occurrences  of  Shelley's  private  life  "  no  further.    For 

the  five  years  and  a  half  which  remain.  Professor  Dowden's  book  adds  to 

our  knowledge  of  Shelley's  life  much  that  is  interesting ;   but  what  was 

chiefly  important  we  knew  already.    The  new  and  grave  matter  which  we 

i     1  not  know,  or  knew  in  the  vaguest  way  only,  but  which  Shelley's  family 

\     1  Professor  Dowden  have  now  thought  it  well  to  give  us  in  full,  ends 

h  Shelley's  second  marriage. 

regret,  I  say  once  more,  that  it  has  been  riven.    It  is  a  sore  trial  for 

I       love  of  Shelley.    What  a  set  1  what  a  wond  I  is  the  exclamation  that 

aks  from  us  as  we  come  to  an  end  of  this  history  of  "  the  occurrences  of 

1     "alley's  private  life."    I  used  the  French  word  Ute  for  a  letter  of  Shelley's; 


270  THE    LIBRARY    MAGAZINE. 

for  the  world  in  which  we  find  him  I  can  only  tuse  another  French  word, 
sale,  Godwin's  house  of  sordid  horror,  and  Goawinpreaching  and  holding 
the  hat,  and  the  green-spectacled  Mrs.  Godwin,  and  Hogg  the  faithful  fiiend, 
and  Hunt  the  Horace  of  this  precious  world,  and,  to  go  up  higher,  Sir  Timo- 
thy Sbelley,  a  great  country  gentleman,  feeling  himsdf  safe  while  'Hhe 
exalted  mind  of  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  [the  drinking  Duke]  protects  me  with 
the  world,"  and  Lord  Byron  with  his  deep  grain  of  coarseness  and  common- 
ness, his  affectation,  his  brutal  selfishness — what  a  set  I  The  history  carries 
us  to  Oxford,  and  I  think  of  the  clerical  and  respectable  Oxford  of  those 
old  times,  the  Oxford  of  Copleston  and  the  Kebles  and  Hawkins,  and  a  hun- 
dred more,  with  the  relief  Keble  declares  himself  to  experience  from  Izaak 
Walton, 

"  WheD,  wearied  with  the  tale  thy  times  diecloee, 
The  eye  first  finds  thee  out  in  tiiy  secure  repose." 

I  am  not  only  thinking  of  morals  and  the  house  of  Godwin,  I  am  think- 
ing also  of  tone,  bearing,  dignity.  I  appeal  to  Cardinal  Newman,  if  per- 
chance he  does  me  the  honor  to  read  these  words,  is  it  possible  to  ima^ne 
Copleston  or  Hawkins  declaring  himself  safe  "while  the  exalted  mind  of 
the  Duke  of  Norfolk  protects  me  with  the  world  ?  " 

Mrs.  Shelley,  after  her  marriage  and  during  Shelley's  closing  years, 
becomes  attractive;  up  to  her  marriage  her  letters  and  journal  do  not 
please.  Her  ability  is  manifest,  but  she  is  not  attractive.  In  the  world 
discovered  to  us  by  Professor  Dowden  as  surrounding  Shelley  up  to  1817, 
the  most  pleasing  figure  is  poor  Fanny  Godwin ;  aft^r  Fanny  Godwin,  the 
most  pleasmg  figure  is  Harriet  Shelley  herself. 

Professor  Dowden's  treatment  of  Harriet  is  not  worthy — so  much  he 
must  allow  me  in  all  kindness,  but  also  in  all  seriousness,  to  say— of  either 
his  taste  or  his  judgment.     His  pleading  for  Shelley  is  constant,  and  he 
does  more  harm  than  good  to  Shelley  by  it.     But  here  his  championship 
of  Shelley  makes  him  very  unjust  to  a  cruelly  used  and  unhappy  girl.    For 
several  pages  he  balances  the  question  whether  or  not  Harriet  was  unfaith- 
ful to  Shelley  before  he  left  her  for  Mary,  and  he  leaves  the  question  unset- 
tled.   As  usual,  Professor  Dowden  (and  it  is  his  signal  merit)  supplies  the 
evidence  decisive  against  himself.     Thornton  Hunt,  not  well  disposed  to 
Harriet,  Hogg,  Peacock,  Trelawny,  Hookham,  and  a  member  of  Godwin's 
own  family,  are  all  clear  in  their  evidence  that  up  to  her  parting  from  Shc^ 
ley  Harriet  was  perfectly  innocent.    But  that  precious  witness,  Godwi: 
wrote  in  1817  that  "  she  had  proved  herself  unfaithful  to  her  husband  befor 
their  separation.  .  .  .  Peace  be  to  her  shade ! "     Why,  Godwin  was  U] 
father  of  Harriet's  successor.    But  Mary  believed  the  same  thing.    She  wa 
Harriet's  successor.    But  Shelley  believed  it  too.    He  had  it  from  Godwii 
But  he  was  convinced  of  it  earlier.    The  evidence  for  this  is,  that,  in  wri 
in^  to  Southey  in  1820,  Shelley  declares  that  "  the  single  passage  of  a  lif 


FEBCY   BY88SE    SHELLEY.  271 

Otherwise  not  only  spotless  but  spent  in  an  impassioned  pursuit  of  virtue, 
which  looks  like  a  blot,"  bears  that  appearance  *'  merely  because  I  regulated 
my  domestic  arrangements  without  deferring  to  the  notions  of  the  vulgar, 
although  I  might  have  done  so  quite  as  conveniently  had  I  descended  to 
their  base  thoughts."  From  this  Professor  Dowden  concludes  that  Shelley 
believed  he  could  have  got  a  divorce  from  Harriet  had  he  so  wished.  The 
conclusion  is  not  clear.  But  even  were  the  evidence  perfectly  clear  that 
Shelley  believed  Harriet  unfaithful  when  he  parted  from  her,  we  should 
have  to  take  into. account  Mrs.  Shelley's  most  true  sentence  in  her  introduc- 
tion to  Alastor:  "  In  all  Shelley  did,  he,  at  the  time  of  doing  it,  believed 
himself  justified  to  his  own  conscience." 

Shelley's  assertiog  a  thing  vehemently  does  not  prove  more  than  that  he 
chose  to  believe  it  and  did  believe  it.  His  extreme  and  violent  changes  of 
opinion  about  people  show  this  sufficiently.  Eliza  Westbrook  is  at  one 
time  "a  diamond  not  so  large"  as  her  sister  Harriet  but  "  more  highly  pol- 
ished;" and  then:  "I  certainly  hate  her  with  all  my  heart  and  soul.  I 
sometimes  feel  faint  with  the  fatigue  of  checking  the  overflowings  of  my 
unbounded  abhorrence  for  this  miserable  wretch."  The  antipathy,  Hogg 
tells  us,  was  as  unreasonable  as  the  former  excess  of  deference.  To  his 
friend  Miss  Hitchener  he  says:  "Never  shall  that  intercourse  cease,  which 
has  been  the  day-dawn  of  my  existence,  the  sun  which  has  shed  warmth  on 
the  cold  drear  length  of  the  anticipated  prospect  of  life."  A  little  later, 
and  she  has  become  "the  Brown  Demon,  a  woman  of  desperate  views  and 
dreadful  passions,  but  of  cool  and  undeviating  revenge."  Even  Professor 
Dowden  admits  that  this  is  absurd;  that  the  real  Miss  Hitchener  was  not 
seen  by  Shelley,  either  when  he  adored  or  when  he  detested. 

Shelley's  power  of  persuading  himself  was  equal  to  any  occasion;  but 
would  not  his  conscientiousness  and  high  feeling  nave  prevented  his  exert- 
ing this  power  at  poor  Harriet's  expense?     To  abandon  her  as  he  did,  must 
he  not  have  known  her  to  be  false  ?     Professor  Dowden  insists  always  on 
Shelley's  "conscientiousness."    Shelley  himself  speaks  of  his  "impassioned 
pursuit  of  virtue."    Leigh  Hunt  compared  his  life  to  that  of  "  Plato  him- 
self, or,  still  more,  a  Pythagorean,"  and  added  that  he  "  never  met  a  being 
who  came  nearer,  perhaps  so  near,  to  the  height  of  humanity,"  to  being  an 
"  angel  of  charity."     In  many  respects  Shelley   reallv  resembled  both  a 
"'^"^hagorean  and  an  angel  of  charity.     He  loved  high  thoughts,  he  cared 
ning  for  sumptuous  lodging,  fare,  and  raiment,  he  was  poignantly  afflicted 
the  sight  of  misery,  he  would  have  given  away  his  last  farthing,  would 
^e  suffered  in  his  own  person,  to  relieve  it.     But  in  one  important  point 
was  like  neither  a  Pythagorean  nor  an  angel :  he  was  extremely  inflam- 
ble.    Professor  Dowden  leaves  no  doubt  on  the  matter.     After  reading 
book,  one  feels  sickened  for  ever  of  the  subject  of  irregular  relations; 
'      '  forbid  that  I  should  go  into  the  scandals  about  Shelley's  "  Neapolitan 


272  THE    LIBBABT    MAGAZINE, 

charge,"  about  Shelley  and  Emilia  Viviani,  about  Shelley  and  Miss  Clair- 
mont,  and  the  rest  of  it!  I  will  say  only  that  it  is  visible  enough  that  when 
the  passion  of  love  was  aroused  in  Shellev  (and  it  was  arousea  easily)  one 
coula  not  be  sure  of  him,  his  friends  could  not  trust  him.  We  have  seen 
him  with  the  Boinville  family.  With  Emilia  Viviani  he  is  the  same.  If 
he  is  left  much  alone  with  Miss  Clairmont,  he  evidently  makes  Mary 
uneasy;  nay,  he  makes  Professor  Dowden  himself  uneasy.  And  I  conclude 
that  an  entirely  human  inflammability,  joined  to  an  inhuman  want  of 
humor  and  a  superhuman  power  of  self-deception,  are  the  causes  which 
chiefly  explain  Shelley's  abandonment  of  Harriet  in  the  first  place,  and  then 
his  behavior  to  her  and  his  defence  of  himself  afterwards. 

His  misconduct  to  Harriet,  his  want  of  humor,  his  self-deception,  are  fully 
brought  before  us  for  the  first  time  by  Professor  Dowden's  book.  Gooa 
morals  and  good  criticism  alike  forbid  that  when  all  this  is  laid  bare  to  us 
we  should  deny,  or  hide,  or  extenuate  it.  Nevertheless  I  go  back  after  all 
to  what  I  said  at  the  beginning;  still  our  ideal  Shelley,  the  angelic  Shelley, 
subsists.  Unhappily  the  data  for  this  Shelley  we  had  and  knew  long  ago, 
while  the  data  for  the  unattractive  Shelley  are  fresh;  and  what  is  firesli  is 
likely  to  fix  our  attention  more  than  what  is  familiar.  But  Professor  Dow- 
den's volumes,  which  give  so  much,  which  give  too  much,  also  aflford  data- 
for  picturing  anew  the  Shelley  who  delights,  as  well  as  for  picturing  for  the 
first  time  a  Shelley  who,  to  speak  plainly,  disgusts;  and  with  what  may 
renew  and  restore  our  impression  of  tne  delightful  Shelley  I  shall  end. 

The  winter  at  Marlow,  and  the  ophthalmia  caught  among  the  cottages  of 
the  poor,  we  knew,  but  we  have  from  Professor  Dowden  more  details  of 
this  winter  and  of  Shelley's  work  among  the  poor;  we  have  above  all,  for 
the  first  time  I  believe,  a  line  of  verse  of  Shelley's  own  which  sums  up 
truly  and  perfectly  this  most  attractive  side  of  him : 

'^  I  am  the  fHend  of  the  unfriended  poor." 

But  that  in  Shelley  on  which  I  would  especially  dwell  is  that  in  him 
which  contrasts  most  with  the  ignobleness  of  the  world  in  which  we  have 
seen  him  living,  and  with  the  pernicious  nonsense  which  we  have  found  him 
talking.     The  Shelley  of  "  marvellous  gentleness, "  of  feminine  refipement, 
with  gracious  and  considerate  manners,  "  a  perfect  gentleman,  entirely  with- 
out arrogance  or  aggressive  egotism,"  completely  devoid  of  the  proverbial 
and  ferocious  vanity  of  authors  and  poets,  always  disposed  to  make  little    ** 
his  own  work  and  to  prefer  that  of  others,  of  reverent  enthusiasm  for  the  gr^ 
and  wise,  of  high  and  tender  seriousness,  of  heroic  generosity,  and  of  a  delica 
in  rendering   services  which  was  equal  to  his  generosity — ^the  Shelley  wl 
was  all  this  is  the  Shelley  with  whom  I  wish  to  end.     He  may  talk  no 
sense  about  tyrants   and  priests,  but  what  a  high  and  noble  ring  in  such 
sentence  as  tne  following,  written  by  a  young  man  who  is  refusing  JE2,0{ 
a  year  rather  than  consent  to  entail  a  great  property ! — 


r 


PEBCT   BT8SHE    SHELLEY.  273 

"That  I  should  entail  £130,000  of  command  over  labor,  of  power  to  remit  thia,  to  employ 
it  for  benevolent  purposes,  on  one  whom  I  know  not — ^who  might,  instead  of  being  the 
benefactor  of  mankind,  be  its  bane,  or  use  this  for  the  worst  purposes,  which  the  real  dele- 
gates of  my  chance-giTon  property  might  convert  into  a  most  useftil  instrument  of  beneyo- 
lenoe !    No !  this  you  will  not  suspect  me  ofl " 

And  again : — 

*'  I  desire  money  because  I  think  I  know  the  use  of  it  It  commands  labor,  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." 

If  there  is  extravagance  here,  it  is  extravagance  of  a  beautiful  and  rare 
sort,  like  Shelley's  "  underhand  ways  "  also,  which  diflfered  singularly,  the 
cynic  Hogg  tells  us,  from  the  underhand  ways  of  other  people ;  "  the  latter 
were  concealed  because  they  were  mean,  selfish,  sordid ;  Shelley's  secrets, 
on  thejcontrary  (kindnesses  done  by  stealth),  were  hidden  through  modesty, 
delicacy,  generosity,  refinement  of  soul." 

His  forbearance  to  Godwin,  to  Godwin  lecturing  and  renouncing  him,  and 

at  the  same  time  holding  out,  as  I  have  said,  his  hat  to  him  for  alms,  is 

wonderful ;  but  the  dignity  with  which  he  at  last,  in  a  letter  perfect  for 

propriety  of  tone,  reads  a  lesson  to  his  ignoble  father-in-law,  is  in  the  best 

possible  style : — 

'*  Perhaps  it  is  well  that  you  should  be  informed  that  I  consider  your  last  letter  to  be  writ- 
ten in  a  style  of  haughtiness  and  encroachment  which  neither  awes  nor  imposes  on  me ;  but 
I  have  no  desire  to  transgress  the  limits  which  you  place  to  our  intercourse,  nor  in  any  future 
instance  will  I  make  any  remarks  but  such  as  arise  from  the  strict  question  in  discussion." 

And  again ; — 

''My  astonishment,  and,  I  will  conftas,  when  I  have  been  treated  with  most  harshness 
and  cruelty  by  you.  my  indignation,  has  been  extreme,  that,  knowing  as  yon  do  my  nature, 
any  considerations  should  have  prevailed  on  yon  to  have  been  thus  harsh  and  cruel.  I 
lamented  also  over  my  ruined  hopes  of  all  that  your  genius  once  taught  me  to  expect  from 
your  virtue,  when  I  found  that  for  yourself,  your  fiunily,  and  your  creditors,  you  would  sub- 
mit to  that  communication  with  me  which  you  once  rejected  and  abhorred,  and  which  no 
pity  for  my  poverty  or  sufferings,  assumed  willingly  for  you,  could  avail  to  extorf 

Moreover,  though  Shelley  has  no  humor,  he  can  show  as  quick  and  sharp 
a  tact  as  the  most  practised  man  of  the  world.  He  has  been  with  Byron 
and  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  and  he  writes  of  the  latter : — 

**  La  Guiccioli  is  a  very  pretty,  sentimental,  innocent  Italian,  who  has  sacrificed  an  immense 
future  for  the  sake  of  Lord  Byron,  and  who,  if  I  know  anything  of  my  friend,  of  her,  and 
of  human  nature,  wiU  hereafter  have  plenty  of  opportunity  to  repent  her  rashness.'' 

Tact  also,  and  something  better  than  tact,  he  shows  in  his  dealings,  in 
i-der  to  befriend  Leigh  Hunt,  with  Lord  Byron.    He  writes  to  Hunt : — 

^*  Particular  circumstances,  or  rather,  I  should  say,  particular  dispositions  in  Lord  Byron's 
Daracter,  render  the  dose  and  exclusive  intimacy  with  him  in  which  I  find  myself  intoler- 
»le  to  me  ;  thus  much,  my  best  friend,  I  will  confess  and  confide  to  you.  No  feelings  of 
y  own  shall  injure  or  interfere  with  what  is  now  nearest  to  them — ^your  interest ;  and  I 
ill  take  care  to  preserve  the  little  influence  I  may  have  over  this  Proteus,  in  whom  such 
ange  extremes  are  reconciled,  until  we  meet.'' 


274  THE    UBBABT   MAGAZINE. 

And  so  we  have  come  back  again,  at  last,  to  our  ori^nal  Shelley — ^to  the 
Shelley  of  the  lovely  and  well-known  picture,  to  the  Shelley  with  "  flushed, 
feminine,  artless  face,"  the  Shelley  "  blushing  like  a  girl,"  of  Trelawny. 
Professor  Dowden  gives  us  some  further  attempts  at  portraiture.  One  by  a 
Miss  Rose,  of  Shelley  at  Marlow : — 

'*  He  was  the  most  interesting  figore  I  ever  saw ;  his  eyes  like  a  deer's,  bright  bat  rather 
wild  ;  his  white  throat  unfettered ;  his  slender  but  to  me  almost  firaltless  shai>e ;  his  brown 
long  coat  with  curling  lamb's  wool  collar  and  cal& — ^in  fact  his  whole  appearance — are  as 
fresh  in  my  recollection  as  an  occurrence  of  yesterday." 

Feminine  enthusiasm'  may  be  deemed  suspicious,  but  a  Captain  Kennedy 

must  surely  be  able  to  keep  his  head.    Captain  Kennedy  was  quartered  at 

Horsham  in  1813,  and  saw  Shelley  when  he  was  on  a  stolen  visit,  in  his 

father's  absence,  at  Field  Place : — 

"  He  received  me  with  frankness  and  kindliness,  as  if  he  had  known  me  from  childhood, 
and  at  once  won  my  heart.  I  fancy  I  see  him  now  as  he  sate  by  the  window,  and  hear  his 
voice,  the  tones  of  which  impressed  me  with  his  sincerity  and  simplicity.  His  resemblance 
to  his  sister  Elizabeth  was  as  striking  as  if  they  had  been  twins.  His  eyes  were  most  expres- 
sive ;  his  complexion  beautifhlly  fair,  his  features  exquisitely  fine;  his  hair  was  dark,  and  no 
peculiar  attention  to  its  arrangement  was  manifest.  In  person  he  was  slender  and  gentle- 
manlike, bat  inclined  to  stoop  ;  his  gait  was  decidedly  not  military.  The  general  appear- 
ance indicated  great  delicacy  of  constitution.  One  would  at  once  pronounce  of  him  tiiat  he 
was  different  from  other  men.  There  was  an  earnestness  in  his  manner  and  such  perfect 
gentleness  of  breeding  and  freedom  from  everything  artificial  aa  charmed  every  one.  I  never 
met  a  man  who  so  immediately  won  upon  me." 

Mrs.  Gisbome's  son,  who  knew  Shelley  well  at  Leghorn,  declared  Captain 
Kennedy's  description  of  him  to  be  "the  best  and  most  truthful  I  nave 
ever  seen." 

To  all  this  we  have  to  add  the  charm  of  the  man's  writings— of  Shelley's 
poetry.  It  is  his  poetry,  above  everything  else,  which  for  many  people 
establishes  that  he  is  an  angel.  Of  his  poetry  I  have  not  space  now  to 
speak.  But  let  no  one  suppose  that  a  want  of  humor  and  a  self-delusion 
such  as  Shelley's  have  no  effect  upon  a  man's  poetry.  The  man  Shelley,  in 
very  truth,  is  not  entirely  sane,  and  Shelley's  poetry  is  not  entirely  sane 
either.  The  Shelley  of  actual  life  is  a  vision  of  beauty  and  radiance,  indeed, 
but  availing  nothing,  effecting  nothing.  And  in  poetry,  no  less  than  in  life, 
he  is  "  a  beautiful  and  ineffectual  angel,  beating  in  the  void  his  luminous 
wings  in  vain." — Matthew  Arnold,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century, 


MOVES  ON  THE  EUROPEAN  CHESS-BOARD.* 

Wbitinq  in  March,  1887, 1  said  that,  the  maintenance  of  peace  for  Gc 
many  being  the  great  aim  of  Prince  Bismarck's  policy,  he  could  not  reall 
have  any  predilection  for  a  Government  like  the  Russian,  which  jeopardize 

*  Professor  Neinrich  Geffken,  of  University  of  Btrassburg,  oontributes  to  the  ComJtm 
porary  Review  a  monthly  paper  on  **  Contemporary  Life  and  Thought  in  Germany."  IT 
following  pages  are  a  portion  of  his  article  for  Deoember,  1.887.    Of  prof.  G^ken  hima 


MOVEB    ON    THE    EUROPEAN    CNESSBOABD.  275 

that  boon  by  its  subversive  policy;  and  that  as  soon  as  he  saw  his  way  to 
a  coalition  oefoie  which  Russia  would  yield  without  war,  he  would  join  it. 
This  prediction  has  been  fdlfilled  bv  events.  Bulgaria  was  not  quite  so 
much  Hecuba  to  the  Chancellor  as  be  pretended.  In  itself  it  may  be  so, 
but  it  was  not  so  for  Austria;  and  the  alliance  with  her,  if  it  does  not  bind 
Germany  to  assist  Austria  against  every  attack  of  a  foreign  power,  yet 
guarantees  her  territorial  status  quo.  Bismarck's  aim,  therefore,  was  to 
mediate  between  Austria  and  Bussia,  and  to  keep  back  both  from  resolu- 
tions which  might  endanger  peace.  To  do  this  effectually  he  was  obliged 
to  appear  in  St.  Petersburg  as  a  friend,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  in  nis 
great  speeches  in  the  Beichstag  he  laid  so  much  stress  on  the  German 
I'riendship  for  Russia.  It  was  no  business  of  Germany  to  provoke  her 
Eastern  neighbor  by  openly  opposing  proposals  which  other  powers,  more 
directly  interested,  could  make  of  no  effect  if  they  chose  so  to  do;  indeed, 
he  could  afford  to  support,  together  with  France,  even  such  preposterous 
Russian  schemes  as  the  intended  mission  of  General  Emroth  to  Sofia  as  a 
military  dictator,  because  he  knew  that  Italy,  Austria,  and  England  would 
resist  it,  and  he  was  not  bound  to  do  for  them  what  they  could  do  for 
themselves,  and  what  his  action  on  the  other  side  would  not  prevent  them 
from  doing.  This  policy,  which  so  oddly  displayed  France  and  Germany 
as  allies  racing  for  the  friendship  of  Russia,  was  much  like  the  course  of 
the  candid  firiend  who  gives  his  vote  and  interest  to  a  candidate  whom  he 
does  not  wish  to  disoblige,  after  carefully  ascertaining  that  his  friend  has  no 
chance  of  being  elected. 

Lately,  however,  the  Chancellor  has  been  led  to  reverse  his  policy. 
Whatever  he  did  for  Russia  was  deemed  insufficient  at  St.  Petersburg; 
when  he  tried  to  mediate  between  Austria  and  Russia,  Katkow  replied  that 
there  was  no  room  for  mediation,  and  that  if  Germany  was  really  Russia's 
friend,  she  must  signify  to  Austria  that  the  latter  had  nothing  to  do  with 
the  Balkan  peninsula,  and  consequently  must  evacuate  Bosnia  and 
Herzegovina.  It  is  true  that  the  more  cool-headed  statesman  who  officially 
represents  the  foreign  policy  of  the  Russian  Cabinet  did  not  share  these 

we  abridge  the  fbllowiog  biographical  sketch  from  Brockhan'B  Con^>enatum8-Leiihm,  which 
warrants  the  belief  that  he  is  fitted  for  the  work  which  he  has  undertaken : — 

He  was  bom  at  Hamburg  iu  1830 ;  studied  law  at  Bonn,  Gottinger,  and  Berlin.    In  1854 
he  was  made  Secretary  of  Legation  at  Paris.    In  1850  he  was  made  the  Hanseatic  Minister- 
resident  at  Berlin,  and  he  was  sent  in  the  same  capacity  to  London.    In  1872  was  made 
Professor  of  Political  Science  and  Public  Law  at  Strassbur^.    In  1880  he  was  a  member  of 
State  Council  of  Elsats-Lothrinpia,  a  position  which  he  resigned  in  1882  on  account  of  im- 
paired health.     Among  his  writings — the  earlier  ones  being  published  anonymously — 
ire:    The  Reform,  of  the  PntsaUm  CofutUui^  (1870);  The  CivU  Qmiest  of  1851,  and  Ua  effects 
ipon   Ewrope  (1870);      The   CoMtUution   of  the  German    ConfederalMn    (1870);    X'tntpowe 
Xeniates  (1871);    The  Alabama  QuesHon  (1872);    Church  and  8tate,in  their  BdaHons,  JBis- 
meaUy  Developed  (1875,  translated  into  English  in  1877);  For  the  History  of  the  Eastern  War 
r  18541855  (1881);  La  <iueat%on  du  Danube  (1883);  European  PubUe  Law  (1881),  translate^ 
ito  French,  under  the  title  U  J>r^t  Jn^ematumal  (l883).~XD.  LI9.  Hhi9, 


276  TEE    LIBRIET   MAGAZINE, 

pretensions ;  he  did  not  follow  Elatkow^s  adyioe,  to  answer  the  speeches  of 
Count  Kalnoky  in  the  Hungarian  delegation,  and  of  Lord  Salisbury  at  the 
Mansion  House  in  November,  1886,  by  recalling  the  Bussian  Ambassadors 
from  Vienna  and  London.  But  he  did  a  much  more  dangerous  thing.  He 
sounded  Italy,  whether  in  case  of  a  war  between  Bussia  and  Austria  and 
Germany,  she  would  side  with  Bussia,  and  offered  her  Trieste  if  she  would 
do  so.  About  the  same  time  France  offered  to  the  Cabinet  of  Borne,  in 
the  event  of  a  war  with  Germany,  the  Trentino  as  the  price  of  her  alliance. 
Signer  Depretis  at  once  flatly  refused  to  entertain  for  a  moment  such  pro- 
jects  directed  against  the  allies  of  Italy,  and  thus  the  danger  was  avoiaed ; 
but  the  movement,  which  was  undoubtedly  a  concerted  one,  sufficiently 
shows  what  Germany  and  Austria  have  to  expect  from  their  good  neigh- 
bors. 

The  war-scare  during  the  elections  for  the  German  Beichstag  had  the 
effect  of  drawing  closer  the  relations  of  France  and  Bussia ;  and  M.  de 
Giers,  finding  himself  in  a  deadlock  in  the  Bulgarian  question — when  his 
master  would  not  alter  his  position  towards  the  Begents  as  usurpers,  and 
yet  did  not  dare  to  enforce  his  demands  at  the  risk  of  a  conflagration — sent 
General  Martinow  to  Paris  to  confer  with  M.  Flourens.  Upon  this  there 
appeared  in  the  Bussian-inspired  paper  at  Brussels,  Le  Nord^  an  article 
wntten  by  M.  Catacazy,  late  favorite  of  Prince  Gortchakow  and  Minister  at 
Washington  (where  he  made  himself  impossible),  declaring  that  Bussia 
would  not  allow  a  second  crushing  defeat  of  France  by  Germany,  which 
would  leave  her  alone  with  an  all-powerful  neighbor.  Katkow  found  this 
policy  not  strong  enough ;  he  was  in  active  communication  with  General 
Boulanger,  through  General  Bogdanovitch,  and  with  M.  de  Laboulave,  the 
French  ambassador  at  St.  Petersburg;  he  daily  pleaded  in  his  Moscow 
Gazette  for  the  French  alliance,  and  began  violently  to  attack  M.  de  Giers. 
The  Czar  administered  a  mild  reprimand  to  him,  and  proposed  to  confer 
the  Grand  Cross  of  the  order  of  Vladimir  on  his  Minister.  Katkow  came 
to  Gatchina  to  defend  himself;  he  expounded  his  ideas,  and  eloquently 
demonstrated  to  his  master  that  any  binding  undertaking  with  Austria  and 
Germany  would  gravelv  endanger  Bussian  interests,  and  that  it  was  neces- 
sary to  come  to  close  relations  with  France.  The  Czar,  half  persuaded,  told 
him  to  see  Giers,  who,  however,  did  not  receive  him.  This  the  Emperor 
took  very  much  amiss ;  and  when  the  Minister  sent  in  his  resignation,  say- 
ing, that  under  the  present  circumstances  his  advice  could  scarcely  be  use- 
ful, the  Imperial  answer  was  that  the  Czar,  as  he  appointed  his  Ministers, 
likewise  dismissed  them  when  he  thought  fit  so  to  do,  and  not  when  the 
idea  of  going  occurred  to  them. 

The  decree,  already  signed,  for  conferring  the  Vladimir  on  M.  de  Giers 
was  cancelled;  and  Katkow,  elated  by  his  success,  was  hard  at  work  to 
replace  the  Minister  by  Count  Ignatieff  or  by  General  Schuvalow,  Ambas- 


r 


MOVES    0*    irftfi    EVRoPEAif    CMESS'MAHD.  2W 

Bador  at  Berlin.  At  that  moment  there  suddenly  arrived  the  news  of 
another  Ministerial  crisis  at  Paris,  which  once  more  showed  how  little  con- 
fidence could  be  placed  in  the  French  political  quicksands.  The  Emperor 
was  much  struck ;  he  saw  that  his  more  sober-minded  Minister  had  been 
right;  and  Katkow's  influence  underwent  a  decisive  shock.  It  sank  still 
more,  when — about  the  same  time — General  von  Schweinitz,  the  Grerman 
Ambassador  at  St.  Petersburg,  happened  to  lay  his  hand  upon  one  of  the 
secret  communications  of  Katkow  with  French  politicians,  and  this  paper 
was  sent  by  the  Emperor  William  to  the  Czar,  who  sternly  rebuked  the 
Moscow  journalist  for  such  high-handed  interference.  This  is  said  to  have 
hastened  his  end. 

Eatkow's  death  was  certainly  an  advantage  for  Germany ;  yet  it  must 
not  be  overrated.  On  the  one  hand  it  would  be  a  mistake  to  consider  him 
as  a  Panslavist ;  on  the  contrary,  he  ridiculed  the  idea  of  bringing  all  the 
Slavs  under  the  Imperial  sceptre  as  a  chimera,  which  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  realities  of  Russian  policy.  His  leading  principles  were  that  the 
only  possible  government  for  Russia  was  the  hereditary  autocracy  of  the 
Czar,  leaning  upon  the  orthodox  Church ;  that  the  outlying  provinces  of 
the  Empire — ^Poland,  the  Baltic  provinces,  and  Finland — must  be  Russian- 
ized by  every  means ;  and  that  the  Balkan  States  must  be  placed  under  a 
Russian  protectorate.  In  promoting  this  policy,  the  secret  of  his  success 
consisted  simply  in  strongly,  and  even  roughly,  urging  the  supreme  power 
to  do  what  it  longed  to,  but  often  dared  not,  do.    This  influence  became 

Earamount  under  Alexander  III.,  who,  educated  by  Katkow's  friend  Podo- 
enoszew,  now  chief  of  the  Holy  Synod,  had  intimate  relations  with  Kat- 
kow even  when  he  was  Czarevitch.  It  was  but  natural,  that  a  man  who 
constantly  told  the  Czar,  "  You  are  all-powerful  and  infallible,  only  you  do 
not  know  your  omnipotence  and  are  badly  served,"  should  be  listened  to, 
though  of  course  he  understood  that  omnipotence  just  as  the  Jesuits  used 
to  understand  the  infalibility  of  the  Pope — ^that  is,  in  the  sense  that  the 
Pope  was  to  execute  what  they  thought  fit.  Katkow  was  not  at  first  an 
adversary  of  Germany ;  he  had  studied  at  Berlin  and  was  a  classical 
scholar;  he  had  acknowledged  that  the  German  alliance  had  been  most 
useftil  to  Russia,  and  had  defended  Prince  Bismarck  against  the  reproach  of 
having  frustrated  Russia's  legitimate  demands  at  the  Congress  of  Berlin. 
It  was  only  after  the  Austro-German  alliance  of  1879,  when  the  anti- 
^erman  feeling  became  strong  in  Russia  and  Skobelefif  made  his  famous 
speeches  in  that  sense,  that  Katkow  gradually  turned  against  Germany 
and  argued  for  a  French  alliance ;  but  as  a  Conservative  he  had  no  predi- 
lection for  the  Paris  Radicals,  and  constantly  urged  that  only  a  strong  and 
nonarchical  France  would  be  a  reliable  allv. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  seed  of  hatred,  sown  by  Katkow  has  spread  so 
widely,  that  his  death  has  by  no  ipeans  allayed  the  Russian  feeling  against 


^S  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

Germany,  tt  is  quite  true  that  the  BussiaD  Govemtnent  wafi  somewhat 
embarrassed  by  the  speech  of  DeroulMe  at  Katkow's  grave,  as  the  Chief 
of  the  Patriotic  League  had  attacked  the  French  Government  for  its  luke- 
warmness ;  but  the  fact  that  the  representative  of  the  Emperor  at  Eaew, 
General  Baranow,  dared  to  entertain  DeroulMe  at  a  banquet,  and  enthu- 
siastically respond  to  his  toast  of  the  Busso-French  alliance,  suf&ciently 
shows  how  strong  the  current  of  public  opinion  must  be ;  and  the  Grand 
Duke  Nicholas's  speech  in  the  French  steamer  Uruguay  was  a  striking 
proof  of  the  feelings  which  prevail  in  the  Imperial  family.  Moreover, 
though  Katkow  is  dead,  Podooenoszew  survives ;  and  he  is  the  most  stren- 
uous promoter  of  the  Eussification  of  the  western  border  provinces.  Not 
only  is  the  oppression  of  the  Protestant  faith  and  the  German  element  in 
the  Baltic  provinces,  and  of  the  Catholic  religion  in  Poland,  ruthlessly  car- 
ried on,  but  a  great  blow  was  struck  at  foreign  influence  by  a  Ukase  of 
May  last,  which  forbade  any  foreigner  to  become,  or  to  remain,  a  landed 
proprietor  in  Bussia. 

This  edict  was  severely  felt  in  Germany.  Many  of  our  wealthy  nobles 
possess  large  estates  in  Bussia,  and  were  thus  placed  in  the  dilemmaof  selling 
their  property  under  most  unfavorable  conditions  or  becoming  naturalized 
Bussians.  Such,  for  instance,  was  the  case  with  Prince  Hohenlohe,  Gover- 
nor of  Alsace-Lorraine,  whose  wife  inherited  from  her  brother,  the  late 
Prince  Wittgenstein,  estates  which  are  said  to  be  as  large  as  the  kingdom 
of  Wurtemberg.  Yet  it  was  difficult  for  the  German  Government  to  com- 
plain of  a  measure  which  was  strictly  within  the  limits  of  internal  Bussian 
affairs.  It  is  said  that  Prince  Bismarck,  in  seeking  for  his  master  a  per- 
sonal interview  with  the  Czar  at  Stettin,  hoped  to  obtain  a  modification 
of  this  Ukase,  which  he  thought  the  Czar  could  hardly  refuse  to  his  vener- 
able grand-uncle.  However  this  may  be,  it  seems  certain  that  the  Czar 
believed  such  a  request  would  be  made,  which  he  was  as  loth  to  grant  as 
to  refuse ;  and  that  this  was  one  of  the  considerations  which  moved  him 
not  to  go.  He  was  moreover  dissatisfied  with  the  attitude  of  Germany, 
and  did  care  to  afiront  public  opinion  in  Bussia,  which  would  have  con- 
sidered his  visit  to  Stettin  as  a  humiliation.  So  he  remained  at  Copenhagen,, 
although  preparations  for  his  reception  had  been  made  at  Stettin  Castle, 
saying ;  "  W  ell,  I  too  will  not  be  made  to  go  to  Canossa."  The  illness  of 
his  children  obliging  him  to  remain  somewhat  longer  as  the  guest  of  his 
father-in-law,  and  so  making  his  return  by  sea  impossible,  he  could  not  well 
go  home  by  way  of  Germany  without  paying  a  visit  to  our  Emperor;  but 
though  the  visit  took  place  upon  terms  of  perfect  politeness,  and  though 
the  Czar  even  received  Prince  Bismarck,  who  was  summoned  to  Berlin  by 
the  Emperor,  that  visit  can  scarcely  have  any  great  political  importance, 
except  to  show  Bussia  that  she  must  remain  passive. 

Prince  Bismarck  lost  no  time  in  making  his  reply  to  thin  attitude;  having 


MOVES    ON    THE    EUROPEAN    CEESS-BOAED.  979 

already  renewed  and  confirmed  his  alliance  with  Austria  in  the  course  of  a 
visit  by  Count  Kalnoky  to  Friedrichsruhe,  he  now  invited  the  Italian  Pre- 
mier, Signor  Crispi,  to  come  and  see  him.  What  was  most  curious  in  this 
visit  was  that  it  was  kept  secret  to  the  last  moment ;  but  when  it  had 
taken  place  a  studied  publicity  was  given  to  its  results.  Signor  Crispi, 
indeed,  denied  that  he  had  spoken  the  words  attributed  to  him,  in  tne 
interview  with  which  he  favored  a  reporter  of  the  Frankfurter  Zdtung 
on  his  way  home,  but  the  report  was  immediately  reprinted  in  the 
Norddeutsche  AUgemeine  Zdtungy  the  Chancellor's  paper,  and  what  Crispi 
himself  said  at  the  banquet  at  Turin  amounted  to  much  the  same. 

The  gist  of  it  was  this :  We  are  in  friendly  relations  with  all  Powers, 
but  we  are  allies  of  the  two  central  Powers  of  iJurope,  and  at  sea,  we  act  in 
accord  with  England.  My  journey  has  caused  uneasiness  in  France^  but 
the  confidence  of  the  Government  happily  remained  unshaken,  for  they 
know  that  my  intentions  are  loyal  and  can  never  have  a  hostile  direction 
against  a  country  with  which  we  are  closely  connected  by  affinity  of  race, 
by  our  traditions,  and  by  civilization.  No  one  can  desire  a  war  between 
the  two  nations ;  I  deprecate  defeat  or  victory  in  such  a  war,  which  would 
be  fatal  alike  to  the  liberties  of  both,  and  prejudicial  to  the  balance  of 
power  in  Europe.  Our  system  of  alliances  tends  to  one  object — ^the  preser- 
vation of  order;  not  to  aggression  or  perturbation.  It  is  advantageous  to- 
Italy  as  well  as  to  the  general  interest.  Italy  is  not  the  only  State  which 
desires  the  maintenance  of  peace ;  for  Germany,  among  others,  pursues  the 
same  object.  The  history  of  our  time  is  dominated  by  the  name  of  one 
statesman  whom  I  sincerely  admire,  and  with  whom  I  am  connected  by 
personal  ties  of  long  standing ;  his  aim  is  peace  and  the  greatness  of  his 
country ;  he  has  worked  for  thirty  years  to  obtain  that  aim,  and  to  pre- 
serve what  he  has  won ;  he  is  an  old  friend  of  Italy,  and  has  been  so  from 
her  earliest  years,  for  he  knows  the  solidarity  of  the  union  of  Italy  and 
Germany.  The  agreement  of  thought  and  sentiment  between  him  and 
myself  has  now  received  fresh  confirmation.  It  is  said  that  we  have  been 
conspiring  at  Friedrichsruhe.  I,  as  an  old  conspirator,  reply  that  we  have 
conspired  in  the  cause  for  peace,  and  that  all  those  are  at  liberty  to  take 
part  in  that  conspiracy  who  wish  for  peace.  On  taking  leave  of  me  Bis- 
marck said :  "  We  have  rendered  a  service  to  Europe.'*  I  remember  that 
word  with  pride,  for  Italy  was  never  in  such  complete  and  hearty  union 
«s  with  her  present  ally,  nor  were  her  dignity  and  interests  ever  so 
all  guaranteed.  Speaking  of  his  Eastern  policy,  Crispi  said  that  Italy 
jought  to  unite  respect  for  public  treaties  with  the  development  of  the 
iQtonomy  of  the  Balkan  States ;  that  was  a  policy  founded  upon  Italian 
'aditions  and  interests;  and  those  nations  would  as  little  forget  the 
irvices  rendered  by  Italy  as  she  herself  could  forget  those  of  England 
id  France  to  her  own  unity. 


d80  TME    LIBBAMT   MAQAEINR 

The  Journal  chs  Debats  of  October  28,  acknowledging  tlie  courteous 
terms  in  which  Crispi  spoke  of  France,  thought  that  this  speech,  if  it  had 
cleared  the  clouds,  yet  had  not  dispersed  them ;  for  why,  it  remarks,  has 
Italy  thought  fit  to  conclude  alliances  which  may  drag  her  against  her  will 
into  a  war  of  which  she  deprecates  even  the  thought,  and  for  interests 
which  are  not  her  own.  If  the  Triple  Alliance  has  not  that  bearing,  it  has 
none.  That  is  what  Crispi  has  not  explained,  and  what,  perhaps,  he  could 
not  explain — this  criticism  is  not  to  tne  point.  Italy  in  her  alliance  with 
Germany  and  Austria  maintains  perfectly  her  independence,  and  there  can 
be  no  question  of  her  being  dragged  into  a  war  against  her  will.  Crispi 
described  the  position  of  Italy  with  a  frank  resolution  such  as  has  not  been 
heard  from  Italian  statesmen  since  the  death  of  Cavour ;  hinting  that  in  a 
war  with  France  victory  is  as  possible  as  defeat,  he  claims  equality  with 
that  power ;  he  desires  no  war,  but  warns  France  on  her  side  also  against 
desiring  war.  But  in  truth  it  was  rather  a  piece  of  ingenuity  for  Crispi  to 
deprecate  a  war  with  France,  which  in  all  probability  could  only  take  place 
in  consequence  of  an  attack  by  France  upon  Germany.  He  knows  that 
Germany  will  not  attack  France,  and  he  intimates  to  the  latter  that  if  she 
attacks  Germany  she  has  to  reckon  with  Italy  also,  and  that  he  is  as  mucli 
opposed  to  a  breaking  up  of  the  unity  of  Germany  as  to  her  crushing 
France,  because  both  eventualities  would  be  hurtful  to  the  balance  of 
power.  Coupled  with  his  allusion  to  England,  his  declaration  comes  to  this, 
that  the  peace  of  Europe  and  the  territorial  stattis  quo  are  now  secured  by 
two  virtual  alliances — by  that  of  Germany,  Austria,  and  Italy  on  land,  by 
that  of  Italy  and  England  at  sea — ^against  any  State  which  should  seek  to 
disturb  the  present  distribution  of  power  in  the  Mediterranean,  and  implicitly 
he  tells  his  countrymen  that  this  maritime  alliance  secures  Italy  against  the 
danger  of  an  attack  on  her  exposed  seaboard.  But  while  thus  speaking 
for  the  cause  of  peace  and  afterward  dwelling  upon  his  cordial  relations  with 
Austria,  Crispi  did  not  even  mention  the  name  of  Austria,  and  it  is  at  St. 
Petersburg  that  his  remarks  about  the  Balkan  States  will  be  most  resented 
as  a  distinct  defiance  to  the  Czar.  He  even  said,  if  we  are  to  believe  his 
Frankfort  reporter,  that  "  Italy,  like  all  other  European  States,  has  reason 
to  dread  the  advance  of  Eussia  to  Constantinople,  and  cannot  allow  the 
Mediterranean  to  become  a  Bussian  lake."  Fresh  from  his  conference  and 
his  arrangements  with  Prince  Bismarck,  such  words  are  most  significant, 
because  they  will  be  construed  as  spoken  for  all  three  allied  powers.  The 
net  result  of  the  important  change  is  this : — The  three  Emperors'  alliance 
is  at  an  end.  Italy  takes  Kussia's  former  place  at  the  side  of  Germany, 
which  instead  of  a  dubious  and  incalculable  friend,  has  won  a  sincere  and 
upright  one.  Considering  the  strained  relations  between  Austria  and  Rus- 
sia, our  alliance  with  Austria  was  not  suflScient  so  long  as  Italy,  remaining 
outside,  might  attack  Austria  while  involved  in  a  war  wita  Bussia — af 


MOVES    ON    THE    EtJUO^EAN    CHESS  BO AED.  281 

France  might  attack  Germany.  The  alliance  of  Italy  with  Germany  isolates 
both  France  and  Bussia,  and  takes  away  the  menacing  character  from  an 
alliance  of  the  two  latter  Powers.  It  means  for  Germany  that  in  case  of  a 
French  attack  at  least  four  French  army  corps  and  half  of  the  French  fleet 
are  immobilized.  It  secures  peace  to  Italy  and,  although  the  Italian  frontier 
on  the  side  of  France  is  strategically  very  unfavorable,  makes  a  French 
attack  by  land  impossible ;  for  the  mere  armed  neutrality  of  Germany  in  a 
war  between  France  and  Italy  would  detain  half  of  the  French  army  on  the 
Moselle  and  half  of  the  French  fleet,  so  that  Italy  might  take  the  offensive 
and  march  upon  Lyons.  In  a  similar  way  Austria  is  now  covered  against 
Bussia ;  and,  France  and  Bussia  being  the  elements  which  endanger  the 
peace  of  Europe,  it  is  evident  that  the  alliance  of  Germany,  Austria,  and 
Italy  is  indeed  the  strongest  guarantee  for  peace.  Crispi's  speech,  therefore, 
wUl  have  a  great  effect  in  Bussia,  where  the  Czar  must  ^ee  that  he  is 
isolated  and  would  court  defeat  if  he  had  to  enforce  his  plans  against  Bul- 
garia ;  it  has  had  its  effect  at  Constantinople,  where  the  Sultan,  discerning 
that  Bussia  is  no  longer  backed  by  Germany,  refuses  to  comply  with  her 
requests ;  it  has  given  new  confidence  to  the  Bulgarians,  and  has  produced 
a  wholesome  sobering  influence  in  France.  It  is  not  without  significance 
that  so  shortly  after  the  interview  of  Friedrichsruhe,  M.  Flourens  made  up 
his  mind  to  come  to  an  agreement  with  England  on  the  long- vexed  ques- 
tions of  the  Suez  Canal  and  the  New  Hebrides ;  and  France  must  see  that 
if  she  wishes  to  be  on  good  terms  with  England  she  must  not  dream  of  a 
war  of  revenge  against  Germany.  The  influence  of  the  recent  scandals  and 
present  Presidential  crisis  in  France  must,  moreover,  exercise  a  sobering 
influence  upon  the  Czar's  mind,  and  show  how  dangerous  would  be  a  con- 
nection with  elements  so  eminently  unsafe.  Thus,  for  the  present  at  least, 
the  danger  of  a  Franco-Bussian  alhance  vanishes  from  the  political  horizon, 
and  therefore  Prince  Bismarck  was  right  in  saying  that  the  interview  had 
rendered  a  service  to  Europe.  A  feeling  of  relief  and  comparative  security 
is  beginning  to  predominate ;  after  long  disquietude,  people  feel  safe  in  the 
hands  of  their  rulers;  and  Prince  Bismarck,  whose  former  policy  of 
backing  Bussia  in  Bulgaria  was  most  unpopular,  now  has  the  whole  nation 
with  him. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  mention  the  unfortunate  incident  on  the  Alsa- 
tian frontier,  where  a  French  keeper  beating  for  game  was  killed  by  a  Ger- 
lan  soldier;   for,  on  the  German  Government  expressing  their  regret,  and 
resenting  a  handsome  indemnity  (£2,500)  to  his  widow,  the  matter  was 
iplomatically  settled,  and  the  soldier  awaits   his  judgment.     Of  much 
neater  importance  are  the  pending  commercial  negotiations  in  which  Italy 
engaged  with  Austria  and  France;   for  Germany  is  deeplv  interested  in 
\  concessions  which  these  States  make  to  each  other.    We  have,  it  is  true, 
treaty  with  Italy  which  does  not  expire  until  1892;  but  it  simply  stipu- 


282  THE   LISnAMr   MAQAZUm. 

lates  for  the  rights  of  the  most  favored  nation,  and  this  clause  loses  its 
significance  with  the  expiration  of  the  treaMes  with  Austria  and  France,  the 
only  ones  by  which  Italy  bound  herself  to  a  specified  tariflf.  If,  therefore, 
these  treaties  are  not  renewed  with  the  beginning  of  1888,  the  strongly 
protective  Italian  tariff  which  was  voted  in  the  summer  of  this  year  will  be 
applied  to  all  nations;  and  this  would  certainly  be  a  great  blow  to  the  Ger- 
man export  trade  with  Italy,  which,  in  consequence  of  the  Gothard  Kail- 
way,  has  risen  from  sixty-six  million  lire  in  1881  to  one  hundred  and  thirty 
millions  in  1886.  Crispi,  in  his  Turin  speech,  was  hopeful  as  to  the  negoti- 
ations with  Austria,  but  as  regards  France  only  expressed  a  wish  to  avoid 
a  war  of  tariffs.  Certain  it  is  that  there  are  great  difilculties  to  be  over- 
come; the  Italians  think  that  the  Austrian  treaty  of  1878  has  been  disad- 
vantageous to  them,  because  under  it  Austrian  exports  to  Italy  have  risen 
by  13'3  per  Qent,  while  those  of  Italy  to  Austria  have  decreased  by  45  per 
cent.  The  Cabinet  of  Bome^  therefore,  wishes  to  limit  the  treaty  tariff 
to  three  favored  articles:  beer,  alcohol,  and  timber,  and  asks  from 
Austria  reductions  of  her  duties  on  flour,  straw-tresses,  leather,  cheese,  wine, 
oil,  fruit,  and  some  minor  articles.  The  Cabinet  of  Vienna  is  not  inclined 
to  accept  this  basis,  but  it  might  well  consider  that,  if  the  negotiations 
should  prove  fruitless,  Austrian  industry  might  lose  a  great  part  of  the 

Italian  market 

Before  leaving  the  domain  of  politics,  I  must  allude  to  two  events  in  the 
Imperial  family,  which,  as  it  forms  the  uniting  bond  for  all  Germany,  have 
a  general  importance.  The  one  was  the  ninetieth  birthday  of  our  venerable 
Emperor,  which  was  celebrated  with  general  enthusiasm  throughout  the 
whole  empire.  The  other  is  of  a  most  melancholy  nature.  I  need  not 
speak  in  detail  of  the  grave  illness  of  our  Crown  Prince,  which  during  the 
last  few  weeks  has  assumed  a  character  of  the  utmost  gravity,  such  indeed 
as,  according  to  human  knowledge  and  medical  skill,  scarcely  leaves  any 
room  for  hope.  Apart  from  the  sad  fear  that  the  life  of  a  noble  and  amiable 
prince,  who  with  truth  can  be  said  to  have  no  enemy,  is  threatened  to  be 
cut  off  in  its  prime,  and  that  both  the  German  and  the  English  dynasty  may 
be  called  to  mourn  so  great  a  loss,  it  is  evident  that  the  death  of  the  Crown 
Prince  will  be  a  public  calamity,  and  not  for  Germany  alone;  and  that  is 
certainly  the  reason  why  the  European  public  with  breathless  anxiety  fol- 
lows the  tragedy  of  San  Remo.  The  Crown  Prince  was  known  to  be 
strongly  in  favor  of  peace  and  constitutional  government;  as  to  his  son, 
we  are  standing  before  the  unknown.  It  is  certain  that  he  has  gifts  of  the 
first  order;  he  is  honest  and  upright  in  character,  an  intelligent  and  capable 
soldier,  has  a  high  sense  of  his  duties,  and  is  happy  in  his  femily  life.  But 
he  can  scarcelv  have  the  maturity  so  desirable  for  the  arduous  task  that 
may  fall  upon  him. — Heikrich  Geffekek,  in  The  Contemporary  Review, 


TBM   RVQU.^A    MVEB    OF   BVmED    ClPITAta.  283 

THE  HUGLI :— A  RIVEB  OF  RUINED  GAPITAI5. 

Thb  Hugli  is  the  most  westerly  of  the  network  of  channels  by  which  the 
Ganges  pours  into  the  sea.  Its  length,  under  its  distinctive  name,  is  less  than 
150  miles;  but  even  its  short  course  exhibits  in  fhll  work  the  twofold  task 
of  the  Bengal  rivers  as  creators  and  destroyers.  The  delta  through  which 
it  flows  was  built  up  in  times  primseval,  out  of  the  sea,  by  the  silt  which 
the  Hugli  and  adjacent  channels  brought  down  from  inland  plains  and 
Himalayan  heights,  a  thousand  miles  off.  There  inundations  still  add  a 
yearly  coating  of  slime  to  vast  low-lying  tracts ;  and  we  can  stand  by  each 
autumn  and  see  the  ancient  secrets  of  landmaking  laid  bare.  Each  autumn, 
too,  the  network  of  currents  rend  away  square  miles  from  their  banks,  and 
deposit  their  plunder  as  new  alluvial  formations  frirther  down ;  or  a  broad 
river  writhes  like  a  monster  snake  across  the  country,  leaving  dry  its  old  . 
bed,  and  covering  with  deep  water  what  was  lately  solid  land. 

Most  of  the  channels  do  their  work  in  solitude,  in  drowned  wastes  where 
the  rhinoceros  and  crocodile  wallow  in  the  slush,  and  whither  the  wood- 
cutter only  comes  in  the  dr;^  months,  after  the  rivers  have  spent  their  fury 
for  the  year.    But  the  Hugli  carries  on  its  ancient  task  in  a  thickly  peopled 
country,  destroying  and  reproducing  with  an  equal  balance  amid  the  home- 
steads and  cities  of  men.    Since  the  dawn  of  history  it  has  formed  the 
great  high  road  from  Bengal  to  the  sea.     One  Indian  race  after  another 
built  their  capitals,  one  European  nation  after  another  founded  their  settle- 
ments, on  its  banks.  .  Buddhists,  Hindus,  Mussulmans,  Portuguese,  Dutch, 
Danes,  French,  Germans,  and  English,  have  lined  with  ports  and  fortresses 
that  magnificent  waterway.    The  insatiable  river  has  dealt  impartially  with 
all.    Some  it  has  left  high  and  dry,  others  it  has  buried  under  mud,  one  it 
has  cleft  in  twain  and  covered  with  its  waters ;  but  all  it  has  attacked,  or 
deserted,  or  destroyed.    With  a  single  exception,  whatever  it  has  touched 
it  has  defaced.    One  city  only  has  completely  resisted  its  assaults.    Cal- 
cutta alone  has  escaped  imharmed  to  tell  of  that  appalling  series  of  catas- 
trophes.   The  others  lie  entombed  in  the  silt,  or  moulder  like  wrecks  on 
tlie  bank.    The  river  flows  on  relentless  and  majestic  as  of  old,  ceaselessly 
preaching  with  its  still  small  ripple,  the  ripple  that  has  sapped  the  palaces 
of  kings  and  brought  low  the  temples  of  the  gods, — that  nere  we  have  no 
abiding  city. 
In  order  to  understand  a  ^at  Indian  waterway,  we  must  lay  aside  our 
immon  English  idea  of  a  nver.    In  England  the  streams  form  lines  of 
ainage  from  the  interior  to  the  sea.    The  life  of  a  Bengal  river  like  the 
anges  is  much  more  complex.    In  its  youth  the  Ganges  leaps  out  from  a 
3W-bed    in    the  Himalayas,  and  races  across  the  sub-montane   tracts, 
thering  pebbled  and  diverse  mineral  treasures  as  it  bounds  alons.     After 
:ee  hundred  miles  of  this  play,  it  settles  down  to  ita  serious  wonc  in  life, 


284  TEE    LIBMABY   MAGAZINE, 

grinding  its  mountain  spoils  to  powder  against  its  sides,  bearing  on  its  breast 
the  commerce  of  provinces,  and  distributing  its  waters  for  the  oultiyation 
of  the  soil.  Its  manhood  lasts  a  thousand  miles,  during  which  it  receives 
tributaries  from  both  sides,  and  rolls  onward  with  an  ever-increasing  volume 
of  water  and  silt.  But  as  it  grows  older  it  becomes  slower,  losing  in  pace 
as  it  gains  in  bulk^  until  it  reaches  a  country  so  level  that  its  mighty  mass 
can  no  longer  hold  together,  and  its  divergent  waters  part  from  the  main 
stream  to  find  separate  courses  to  the  sea.  The  point  at  which  this  dis- 
severance takes  place  marks  the  head  of  the  delta.  But  the  dismembered 
river  has  still  an  old  age  of  full  two  hundred  miles  before  its  worn-out 
currents  find  rest.  It  toils  sluggishly  across  the  delta,  splitting  up  into 
many  channels,  each  of  which  searches  a  course  for  itself  southwards,  with 
endless  bifurcations,  new  junctions,  twists,  and  convolutions. 

The  enfeebled  currents  can  no  longer  carry  on  the  silt  which  the  parent 
stream,  in  its  vigorous  manhood,  has  borne  down.  They  accordingly 
deposit  their  burdens  in  their  beds,  or  along  their  margins,  thus  raising 
their  banks  above  the  low  adjacent  plains.  They  build  themselves  up  as 
it  were  into  high-level  canals.  The  delta  thus  consists  of  branching  rivers 
winding  about  at  a  perilous  elevation,  with  a  series  of  hollow-lands  or  dips 
between.  The  lofty  banks  alone  prevent  the  channels  from  spilling  over ; 
and  when  a  channel  has  filled  up,  the  old  banks  run  like  ridges  across  the 
delta,  showing  where  a  dead  river  once  flowed.  In  the  rainy  season,  the 
floods  burst  over  the  banks,  and  drown  the  surrounding  flats  with  a  silt- 
laden  deluge.  Then  the  ;waters  settle  and  drop  their  load  in  the  form  of  a 
coating  of  mud.  As  the  inundation  subsides,  the  aqueous  expanse,  now 
denuded  of  its  silt,  partly  finds  it  way  back  to  the  channels,  partly  sinks 
into  the  porous  soil,  and  partly  stagnates  in  land-locked  fens.  The  Ganges 
thus  yields  up  in  its  old  age  the  accumulations  of  its  youth  and  manhood. 
Earth  to  earth.  The  last  scene  of  all  is  the  solitucfe  of  tidal  creeks  and 
jungle,  amid  whose  silence  its  waters  merge  into  the  sea. 

The  Hugli  is  formed  by  the  three  most  westerly  of  the  deltaic  spill- 
streams  of  the  Ganges.    The  first  or  most  northerly  is  the  Bhagirathi,  a 
very  ancient  river,  which  represents  the  original  course  of  the  Ganges,  down 
the  Hugli  trough  to  the  Bay  of  Bengal.     A  legend  tells  how  a  demon 
diverted  the  sacred  Ganges  by  swallowing  it.    The  demon  was  a  geological 
one.    A  band  of  stiff  yellow  clay  confined  the  Ganges  to  its  ancient  bed, 
until  a  flood  burst  through  the  barrier  and  opened  a  passage  for  the  mai 
body  of  the  Ganges  to  the  east.    The  disruption  took  place  in  prehistor 
times.    But  to  this  day  the  Bhagirathi,  and  the  Hugh  which  it  helps 
form  lower  down,  retain  the  sanctity  of  the  parent  stream.     The  Gang, 
ceases  to  be  holy  eastward  from  the  point  where  the  Bhagirathi  breal 
south.     It  was  at  this  point  that  Holy  Mother  Ganga  vouchsafed,  in  answ 
to  the  Sage's  prayer,  to  divide  herself  into  a  hundred  channels  to  ma 


THE   HUQLI:^A    BIVER    OF    BUINEJ)    CAPITALS.  285 

sore  tliat  her  purifyiDg  waters  should  reach^  and  cleanse  from  sin,  the  con- 
cealed ashes  ot  the  heroes.  Those  channels  form  her  distributaries  through 
the  delta.  The  Bha^rathi,  although  for  centuries  a  mere  spill-stream  from 
the  parent  Ganges,  is  still  called  the  Oanges  by  the  villagers  along  its 
course.  The  levels  of  the  surrounding  coimtry  show  that  the  bed  of  the 
Bhagirathi  must  once  have  been  many  times  its  present  size.  The  small 
portion  of  the  waters  of  the  Ganges  which  it  continued  to  receive  after  the 
geological  disruption  no  longer  sufficed  to  keep  open  its  former  wide  chan- 
nel. Its  bed  accordingly  silted  up^  forming  islands,  shoals,  and  accretions 
to  its  banks.  It  now  £scloses  the  last  stage  in  the  decay  of  a  deltaic  river. 
In  that  stage  the  process  of  silting  up  completes  itself,  until  the  stream 
dwindles  into  a  series  of  pools  and  finally  disappears.  This  fate  is  averted 
from  the  Bhagirathi  by  engineering  efforts.  The  vast  changes  which  have 
taken  place  in  the  Hugli  trough  may  be  estimated  from  the  one  fact,  that 
the  first  of  its  headwaters,  which  originally  poured  into  it  the  mighty 
Ganges,  is  now  a  dying  river  kept  alive  by  artificial  devices. 

The  other  two  headwaters  of  the  Hugh  bear  witness  to  not  less  memor- 
able vicissitudes.  The  second  of  them  takes  off  from  the  Ganges  about 
forty  miles  eastward  from  the  Bhagirathi.  At  one  time  it  brought  down 
such  masses  of  water  from  the  Ganges  as  to  earn  the  name  of  the  Terrible. 
But  in  our  own  days  it  was  for  long  a  deceased  river;  its  mouth  or  intake 
from  the  Ganges  was  closed,  with  mud ;  its  course  was  cut  into  three  parts 
by  other  streams.  The  country  through  which  it  flowed  must  once  nave 
been  the  scene  of  fluvial  revolutions  on  an  appalling  scale.  That  tract  is 
now  covered  with  a  network  of  dead  rivers ;  a  vast  swampy  reticulation  in 
some  places  stretching  as  lines  of  pools,  in  others  as  fertile  green  hollows. 
But  thirteen  years  ago  a  flood  once  more  burst  open  the  mouth  of  the  Ter- 
rible from  the  Ganges,  and  it  re-expanded  from  a  little  cut  into  a  broad  dis- 
tributary. The  third  of  the  Hugli  headwaters  has  its  principal  offtake 
from  the  Ganges  again  about  forty  miles  further  down.  It  constantly  shifts 
its  point  of  bifurcation  from  the  Ganges,  moving  its  mouth  up  and  down 
the  parent  river  to  a  distance  of  ten  miles.  All  the  three  headwaters  of 
the  Hugli  dwindle  to  shallow  streams  in  the  cold  weather.  At  many  places 
a  depth  of  eighteen  inches  cannot  always  be  maintained  by  the  most  skilful 
engineering.  But  during  the  rains  each  of  them  pours  down  enormous 
floods  from  the  Ganges  to  the  Hugli  trough. 

The  Hugli,  thus  formed  by  three  uncertain  spill-streams  of  the  Ganges 

>m  the  north  and  east,  receives  no  important  tributary  on  its  western  bank 

K)ve  Calcutta.     One  channel  brings  down  the  torrents  from  the  mountain 

'nge  of  the  Central  India  plateau.    But  during  three-quarters  of  the  year 

is  channel  dwindles,  in  its  upper  course,  to  a  silver  thread  amid  expanses 

sand.    Formerly,  indeed,  the  Hugli  above  Calcutta  received  a  mighty 

:    '«r  from  the  westward,  the  Damodar.    About  two  centuries  ago,  however, 


T^ 


286  THE    LIBBABT   MAQAZIUJS. 

that  giant  stream  burst  scmthward,  and  now  enters  the  HugU  far  helow 
Calcutta.  For  practical  purposes,  therefore,  the  only  feeders  of  the  Hugli 
are  the  three  spill-streams  from  the  Ganges  on  the  north  and  east. 

How  comes  it  that  these  decaying  rivers  suffice  to  supply  one  of  the  great 
commercial  waterways  of  the  world?  In  the  dry  weather,  writes  the  offi- 
cer in  charge  of  them,  it  is  impossible,  at  a  short  distance  below  their  final 
point  of  junction,  *'to  tell  whether  they  are  opened  or  closed,  as  the  propor- 
tion of  water  which  they  supply  "  to  the  Hugli  "is  a  mere  trifle."  Thus  in 
1869  two  of  them  were  closea,  and  the  third  only  yielded  a  trickle  of  twenty 
cubic  feet  a  second.  Yet  within  fifty  miles  of  tneir  junction  the  Hugli  has 
grown  into  a  magnificent  river,  deep  enough  for  the  largest  ships,  and  sup- 
plying Calcutta  with  twelve  million  gallons  of  water  a  day  without  any 
appreciable  diminution  to  the  navigable  channel.  This  was  long  a  mystery. 
The  explanation  is  that  during  the  eight  dry  months  the  Hugli  is  fed  partly 
by  infiltration  underground,  and  partly  by  the  tide.  The  delta  forms  a 
subterraneous  sieve  of  silt,  through  which  countless  rills  of  water  percolate 
into  the  deep  trough  which  the  Hugli  has  scooped  out  for  itself.  The 
drainage  from  the  swamps  and  hollow  lands,  finding  no  outlet  on  the  surface, 
sinks  into  the  porous  alluvium.  The  delta  thus  stores  up  inexhaustible 
underground  reservoirs,  to  feed  the  Hugli  in  the  hot  weather.  There  is  a 
moving  mass  of  waters  beneath  the  surface  of  the  land,  searching  out  paths 
into  the  low  level  formed  by  the  Hugli  drain.  This  perpetual  process  of 
subterrene  infiltration,  together  with  the  action  of  the  tides,  renders  the 
Hugli  almost  independent  of  its  headwaters  so  long  as  it  can  maintain  the 
depth  of  its  trough  below  the  adjacent  country.  That  depth  is  secured  by 
the  scouring  of  the  current  in  the  rainy  season.  During  the  dry  months 
the  Hugli  silts  up.  But  if  only  its  headwaters  are  kept  from  closing  alto- 
gether, the  floods  from  the  Qanges  will  pour  down  them  on  the  first  burst 
of  the  rains,  and  again  deepen  the  Hugli  trough.  The  problem  of  engineer- 
ing, therefore,  is  to  save  the  three  headwaters  from  being  absolutely  silted 
up  during  the  dry  season. 

The  struggle  between  science  and  nature  which  the  last  sentence  repre- 
sents lies  beyond  the  scope  of  this  article.    Meanwhile  let  us  sail  quickly 
up  the  Hugh  in  the  cold  weather,  and  see  how  man,  unaided  by  science, 
fared  in  the  conflict.    The  country  round  the  mouth  of  the  river  consists 
of  disappointing  sand  banks  or  mean  mud  formations,  covered  with  coarse 
grass  and  barely  a  few  inches  above  high-tide.    But  about  thirty-five  mil 
below  Calcutta  we  reach  a  better  raised  land,  bearing  cocoanuts  and  rir 
crops  of  rice.     There  on  the  western  side  of  the  Hugli,  but  at  some  di 
tance  from  its  present  course,  and  upon  a  muddy  tributary,  once  flourishe 
tlie   Buddhist  port  of  Bengal.    From  that  port  of  Tamltik,  the  Buddhi 
pilgrim  of  the  fifth  century  a.d.  took  shipping  to  Ceylon.     It  is  now  a 
inland  village  six  miles  from  the  Hugli  channel  and  fifty  from  the  sea,    7 


TEE  HUGLI.^A    ElVEE    OF  BUINEJ)    CAPITALS.  7IS1 

Buddhist  princes,  with  their  ten  monasteries  and  one  thousand  monks,  suc- 
cumbed to  Hindu  kings  of  the  warrior  caste,  who  built  a  fortified  palace 
said,  to  co7er  eight  square  miles.  The  Hindu  kings  of  the  warrior  caste 
were  succeeded  by  a  semi-aboriginal  line  of  fishermen  princes.  As  each 
dynasty  perished,  the  delta  buried  their  works  beneath  its  silt.  The  floods 
now  unearth  Buddhist  coins  fi'om  the  deep  gullies  which  they  cut  during 
the  rains;  sea-shells  and  fragments  of  houses  occur  at  a  depth  of  twenty 
feet.  The  old  Buddhist  port  lies  far  down  in  the  mud ;  of  the  great  palace 
of  the  Hindu  warrior  kings  only  faint  traces  remain  above  the  surface. 
Even  the  present  temple,  said  to  be  built  by  the  later  fishermen  princes,  is 
already  partlv  below  ground.  Its  mighty  foundation  of  logs  spread  out 
upon  the  delta,  heaped  with  solid  masonry  to  a  height  of  thirty  feet,  and 
surmounted  by  a  Cyclopean  triple  wall  and  dome,  form  a  marvel  of  mediaeval 
engineering.  But  the  massive  structure,  which  has  defied  the  floods  and 
tidal  waves  of  centuries,  is  being  softly,  silently,  surelys  hoveled  under- 
ground by  the  silt. 

A  little  above  the  buried  Buddhist  port,  but  on  the  Hugli  itself,  we  come 
to  Falta.  Once  the  site  of  a  Dutch  factory,  and  a  busv  harbor  of  Dutch 
commerce,  it  formed  the  retreat  of  the  English  Council  in  1756,  after  the 
Black  Hole  and  their  flight  from  Calcutta.  It  now  consists  of  a  poor 
hamlet  and  a  few  grassy  earthworks  mounted  with  guns.  The  Dutch 
factory  is  gone,  the  Dutch  commerce  is  gone;  it  strains  the  imagination  to 
conceive  that  this  green  solitary  place  was  once  the  last  foothold  of  the 
British  power  in  Bengal.  I  moored  my  barge  for  the  night  oflF  its  silent 
bank,  and  read  the  official  records  of  those  disastrous  days.  A  consulta- 
tion held  by  the  fugitive  Council  on  board  the  schooner  Phoenix  relates 
how  their  military  member  hua  written  "  a  complimentary  letter  to  the 
Nawab,"  who  had  done  their  comrades  to  death,  "complaining  a  little  of 
the  hard  usage  of  the  English  Honorable  Company,  assuring  him  of  his 
good  intentions  notwithstanding  what  had  happened,  and  begging  him  in 
meanwhile,  till  things  were  cleared  up,  that  he  would  treat  him  at  least  as 
a  friend,  and  give  orders  that  our  people  might  be  supplied  with  provisions 
in  aftdl  and  friendly  manner."  To  such  a  depth  of  abasement  had  fallen  the 
British  power — that  power  to  which  in  less  than  a  year  the  field  of  Plassey, 
higher  up  the  same  river,  was  to  give  the  mastery  of  Bengal. 

owiftly  sailing  past  Calcutta,  with  its  fourfold  tiers  of  great  ships,  its 
fortress,  palaces,  domes,  and  monuments,  we  come  upon  a  series  of  five 
3arly  European  settlements,  from  sixteen  to  twenty-eight  miles  above  the 
British  capital.  Each  one  of  these  formed  the  subject  of  as  high  hopes  as 
Calcutta ;  several  of  them  seemed  to  give  promise  of  a  greater  future.  Every 
me  of  them  is  now  deserted  by  trade ;  not  one  of  them  could  be  reached 
TV  the  smallest  ships  of  modem  commerce.  The  Hugli  quickly  deteriorates 
bove  the  limits  of  the  Calcutta  port,  and  the  rival  European  settlements 


288  THE    LIBBABY   MAGAZINE. 

higher  up  are  as  effectually  cut  off  from  the  sea  as  if  they  were  buried^  like 
the  Buddhist  harbor,  in  the  mud  of  the  delta. 

The  first  of  these  settlements,  sixteen  miles  by  water  above  Calcutta,  is 
the  old  Danish  town  of  Serampur.  It  formed  the  outcome  of  a  century  of 
efforts  by  the  Danes  to  establish  themselves  in  Bengal.  During  the  Napo- 
leonic wars  it  was  a  prosperous  port,  many  of  our  own  ships  sailing  thence 
to  avoid  the  heavy  insurance  paid  by  British  vessels.  Ships  of  600  to  800 
tons,  the  largest  then  in  use,  could  lie  off  its  wharfs.  In  the  second  quarter 
of  the  present  century  the  silt  formations  of  the  Hugli  channel  rendered  it 
inaccessible  to  maritime  commerce.  The  manuscript  account  of  the  settle- 
ment, drawn  up  with  minute  care  when  we  took  over  the  town  from  the 
Danes  in  1845,  sets  forth  every  detail,  down  to  the  exact  number  of  hand- 
looms,  burial-grounds,  and  liquor-shops.  But  throughout  its  seventy-seven 
folio  pages  I  could  discover  not  one  word  indicating  the  survival  of  a  sea- 
going trade. 

On  the  opposite  or  eastern  bank,  a  couple  of  miles  ftirther  up,  lay  an 
ancient  German  settlement,  Bankipur,  the  scene  of  an  enterprise  on  which 
the  eyes  of  European  statesmen  were  once  malevolently  fixed.  No  trace  of 
it  now  survives ;  its  very  name  has  disappeared  from  the  maps,  and  can 
only  be  found  in  a  chart  of  the  last  century.  Carlyle,  with  picturesque 
inaccuracy,  describes  that  enterprise  as  the  Third  Shadow  Hunt  of  Empe- 
ror Karl  the  Sixth*  "The  Kaiser's  Imperial  Ostend  East  India  Company," 
he  says,  "  which  convulsed  the  diplomatic  mind  for  seven  years  to  come, 
and  made  Europe  lurch  from  side  to  side  in  a  terrific  manner,  proved  a  mere 

Eaper  company,  never  sent  ships,  only  produced  diplomacies,  and  "  had  the 
onor  to  be.' "    As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Company  not  only  sent  ships,  but 
paid  dividends,  and  founded  settlements  whicn  stirred  up  the  fiercest  jeal- 
ousy in  India.    Although  sacrificed  in  Europe  by  the  Emperor  to  obtain 
the  Pragmatic  Sanction  in  1727,  the  Ostend  Company  went  on  with  its  busi- 
ness for  many  years,  and  became  finally  bankrupt  in  1784.     Its  settlement 
on  the  Hugli,  deserted  by  the  Vienna  Court,  was  destroyed  in  1738  by  a 
Mohammedan  general,  whom  the  rival  European  traders  stirred  up  against 
it.     The  despairing  garrison  and  their  brave  chief,  who  lost  an  arm  by  a 
cannon-ball,  little  thought  that  they  would  appear  in  history  as  mere  paper 
persons  and  diplomatic  shadows  who  had  only  "  had  the  honor  to  be."     The 
European  Companies  were  in  those  days  as  deadly  to  each  other  as  the  river 
was  destructive  to  their  settlements.    When  Frederick  the  Great  sent  a  late 
expedition,  the  native  Viceroy  of  Bengal  warned  the  other  Europeans 
against  the  coming  of  the  German  ships.     "  God  forbid  that  they  snoulc 
come  this  way! "  was  the  pious  response  of  the  President  of  the  English  Coun 
cil ;  "  but  should  this  be  the  case,  I  am  in  hopes  that  through  your  Upright 
ness  they  will  be  either  sunk,  broke,  or  destroyed." 
A  few  miles  higher  up  the  river  on  the  western  bank,  the  French  settl 


THE   HUGLIt^A    RIVER    OF   RUINED    CAPITALS.  289 

ment  of  Chandemagar  still  flies  the  tricolor.  In  the  last  century  it  was 
bombarded  by  English  vessels  of  war.  A  great  silt-bank,  which  has  formed 
outside  it,  would  now  effectually  protect  it  from  any  such  attack.  A  grassy 
slope  has  taken  the  place  of  the  deep  water  in  which  the  admiral's  flagship 
lay.  Captured  and  recaptured  by  the  British  during  the  long  wais,  the  set- 
tlement now  reposes  under  international  treaties,  a  trim  little  French  town 
land-locked  from  maritime  commerce.  'A  couple  of  miles  above  it  lies  the 
decayed  Dutch  settlement,  Ghinsura ;  and  another  mile  further  on  was  the 
ancient  Portuguese  emporium,  Hugli  town.  Both  of  these  were  great 
resorts  of  sea-going  traae  before  Calcutta  was  thought  of.  In  1632,  when 
the  Mohammedans  took  Hugli  town  from  the  Portuguese,  and  made  it  their 
own  royal  port  of  Bengal,  they  captured  over  three  hundred  ships,  large 
and  small,  in  the  harbor.  As  one  now  approaches  the  old  Dutch  and  Fortu- 
gaese  settlements,  a  large  alluvial  island,  covered  with  rank  grasses  and  a 
few  trees,  divides  the  stream  into  uncertain  channels,  with  lesser  silt  forma- 
tions above  and  below.  Noble  buttressed  houses  and  remains  of  the  river 
wall  still  line  the  banks  of  the  land-locked  harbors.  Then  the  marvellous 
new  railway  bridge  seems  to  cross  the  sky,  its  three  cantilever  spans  high 
up  in  the  air  above  the  river,  with  native  boats  crawling  like  flies  under- 
neath. Beyond  rise  the  tower  and  belfry  of  the  Portuguese  monastery  of 
Bandel,  the  oldest  house  of  Christian  worship  in  Bengal,  built  originally  in 
1599.  The  Virgin  in  a  bright  blue  robe,  with  the  Infant  in  her  arms,  and 
a  garland  of  fresh  rosemaries  round  her  neck,  stands  out  aloft  under  a 
canopy.  Two  lamps  ever  lit  by  her  side  served  as  beacons  during  centuries 
to  the  European  ships  which  oan  never  again  ascend  the  river.  They  now 
guide  the  native  boatmen  for  miles  down  the  decaying  channels. 

From  this  point  upwards,  the  Hugli  river  is  a  mere  record  of  ruin.  An 
expanse  of  snallows  spreads  out  among  silt  formations,  stake-nets,  and 
mud.  Oval-bottomed  country  boats,  with  high  painted  stems,  bulging  bel- 
lies, and  enormous  brown  square  sails,  make  their  way  up  and  down  with 
the  tide.  But  the  distant  high  banks,  crowned  by  venerable  trees,  and  now 
separated  from  the  water  by  emerald-green  flats,  prove  that  a  great  and 
powerful  river  once  flowed  past  them.  For  some  miles  the  channel  forms 
the  dwindled  remains  of  an  ancient  lake.  Old  names,  such  as  the  Sea  of 
Delight,  now  solid  land,  bear  witness  to  a  time  when  it  received  the  inflow 
of  rivers  long  dead  or  in  decay.  From  this  mighty  mass  of  waters  one  arm 
reached  the  sea  south-eastward,  by  the  present  Hu^li  trough ;  another,  and 
once  larger,  branch,  known  as  the  Saraswati,  or  Goadess  of  Flowing  Speech, 
broke  off  to  the  south-west.  At  their  point  of  bifdrcation  stands  Tribeni, 
a  very  ancient  place  of  pilgrimage.  But  the  larger  western  branch,  or  God- 
dess of  Flowing  Speech,  is  now  a  silent  and  dead  river,  running  for  miles  as 
a  green  broad  hollow  through  the  country,  with  a  tidal  ditch  wnich  you  can 
imp  across  in  the  dry  weather. 


290  TME    UBBAMY   MAGAZINSL 

Yet  on  this  dead  western  branch  flouiished  the  royal  port  of  Bengal  froxDi 
a  prehistoric  age  till  the  time  of  the  Portuguese.  Its  name,  Satgaon,  refers 
its  origin  to  the  Seven  Sages  of  Hindu  mythology,  and  the  map  of  1540 
A.D.  marks  its  river  as  a  large  channel.  Purchas  in  the  beginmn^  of  the 
next  century  describes  it  as  "  a  reasonable  fair  citie  for  a  citie  of  the  Moores, 
abounding  with  all  things."  Foreign  trade  sharpened  the  wits  of  the 
townsmen,  and  a  Bengali  pr6verb  still  makes  ^^a  man  of  Satcaon"  syiiony- 
mous  with  a  shrewd  fellow.  In  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries  its 
river  silted  up,  and  the  royal  port  of  Bengal  was  transferred  to  Hugli  town. 
I  walked  a  few  miles  along  the  broad  depression  where  once  the  river  had 
flowed,  and  searched  for  the  ancient  city.  I  found  only  a  region  of  mounds 
covered  with  countless  fragments  of  fine  bricks,  buried  under  thickets  of 
thorn  and  stunted  palms.  I  asked  a  poor  nomadic,  family  of  sugar-makers, 
who  were  boiling  down  the  date  juice  into  syrup  in  earthen  pots  under  a 
tree,  "  Where  was  the  fort  ?  "  They  pointed  to  the  jungle  around.  I  asked, 
"  Where  was  the  harbor?  "  For  a  time  they  could  not  comprehend  what  I 
wanted.  At  length  the  father  took  me  to  a  dank  hollow,  and  said  that 
some  years  ago  the  floods,  in  the  rainy  season,  had  there  washed  out  the 
timbers  of  a  sea-going  ship  from  deep  under  the  ground. 

What  caused  this  ruin?  I  have  said  that  although  the  Hugli  now 
receives  no  important  affluent  on  its  western  bank,  yet  at  one  time  a  ^reat 
tributary  flowed  into  it  from  that  side.  This  was  the  Damodar,  which 
brings  down  the  drainage  of  the  western  plains  and  highlands  of  Lower 
Bengal.  It  originally  entered  the  Hugli  a  few  miles  above  the  Saraswati 
branch  on  which  lay  the  royal  port.  But  between  1600  and  1800  A.D.  its 
floods  gradually  worked  a  more  direct  passage  for  themselves  to  the  south. 
Instead  of  entering  the  Hugli  about  thirty-five  miles  above  Calcutta,  it  now 
enters  it  nearly  thirty-five  miles  below  Calcutta.  The  Hugli  trough,  there- 
fore, no  longer  receives  its  old  copious  water-supply  throughout  the  inter- 
mediate seventy  miles.  Its  bed  accordingly  sutea  up,  and  certain  old 
branches  or  ofl-takes  from  it,  like  the  one  on  which  lay  the  royal  Moham- 
medan port  of  Bengal,  have  died  away.  This  great  fluvial  revolution,  after 
preparing  itself  during  three  centuries,  ended  in  fifty  years  of  terrible  catas- 
trophes. The  ancient  mouth  of  the  Damodar  into  the  Hugli  above  Cal- 
cutta had  almost  completely  closed  up  while  the  inundations  had  not  yet 
opened  to  a  sufficient  width  the  new  channel  to  the  south.  In  1770,  for 
example,  the  Damodar  floods,  struggling  to  find  a  passage,  destroyed  the 
chief  town  of  that  part  of  Bengal.  During  many  years  our  officers 
anxiously  considered  whether  it  was  possible  to  reopen  by  artificial  means 
its  old  exit  into  the  Hugli.  "  Picture  to  yourself,"  writes  a  Calcutta  jour- 
nal of  its  flood  in  1823,  ''  a  flat  country  completely  under  water,  running 
with  a  force  apparently  irresistible,  and  carrying  with  it  dead  bodieB,  roofe 
of  houses,  palanquins,  and  wreck  of  every  description." 


TME    HUGLI:^A    BIVEB    OF   RUINED    CAPITALS.  291 

Proceeding  upwards  from  the  old  mouth  of  the  Damodar^  the  Hugli 
abandons  itself  to  every  wild  form  of  fluvial  caprice.  At  places  a  deep  cut; 
at  others  a  shallow  expanse  of.  water,  in  the  middle  of  which  the  fishermen 
wade  with  their  hand-nets ;  or  a  mean  new  channel,  with  old  lakes  and 
swamps  which  mark  its  former  bed,  but  which  are  now  separated  from  it 
by  high  sandy  ridges.  Nadiya,  the  old  Hindu  capital,  stands  at  the  junc- 
tion of  its  two  upper  head- waters,  .about  sixty-five  miles  above  Calcutta. 
We  reach  the  ancient  city  through  a  river  chaos,  emerging  at  length  upon 
a  well-marked  channel  below  the  junction.  It  was  from  Nadiya  that  the 
last  Hindu  King  of  Bengal,  on  the  approach  of  the  Mohammedan  invader 
in  1203,  fled  from  his  palace  in  the  middle  of  dinner,  as  the  story  runs,  with 
his  sandals  snatched  up  in  his  hand.  It  was  at  Nadiya  that  the  deity  was 
incarnated  in  the  fifteenth  century  a.d.  in  the  great  Hindu  reformer,  the 
Luther  of  Bengal.  At  Nadiya  the  Sanskrit  colleges,  since  the  dawn  of  his- 
tory, have  taught  their  abstruse  philosophy  to  colonies  of  students,  who 
calmly  pursued  the  life  of  a  learner  from  boyhood  to  white-haired  old  age. 

I  lanaed  with  feelings  of  reverence  at  this  ancient  Oxford  of  India.  A 
fat  benevolent  abbot  paused  in  fingering  his  beads  to  salute  me  from  the 
verandah  of  a  Hindu  monastery.  I  asked  him  for  the  birthplace  of  the 
divine  founder  of  his  faith.  The  true  site,  he  said,  was  now  covered  by  the 
river.  The  Hugli  had  first  cut  the  sacred  city  in  two,  then  twisted  right 
round  the  town,  leaving  anything  that  remained  of  the  original  capital  on 
the  opposite  bank.  Whatever  the  water  had  gone  over,  it  had  buried 
beneath  its  silt.  I  had  with  me  the  Sanskrit  chronicle  of  the  present  line 
of  Nadiya  Bajas.  It  begins  with  the  arrival  of  their  ancestor,  one  of  the 
first  five  eponymous  Brahman  immigrants  into  Bengal,  according  to  its 
chronology,  in  the  eleventh  century  a.d.  It  brings  down  their  annals  from 
father  to  son  to  the  great  Baja  of  the  eighteenth  century,  Clive's  friend,  who 
received  twelve  cannons  as  a  trophy  from  Plassey.  So  splendid  were 
the  charities  of  this  Indian  scholar-prince,  that  it  became  a  proverb  that 
any  man  of  the  priestly  caste  in  Bengal  who  bad  not  received  a  gift  from 
him  could  be  no  true  Brahman.  The  Bajas  long  ago  ceased  to  reside  in  a 
city  which  had  become  a  mere  prey  to  the  river.  Nadiya  is  now  a  collec- 
tion of  peasants'  huts,  grain  shops,  mud  colleges,  and  crumbling  Hindu 
monasteries,  cut  up  by  gullies  and  hollows.  A  few  native  magnates  still 
have  houses  in  the  holy  city.  The  only  objects  that  struck  me  in  its  nar- 
row lanes  were  the  bands  of  yellow-robed  pilgrims  on  their  way  to  bathe 
in  the  river;  two  stately  sacred  bulls  who  paced  about  in  well-fed  com- 
placency; and  the  village  idiot,  swollen  with  monastic  rice,  listlessly  flap- 
ping the  flies  with  a  palm-leaf  as  he  lay  in  the  sun. 

Above  Nadiya,  where  its  two  upper  headwaters  unite,  the  Hugli  loses  its 
listinctive  name.  We  thread  our  way  up  its  chief  confluent,  the 
"^ihagirathi,  amid  spurs  and  training  works  ana  many  engineering  devices : 


292  THE    LIBBABT   MAGAZINE. 

now  following  the  chaimel  across  a  wilderness  of  glistening  sand,  now 
sticking  for  an  hour  in  the  mud,  although  onr  barge  and  flat-bottomed 
steamer  only  draw  twenty  inches  of  water.  In  a  region  of  wickerwork 
dams  and  interwoven  stakes  for  keeping  the  river  open,  we  reach  the  field 
of  Plassey,  on  which  in  1757  Olive  won  BengaL  After  trudging  about 
with  the  village  watchman,  trying  to  make  out  a  plan  of  the  battle,  I 
rested  at  noon  under  a  noble  pipal-tree.  Among  its  bare  and  multitudinous 
roots,  heaps  of  tiny  earthenware  horses,  with  toy  flags  of  talc  and  tinsel, 
are  piled  up  in  memory  of  the  Mohammedan  generals  who  fell  in  the  fight. 
The  venerable  tree  has  become  a  place  of  pilgrimage  for  both  Mussulmans 
and  Hindus.  The  custodian  is  a  Mohammedan,  but  two  of  the  little 
shrines  are  tipped  with  red  paint  in  honor  of  the  Hindu  goddess  Kali.  At 
the  yearly  festivd  of  the  fallen  warriors,  miraculous  cures  are  wrought  on 
pilgrims  of  both  faiths. 

I  whiled  away  the  midday  heat  with  a  copy  of  Olive's  manuscript  des- 
patch  to  the  Secret  Oommittee.  His  account  of  the  battle  is  very  brief. 
Finding  the  enemy  coming  on  in  overwhelming  force  at  day-break,  he  lay 
with  his  handful  of  troops  securely  "  lodged  in  a  large  grove,  surrounded 
with  good  mud  banks."  His  only  hope  was  in  a  night  attack.  But  at 
noon,  when  his  assailants  had  drawn  back  into  their  camp,  doubtless  for 
their  mid-day  meal,  Olive  made  a  rush  on  one  or  two  of  their  advanced 
positions,  &om  which  their  French  gunners  had  somewhat  annoyed  him. 
Encouraged  by  his  momentarv  success,  and  amid  a  confusion  caused  by  the 
fall  of  several  of  the  Nawab  s  chief  officers,  he  again  sprang  forward  on  an 
angle  of  the  enemy's  entrenchments.  A  panic  suddenly  swept  across  the 
unwieldy  encampment,  probablv  surprised  over  its  cooking-pots,  and  the 
battle  was  a  six  miles'  pursuit  oi  the  wildly  flving  masses. 

A  semicircle  of  peasants  gathered  rouna  me,  ready  with  conflicting 
answers  to  any  questions  that  occurred  as  I  read.  Fifty  years  aftier  the 
battle  of  Plassey  the  river  had  completely  eaten  away  the  field  on  which  it 
was  fought.  "  Every  trace  is  obliterated,"  wrote  a  traveller  in  1801,  "and 
a  few  miserable  huts  overhanging  the  water  are  the  only  remains  of  the 
celebrated  Plassey."  In  a  later  caprice  the  river  deserted  the  bank,  which 
it  had  thus  cut  away,  and  made  a  plunge  to  the  opposite  or  western  side. 
The  still  water  which  it  left  on  the  eastern  bank  soon  covered  with  deep 
silt  the  site  of  the  battlefield  that  it  had  once  engulfed.  Acres  of  new  allu- 
vial formations,  meadows,  slopes,  and  green  flats  gently  declining  to  the 
river,  take  the  place  of  Olive's  mango  grove  and  the  Nawab's  encampment 
The  wandering  priest,  who  served  the  shrines  under  the  tree,  presented  me 
with  an  old-fashioned  leaden  bullet  which  he  said  a  late  flood  had  laid  bare. 

Some  distance  above  Plassey  lies  Murshidabad,  once  the  Mohammedan 
metropolis  of  Lower  Bengal,  now  the  last  city  on  the  river  of  ruined  capi- 
tals.   Here,  too,  the  decay  of  the  channel  would  have  sufficed  to  destroy  itf 


i:A 


TEE   mtOlt.-^A    MVJSM    OF   BVtl^tb    GAPiTALS.  293 

Old  trade.  Bat  a  swifter  agent  of  change  wrought  the  ruin  of  Mnrshidabad. 
The  cannon  of  Plassey  sounded  its  doom.  The  present  Nawab,  a  courteous, 
sad-eyed  representative  of  the  Mohammedan  Viceroys  from  whom  we  took 
over  Bengtu,  kindly  lent  me  one  of  his  empty  palaces.  The  two  English- 
men whom  His  Highness  most  earnestly  inquired  after  were  the  Prince  of 
Wales  and  Mr.  Boberts,  Jun.  Indeed  he  was  good  enough  to  show  me 
some  pretty  fancy  strokes  which  he  had  learned  from  the  champion  billiard- 
player.  Next  evening  I  looked  down  from  the  tower  of  the  great  mosque 
on  a  green  stretch  of  woodland,  which  Glive  described  as  a  city  as  large 
and  populous  as  London.  The  palaces  of  the  nobles  had  given  place  to 
brick  houses;  the  brick  houses  to  mud  cottages;  the  mud  cottages  to  mat 
huts;  the  mat  huts  to  straw  hovels.  A  poor  and  struggling  population 
was  invisible  somewhere  around  me,  but  in  dwellings  so  mean  as  to  be 
buried  under  the  palms  and  brushwood.  A  wreck  of  a  city  with  bazaars 
and  streets  was  there.  Yet,  looking  down  from  the  tower,  scarce  a  build- 
ing, save  the  Nawab's  palace,  rose  above  the  surface  of  the  jungle. 

Of  all  the  cities  and  capitals  that  man  has  built  upon  the  Hugli,  only 
one  can  now  be  reached  by  sea-going  ships.  The  sole  survival  is  Calcutta. 
The  long  story  of  ruin  compels  us  to  ask  whether  the  same  fate  hangs  over 
the  capital  of  British  India.  Above  Calcutta,  the  headwaters  of  the  Hugli 
still  silt  up,  and  are  essentially  decaying  rivers.  Below  Calcutta,  the  pres- 
ent channel  of  the  Damodar  enters  the  Hugli  at  so  acute  an  angle  that  it 
has  thrown  up  the  James  and  Mary  Sands,  the  most  dangerous  river-shoal 
known  to  navigation.  The  combined  discharges  of  the  Damodar  and  Bup- 
narayan  rivers  join  the  Hugli,  close  to  each  from  the  same  bank.  Their 
intrusive  mass  of  water  arrests  the  flow  of  the  Hugli  current,  and  so  causes 
it  to  deposit  its  silt,  thus  forming  the  James  and  Mary.  In  1854  a  com- 
mittee of  experts  reported  by  a  majority  that,  while  modem  ships  required 
a  greater  depth  of  water,  the  Hugli  channels  had  deteriorated,  and  that 
their  deterioration  woidd  under  existing  conditions  go  on.  The  capital 
of  British  India  was  brought  face  to  face  with  the  question  whether  it 
would  succumb,  as  every  previous  capital  on  the  river  had  succumbed,  to 
the  forces  of  nature,  or  whether  it  would  fight  them.  In  1793  a  similar 
question  had  arisen  in  regard  to  a  project  for  reopening  the  old  mouth  of 
tne  Damodar  above  Calcutta.  In  the  last  century  the  Government  decided, 
and  with  its  then  meagre  resources  of  engineering  wisely  decided,  not  to 
fight  nature.  In  the  present  century  the  Government  has  decided,  and  with 
the  enlarged  resources  of  modem  engineering  has  wisely  decided,  to  take 
up  the  gage  of  battle. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  marvellous  stmggles  between  science  and  nature 
virhich  the  world  has  ever  seen.  In  this  article  I  have  had  to  exhibit  man 
18  beaten  at  every  point ;  on  another  opportunity  I  may  perhaps  present 
he  new  aspects  of  the  conflict.    On  the  one  side  nature  is  the  stronger ; 


m  tMk    UBUAkY    ifAGA^lM. 

on  the  other  side  science  is  more  intelligent.  It  is  a  war  between  brute 
force  and  human  strategy,  carried  on  not  by  mere  isolated  fights,  but  by 
perennial  campaigns  spread  over  wide  territories.  Science  finds  that 
although  she  cannot  control  nature,  yet  that  she  can  outwit  and  circumvent 
her.  As  regards  the  headwaters  above  Calcutta,  it  is  not  possible  to  coerce 
the  spill-streams  of  the  Ganges,  but  it  is  possible  to  coax  and  train  them 
along  the  desired  channels.  As  regards  the  Hugli  below  Calcutta,  all  that 
can  be  eflfected  by  vigilance  in  watching  the  shoals  and  by  skill  in  evad- 
ing them  is  accomplished.  The  deterioration  of  the  channels  seems  for 
the  time  to  be  arrested.  But  Calcutta  has  deliberately  faced  the  fact  that 
the  forces  of  tropical  nature  may  any  year  overwhelm  and  wreck  the  deli- 
cate contrivances  of  man.  She  has,  therefore,  thrown  out  two  advanced 
works  in  the  form  of  railways  towards  the  coast.  One  of  these  rail- 
ways taps  the  Hugli  where  it  expands  into  an  estuary  below  the  perilous 
James  and  Mary  shoal.  The  other  runs  south-east  to  a  new  and  deep  river, 
the  Matla.  Calcutta  now  sits  calmly,  although  with  no  false  sense  of 
security,  in  her  state  of  siege ;  fightmg  for  her  ancient  waterway  to  the 
last,  but  provided  with  alternate  routes  from  the  sea,  even  if  the  Hugli 
should  perish.  Sedet  aetemumque  seddnL — SiR  W.  W.  HUNTSB,  in  The 
Nineteenth  Century^ 


THE   MODEL. 
I. 

I  ATTEMPTED  in  a  former  essay  to  show  that  figurative  art  implies  a 
certain  relation  between  realism  and  idealism,  which  varies  according  to 
the  volition  of  the  artist.*  In  other  words,  the  artist  cannot  avoid  modify- 
ing his  imitation  of  the  chosen  object  by  the  infusion  of  his  own  subjective 
quality ;  but  he  is  at  liberty  to  reduce  this  subjective  element  to  a  minimum, 
or,  on  the  other  hand,  to  regard  it  as  his  chief  concern.  Human  art  is 
unable  to  reproduce  nature,  except  upon  such  terms  as  these.  It  cannot 
draw  as  accurately  as  the  sun  does  by  means  o£  the  photographic  camera. 
It  cannot  render  dialogue  with  the  fidelity  of  a  phonograph.  At  the  same 
time  it  is  obliged  to  import  something  which  external  nature  does  not 
possess,  something  which  belongs  exclusively  to  the  spirit  of  man,  into  all 
its  transcripts  from  the  world  around  us. 

To  say  that  art  is  superior  to  nature,  would  be  an  impertinence.  Yet 
art  has  a  sphere  separate  from  and  beyond  nature,  which  belongs  to  ideas, 
to  emotions,  to  sentiments,  to  the  region  of  the  human  spirit.     Thi»  sphere 

(*)  See  arfcide  on  '*  Bealism  and  Ideftlu«|ii,''iii  the  Libbabt  Maoazinb,  NoTeilib<6r)fe87. 


THS    MODEL.  295 

is  not  alien  to  nature :  indeed  it  id  the  highest  thing  known  to  ns  in  the 
universe  of  being,  the  specific  property  of  man,  who  is  himself  a  part  of 
nature. 

n. 

Those  who  have  attentively  studied  a  fine  nude  model,  observing  the 
gradations  of  color,  the  play  of  light  and  shadow  upon  the  surface  of  the 
flesh,  attending  to  the  intricate  details  of  muscular  and  bony  structure  thus 
revealed,  marMng  the  thrill  of  life  in  pulse  and  respiration  and  slight  altera- 
tions of  attitude,  such  students  will  perforce  concede  that  no  drawing, 
whether  it  be  by  the  hand  of  Leonanio  da  Vinci  or  of  Ingres,  can  bear 
comparison  with  the  living  miracle  displayed  before  them.  In  so  far  as 
the  drawing  conscientiously  portrays  the  model,  it  calls  forth  admiration 
by  its  exhibition  of  the  draughtsman's  skill ;  it  instructs  a  learner  by  the 
revelation  of  his  method.  Yet  it  remains  a  poor  and  feeble  shadow  of  the 
truth.  Art,  we  say,  is  immeasurably  below  fact,  so  long  as  it  attempts  to 
rival  the  glow  and  richness  of  the  hving  man  by  its  mere  shadow  scneme 
of  imitation. 

In  a  second  degree  such  drawings  are  inferior  to  really  careful  photographs 
from  the  nude.  I  have  before  me  a  reproduction  of  the  celebrated  study 
of  two  naked  men,  which  Baphael  sent  as  a  specimen  of  his  skill  to  Albert 
Diirer,  and  also  a  photograph  from  a  model  in  almost  exactly  the  same 
position  as  one  of  Baphaers  figures.  The  model  in  my  photograph  is 
somewhat  coarse  and  vulgar.  Yet  no  one,  on  comparing  these  two  forms 
(the  era^on  study  and  the  photograph),  can  fail,  I  think,  to  acknowledge  the 
superiority  of  the  most  literal  transcript  from  nature.  Cunning  as  was 
Baphael's  craft,  there  is  slovenly  drawing  in  the  liands  and  feet,  exaggerated 
markings  in  the  knee-joints,  unmeaning  salience  of  muscle  on  the  back, 
and  a  too  violent  curve  in  the  outline  of  the  belly.  The  sun  drew  better 
than  Baphael ;  and  the  photograph  of  this  common  model  is  more  delight- 
ful to  look  at,  because  more  adequate  to  the  infinite  subtlety  of  nature,  than 
the  masterpiece  of  the  great  draughtsman  of  Urbino.  Every  detail  of  the 
body  here  is  right,  and  in  right  relation  to  the  whole ;  every  sinew  explains 
itself  without  effort  and  without  emphasis;  and  the  ripple  of  light  and 
shadow  over  the  whole  fiesh-surface  exhibits  vital  energy  in  a  way  which 
no  work  of  art  has  ever  done. 

It  will,  however,  be  objected  that  to  contrast  a  chalk  drawing  with  a 
photograph  from  nature  is  not  fair.  The  former  must  always,  to  some 
extent,  resemble  a  diagram,  while  the  latter  represents  at  least  the  fullness 
and  completeness  of  life.  I  therefore  pass  on  to  a  third  degree  of  compari- 
son; ana  for  this  purpose  I  will  select  companion  reproductions  by 
photography  of  Flandritf  s  famous  study  in  the  Luxemboui^  and  of  a  living 
"lodel  in  the  same  attitude.    (Flandrin's  famous  study  in  oil,  it  will  be 


296  THE    LIBBABT   MAQAZINK 

remembered,  represents  a  young  man  seated  naked  on  a  rock  above  the 
sea,  with  a  craggy  line  of  coast  in  the  far  distance.  His  legs  are  gathered 
up  to  the  belly,  and  clasped  with  both  hands  above  the  ankfes;  his  head  is 
bent  upon  the  knees,  so  that  nothing  of  the  facial  expression  is  visible.) 
Any  unfairness  in  this  comparison  will  certainly  be  to  the  injury  of  the 
model ;  for  Fiandrin's  picture  has  all  the  advantage  of  the  most  consum- 
mate brush  work,  and  of  the  most  careful  attention  to  light  and  shade  upon 
flesh  surfaces.  It  is  in  fact  an  elaborate  oil-painting  of  high  technical  excel- 
lence and  elevated  style.  My  photograph  from  the  model  is  a  compara- 
tively poor  one ;  the  subject  has  not  been  selected  with  care,  and  the  print 
is  flat.  Yet  I  learn  from  it  innumerable  niceties  which  Flandrin  has  not 
worked  out — something  about  the  spring  and  strain  of  tendons  in  the  wrist 
and  forearm  where  the  hand  is  clasped ;  something  about  the  wrinkles  in 
the  belly  caused  by  the  forward  bending  of  the  back ;  something  about  the 
prolongation  of  the  muscles  of  the  pleura  due  to  the  stretching  of  the  arm 
in  that  position.  The  model,  moreover,  is  more  interesting,  more  rich  in 
suggestions  of  vital  energv  and  movement.  From  the  point  of  view  of 
uncompromising  realism,  there  can  be  no  doubt  which  is  the  more  satisfactory 
performance.  The  photograph  of  the  model  is  second,  the  photograph  of 
the  picture  is  third,  in  its  remove  from  nature,  from  reality,  from  truth. 
If  the  aim  of  art  be  to  render  a  literal  image  of  the  object,  then  the  art 
of  the  camera  in  this  competition  bears  away  the  palm. 

Nevertheless  there  is  equally  no  doubt  that  Flandrin's  study  is  a  painted 
poem,  while  the  photograph  of  the  nude  model  is  only  what  one  may  see 
any  morning  if  one  gets  a  well-made  youth  to  strip  and  pose.  What  then 
gives  Flandxin's  picture  its  value  as  an  artistic  product,  as  a  painted  poem  ? 
It  tells  no  story,  has  no  obvious  intention ;  the  painter  clearly  meant  it  to 
be  as  perfect  a  transcript  from  the  nude,  as  near  to  the  vraie  v6nt6  of  nature, 
as  he  could  make  it.  The  answer  is  that,  although  he  may  not  have  sought 
to  idealize,  although  he  did  not  seek  to  express  a  definite  thought,  his  pic- 
ture is  penetrated  with  spiritual  quality.  In  passing  through  the  artistes 
mind,  this  form  of  a  mere  model  has  been  transfigurea.  While  it  has  lost 
something  of  the  vivacity  and  salient  truth  of  nature,  it  has  acquired  per- 
manence, dignity,  repose,  elevation.  It  has  become  "  a  thing  of  beauty,  a 
joy  for  ever,"  in  a  sense  in  which  no  living  person,  however  far  more  attrac- 
tive, more  interesting,  more  multiformly  charming,  can  be  described  by 
these  terms. 

m. 

Art  will  never  match  the  infinite  variety  and  subtlety  of  nature;  no 
drawing  or  painting  will  equal  the  primary  beauties  of  tne  living  model. 
We  cannot  paint  a  tree  as  lovely  as  the  tree  upon  the  field  in  sunlight  is. 
We  cannot  carve  a  naked  man  as  wonderful  as  the  youth  stripped  there 


THE    MODEL.  297 

• 

upon  the  river's  bank  before  his  plunge  into  the  water.  Therefore  the 
thorough-going  Eealist  ought  frankfy  to  abandon  figurative  art,  and  to  con- 
tent his  soul  with  the  exhibition  and  contemplation  of  actual  nature.  This, 
however,  is  not  the  conclusion  to  which  our  argument  leads;  for  after  we 
have  admitted  the  relative  inferiority  of  art  to  nature,  we  know  that  art 
has  qualities,  all  of  them  derived  from  the  intellectual,  selective,  imagina- 
tive faculties  of  man,  which  more  than  justify  its  existence. 

The  brain,  by  interposing  its  activity  in  however  slight  a  degree  between 
the  object  and  the  representation  is  oound  to  interpret,  and  in  so  far  to 
idealize.  The  primary  reality  of  the  model,  the  secondary  reality  of  the 
photographic  portrait,  are  exchanged  for  reality  as  the  artist's  mind  and 
neart  have  conceived  it.  Thus  what  a  man  sees  and  feels  in  the  world 
around  him,  what  he  selects  from  it,  and  how  he  presents  it,  constitute  the 
differentia  of  art.  He  may  falsify  or  faithfully  report,  elevate  or  degrade, 
eliminate  the  purest  form  from  nature,  or  produce  a  grotesque  satire  of  her 
most  beautiful  creations.  This  free  and  volitional  intervention  of  the  artist's 
mind  between  the  object  and  the  figured  representation  makes  him  an  inter- 
preter; it  invests  all  works  of  art  with,  some  mood,  some  tone,  some  sugges- 
tion of  human  thought  and  emotion.  The  imported  element  of  subjectivity 
will  be  definite  or  vague,  according  to  the  intensity  of  the  artist's  character, 
and  according  to  the  amount  of  purpose  or  conviction  which  he  felt  while 
working;  it  will  be  genial  or  repellent,  tender  or  austere,  humane  or  bar- 
barous, depraving  or  ennobling,  chaste  or  licentious,  sensual  or  spiritual, 
according  to  the  bias  of  his  temperament. 

Now  it  is  just  this  intervention  of  a  thinking,  feeling  subjectivity  which 
makes  Flandrin's  study  of  the  young  man  alone  upon  the  rock  a  painted 
poem.  We  may  not,  while  looking  at  this  pictuie,  be  quite  sure  what  the 
meaning  of  the  poem  is ;  different  minds,  as  in  the  case  of  musical  melody, 
will  be  affected  oy  it  in  divers  ways.  To  me,  for  instance,  the  picture  sug- 
gests resignation,  the  mystery  of  fate,  the  calm  of  acquiescence;  the  ocean 
which  surrounds  that  solitary  form,  and  the  distant  coast-line,  add  undoubt- 
edly to  the  imaginative  impression.  These  accessories  are  absent  in  the 
photograph  of  the  model,  wnich  only  suggests  the  interior  of  a  studio. 
Yet  we  might  transfer  the  model  to  a  real  rock,  with  the  same  scene  of  sea 
and  coast  painted  behind  him  for  a  background ;  or  better,  we  might  place 
him  in  position  on  some  spur  of  Capri's  promontories  with  the  Sorrentine 
headland  for  background ;  but  in  neither  case  should  we  obtain  the  result 
achieved  by  Flandrin.  A  photograph  from  the  model  in  these  circum- 
stances would  not  influence  our  mind  in  the  same  manner.  The  beautv  of 
the  study  might  be  even  greater ;  the  truth  to  fact,  to  nature's  infinite 
variety  of  structure  in  the  living  body,  would  be  undoubtedly  more  strik- 
'ng ;  the  emotion  stirred  in  us  might  be  more  pungent,  and  our  interest 
nore  vivid;  yet  something,  that  indeed  which  makes  the  poem,  would 


298  THE    LIBBABY   MAGAZINE. 

have  clisa{)peared.  Instead  of  being  toned  to  the  artisf  s  mood  by  sympathy 
with  the  ideas — ^vague  but  deep  as  tnelody — which  the  intervention  of  his 
mind  imports  into  the  subject,  we  shoulcL  dwell  upon  the  vigor  of  adoles- 
cent manhood,  we  should  be  curious  perhaps  to  see  the  youth  spring  up, 
we  should  wonder  how  his  lifted  eyes  might  gaze  on  us,  and  what  nis  silent 
lips  might  utter. 

IV, 

Through  the  art  of  the  sculptor  and  the  painter  the  human  form  acquires 
a  language,  inexhaustible  in  symbolism ;  every  limb,  every  feature,  eveir 
attitude,  being  a  word  full  of  significance  to  those  who  comprehena. 
Through  him  a  well-shaped  hand,  or  throat,  or  head,  a  neck  superbly  poised 
on  an  athletic  chest,  the  sway  of  the  trunk  above  the  hips,  the  starting  of 
the  muscles  on  the  flank,  the  tendons  of  the  ankle  strained  for  speed,  the 
outline  of  the  shoulder  when  the  arm  is  raised,  the  backward  bending  of 
the  loins,  the  contours  of  a  body  careless  in  repose  or  girt  for  action,  are  all 
pregnant  with  spiritual  meaning.  It  is  not  necessary  that  the  artist  should 
seek  to  express  ideas  while  studying  and  reproducing  them.  It  is  enough 
that  he  has  felt  them,  thought  them  out,  passed  them  through  the  alembic 
of  his  mind.  Paint  or  carve  the  body  of  a  man  and,  as  you  do  this  nobly, 
you  will  give  the  measure  of  both  highest  thought  and  most  impassioned 
deed;  as  you  do  this  ignobly  you  will  suggest  evil  lusts,  animal  grossness, 
or  contemptible  deformities.  The  artist,  owing  to  the  conditions  under 
which  he  works,  cannot  fail  to  be  an  interpreter;  unable  to  reproduce  the 
object  as  it  is  he  must  reproduce  what  his  own  self  brings  to  it. 

Style  is  thus  an  all-important  factor  in  what  I  have  called  interpretation, 
and  upon  which  the  ideal  element  of  art  depends.  Style  has  been  defined 
as  equivalent  to  the  specific  qualities  of  the  individual — Le  style  c'est 
rkomme.  Style  has  also  been  described  as  a  re-casting  or  remoulding  of  the 
stuff  of  thought.  In  the  figurative  arts  style  passes  form  through  tne  cru- 
cible of  a  mind  which  perceives  its  qualities  in  some  specific  way;  style 
infuses  the  man,  the  spiritual  nature  of  the  artist,  into  his  reproduction  of 
the  object.  Style  is  what  a  sentient  being,  when  he  tries  to  imitate,  cannot 
help  adding  to  the  thing  he  renders;  it  is  what  obliges  the  artistic  tran- 
script to  affect  our  minds  quite  otherwise  than  the  thing  in  nature  does. 

These  considerations  might  be  pursued  into  the  subtlest  and  remotest 
regions.  Art  being  essentially  "  form-giving,"  and  the  form  being  deter- 
mined by  the  artist's  specific  power  of  selection,  and  preference  for  some 
one  aspect  or  another  of  the  material  supplied  by  nature,  it  follows  that  no 
two  men  can  treat  the  s  ame  subject  in  the  same  way.  Each  individual, 
to  put  this  point  somewhat  differently,  has  his  own  style ;  and  the  exercise 
of  style  renders  his  work  not  only  a  copy  of  the  thing  perceived,  but  alsc 


f 


^B£    INUNDATION   IN    CHINA.  290 

an  expression  of  aaality  in  the  peroeiving  person.  To  eliminate  the  ideal 
element  from  art,  tne  element  of  style,  the  element  of  interpretation  is  there- 
fore utterly  impossible.  What  we  call  the  successive  manners  of  the  same 
master  are  mainly  the  result  of  changes  in  his  way  of  thinking  and  feeling, 
which  have  necessitated  corresponding  changes  in  his  interpretation  of 
nature.  Compare  Raphael's  treatment  of  the  female  nude  in  his  small  panel 
of  the  Three  Graces  (once  in  Lord  Dudley's,  now  in  the  Due  d'Aumale's 
possession)  with  his  treatment  of  the  female  nnde  in  the  Famesina  frescoes, 
and  you  will  perceive  how  the  man's  emotional  and  intellectual  attitude  had 
alteira  between  the  period  of  his  first  and  that  of  his  third  manner. — John 
Addikgton  Syhonds,  in  The  Fortnightly  Beview. 


THE  INUNDATION  IN  CHINA. 

Even'  in  Asia,  where  everything  is  immoderate,  where  a  forest  covers 
kingdoms,  a  river  deposits  a  country  in  a  decade,  and  man  ^rows  feeble  from 
an  abiding  sense  that  Nature  is  too  strong  for  him,  tnere  has  been  no 
calamity  in  our  time  at  once  so  terrible  and  so  dramatic  as  the  bursting  of 
the  Yellow  River  on  September  27,  1887.  It  exceeds  in  its  extent  if  not 
in  the  separateness  of  its  horror,  the  submerging  of  the  island  of  Deccan 
Shahbazpore  in  1876,  when  a  storm- wave  in  two  hours  swept  off  three 
hundred  thousand  human  beings. 

The  Hoang-Ho,  or  "Yellow  River,"  larger  and  swifter  than  the  Ganges, 
and  containing  more  water  perhaps  than  five  Danubes,  bears  to  the  immense 
province  called   Honan,  which  is  ten  thousand  square  miles  larger  than 
England  and  Wales,  much  the  relation  borne  by  tne  Po  towards  the  Lom- 
bard Plain — at  once  a  blessing  and  scourge.    Its  waters  originally  created 
the  lowlands  of  the  province  by  depositing  silt  through  ages,  and  they  are 
now  their  torment.     The  alluvial  land,  once  above  the  water,  is  rich  with  a 
richness  of  which  Englishmen  have  no  experience,  being  covered  with  a 
thick  pad  of  yellow  mould  a  hundred  feet  or  more  deep,  on  which  every- 
thing will  grow,  from  the  teak-tree  to  the  pineapple,  yielding,  when  planted 
with  rice,  one  hundred  and  sixty  fold,  and  m  places  producing,  almost  with- 
'>ut  manure  and  with  light  ploughing,  two  full  crops  a  year.    No  people 
iving  by  agriculture  can  resist  the  temptation  of  such   a  soil,  and  for 
ges  the  Chinese — of  all  races  in  the  world  the  most  instinctivelv  agricul- 
iiral — have  swarmed  to  these  lowlands,  to  find  that,  in  spite  of  all  their 
frofits,  they  must  embank  the  river  or  perish. 

The  surplus  water  of  autumn,  probably,  like  that  of  the  Ganges,  nine 

imes  the  regular  outflow,  rushing  down  in  huge  masses  from  the  hills  at  a 

leed  of  twdve  miles  an  hour,  pouis  its  overspill  over  whole  countries. 


300  TEE    LIBRARY    MAGAZINE. 

drowning  everything  not  ten  feet  above  the  river-level,  and  when  it  tetixes, 
leaves,  besides  a  deposit  fatal  to  one  year's  crop,  an  unendurable  variety 
of  fever.  Down  go  whole  populations  at  once,  not  dead,  but  paralyzed  for 
work  and  with  their  constitutions  ruined. 

The  Chinese,  who  in  their  courage  for  labor  are  a  grand  people,  fought 
the  river,  embanked  it,  and  for  two  thousand  years  at  least  reaped  enor- 
mous harvests  from  the  protected  soil.  Every  two  centuries  or  so,  how- 
ever, the  river,  rising  in  its  strength  like  a  malignant  genius,  swept  every 
barrier  away,  cut  for  itself  a  new  bed — ^nine  such  beds  are  known — and 
ruined  a  province ;  but  the  people  swarm  in  again,  the  new  work  is  easier 
at  first,  and  the  land  is  agam  recovered  from  the  vast  lagoons.  The  last 
outburst  occurred  twenty-five  years  ago ;  but  the  Chinese  still  persevered, 
immense  dykes  were  completed,  and  the  province  once  more  became  a 
garden. 

There  is,  however,  a  difl&culty  in  embanking  any  river  carrying  huge 
deposits.  The  water  not  onlv  deposits  silt  where  it  debouches,  but  all 
along  its  course ;  and  if  it  is  shut  in  by  embankments,  the  bed  of  the  river 
incessantly  rises  higher,  until  at  last  it  is  far  above  the  plain.  The  bed  of 
the  Po,  for  example,  is  in  places  forty  feet  above  the  rice-lands,  and  some 
of  the  dykes  of  tne  Mississippi  are  like  artificial  hills.  The  Yellow  River, 
from  the  enormous  rapidity  of  its  volume  when  swollen  by  melted  snow,  is 
the  worst  of  offenders  in  this  respect ;  its  new  bed,  even  in  twentv-five 
years,  has  risen  far  above  the  plain,  and  as  the  dykes  grow  from  hillocks 
into  hills,  from  mere  walls  into  ranges  of  earthworks  like  fortress-sides, 
hundreds  of  miles  long,  the  effort  overtaxes  the  skill  of  the  engineers,  and 
the  perseverance  even  of  Chinese  laborers.  The  ablest  engineers  in  India 
were  beaten  by  the  Damoodah,  though  it  is,  compared  with  the  Hoang-Ho, 
like  a  trumpery  European  stream,  and  though  the  labor  available  could 
hardly  be  exnausted. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that,  in  all  such  cases,  the  upper  sections  of 
the  dykes  cost  too  much  for  complete  repair,  and  tend  to  be  inadequate ;  and 
when  the  Yellow  River,  gorged  with  water  from  the  mountains  till  it  forms 
in  reality  a  gigantic  reservoir,  averaging  a  mile  broad,  from  three  to  five 
hundred  miles  long,  and  seventy  feet  aeep,  all  suspended  in  air  by  artificial 
supports,  comes  rushing  down  in  autumn,  the  slightest  weakness  in  those 
supports  is  fatal. 

On  September  27th  the  river  was  at  its  fullest,  its  speed  was  at  its  high 
est,  there  was  almost  certainly  a  driving  wind  from  the  West,  a  bit  of  dyke 
gave  way,  the  rent  spread  for  1,200  yards,  and — our  readers  remember,  foi 
Charles  Reade  described  it,  the  rush  into  Sheffield  of  the  Holmfirth  reser 
voir.  Multiply  that,  if  you  can,  by  two  thousand,  add  exhaustless  renewals 
of  the  water  from  behind — ^five  Danubes  pouring  from  a  height  for  tw( 
months  on  end — ^and  instead  of  a  long  valley  with  nigh  sides  which  can  b< 


THE    INUNDATION    IN    CHINA.  301 

leached,  think  of  a  vast,  open  plain,  flat  as  Salisbury  Plain,  but  studded 
with  three  thousand  villages,  all  swarming  as  English  villages  never  swarm : 
and  you  may  gain  a  conception  of  a  scene  hardly  rivalled  since  the  Deluge. 
The  torrent,  it  is  known,  in  its  first  and  grandest  rush,  though  throwing  out 
rivers  every  moment  at  every  incline  of  the  land,  had  for  its  centre  a 
stream  thirty  miles  wide  and  ten  feet  deep,  traveling  probably  at  twenty 
miles  an  hour, — ^a  force  as  irresistible  as  that  of  lava.  No  tree  could  last 
ten  minutes,  no  house  five,  the  very  soil  would  be  carried  away  as  by  a 
supernatural  ploughshare ;  and  as  for  man — ^an  ant  in  a  broken  stop-cock 
in  a  London  street  would  be  more  powerful  than  he.  Swim  ?  As  well 
wrestle  with  the  Holyhead  express.  Fly  ?  It  takes  hours  in  such  a  plain 
to  reach  a  hillock  three  feet  ni^h,  the  water  the  while  pouring  on  raster 
than  a  hunter's  gallop.  There  is  no  more  escape  from  such  a  flood  than 
there  is  escape  from  the  will  of  God,  and  those  Chinese  who  refused  even 
to  struggle  were  the  happiest  of  all,  because  the  quickest  dead.  Over  a 
territory  of  ten  thousana  square- miles,  or  two  Yorkshires  at  least  (for  the 
missionaries  report  a  wider  area),  over  thousands  of  villages — three  thou- 
sand certainly,  even  if  the  capital  is  not  gone,  as  is  believed — the  soft 
water  passed,  silently  strangling  every  living  thing,  the  cows  and  the  sheep 
as  well  as  their  owners ;  and  for  ourselves,  who  have  seen  the  scene  only 
on  a  petty  scale,  we  doubt  whether  the  "  best  informed  European  in 
Fekin "  is  not  right  when  he  calculates  the  destruction  of  life  at  seven 
miUions,  and  whether  the  Times*  reporter  is  not  too  fearful  of  being  taken 
for  a  romancer  when  he  reduces  it  to  one  or  two  millions.  These  ^at 
villages  are  crammed  with  population,  and  alive  with  children ;  the  wnole 
water  of  the  Hoang-Ho  has  been  pouring  on  them  for  two  months,  none 
reaching  the  sea ;  and  even  by  the  highest  estimate  the  dead  are  fewer  than 
those  who  died  of  starvation  a  few  years  ago  in  the  famine  of  the  two 
Sbans.  In  Asia,  kingdoms  and  capitals  have  perished  of  pestilence,  as 
Cambodia  probably,  and  Gour  certainly  did;  and  there  is  no  reason, 
the  physical  conditions  being  favorable,  why  equal  multitudes  should  not 
perish  in  a  flood. 

What  is  the  remedy  ?     What  is  the  remedy  for  an  earthquake  ?    There 
is  no  remedy.    In  that  division  of  Honan,  a  generation  has  been  swept 
away  by  a  fiat  stronger  than  man's,  which  has  concentrated  into  two  months 
the  natural  and  inevitable  slaughter  of  fifty  years.    The  Chinese  Govern- 
ment, which  can  be  stirred  by  some  things,  and  which,  when  stirred,  has  an 
elephantine  energy,  has  given  £500,000  from  the  central  treasury  to  repair 
^,he  dykes,  and,  as  we  read  the  orders,  the  whole  revenue  of  Honan  till  the 
vork  is  completed ;  has  stopped  32,000,000  lbs.  of  rice  on  its  way  to  the 
apital  and  given  it  to  the  survivors,  and  has  ordered  all  who  are  ruined, 
ut  not  dead,  to  work  at  once  on  the  dykes  under  militaiy  discipline.     The 
borers  will  not  be  paid,  but  they  will  be  fed ;  the .  Chinese  engineers 


302  THE    LIBBABY   MAGAZINE. 

understand  hydraulics  fairly  well ;  the  channel  being  new,  the  embankments 
need  not  be  cyclopean  at  first — ^though,  be  it  remembered,  the  river  of 
itself  rises  certainly  twenty  feet  in  autumn ; — and  at  the  cost  of  about  as 
many  lives  as  were  sacrificed  on  the  Suez  Canal,  and  which  will  Call  victims 
to  the  malaria  developed  as  the  waters  retire,  the  Yellow  Eiver  will  for 
another  generation  be  chained  up  once  more.  The  old  attraction  will  then 
prove  irresistible ;  all  husbandmen  without  land  for  three  hundred  miles 
on  each  side  oP  the  river  will  silently  steal  in  to  settle  on  the  alluvium, 
fruit-trees  will  be  planted,  rice  will  be  sown,  and  in  five  years  life  in  Honan 
will  be  proceeding  exactly  as  before,  as  it  does  on  the  slopes  of  Vesuvius 
after  an  eruption. 

For  the  past,  however,  there  is  no  remedy,  and  for  the  future  little  hope. 
Nothing,  if  the  river  is  simply  dyked,  can  prevent  its  destroying  the  dykes 
when  they  reach  a  certain  height;  for  the  work,  increasing  every  year, 
must  at  some  point  overpower  the  resources  of  any  State.  If  the  Chinese 
Grovemment  could  cut  a  broad  and  deep  canal  for  three  hundred  miles  to 
the  ocean,  or  build,  amid  the  hills  from  which  the  water  flowis,  a  reservoir 
vast  as  an  inland  sea,  or  construct  a  second  line  of  dykes  on  each  side  five 
hundred  yards  from  the  water,  the  overspill  of  the  Yellow  Biver  might  be 
drained  away  in  sufficient  time  to  arrest  grand  catastrophes;  but  that 
Government  is  at  once  too  fatalistic  and  too  weak  for  such  gigantic  efforts, 
and  will  be  content  if  it  can  only  secure  safety  for  its  own  generation,  leaving 
the  next  to  suffer  or  escape,  as  may  please  the  unknown  powers.  It  is  use- 
less for  Europeans  to  aavise,  or  even  to  mourn,  for  they  can  do  nothing, 
except,  indeed,  reflect  that  for  the  safety  of  their  own  civilizations,  perhaps 
for  part  of  the  greatness  of  their  town  minds,  they  are  indebtea  to  the 
pettiness  of  scale  on  which  their  temperate  dwelling-place  has  been  con- 
structed. We  owe  everything  to  the  comparative  insignificance  of  the 
works  of  Nature  in  Europe.  One  can  dyke  the  Thames,  but  not  the 
Yellow  Biver ;  tunnel  the  Alps,  but  not  the  Himalayas.— ^Sjpecto^. 


THE  PROGEESS  OF  CREMATION. 

In  January,  1874,  fourteen  years  a^o,  I  wrote  an  article,  which  appeared 
in  the  Contemporary  jBcvtcii;,  entitled  "Cremation:  the  Treatment  of  the 
Body  after  Death,"  advocating  as  forcibly  as  I  could  its  employment  instead 
of  tne  method  by  burial  in  the  soil.  The  reason  assigned  for  taking  this 
step  was  my  belief— -supported  by  a  striking  array  of  facts — that  cremation 
is  now  a  necessary  sanitary  precaution  against  the  propagation  of  disease 
among  a  population  rapialy  increasing,  and  becommg  large  in  relation  to 
the  area  it  occupies. 


1  J 


THE    PB0QBE88    OF    CREMATION.  303 

Tbe  degree  of  attention  which  this  proposal  aroused  was  remarkable, 
not  only  here  bat  abroad,  the  paper  being  translated  into  several  European 
languages.  In  the  course  of  the  first  six  months  of  that  year  I  received 
eight  hundred  letters  on  the  subject,  from  persons  mostly  unknown  to  me, 
requiring  objections  to  be  answered,  explanations  to  be  given,  supposed 
consequences  to  be  provided  for;  some,  indeed,  accompanied  with  much 
bitter  criticism  on  tne  "  pagan,"  "  anti-Christian,"  if  not  altogether  irre- 
ligious tendency  of  the  plan.  I  was  encouraged,  however,  to  find  that 
about  a  fourth  of  the  number  were  more  or  less  friendly  to  the  proposal. 
But  1  confess  I  had  been  scarcely  prepared  to  expect  that  people  in  general 
would  be  so  much  startled  by  it,  as  if  it  were  a  novelty  nitherto  unheard 
of.  Long  familiar  with  it  in  thought  myself,  cherishing  a  natural  pre- 
ference, on  sanitary  grounds,  for  its  obviously  great  superiority  to  burial, 
and  after  thoughtful  comparison  on  those  also  commonly  regarded  as 
'^sentimental,"  the  opposition  manifested  appeared  to  me  curiouslv  out  of 

Eroportion  with  the  importance  of  the  interests  or  sentiments  I  had  per- 
aps  underestimated.  Even  the  few  who  approved  yielded  for  the  most 
part  a  weak  assent  to  the  confident  assertion  of  a  host  of  opponents,  that 
whatever  might  be  the  fate  of  the  theory,  anv  realization  of  it  could  never 
at  all  events  occur  in  our  time.  To  use  a  phrase  invented  since  that  date, 
the  proposal  was  not  to  be  regarded  as  coming  within  the  range  of  a  prac- 
tical policy.  At  some  future  day,  when  the  world's  population  had  largely 
increased,  we  might  possibly  be  driven  to  submit  to  such  a  process,  but, 
thank  heaven  I  the  good  old-fashioned  resting-place  in  the  churchyard  or 
cemetery  would  amply  suffice  to  meet  all  needfiil  demands  for  several  future 
generations  still. 

To  some  of  the  more  formidable  objections,  especially  those  which  had 
been  urged  by  men  of  experience,  weight,  and  position,  entitled  to  be 
listened  to  with  respect  and  attention,  I  endeavored  to  reply  in  a  subsequent 
article  which  appeared  two  months  later  in  the  same  journal.  Since  that 
date,  although  maintaining  an  undiminished  interest  in  the  subject,  I  have 
taken  no  public  part  in  any  of  the  numerous  platform  discussions  and  pub- 
lished controversies  which  have  frequently  appeared  both  in  this  country 
and  abroad.  But  I  think  the  time  has  come  to  present,  as  far  as  it  is 
possible  to  do  so  within  the  narrow  limits  of  an  article,  a  sketch  of  what 
nas  been  accomplished  here,  after  a  patient  and  quiet  service  of  twice  seven 
years,  by  a  few  earnest  friends  and  co-operators,  in  regard  of  the  practice 
of  cremation,  and  also  to  what  extent  it  has  been  employed  in  other 
countries. 

This  will  occupy  the  first  portion  of  the  paper.    But  it  is  more  import- 
ant still  to  meet  one  or  two  objections  to  cremation  commonly  urged,  as 
well  as  to  formulate  conditions  by  which  the  practice  should  be  regulated 
1  ftiture.     An  endeavor  to  do  so  will  occupy  the  concluding  portion. 


304  THE    LIBEABY   MAGAZINE. 

I.  The  brief  historical  outline  which  I  design  to  make  relatinff  to  the 
last  fourteen  years  will  be  incomplete  without  an  allusion  to  wnat  the 
modern  reaction  in  favor  of  cremation  had  achieved  before  1874.    The 

Proposal  to  adopt  it  in  recent  times  originally  proceeded  mainly  from  Italy, 
^apers  and  monographs  appeared  commending  the  method  as  early  as  1866, 
but  practical  experimenters — Gorini  and  PoTli — ^published  separately  the 
results  of  their  experiments  in  1872;  and  among  others,  Professor  Brunetti, 
of  Padua,  in  1873  detailed  his  experience,  exhibiting  the  results  of  it  in  the 
form  of  ashes,  etc.,  with  a  model  of  his  furnace,  at  the  Great  Exhibition  at 
Vienna  of  that  year. 

I  first  became  practicallv  interested  in  the  subject  on  seeing  his  collection 
there ;  and  having  long  been  inclined  to  the  theory,  satisfied  myself  for 
the  first  time  that  if  not  by  this  apparatus,  yet  by  some  other,  complete 
and  inoffensive  combustion  of  the  body  might  almost  certainly  be  effected 
without  difficulty.  Brunetti's  first  cremation  took  place  in  1869,  his  second 
and  third  in  1870,  and  were  effected  in  an  open  furnace  out  of  doors. 

In  no  other  European  country  had  any  act  of  human  cremation  taken 
place,  as  far  as  I  can  learn,  prior  to  1874 ;  and  very  little  notice  or  informa- 
tion respecting  it  appeared  in  any  literary  form.  My  friend  Dr.  de  Pietra 
Santa,  of  Paris,  reported  the  Italian  cases  in  a  little  brochure  on  the  subject 
in  1873,  according  his  hearty  support  to  the  practice.  But  in  the  autumn 
of  1874  there  appears  to  have  been  a  solitary  example  at  Breslau ;  while 
another  occurred  almost  immediately  afterwards  at  Dresden,  where  an 
English  lady  was  cremated  in  a  Siemens  apparatus  by  the  agency  of  gas. 
No  repetition  of  the  process  has  taken  place  there  since. 

In  1874  a  society  was  formed  in  London,  taking  for  its  title  "  The  Crema- 
tion Society  of  England,"  for  the  express  purpose  of  disseminating  infor- 
mation on  the  subject,  and  adopting  the  best  method  of  performing  the 
process  as  soon  as  this  could  be  determined,  provided  that  the  act  was  not 
contrary  to  law.  In  this  Society  I  have  had  the  honor  of  holding  the  office 
of  president  from  the  commencement  to  the  present  date,  endeavoring  thus 
to  serve  a  most  able  and  efficient  council,  most  of  whom  have  been  fellow- 
workers  during  the  same  period.  I  am  thus  well  acquaited  with  its  labors 
and  their  results,  and  with  each  step  in  its  history.  The  membership  of 
the  Society  was  constituted  by  subscription  to  tne  following  declaration, 
carefully  drawn  so  as  to  insure  approval  of  a  principle,  rather  than  adhesion 
to  any  specific  practice : — 

''We  disapproTe  the  present  custom  of  bnrying  the  dead,  and  desire  to  sahstitate  some 
mode  which  shall  rapidly  resolve  the  body  into  its  component  elements  by  a  procesB  which 
cannot  offend  the  living,  and  shall  render  the  remains  abeolately  innocaoos.  Until  some 
better  method  is  devised,  we  desire  to  adopt  that  nsnally  known  as  cremation." 

The  council  of  the  Society  commenced  operations  by  submitting  a  case 
to  legal  authorities  of  high  standing,  and  received  two  opinions,  maintain 


THE   PBOQBESa    OF   CREMATION.  305 

ing  that  cremation  of  a  human  body  was  not  an  illegal  act,  provided  no 
nuisance  of  any  kind  was  occasioned  thereby.  Thus  advised,  an  arrange- 
ment was  soon  after  concluded  with  the  directors, of  one  of  the  great  ceme- 
teries north  of  London  to  erect  on  their  property  a  building  in  which 
cremation  should  be  effectively  performed.  This  site,  so  appropriate  for  its 
purpose,  and  so  well  placed  in  relation  to  neighboring  property,  would  have 
been  at  once  .occupiea,  had  not  the  then  Bishop  of^Eochester,  within  whose 
jurisdiction  the  cemetery  lay,  exercised  his  authority  by  absolutely  prohibit- 
ing the  proposed  addition.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  find  an  indepen- 
dent site,  and  we  naturally  sought  it  at  Woting,  since  railway  facilities  for 
the  removal  of  the  dead  from  the  metropolitan  district  already  existed  in 
connection  with  the  well-known  cemetery  there.  Accordingly  in  the  year 
187$  an  acre  of  freehold  land  in  a  secluded  situation  was  purchased,  with 
the  view  of  placing  thereupon  a  furnace  and  apparatus  of  the  most  ap- 

S roved  kind  for  effecting  the  purpose.  After  much  consideration  it  was 
ecided  to  adopt  the  apparatus  designed  by  Professor  Gorini,  of  Lodi,  Italy; 
and  that  gentleman  accepted  an  invitation  to  visit  this  country  for  the 
express  purpose  of  superintending  the  erection  of  it,  and  the  plan  was  succes- 
fully  carried  out  in  1879  by  Mr.  Eassie,  the  well-known  sanitary  engineer. 
When  the  apparatus  was  finished,  it  was  tested  by  Gorini  himself,  who 
reduced  to  ashes  the  body  of  a  horse,  in  presence  of  several  members  of 
the  council,  with  a  rapidity  and  completeness  which  more  than  fulfilled 
their  expectations.  This  experiment  foreshadowed  the  result  which 
numerous  actual  cremations  have  since  realized,  namely,  that  by  this  pro- 
cess complete  combustion  of  an  adult  human  body  is  effected  in  about  an 
hour,  and  is  so  perfectly  accomplished  that  no  smoke  or  effluvia  escapes 
from  the  chimney ;  every  portion  of  organic  matter  being  reduced  to  a 
pure  white,  dry  ash,  which  is  absolutely  free  from  disagreeable  character  of 
any  kind.  Indeed,  regarded  as  an  organic  chemical  product,  it  must  be 
considered  as  attractive  in  appearance  rather  than  the  contrary.  But 
circumstances  at  this  time,  occasioned  by  official  opposition  in  powerful 
quarters,  and  not  of  sufficent  interest  to  be  described  here,  occasioned 
much  trouble  and  disappointment,  and  demanded,  on  the  score  of  prudence, 
a  patient  and  quiescent  policy  on  the  part  of  the  council,  delaying  the  use 
of  the  building  for  a  few  years. 

Nevertheless  there  was  no  reason  why  public  attention  to  the  proposed 
method  should  not  be  invited  by  other  means.  My  friend  Sir  Spencer 
Wells,  one  of  the  most  active  members  of  the  Council,  brought  the  subject 
prominently  before  the  medical  profession  at  the  annual  meeting  of  the 
British  Medical  Association  at  Cambridge  in  August,  1880,  and,  after  a 
forcible  statement  of  facts  and  arguments,  proposea  to  forward  an  address 
to  the  Secretary  of  State,  asking  permission  to  use  the  crematory  under 
;rict  regulations.    This  was  largely  signed  and  duly  transmitted,  achieving, 


306  THE    LIBBABY   MAGAZINE.    \ 

however,  no  direct  result. '  But  in  various  quarters,  and  at  different  times 
during  this  period,  advocacy  by  means  of  essays,  articles  in  journals, 
lectures,  etc.,  had  arisen  spontaneously,  no  organization  having  been  set  on 
foot  for  the  purpose ;  several  members  of  the  Council,  however,  taking  an 
active  part  iu  some  of  these  proceedings.  And  I  should  like  to  add  that 
the  share  which  Mr.  Eassie,  our  Honorary  Secretary,  has  taken  in  this 
work,  his  ceaseles  attention  to  the  arranging  of  practical  details  at  Woking, 
and  the  multifarious  correspondence,  etc.,  he  has  conducted  during  fourteen 
years,  demand  an  expression  here  of  grateful .  acknowledgment  &om  his 
colleagues. 

Meantime  the  progress  of  cremation  abroad  may  be  again  referred  to. 
The  first  cremation  of  a  human  body  effected  in  a  closed  receptacle,  with 
the  object  of  carrying  off  or  destroying  offensive  product — with  the  excep- 
.tion  of  the  Dresden  example  referred  to — took  place  at  Milan,  in  January, 
1876,  and  was  followed  by  another  in  April,  the  agent  adopted  being  gas. 
The  next  occurring  there,  in  March,  1877,  was  accomplished  in  like  manner, 
but  by  employing  ordinary  fuel.  It  was  in  Milan  also,  in  September  fol- 
lowing, that  the  first  cremation  was  performed  by  the  improved  furnace  of 
Gorini,  already  mentioned.  In  the  preceding  year,  1876,  the  Cremation 
Society  of  Milan  had  been  established,  under  the  presidency  of  Dr.  Pini, 
and  it  soon  became  popular  and  influential.  During  that  year  a  handsome 
building  was  erected  with  the  view  of  using  gas  as  the  agent;  but  it  was 
subsequently  enlarged,  namely  in  1880,  to  make  room  for  two  Gorini  fur- 
naces. These  were  soon  in  operation,  and  since  that  date  many  bodies 
have  been  burned  every  year,  the  number  up  to  the  81st  of  December,  1886, 
being  463. 

Similar  buildings  on  a  smaller  scale  have  been  constructed,  and  largely 
employed  elsewhere:  for  example,  at  Lodi,  Cremona,  Brescia,  Padua, 
Varese,  and  more  lately  at  Rome,  in  the  Campo  Varano  cemetery.  This 
was  first  used  in  April,  1883,  since  which  aate  123  cremations  have 
been  performed  there  up  to  the  81st  of  December,  1886.  The  number  of 
all  cremations  occurring  in  other  towns,  excluding  Milan  and  Rome,  up  to 
the  same  date  is  202 — ^making  787  for  Italy  alone. 

In  Germanv  the  only  place  at  which  the  practice  has  been  regularly  fol- 
lowed is  Gotha.  A  building  was  constructed  there,  under  permission  of 
the  Government,  the  first  cremation  taking  place  in  January,  1879.  It  has 
been  largely  employed  since — the  number  of  cremations  amounting  to  478 
up  to  the  31st  of  October,  1887.  Cremation  Societies — some  of  them 
with  numerous  members  and  displaying  much  activity — have  been  recently 
established  in  other  countries,  in  Denmark  (where  the  first  cremation  in  a 
Gorini  apparatus  took  place  in  September,  1886),  in  Belgium,  Switzerland, 
Holland,  Sweden  and  Norway,  and  in  various  parts  of  the  United  States, 
where  also  cremation  has  been  employed  a  few  times, 


TEE   PROaRESIS    OF    CREMATION.  ^Xft 

In  Australia,  the  Hon.  J.  M,  Creed,  d  well-knoT^tt  J)hy8ician  in  Sydney, 
has  warmly  advocated  the  practice,  which  has  numerous  supporters  there. 
He  moved  the  second  reading  of  a  bill  to  establish  and  regulate  cremation 
in  the  House  of  Assembly,  June,  1886,  in'  an  able  speech  pointing  out  the 
dangerous  proximity  of  neighboring  cemeteries  to  their  rapidly  developing 
city,  referring  to  a  well  thus  poisoned  which  had  caused  an  outbreak  of 
typhoid,  and  citing  similar  facts  arising  under  like  conditions  in  the  suburbs 
of  New  York  and  other  American  cities.  The  act  was  approved  by  the 
Legislative  Council,  but  failed  to  pass  the  House  of  Assembly. 

In  Paris,  projects  for  performing  cremation  have  for  some  time  been 
discussed,  and  a  crematory  of  considerable  size  has  at  length  been  con- 
structed under  the  direction  of  the  Municipal  Council.  It  is  situated  at 
P6re  la  Chaise,  and  although  unfinished,  was  successfully  employed  on  the 
22nd  of  October  last  for  the  bodies  of  two  men  who  died  by  small-pox. 
Tlie  entrance  of  the  building  leads  into  a  spacious  hall,  sufficing  for  the 
purposes  of  a  chapel.  In  the  side  wall  opposite  the  entrance  are  three 
openings,  each  conducting  to  an  apparatus  constructed  on  the  Gorini  prin- 
ciple. 

We  may  now  return  to  the  history  of  our  own  Society,  at  a  time  when 
active  operations  could  be  once  more  resumed.  Owing  to  the  serious  diffi- 
culty which  had  been  placed  in  their  way  already  referred  to,  the  council 
was  not  free  until  1884  to  employ  the  apparatus  at  Woking,  and  place  it  at 
the  service  of  the  public  for  practical  use.  But  in  February  of  that  year 
Mr.  Justice  Stephen  delivered  his  well-known  judgment,  declaring  that 
cremation  is  a  legal  procedure,  provided  it  be  effected  without  nuisance  to 
others.  The  Council  of  the  English  Society  at  once  decided  on  offering 
facilities  for  performing  it,  after  carefully  considering  the  best  means  of 
taking  precautions  to  prevent  the  destruction  of  a  body  which  might  have 
met  death  by  unfair  means.    They  issued  a  paper  stating — 

**^  That  they  are  aware  the  chief  practical  objection  which  can  be  urged  against  the  em- 
ployment of  cremation  consists  in  the  opportunity  which  it  offers,  apart  from  such  precau- 
tions, for  removing  the  traces  of  poison  or  other  injury  which  are  retained  by  an  undestroyed 
body."  

Hence  they  required  certain  conditions  to  be  complied  with  before  grant- 
ing the  use  of  the  crematorium  at  Woking.    They  are* as  follows: — 

1.  An  application  in  writing  must  be  made  by  the  friends  or  executors 
of  the  deceased — unless  it  has  been  made  by  the  deceased  person  himself 
during  life — stating  that  it  was  the  wish  of  the  deceased  to  be  cremated 
after  death. 

2.  A  certificate  must  be  sent  by  a  qualified  medical  man  who,  having 
attended  the  deceased  until  the  time  of  death,  can  state  without  hesitation 
that  the  cause  of  death  was  natural,  and  what  that  cause  was.  Another 
qualified  medical  man — ^if  possible  a  resident  in  the  immediate  neighbc 


308  THE   LIBBAB7  MAGAZINE. 

hood  of  the  deceased — \b  also  required  to  certify,  after  examining  the  facta 
within  his  reach,  that  to  the  best  of  his  belief  the  death  was  due  to  natural 
causes. 

To  each  of  these  gentlemen  is  forwarded,  before  certifying,  a  letter  of 
"instructions  "  mark^  "private,"  signed  by  the  President  of  the  Society, 
calling  special  attention  to  the  important  nature  of  the  service  required. 

8.  If  no  medical  man  attended  during  the  illness,  an  autopsy  must  be 
made  by  a  medical  officer  appointed  by  the  Society,  or  the  cremation  can- 
not take  place;  unless  a  coroner's  inquest  has  been  neld  and  has  determined 
the  cause  of  death  to  be  natural.  These  conditions  being  fulfilled,  the 
Council  of  the  Society  still  reserve  the  right  in  all  cases  of  refusing  per- 
mission for  the  performance  of  cremation  if  they  think  it  desirable  to  do 
so. 

Only  two  months  later,  on  the  80th  of  April,  1884,  Dr.  Cameron,  the 
member  for  Glasgow,  and  one  of  the  Council  of  our  Society,  brought  a  bill 
into  the  House  of  Commons  "  to  provide  for  the  regulation  of  cremation 
and  other  modes  of  disposal  of  the  dead."  He  proposed  to  make  burial 
illegal  without  medical  certificate,  excepting  for  tne  present  certain  thinly 
populated  and  remote  districts.  No  crematory  to  be  used  until  approved 
ana  licensed  by  the  Secretary  of  State ;  no  body  to  be  burned  except  at  a 
licensed  place,  in  accordance  with  regulations  to  be  made  by  the  Secretary 
of  State.  Two  medical  certificates  to  be  necessary  in  the  case  of  cremation, 
and  if  the  cause  of  death  cannot  be  certified,  an  inquest  by  the  coroner 
shall  be  held.  Dr.  Cameron  supported  the  proposals  by  an  amount  of 
evidence  of  various  kinds  which  amply  warranted  the  course  he  had  taken. 
Dr.  Farquharson,  M.P.  for  Aberdeen,  another  member  of  the  Council, 
seconded  the  motion,  which  was  opposed  by  the  Home  Secretary,  to  whom 
Sir  Lyon  Playfair  made  an  able  reply,  demonstrating,  by  a  comparison  of 
the  chemical  effects  of  combustion  with  those  of  slow  decomposition  in 
earth,  the  superiority  of  the  former.  The  Bill  was  opposed  by  tne  Govern- 
ment, and  the  leader  of  the  Opposition  took  the  same  course;  nevertheless, 
no  less  than  79  members  voted  in  favor  of  the  Bill  on  the  second  reading, 
to  149  against — a  result  far  more  fevorable  than  we  had  ventured  to  hope 
for. 

Public  attention  was  thus  called  to  the  subject ;  and  the  Woking  Crema- 
tory was  used  for  the  first  time  on  the  20th  of  March,  1885,  two  other  cre- 
mations following  in  the  course  of  the  year.  During  1886  ten  bo^es  were 
burned — five  male  and  five  female— one  of  them  that  of  a  Brahmin.  Dur- 
ing 1887,  up  to  the  80th  of  November,  ten  more  bodies  have  been  burned, 
one  only  being  that  of  a  female. 

The  complete  incineration  is  accomplished  without  escape  of  smoke  or 
other  offensive  product,  and  with  extreme  ease  and  rapidity.  The  ashes, 
which  weigh  about  three  pounds,  are  placed  at  the  disposal  of  the  friends, 


!rffE   PttOQttteSS    OP   CPEMATlOif.  300 

and  are  removed.  Or,  if  desired,  they  may  be  restored  at  once  to  the  soil^ 
being  now  perfectly  innocuous,  if  that  mode  of  dealing  with  them  is  pre- 
ferred. One  friend  of  the  deceased  is  alwajrs  invited  to  be  present,  and  in 
almost  everv  instance  has  expressed  satisfaction  with  the  way  in  which  the 
proceeding  has  been  carried  out. 

About  a  year  ago  the  Council  made  public  the  following  resolution,  in 
the  form  of  a  "minute  of  council,"  which  after  due  consideration  had  been 
passed: — 

'*  In  the  erent  of  anj  person  dealing,  dniing  life,  to  be  cremated  at  death,  the  Society  is 
prepared  to  accept  a  donation  from  him  or  her  of  ten  gnineaa^  nndertaking,  in  consideration 
thereof,  to  perform  the  cremation,  proTided  aU  the  conditions  set  forth  in  the  forms  issued 
by  the  Society  are  complied  irith.'' 

A  considerable  number  of  persons  have  adopted  this  course  in  order  to 
express  emphatically  their  wishes  in  relation  to  this  matter,  and  to  insure 
as  far  as  possible  the  accomplishment  of  them.  The  societv  undertake  to 
do  their  utmost  to  facilitate  the  subscriber's  object ;  and  probably  no  better 
mode  of  effecting  the  purpose  can  be  selected  than  that  oi  placing  a  written 
declaration  of  the  testator's  wish,  together  with  the  society's  signed  under- 
taking,  in  the  hands  of  the  friends  who  are  to  act  as  executors. 

The  Council  desire  now  to  render  the  Crematory  as  complete  as  possible. 
Although  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  process  and  all  that  appertains  thereto, 
they  are  anxious  to  provide  a  chapel,  suitable  for  the  performance  of  a 
religious  service  on  the  spot,  when  this  is  requested,  besides  another  room 
or  two  adjacent.  This  extension  will  require  additional  funds.  There  is 
also  a  small  debt  still  remaining  on  the  freehold.  Hitherto  the  iunei*al 
service  has  generally  been  performed,  for  example  in  twenty  of  the  twenty- 
five  cases,  and  this  has  tsucen  place  before  the  body  was  sent  to  Woking, 
except  in  three,  in  which  it  was  read  after  the  arrival  there.  The  ashes 
were  usually  removed  by  the  friends.  I  have  recently  received  an  offer  of 
a  hundred  pounds  if  twenty-four  other  persons  will  give  the  same  for  the 

Surpose  named.    At  all  events  an  expenditure  of  about  £3,000  would  reu- 
er  the  establishment  complete;  no  appeal  of  any  kind  has  been  made, 
and  the  bare  mention  of  the  fact  ought  to  insure  a  sufficient  subscription. 

II.  Arriving  now  at  the  second  part  of  my  subject,  I  venture  to  think 
that  few  persons  can  doubt  that  cremation,  as  a  mode  of  safely  decompos- 
ing the  body  aft;er  death,  is  at  all  events  the  most  rapid  and  efficient  agent 
known.  Instead  of  the  old  process  of  putrefaction,  occupying  a  term  of 
several  years,  and  inevitably  disseminating  innumerable  germs  of  fatal 
disease,  which  propagate  it  wherever  they  find  an  appropriate  nidus — a 
process  moreover  evolving  physical  changes  of  a  nature  too  repulsive  for 
the  mind  to  dwell  upon — ^tne  effect  of  combustion  is  to  resolve  the  mass 
apidly  into  harmless  dust.  It  destroys  all  corrupting  matters,  rendering 
lert  all  that  is  infectious,  and  restores  valuable  elements  in  the  form  of 


310  TBE    LIBSABV   MAOAZINE. 

gases  to  ttie  attnosphere,  which  they  at  once  enter  into  new  combinations 
with  healthy  Kving  organisms  in  obedience  to  the  order  of  nature. 

To  this  process  of  combustion  I  know  now  but  one  objection.  One  only 
indeed,  is  ever  seriously  urged  against  it;  and  the  gravity  of  that  I  do  not 
dispute.  So  complete  is  the  destruction  of  all  noxious  matter  accomplished 
by  cremation  of  the  body,  that  if  any  extraneous  poisoil  happens  to  be 
present  in  its  tissues  before  death,  administered  by  accident  or  design,  all 
traces  of  it  are  necessarilv  destroyed  also.  Hence  in  those  exceedingly 
rare  cases  where  the  evidence  of  a  poisoner^s  guilt  depends  on  the  pro- 
duction by  chemical  skill  of  the  Very  agent  employed,  from  the  organs  of 
the  body  exhumed  for  the  purpose  some  time  after  death,  justice  would  be 
defeated  and  the  criminal  would  escape  if  in  that  particular  instance  cre- 
mation had  been  employed.  I  do  not  desire  to'imaerrate  the  force  of  the 
argument  which  lies  against  the  procedure  on  that  ground;  I  intend  to  deal 
with  it  seriously, 

I  might  first,  however,  rejoin  with  great  force  that  many  bodies  com- 
mitted to  the  grave  every  week  in  the  metropolitan  area  alone  are  charged 
with  poisons  not  less  dangerous  to  the  living  population  than  those  which 
may  have  been  used  to  cause  death  by  design.  I  state  as  a  fact  of  the 
highest  importance  that  by  burial  in  earth  we  effectively  provide — what- 
ever sanitary  precautions  are  taken  by  ventilation  and  drainage,  whatever 
disinfection  is  applied  after  contagious  disease  has  occurred — that  the 
pestilential  germs  which  have  destroyed  the  body  in  question  are  thus  so 
treasured  and  protected  as  to  propagate  and  multiply,  ready  to  reappear 
and  work  like  ruin  hereafter  for  otners. 

Since  last  I  wrote,  the  argument  for  cremation  on  this  ground  has  been 
immeasurably  strengthened.  It  was  then  notorious  that  tlie  watercourses 
and  wells  in  the  proximity  of  graveyards  and  cemeteries  had  often  been 
the  demonstrated  sources  of  disease  to  a  neighboring  population.  But  the 
later  discoveries  of  science  point  more  strongly  to  other  dangers,  arising 
still  more  directly  from  the  buried  dead.  Every  year  records  new  facts 
identifying  the  cause  of  certain  of  the  most  familiar  types  of  contagious 
disease  with  the  presence  of  minute  organisms,  bacteria,  the  absorption  of 
which  into  the  blood,  or  even  in  some  cases  into  the  alimentary  canal, 
suffices  to  reproduce  the  dangerous  malady. 

One  of  the  most  deadly  scourges  to  our  race,  viz.  tubercular  disease,  ir 
now  known  to  be  thus  propagated.  Then  besides  anthrax  or  splenic  fevei 
spores  from  which  are  notoriously  brought  to  the  surface  from  buried 
animals  below,  and  become  fatal  to  the  herds  feeding  there,  it  is  now  almost 
certain  that  malarious  diseases,  notably  Boman  fever,  and  even  tetanus,  are 
due  to  bacteria  which  flourish  in  the  soil  itself.  The  poisons  of  scarle^ 
fever,  enteric  fever  (typhoid),  small-pox,  diphtheria,  malignant  cholera, 
are  undoubtedly  transmis^ble  through  earth  from  the  buried  body  by  mon 


TBE   PHOOMUSS    OF    CBEMATION,  511 

than  one  mode.  And  thus  by  the  act  of  interment  we  literally  sow  broad- 
cast through  the  land  innumerable  seeds  of  pestilence;  germs  which  long 
retain  their  vitality,  many  of  them  destined  at  some  future  time  to  fructify 
in  premature  death  and  ruined  health  for  thousands.  It  is  vain  to  dream 
of  wiping  out  the  reproach  of  our  civilization  which  the  presence  and 
power  of  these  diseases  in  our  midst  assuredly  constitute  by  any  precaution 
or  treatment,  while  effective  machinery  for  their  reproduction  is  in  constant 
daily  action.  Probably  not  the  least  important  among  the  several  modes 
by  which  buried  infection  may  reappear  is  the  ceaseless  activity  of  the 
earthworm,  bringing  to  the  surface — ^which  indeed  in  a  measure  it  slowly 
creates — poisonous  matters  engendered  in  human  remains,  although  covered 
by  a  considerable  depth  of  permeable  soil.  The  proportion  of  deaths  due 
to  the  diseases  referred  to  is  exceedingly  large.  And  let  it  never  be  for- 
gotten that  they  form  no  necessary  part  or  any  neritage  appertaining  to  the 
human  family.  All  are  preventible,  all  certainly  destinea  to  disappear  at 
some  future  day,  when  man  has  thoroughly  made  up  his  mind  to  deal  with 
them  seriously. 

Thus,  in  the  year  1884  the  total  number  of  deaths  from  all  causes  in 
England  and  Wales,  was  530,828;  *of  these  the  zymotic  diseases*  were 
84,196,  or  about  16  per  cent.  In  the  year  1885  the  total  number  was 
522,750;  of  these  the  zymotic  diseases  were  68,972,  or  about  13'8  per  cent. 
In  both  years  these  diseases  were  below  the  average  of  preceding  years. 
And  one  of  the  first  steps,  an  absolutely  essential  step  for  the  attainment 
of  the  inestimable  result  I  have  proposed,  is  the  cremation  of  each  body 
the  life  of  which  has  been  destroyed  by  one  of  these  contagious  maladies. 
I  know  no  other  means  by  which  it  can  be  insured. 

The  next  important  fact  for  our  consideration  is,  that  at  present  no  ade- 
quate means  are  employed  to  insure  the  discovery  of  poison  as  a  cause  of 
death  before  burial  takes  place.  That  "the  prevention  of  an  evil  is  better 
than  its  cure  "is  an  old  adage^  full  of  truth  in  its  application  to  most  human 
affairs.  It  ought  to  be  accepted  as  a  principle  that,  for  the  purpose  of 
insuring  the  safety  of  the  public,  it  is  infinitely  preferable  to  provide  a  sys- 
tem adapted  to  detect  an  act  of  poisoning  before  burial,  rather  than  to  rely 
upon  the  slender  chance  that  may  arise  hereafter.  Once  the  victim  has 
been  consigned  to  the  grave,  small  hope  remains  that  discovery  will  take 
place.  It  is  often  stated  that  burial  insures  the  conservation  of  evidence 
that  poison  has  been  given;  but  without  large  qualification  the  statement 
is  far  from  true.  Very  soon  after  burial  all  traces  of  most  poisons— cer- 
tainly those  which  are  the  most  potent,  such  as  morphia,  aconite,  atropine, 
strycnnine,  prussic  acid,  etc., — ^are  rapidly  decomposed ;  or  they  may  become 
associated  with  new  septic  poisons  developed  in  the  body  itself,  which  com- 

*  Zymotic  diseases  are  held  to  include  small-pox,  measles,  scarlet  ftver,  diphtheria, 
rbooping-coagh,  typhns,  enteiic  twePy  tiuagie  ^Byer,  diarrhoea  and  dyBenteiy,  and  cholera. 


31S2  TRE   LIBMASY   MAQASSWE, 

plicate  the  steps  of  subsequent  inquiry,  and  invalidate  undeniable  evidence 
which  was  present  for  some  days  ailer  death,  and  might  have  been  obtained 
while  the  body  was  above  ground.  There  remain,  then,  only  the  metallic 
poisons  which  can  be  reckoned  on  as  open  to  detection  through  exhumation 
—practically  three  in  number — ^arsenioj  antimony,  and  mercury.  These 
will  continue  for  a  long  period  in  a  condition  which  permits  them  to  be 
obtained  by  analysis  from  the  tissues  of  the  person  poisoned. 

It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  chances  m  favor  of  discovering 
poison  will  be  at  least  twenty  to  one  if  adequate  inquiry  be  made  while  the 
body  is  above  ground,  as  compared  with  the  result  of  analysis  made  of  those 
which  have  once  been  buried.  Yet  what  is  our  position  in  relation  to  this 
inquiry?  Does  the  fact  just  named  practically  rule  our  action  in  this 
matter?  By  no  means.  Thousands  of  bodies  are  buried  yearly  without 
medical  certificate  of  any  kind.  Of  course  there  are  numerous  deaths  from 
disease  in  which  no  medical  advice  has  been  demanded,  because  the  warn- 
ing symptoms  of  danger  have  been  absent  or  insufficient.  And  there  are 
^rhaps  occasionally  some  in  which  the  absence  of  the  medical  man  has 
been  insured  in  fiirtnerance  of  a  sinister  design.  The  proportion  of  inquests 
to  deaths  is  by  no  means  inconsiderable,  but  it  is  certainly  less  than  it  ought 
to  be.  Of  the  522,750  deaths  of  1885,  no  less  than  27,798,  or  5-3  per  cent., 
were  certified  after  inquest;  but  no  less  than  18,146,  or  8.5  per  cent.,  were 
buried  without  medical  certificate  or  any  inquiry  whatever  1  Now  com- 
pared with  these  enormous  possibilities  for  undiscovered  crime,  how  exces- 
sively small  is  the  remedy — imperfect  as  it  is — which  exhumation  for  med- 
ico-legal purpose  offers.  Comparing  the  number  of  exhumations  with  the 
number  of  inquests,  it  is  probably  about  1  of  the  former  to  3,000  of  the 
latter. 

Whether  cremation  be  adopted,  or  the  practice  of  burial  be  continued,  in 
either  case  it  is  equally  desirable  to  make  a  far  more  searching  inquiry 
than  we  do  at  present  in  all  cases  of  death.  And  this  inquiry  should  be 
conducted  by  a  qualified  officer  appointed  for  the  purpose.  1  called  special 
attention  to  this  fact  in  my  paper  fourteen  years  ago,  showing  that  the 
practice  in  this  country  was  then,  as  it  still  is,  greatly  behind  that  of  France, 
Germany,  and  other  European  nations.  In  every  case  of  death  without 
exception  in  those  countries  the  uncovered  dead  body  is  examined  by  a 
medical  officer  set  apart  for  that  duty  (the  midedn  vMficateur\  who  makes 
a  written  report  detailing  certain  mcts  relating  to  the  death  obtained  by 
inquiry,  besides  those  which  result  fi:om  the  examination  of  the  body,  in 
accordance  with  a  schedule  supplied.  This  officer,  having  of  course  had  no 
professional  relations  with  the  deceased,  records  the  name  and  address  of 
the  doctor  who  has  attended,  as  well  as  those  of  the  chemist  who  supplied 
the  m^icines,  together  with  the  names  of  nurses  if  any  were  employed. 
He  describes  the  hygienic  condition  of  the  house,  states  what  surviving 


THE   M0QSE88    OF   OBBMATIOHT.  313 

relatives  there,  etc.  No  burial  can  take  place  under  any  pretext  whatever 
until  this  inquiry  has  been  made  and  permission  has  oeen  granted.  In 
short,  it  is  the  object  of  the  examination  to  leave  no  means  untried  of 
detecting  the  cause  of  death  before  the  body  disappears  from  view. 

It  is  needless  to  say  how  greatly  superior  this  system  is  to  our  own  j  and 
it  is  impossible  not  to  add  that  all  who  are  really  earnest  in  a  desire  to 
detect  the  secret  poisoner  are  bound  to  advocate  the  establishment  of  that 
or  some  similar  method  of  supervision  here.  Otherwise  it  is  scarcely  fair, 
and  it  is  certainly  inconsistent,  to  defend  the  practice  of  earth-burial,  with 
its  mamfold  dangers  to  the  living,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  insuring  the 
right  of  occasionally  exhuming  a  body,  in  order  to  repair  the  lack  or  ade- 
quate observation  at  a  more  fitting  time. 

The  next  step  in  the  argument  will  take  its  starting-point  from  the  unde- 
niable fact  that  a  large  majority  of  deaths  taking  place  in  our  community 
are  obviously  and  unquestionably  natural.  It  is  very  desirable  to  ascertain 
as  nearly  as  possible  what  is  the  proportion  of  these,  or  inversely,  what  is- 
the  percentage  of  those  about  which  some  doubt  as  to  the  cause  may  be 
entertained.  I  have  carefully  studied  this  question,  and  it  is  important  to 
consider  it  before  we  come  to  close  quarters  with  the  objection  started  at 
the  outset.  I  suppose  no  one  will  imagine  that  there  is  the  slightest  ground 
for  doubt  about  tne  nature  of  the  fatal  attack,  in  other  words  the  cause  of 
death,  in,  say,  three-fourths  of  the  cases  which  occur.  In  fact,  the  proper-^ 
tion  of  obviously  natural  causes  is  very  much  larger  than  that.  Old  age' 
and  natural  decay;  all  zymotic  or  contagious  diseases,  most  of  which  have 
been  enumerated ;  the  acute  and  chronic  diseases  of  the  lung  and  other  local 
organs,  cancer,  diabetes,  rheumatic  affections,  childbirth,  besides  the  6  per 
cent,  of  unknown  cases  determined  by  the  coroner,  leave  a  narrow  margin 
for  doubtful  examples.  In  acute  dysentery  and  diarrhoea,  and  in  some 
affections  of  the  brain,  circumspection  is  necessary  in  relation  to  the  possi- 
bility of  poisoning ;  and  in  infantile  disorders,  especially  among  the  illegiti- 
mate, observation  should  be  alert.  Regarding  all  sources  of  uncertainty  I 
think  1  per  cent,  a  full  estimate.  In  other  words,  the  present  system, 
demanding  as  it  does  exercise  of  the  coroner's  function  in  5.8  per  cent,  of 
deaths,  another  1  per  cent,  might  be  found  necessary  after  the  searching 
inquiry  of  the  midicin  v6rijicateur.  This  is  a  considerable  addition,  because 
it  must  be  recollected  that  the  coroner's  quest  is  chiefly  needed  to  investi- 
gate mechanical  accidents  causing  death,  and  personal  violence,  of  which 
evidence  is  easily  available.  It  is  not  altogether  a  secret  that  some  medical 
men  of  large  experience  hold  the  opinion  that  the  administration  of  poison 
causing  death  is  not  so  uncommon  as  the  infrequent  discovery  of  the  act 
might  be  held  to  indicate.  Conviction  in  a  court  of  justice  following  the 
jrime  is  very  rare.     The  present  system  of  burial  after  certificate — and  not 

faw  an  we  have  seen,  have  no  certificate — throws  very  little  light  on  the 


314  TffE    LIBRARY   MAOAZtSE, 

class  of  doubtful  cases.  And  yet  we  have  been  gravely  forbidden  to  prac- 
tice cremation,  which  would  deprive  thousands  of  bodies  now  buried  of 
those  elements  which  are  dangerous  to  the  living,  lest  perchance  in  a  soli- 
tary case  of  criminal  poisoning,  which  we  have  neglected  through  careless- 
ness or  indifference  to  investigate  at  a  fitting  time,  the  chance  should  be 
lost,  if  some  years  afterwards  suspicions  arise,  of  acquiring  the  often  ques- 
tionable evidence  which  exhumation  might  afford  1 

Well,  unreasonable  as  such  a  course  of  action  must  appear,  when  seri- 
ously considered,  I  will  grant  its  advocates,  if  there  still  be  any,  for  argu- 
ment's sake,  that  it  is  not  wholly  unjustifiable ;  and  nevertheless  I  shall 
assert  the  safety  and  the  superiority  of  cremation. 

The  advocates  of  cremation,  have  been  widely  misunderstood  in  respect 
of  their  aims,  and  no  amount  of  re-statement  appears  to  correct  an  impres- 
sion made  on  the  public  at  the  outset,  to  the  effect  that  we  proposed,  or  at 
all  events  have  desired,  to  make  cremation  compulsory.  Let  it  be  under- 
stood then,  once  for  all,  that  we  have  never  suggested  that  any  man  should 
be  submitted  to  the  process  against  his  own  will  or  that  of  his  nearest 
friends.  As  to  enforcmg  it  in  all  cases  by  legal  enactment,  as  has  been 
imagined  by  some,  I  doubt  whether  the  most  uneasy  sleepers  among  us 
have  ever  dreamed  of  such  a  scheme  of  legislative  tyranny.  So  far,  indeed, 
have  we  been  fix)m  holding  such  views,  that  I  believe  it  has  never  been  pro- 
posed to  make  the  system  under  any  circumstances  universally  applicable. 
All  we  have  ever  asked  is  that  cremation  should  be  optional ;  that  it  should 
be  recognized  as  legal  (it  is  not  illegal),  and  be  performed  only  under  certain 
conditions ;  that  adequate  precautions  should  be  taken  against  its  abuse  so 
that  the  destruction  of  evidence  against  criminal  poisoning  should  be  ren- 
dered almost  if  not  quite  impossible,  through  the  exercise  of  ordinary  care. 

I  earnestly  ask  the  great  public  to  consider  the  significant  fact  that  it  is 
wcy  the  advocates  of  cremation,  who  have  sought  to  perform  it  under  the 
above-mentioned  specific  conditions ;  that  we  have  brought  Bills  into  the 
Parliaments  of  this  country  and  of  New  South  Wales  to  obtain  these 
objects ;  and  that  our  critics  and  opponents  have  done  nothing  to  diminish 
or  prevent  the  dangers  they  allege  to  attend  on  cremation,  and  which  do 
largely  appertain  to  burial,  while  they  have  actually  voted  in  majorities 
to  prevent  us  from  doing  so.  Had  the  practice  of  cremation  in  our  own 
country  not  been  conducted  thus  far  by  cautious  hands,  the  abuse  in  ques- 
tion might  have  arisen.  But  that  they  have  not  occurred  is  due  to  ois,  not 
to  our  opponents. 

The  proposals  here  conceived  to  be  necessary  to  insure  the  safety  of  the 
public,  regarding  equally  dangers  innumerable  arising  from  the  buried  dead 
and  the  occasional  risk  of  destroying  evidence  against  crime,  are  as  fol- 
lows : — 

FirsU    I  desire  to  act  on  the  principle  that  we  shall  reject  all  doubtftii 


cases  as  unsuited  for  cremation.  It  will  soon  be  seen  that  the  limit  of  this 
class  may  be  provided  for  without  difficulty  by  way  of  exclusion,  and 
that  it  may  be  rendered  by  proper  management  exceedingly  small. 

Secondly.    My  first  definite  proposal  will  be  as  follows;  and  here  for  tlie^ 
present  the  appeal  is  made  not  for  legal  provision,  but  to  the  common  sense 
of  my  fellow-citizens,  who  cannot  be  less  desirous  than  myself  to  guard  the 
healtn  of  their  families  from  disease  and  death,  seeing  that  this  is  our  com- 
mon interest. 

Consent  to  cremate  the  body  of  every  member  of  the  family  who  has 
died  of  small-pox,  scarlet  fever,  or  diphtheria,  to  begin  with.  General 
acquiescence  in  this  reasonable  proposal  alone  would  tax  somewhat  severely 
at  first  the  resources  of  cremation.  Yet  here  is  a  large  and  most  important 
group  of  cases  which,  in  common  justice  to  the  living,  ought  to  be  destroyed 
with  as  much  rapidity  as  possible,  and  about  which  no  manner  of  doubt  as 
to  the  cause  of  death  can  possibly  be  entertained.  Honest,  thoughtful  con- 
sideration as  to  the  mode  of  treating  that  which  remains  in  most  instances 
after  the  destructive  action  of  such  diseases  on  the  body  must  diminish  the 
desire  to  preserve  it,  and  reconcile  survivors  to  its  purification  and  reduction 
to  harmless  ashes,  when  these  are  followed  to  the  last  resting-place.  Of 
which  more  hereafter.  But  I  interpolate  a  suggestion  here ;  and  it  is  one 
which  must  ere  lon^  be  considered  with  a  view  to  legislative  enactment.  It 
ought  to  be  made  imperative  that  in  every  one  of  these  cases,  when  not 
cremated,  the  coffin  should  be  filled,  after  the  body  is  placed  therein,  with 
quicklime,  not  longer  than  twenty-four  hours  after  death.  Less  perfect  than 
cremation,  this  process  at  least  ought  to  be  enjoined  under  penalty.  It  will 
rank  as  a  national  folly,  if  not  a  crime,  to  omit  this  or  an  equivalent  safe- 
guard after  due  warning  given  of  the  importance  of  protecting  the  living ; 
since  there  can  be  no  difficulty  in  resorting  to  this  mode  of  lessening,  if  not 
of  extinguishing,  the  risk  from  infection. 

Thirdly .  In  all  other  cases,  such  as  those  of  old  age,  consumption,  and 
various  other  modes  of  death^  which  have  gradually  arrived  at  their  termi- 
nation under  medical  supervision  without  manifesting  a  symptom  to  denote 
the  action  of  any  violent  agent,  an  application  to  be  cremated  should  be 
granted  on  the  conditions  prescribed  hy  the  Cremation  Society  of  England 
(already  detailed).  When  a  responsible  officer,  medecin  verificateur^  is 
ap{^)ointed,  the  decision  will  of  course  form  part  of  his  ordinary  business. 
I  may  add  that  up  to  this  time  I  have  charged  myself  with  t£e  duty,  on 
behalf  of  the  English  Society  as  its  President,  of  carefully  examining  the 
certificates  sent  in  and  other  sources  of  information,  and  no  cremation  has 
taken  place  until  I  have  been  satisfied  with  the  evidence  adduced. 

Fourthly,  In  every  case  in  which  evidence  is  wanting,  one  of  two  courses 
are  open  to  the  applicant.  If  there  really  is  any  doubt  as  to  the  cause  of 
death,  it  is  a  case  m  which,  according  to  the  present  state  of  our  law,  the 


316  THE   LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

Coroner  ou^ht  to  interfere.  If  he  thinks  that  it  is  not  necessary  to  ao  so, 
the  responsible  officer  m^y  say,  as  I  should  feel  called  on  to  say  now,  if 
circamstances  suggested  tne  want  of  more  distinct  evidence,  '^  I  advise  an 
autopsy  to  be  made,  and  will  send  a  proper  person  to  conduct  one."  In 
that  case  the  doubt  will  almost  certainly  be  solved ;  but  if  not,  the  stomach 
and  a  portion  of  some  internal  organ  will  be  transferred  to  a  small  case, 
sealed  and  preserved.  And  doubt  after  autopsy  could  be  entertained  only 
in  an  extremely  small  proportion  of  cases.  If  the  friends  object,  let  the 
body  be  buried  by  all  means  ^  we  have  avoided  the  doubtful  case. 

Moreover,  we  have  done  so  without  raising  an  imputation.  If  any  arise, 
it  is  solely  due  to  the  action  of  those  who  have  declined  a  private  autopsy 
requested  by  the  officer  responsible  for  cremation,  who  merely  desired  to 
avoid  the  faintest  chance  of  applying  the  process  to  a  body  when  the 
cause  of  death  is  not  quite  apparent.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  an  objection 
to  such  a  proceeding ;  but  if  there  is,  as  I  said  before,  the  cemetery  is 
always  open. 

what  nas  become  of  the  medico-legal  difficulty?  I  contend  that  it  has 
absolutely  vanished.  And  I  add  that  if  my  suggestions  are  adopted,  secret 
poisoning,  which  it  must  be  confessed,  owing  to  our  carelessness  in  the 
matter  of  the  certificate,  is  much  more  easily  practicable  in  this  country 
than  in  France  or  Germany,  would,  thanks  to  the  supporters  of  cremation, 
be  more  readily  detected,  and  therefore  would  be  more  unlikely  to  occur 
than  in  any  other  country  in  the  world. 

Two  other  results  of  another  kind,  naturally  follow  the  adoption  of  cre- 
mation. 

First.  Thousands  of  acres,  yearly  increased  in  number,  might  be  restored 
to  better  uses  than  that  of  storing  decaying  bodies.  Action  to  this  end 
will  be  inevitable  some  day,  and  is  simply  a  question  of  time  and  population. 
The  late  Bishop  of  Manchester  drew  attention  to  this  obvious  fact  some 
years  ago.  If  the  directors  of  cemeteries  are  wise  in  time,  they  will,  after 
passing  of  an  Act,  petition  for  leave  to  erect  crematories,  utilizing  the 
chapels  as  before,  and  reserving  small  spaces  for  the  conservation  or  burial 
of  ashes.  Nine-tenths  of  the  area  will  be  available,  with  due  care,  for 
ornamental  gardens  for  the  use  of  towns  where  such  exist;  or,  after  the  lapse 
of  suitable  periods  of  time,  to  other  purposes. 

Secondly.  I  propose  to  restore  the  purified  remains  of  the  Christian 
worshipper  to  the  consecrated  precincts  of  his  church,  whence  the  "corrup- 
tible body"  has  been  for  ever  banished  by  urgent  sanitary  necessity. 

In  ancient  crypts,  or  in  cloisters  newly  erected  for  the  purpose  on  the  long 
disused  burying-ground,  the  ashes  might  be  deposited,  each  in  its  cell,  in 
countless  numbers  after  religious  service  performed.  Or,  being  absolutely 
harmless,  they  may  be  consigned  to  the  soil.  Cremation  gives  truth  and 
reality  to  the  grand  and  solemn  words,  "  Ashes  to  ashes^  dust  to  dust^"  and 


THE    LONDON    UNEMPLOYED    AND    THE    "  DONNA »  317 

that  impressive  service,  with  slight  change,  will  be  read  with  a  fulness  of 
meaning  never  conveyed  before.  The  last  rite  has  pnrified  the  body ;  its 
elements  of  physical  evil  have  been  annihilated  by  fire.  Already  its 
dispersed  constituents,  having  escaped  the  long  imprisonment  of  the  tomb, 
pursue  their  eternal  circuit,  in  harmony  with  natu!re's  tmiform  and  perfect 
course. 

I  venture  to  offer  the  following  suggestions  by  way  of  indicating  the  chief 
provisions  to  be  settled  by  any  Bill  introduced  into  Parliament  to  regulate 
the  registration  of  death  and  the  disposal  of  the  dead : — 

1.  No  body  to  be  buried,  burned,  or  otherwise  disposed  of  without  a 
medical  certificate  of  death  signed,  after  personal  knowledge  and  observa- 
tion, or  sufficient  inquiry,  by  a  qualified  medical  man. — 2.  A  qualified 
medical  man  should  be  appointed  in  every  parish  or  group  of  neignboring 
parishes,  whose  duty  it  will  be  to  examine  in  all  cases  of  death  and  report 
the  cause  in  writing,  together  with  such  other  details  as  may  be  deemed 
necessary. — 3.  If  the  circumstances  of  death  obviously  demanded  a 
coroner^s  inquest,  the  case  goes  into  his  court  and  the  cause  is  determined, 
with  or  without  autopsy.  If  there  appears  tp  be  no  ground  for  holding  an 
inquest,  and  autopsy  be  necessary  to  the  furnishing  of  a  certificate,  the 
appointed  officer  will  make  it  and  state  the  result  in  his  report. — 4.  No 
person  or  company  to  construct  or  use  an  apparatus  for  burning  human 
Dodies  without  a  license  from  the  Home  Secretary  or  other  officer  as  deter- 
mined.— 5.  No  crematory  can  be  so  employed  unless  the  site,  construction, 
and  system  of  management  are  approved  after  survey  by  an  officer  appointed 
by  Government  for  the  purpose. — 6.  The  burning  of  a  human  body, 
otherwise  than  in  an  officially  recognized  crematory,  shall  be  illegal  and 
punishable  by  penalty. — 7.  No  human  body  shall  be  burned  unless  the 
official  examiner  who  signs  the  certificate  of  death  shall,  in  consequence  of 
application  made,  add  the  words  "  Cremation  permitted."  And  this  he  is 
bound  to  do  if  after  inquest  or  autopsy,  or  in  any  circumstances  admitting 
in  his  mind  no  doubt  as  to  the  cause  of  death,  this  is  returned  by  him  as 
naturaL — Sib  Henby  Thompson,  M.  D.,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century. 


THE  LONDON  UNEMPLOYED  AND  THE  "DONNA."  ♦ 

The  happiest  tidings  that  could  be  given  to  the  kind  and  persevering 
supporters  of  the  "  Donna  "  would  be  that  she  amongst  "  the  unemployed" 
— that,  for  her,  work  no  longer  existed.  Alas  I  this  is  so  far  from  l)eing 
the  case,  that  the  number  of  unemployed  men  and  their  deep  poverty  is 

*Tlie  "  Donna"  is  an  aesodation  formed  in  London  some  fonr  years  ago,  the  object  being 
to  fhrnish  meals,  at  a  mere  nominal  cost,  to  the  unemployed  laborers  in  the  dock-yards, 
impended  to  this  paper  are  a  series  of  statistical  papers  showing  the  operations  of  the 


318  THIS    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

quite  as  great,  if  not  more  so,  tlian  last  year.  It  is  not  only  daring  the 
winter  that  they  throne  around  the  truck  which  saves  many  a  man  firom 
actual  staryation.  Wisning  to  give  an  account  at  first-hand  of  the  work 
of  the  "  Donna  "  to  the  readers  of  LongmarCa  Ma^assine,  I  went  to  see  the 
truck  on  the  18th  of  last  May,  during  its  hour  or  so  of  daily  ministering  to 
the  desperate  need  of  unemployed  men.  About  twenty  minutes  in  the 
Underground  Railway  firom  Edgware  Boad  brought  us  to  the  Mansion 
House  Station,  and  from  thence  we  walked  to  London  Bridge.  The  Sister 
who  accompanied  me  had  never  been  to  this  station  of  her  community's 
work,  and  was  quite  at  a  loss  how  to  find  the  "  Donna,"  as  there  was  no 
token  of  her  existence  on  or  near  the  Bridge.  However,  we  asked  a  man 
who  was  lounging  about  if  he  could  direct  us.  He  told  us  to  go  down 
some  steps  on  the  left-hand  side  as  we  looked  towards  the  river,  and,  turn- 
ing to  the  right,  to  go  under  an  archway.  Having  done  so,  we  could  see 
nothing  of  the  "  Donna,"  or  of  the  Sister  in  charge,  but  came  upon  an  im- 
mense crowd  of  men,  packed  close  together,  and  pressing  so  eagerly  through 
a  gate  into  a  small  railed-off  enclosure  that  we  knew  the  food  truck  must 
be  there.  I  could  not  have  made  my  way  through  them  alone ;  but  when 
the  men  saw  my  companion's  dress  they  made  a  lane  for  us  to  pass,  and 
inside  the  railings  we  found  the  little  booth  with  the  Sister  in  charge,  the 
"  Donna,"  in  her  bright  blue,  close  at  hand,  bearing  piles  of  smoking  food. 
There  was  just  place  inside  the  booth  for  two  or  tnree,  and  no  room  for 
idlers.  I  was  put  in  charge  of  two  huge  cans  containing  soups  of  different 
kinds,  and  was  instantly  hard  at  work  serving  it  out.  This  was,  of  course 
long  after  the  worst  distress  of  the  winter  was  over,  but  yet  in  a  little  more 
than  an  hour  we  served  nine  hundred  and  sixty  men.  They  each  paid  a  ii 
halfpenny  for  a  large  bowl  of  excellent  soup  with  pieces  of  meat  and  Sivat '.  f  ^ 
in  it.  Those  who  were  fortunate  enough  to  possess  a  second  halQ)enny  "  \ 
bought  a  large  piece  of  substantial  currant  pudding,  which  the  Sister  shook 
out  of  long  tin  cylinders,  cutting  off  exactly  the  same  portion  for  each 
customer  with  the  precision  gained  by  constant  practice. 

For  the  benefit  of  new  fnends  it  is  best  to  say,  at  the  risk  of  wearying 
old  ones,  that  the  dinners  served  daily  by  the  Sisters,  inside  three  or  four 
Docks,  to  the  employed  at  a  penny  each  are  not  given  at  a  loss.    The  charity 

**  Donna."  for  the  year  from  Not.  1, 1886,  to  Nov.  1687.  The  whole  nnmber  of  *  men 
served ''  was  143,269;  of  oonrae  many  of  these  were  served  over  and  over  again,  and  the 
number  given  is  that  of  meaU.  The  entire  receipts  (inclading  X451  left  over  from  t|i€ 
previous  year)  were  £1,038,  of  which  £278  were  from  sabecriptions.  At  the  dose  of  Novem- 
ber, 1887,  there  were  £289  to  be  carried  to  the  next  year ;  so  that,  the  143,000  meals,  snch 
as  are  described  above,  cost  £310  more  than  they  were  sold  for : — as  nearly  as  poeaible 
one  half-penny  each.  There  is  in  New  York  a  similar  institution — the  St.  Andrews  — sup- 
ported by  a  benevolent  lady,  at  any  one  of  whose  stands,  a  cup  of  coffee,  or  a  bowl  of 
Houp,  or  a  plate  of  beans  (accompanied  in  each  case  by  a  slice  of  bread)  is  fhrniahed  for 
one  cent.  We  have  tried  all  these  articles,  and  have  found  them  as  good  |ub  are  on  our  own 
table.— JSId.  JAb.  Mag. 


TEE    LONDON    UNEMPLOYED    AND    TEE    ''DONNAS  319 

is  immense  of  bringing  daily,  in  all  weathers,  hot  and  wholesome  food  to 
the  poor  men  who  are  not  allowed  to  leave  the  Docks  during  working 
hours,  but  the  penny  charge  for  each  dinner  covers  the  actual  cost  of  the 
food.  It  is  wholly  aifferent  at  the  trucks  outside  the  Docks  for  men  vainly 
seeking  employment ;  the  halfpenny  which  they  pay  does  not  cover  more 
than  half  the  expense ;  the  other  half  is  supplied  at  the  "  Donna  "  truck  by 
the  readers  of  this  magazine.  I  heard  the  Sister  who  was  serving  with  me 
say  to  two  or  three  men  who  tendered  a  halfpenny,  "  You  pay  a  penny ;  " 
and  she  told  me  afterwards  that  these  men  were  in  work,  and  that  she 
could  always  tell  in  a  moment  hy  their  hands,  whether  they  were  really  un- 
employed or  not.  The  charity,  m  actual  food,  is  therefore  confined  to  those 
who  are  out  of  work,  and  this  month  the  Sister  in  charge  writes  to  me : 
"  We  are  daily  implored  to  give  food  to  men  who  have  had  none  for  twen- 
ty-four or  forty-eight  hours,  and  the  crush  at  the  '  Donna '  is  greater  than 
we  have  ever  known  it." 

"  Sister,  please,  I  have  no  money  to-day,"  one  poor  fellow  said.  "  I 
know  you  don't  give  the  food  quite,  because  there'd  oe  such  a  lot  of  us  want 
it  if  you  did;  but  will  you  take  my  matches,  and  let  me  havd  a  little  for 
them  ?  I  wouldn't  ask  you.  Sister,  but  I  am  so  hungry.  I've  done  no 
work  this  day ;  for  a  week  ago  I  was  mending  the  hinge  of  my  door,  and 
somehow  run  my  tool  through  my  hand."  An  old  man  brought  two 
"brothers,"  as  he  called  them,  to  the  "Donna,"  and  treated  them  to  food. 
A  short  time  after  he  came  in  with  some  more  men,  asked  them  what  they 
would  have,  and  paid  for  them.  "  I  like  to  do  it  for  the  sake  of  Christianity," 
he  said.  "  I  did  a  little  job  last  week,  and  these  .poor  fellows  have  done 
nothing."  He  did  not  look  particularly  well  off,  but  a  third  time  returned 
with  some  of  these  poor  "  brothers  "  to  feed. 

Last  October  an  elderly  man,  looking  very  white  and  thin,  had  for  three 
days  stood  patiently  outside  the  gate,  watching  the  others  eating  their  hot 
stew.  The  first  day  one  of  the  men  lent  him  a  penny,  the  second  day  his 
friend  could  not  spare  even  a  halfpenny,  and  on  the  third  day,  October  18, 
as  the  poor  fellow  was  coming  into  the  yard,  in  hopes  of  finding  some 
friend,  he  suddenly  dropped  down,  as  it  seemed,  in  a  faint;  but  it  was  soon 
evident  that  he  was  dying,  actually  dying  of  starvation.  They  brought  a 
doctor,  and  when  the  man  was  asked  what  ailed  him,  he  just  said,  "  I've 
tasted  nothing  for  three  days,  and  I  felt  so  bad  I  thought  to  borrow  a  penny 
and  get  a  drop  of  soup ;  "  and  then  he  died  as  he  lay  there.  The  police 
brought  a  stretcher,  and  carried  away  the  body.  The  next  day  the  men 
told  the  Sister  that  it  had  been  examined,  and  that  the  verdict  at  the 
inquest  was,  "  Death  from  starvation." 

One  very  respectable-looking  man  was  about  to  be  charged  "full-price," 
us  being  tnought  to  be  in  work.  **Me  in  work.  Sister  I "  he  exclaimed. 
'*Well,  yes,  you  are  right;  I  work  under  ft  man  named  *  Walker/  fori 


320  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

spend  my  time  walking  away  m^  bit  of  shoe-leather,  trying  to  get  a  job." 
Another  thin,  etarved-looking  cripple  asked  very  shyly  for  a  halfpenny- 
worth of  stew.  The  sister  first  noticed  his  manner,  and  then  recognized  an 
old  customer  at  the  restaurant.  A  year  ago  he  had  been  it  constant  work, 
and  came  regularly  two  or  three  times  a  day  to  S.  Katharine's  Bestaurant 
for  his  meals;  now  he  was  amongst  the  starving  unemployed. 

A  poorly-dressed  man  one  day  handed  a  penny  to  two  others,  bidding  them 
to  get  themselves  soup  and  pudding.  One  of  these  came  to  the  stall  and 
asked  for  two  slices  of  pudding.  "  Why  didn't  you  get  some  soup  instead  of 
two  of  pudding  ?  "  his  benefector  asked  him.  "  Oh,"  said  he,  "  there's  a 
chum  of  mine  here  (handing  one  slice  to  another  man)  who  can  do  with  a 
slice  of  this."  This  last  man  was  seen  a  few  minutes  after,  dividing  the 
one  slice  with  a  neighbor  worse  off  than  himself. 

Another  day,  a  tall  respectable-looking  man  stood  for  some  time  in  front 
of  the  truck,  but  with  his  back  to  the  Sister.  He  seemed  to  be  looking 
intently  in  front  of  him,  and  she  wondered  whether  he  could  be  watching 
the  Dock  gate,  round  which  the^  unemployed  were  gathered  waiting  for  a 
call.  At  Iwt  he  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  ana  was  turning  away  when  the  Sister 
caught  sight  of  his  face,  and  struck  by  his  look  of  utter  hopelessness.  His 
coat  was  tidy,  but  his  cheeks  were  hollow  and  he  looked  starved.  The 
Sister  spoke  to  him,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  like  a  basin  of  stew.  "  I 
should,  Sister,  but  I  could  not  have  asked  you  for  it."  "While  he  was  eating, 
the  Sister  drew  him  into  conversation,  and  asked  him  whether  he  was  look- 
ing for  work  in  the  Docks.  "  Yes,  Sister,  and  I  have  looked  for  it  for  the  last 
thirteen  months,  but  I  stand  no  chance  among  those  who  are  used  to  dock 
work.  It  goes  bad  with  you  when  you  have  been  used  to  but  one  kind  of 
work  all  your  life ;  I've  worked  for  the  last  thirteen  years  at  Cuthbert's, 
the  brass  foundry,  but  he  retired  last  year  and  discharged  us  all.  One  of 
my  mates  had  worked  thirty  years  for  him.  I  have  tried  to  get  taken  on 
at  every  brass  foundry  I  know  of,  but  they  all  say  they've  enough  hands, 
and  never  change  if  they  can  help  it ;  and  when  they  do  part  with  an  old 
hand,  he  is  sure  to  have  a  son  to  slip  into  his  place — at  least,  I  know  it  was 
so  at  Cuthbert's.  You  see,  Sister,  though  I  got  good  money  I  never  could 
save,  for  during  the  thirteen  years  I  was  there  I  had  a  birth  and  a  death 
nearly  every  year,  and  I  have  only  two  children  alive  now,  one  a  lad  of 
sixteen,  out  of  work,  and  a  little  girl." 

Any  one  wishful  to  see  poverty  in  its  last  estate,  should  come  and  stanC 
by  the  food-stall  of  the  unemployed,  and  see  with  their  own  eyes  the  crowd- 
ing round  the  truck,  the  wild  pushing  and  reaching  out  of  lean  hands  tc 
grasp  the  food.  "Now,  men,  keep  quiet;  don't  push — ^you  will  all  b< 
served  in  turn."  "  Ah,  Sister,"  comes  the  answer,  "you  don't  know  how'bac 
it  makes  us  feel  to  see  the  pudding  all  going  before  our  eyes,  and  we  tba' 
keen  for  food  I "    Yet  the  throng  has  a  sense  of  humor.    The  starving  one 


THE    LONDON    UNEMPLOYED    AND    TEE    ''DONNA,"  321 

at  the  back  chaff  the  lucky  ones  in  front-  "I  say,  you  chapj  with  the 
basins,  you'll  make  the  master's  fortune  when  you  get  back  to  work  on  the 
dinner  you're  eating."  One  poor  felloe  literally  covered  his  body  with 
newspaper,  to  make  up  for  the  absence  of  all  under-garments ;  his  coat  was 
riddled  with  holes,  and  far  too  small  for  him.  A  note  was  handed  up  to 
the  serving  Sister  one  day :  "  Miss,  might  I  ask  you  to  please  relieve  my 
hunger.    I  have  not  the  means  to  buy  from  you  as  on  former  occasions." 

Punctually  at  noon  two  wretched-looking  cats  appear  on  the  scene,  and 
hang  about  till  some  one  takes  pity  on  them.  Most  of  the  men  leave  a 
scraping  in  their  basins  for  these  poor  beasts,  besides  breaking  off  a  bit  of 
pudding  for  anxiously  watching  children.  One  day,  when  the  truck-man 
was  as  usual  collecting  two  basins  of  scrapings,  one  for  the  black  cat  and 
one  for  the  white,  he  saw  a  lean,  starved  human  creature  peering  at  him 
through  the  railings.  The  black  cat  was  hungry,  and  kept  her  head  well  in 
the  basin ;  the  white  cat  presently  felt  satisfied,  shook  its  whiskers,  and 
retired.  Then  the  watcher  sprang  toward  the  basin,  and  ravenously 
devoured  the  rest  of  the  food. 

Six  food  trucks  have  maintained  their  place  all  through  the  blazing  sum- 
mer-tide, for  men  must  eat  in  summer  as  well  as  winter,  and  warm  weather 
does  not  bring  riches  to  a  dock  laborer.  In  view  of  cold  weather  already 
setting  in,  a  seventh  truck  has  just  been  established,  and  very  thankful  are 
its  famished  mid-day  visitors  for  the  wholesome  food  it  furnishes  at  a  low 
price. 

Over  and  over  again  is  the  same  tale  told  of.  No  food  to-day,  no  food 
since  yesterday,  and  the  emaciated,  dejected  looks  of  the  speaker  tell  too 
clearly  the  truth  of  the  tale.  Moreover,  there  is  a  very  perceptible  differ- 
ence, during  the  last  two  months,  in  the  appearance  of  the  men  who  come 
every  Thursday  to  our  Mission  Service ;  in  many  instances,  their  clothes 
look  as  if  they  could  scarcely  hold  together.  We  are  most  grateful  for 
men's  clothes  of  all  kinds ;  we  are  always  being  asked,  by  those  who  have 
sixpence  to  spare,  if  we  cannot  give  them  a  good  strong  shirt  at  that  price, 
and  old  shirts  are  sold  for  one  penny  or  twopence. 

From  London  Bridgfe  Station  we  went  to  S.  Katharine's  Eestaurant  for 
Working-men,  42a  Dock  Street,  to  get  luncheon  ourselves.  I  found  the 
work  there  had  greatly  increased  since  my  last  visit ;  besides  the  "Donna" 
truck,  five  or  six  others  are  daily  sent  out,  some  to  stations  within  the 
Docks  with  food  for  the  Employed,  others  to  various  hiring-grounds  with 
halfpenny  dinners  for  the  Unemployed.  "  I  wish  that  all  who  give  trucks 
would  support  them  as  Longman^s  Magazine  supports  its  truck,"  the  Supe- 
rior said  to  me ;  "  we  are  hard  put  to  keep  them  all  going  when  the  men  pay 
;>nly  half  the  cost  of  the  food." 

The  trade  of  the  Restaurant  seemed  most  flourishing,  and  no  wonder,  for 
verything  supplied  was  excellent ;  capital  soups  at  a  penny  and  twopence 


322  THE    JUBBABT   MAGAZINE. 

a  bowl ;  Irish  stew  at  threepence  a  plate,  beefsteak  pudding  fourpence,  a 
large  plate  of  vegetables  for  a  penny,  roast  beef  hot  from  the  joint  at  three- 
pence a  plate,  tapioca,  jam,  and  rhubarb  puddings  a  penny,  and  lemonade 
and  all  kinds  of  summer  drinks  a  halfpenny  for  a  large  glass. 

One  of  the  most  favorite  dishes  is  porridge  with  sugar  and  a  large  cup  of 
milk;  this,  which  costs  twopence,  I  had  for  my  luncheon,  and  can  therefore 
vouch  for  its  excellence. 

The  sister  said  that  half  a  ton  of  potatoes  lasts  about  a  fortnight  at  the 
Restaurant.  Fifty  gallons  of  pea-soup  are  made  daily  in  winter,  and  from 
thirty  to  forty  of  beef-soup. 

.  In  last  January^s  number  of  this  magazine  I  mentioned  that  the  Sisters 
had  been  forced  to  help  their  poor  customers  of  the  "Donna"  to  find  food- 
pence  by  giving  employment  to  their  wives,  and  had  opened  work-rooms 
where  poor  women  are  kept  constantly  employed  at  ne^lework.  To  one 
of  these,  S.  John's  Mission  House,  Cannon  Street  Boad,  I  went  from  the 
Restaurant.  The  house  taken  for  the  purpose  was  a  very  poor  one,  but  the 
workroom  was  cosy  and  pleasant,  and  nere  about  thirty  women  were  busily 
at  work,  whilst  a  lady  read  to  them  from  some  entertaining  book.  They 
are  paid  daily  for  their  work,  whether  it  is  sold  or  not.  But  the  Sisters 
generally  find  sale  for  it,  amongst  those  less  poor,  who  are  glad  to  get  ready- 
made  clothes.  Every  scrap  6f  material  sent  to  this  workroom  is  utilized, 
even  a  few  inches  of  print  stuff  or  calico.  Many  a  little  frock  is  made  with 
the  sleeves  of  one  material,  the  body  of  another,  and  the  skirt  of  a  third ; 
but  so  arranged  that  the  effect  is  rather  pleasing  than  otherwise.  The  Sis- 
ter spoke  with  the  greatest  gratitude  of  help  given  to  these,  the  wives  of 
the  unemployed,  by  the  readers  of  Longman's  Magadne,  The  workroom  is 
usually  closed  during  the  summer  months,  but  this  year  the  distress  in  the 
middle  of  August  was  so  terrible  that  the  Sisters  felt  themselves  obliged  to 
re-open  the  workroom  at  once,  as  the  best  means  of  giving  relief. 

One  of  the  Sisters  writes  to  me  : — "  We  feel  more  and  more  the  need  of 
our  workroom,  as  all  look  to  us  to  help  them,  and  this  gives  real  help,  as 
well  as  a  warm  comfortable  room  in  which  to  spend  the  day  whilst  earning 
for  their  families.  Each  woman  earns  ninepence  a  day,  and,  small  as  that 
sum  is,  we  are  besieged  with  entreaties  to  be  *  taken  on,*  which  shows  that 
the  one  thing  wanted  is  work.  We  should  much  like  to  double  the  num- 
bers of  those  employed ;  the  work  we  will  gladly  provide,  if  only  our  kinc" 
friends  of  last  year  will  once  more  let  their  ninepences  pour  into  the  letter- 
box of  42a  Dock  Street,  E,  (directed  to  the  Sister  in  charge).  Every  pennj 
goes  to  the  wives  of  such  men  as  crowd  round  the  *  Donna,'  at  which  il 
would  be  impossible  to  allow  women  to  be  served.  I  am  sure  no  one  would 
refuse  who  saw  what  we  see  every  day  of  our  lives — white,  haggard 
dejected  faces,  ragged  clothes,  fireless  grates,  and  perhaps  worse  than  all,  oi 
such  wet,  cold  nignts  as  we  have  already  had  more  Uian  once  lately,  w^ 


THE    LONDON    UNEMPLOYED    AND    THE    ''DONNA."  323 

know  that  just  outside  our  doors,  when  we  are  warmly  sleeping  in  bed, 
more  than  forty  were  turned,  homeless  and  shelterless,  out  of  one  house 
alone.  Bepeatedly  are  we  implored  to  ^ve  a  night's  lodging.  'I  have 
tramped  round  the  streets  for  four,  or  six,  or  eight  nights,'  many  a  man 
says  to  us,  *  and  I  am  that  worn  out  and  weary  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  myself.  I'm  right  tired  of  my  life,  Sister;  I  wish  God  would  take 
me  out  of  it.' 

"  '  Where  do  you  generally  sleep  at  -aghts  ? '  is  usually  met  with  the  an- 
swers,'Anywhere,'  'Nowhere,'  *Unaer  arches,'  *  In  empty  railway  trucks  when 
we  can,'  *  By  the  Sugar  Refinery.'  *  Why  this  last  r  we  inquired.  *  Well, 
lady,  I'll  tell  you.  They  don't  let  out  the  fires  there,  so  the  air  comes  up 
warm  and  comforting,  and  there's  a  wall  near  where  a  lot  of  us  stand,  and 
button  up  our  coats  and  tie  a  handkerchief  round  our  necks,  and  then  put 
our  heads  against  the  wall,  and  get  to  sleep  as  best  we  can.'  '  Standing  V 
*  Yes,  standing,  lady.  A  man  may  scratch  together  in  the  day  sufficient 
pence  to  buy  food,  if  he  has  luck,  but  not  to  pay  for  a  lodging.'  *  We  can 
do  till  twelve  o'clock.  The  publics  are  open  till  then,  and  the  Strangers' 
Rest ;  but  at  midnight,  wet  or  fine,  fi:ost  or  snow,  we've  got  all  to  turn 
out.'" 

The  Sisters  determined  to  issue  tickets  providing  a  free  night's  lodging  in 
certain  houses  known  to  them,  but  how  to  distribute  these  tickets  to  the 
homeless  was  a  puzzle  at  first,  since  it  was  at  the  small  hours  of  the  mom- 
ing  that  the  men  roamed  the  streets,  weary  and  wretched.  It  occurred  to 
tliem  that  the  night  police  might  help  them,  so  to  them  they  confided  a 
certain  number  or  free-lodging  tickets,  asking  them  to  give  them  to  any 
poor  wretch  whom  they  orcfered  to  *  Move  on '  from  doorway,  railway 
waggon,  or  the  Sugar  Refinery  wall.  The  Sisters  are  most  anxious  to 
continue  to  issue  them  during  the  winter  months,  knowing  the  boon  they 
have  been  to  many  homeless  ones. 

A  great  deal  of  home  visiting  goes  on  from  the  Restaurant  in  Dock 
Street,  and  many  distressing  cases  are  thus  discovered  and  relieved.  Little 
sick  children  are  sent  to  the  sea  to  recruit,  and  a  general  feeling  of  confidence 
is  awakened  amongst  those  visited.  Their  first  thought  in  an  emergency 
id  *  to  send  for  the  Sisters.' 

The  puzzled  question  of  a  coroner  investigating  a  perplexing  case  lately 
reportea  in  the  papers  caused  much  amusement :  "  You  sent  for  the  Sisters  ? 
>e  inquired  of  a  poor  woman,  who  was  giving  evidence  ;  "why  didn't  you 
rfend  for  the  police  r "  "I  don't  know,  sir,"  was  the  reply ;  "  I  suppose  because 
[  thought  of  the  Sisters  first."  If  the  coroner  had  lived  in  an  East-end 
)arish,  visited  and  cared  for  by  Sisters,  he  would  have  known  that  in  every 
mergency  the  cry  is,  "  Run  and  tell  Sister,  and  ask  her  to  come."     The  police 

rtamly  come  second  in  these  districts. 

It  was  said  lately  by  one  who  spends  his  life  working  amongst  the  poor 


-* 


324  THE    LIBBABT   MAGAZINE. 

in  London,  that  he  believed  it  was  true,  that  a  proportion  of  about  two  in 
every  ten  of  the  unemployed  would  not  take  work  if  they  could  get  it,  but 
that  the  cause  of  this  was  utter  weakness  and  inanition  from  want  of  food. 
They  must  be  fed  before  they  can  work.  It  is  said  that  numbers  will  flock 
to  Manchester  to  trv  and  get  work  on  the  Great  Manchester  Ship  Canal. 
In  what  state  will  tney  arrive  there  7  Shall  we  not  make  an  effort  to  feed 
them  up  beforehand^  so  that  they  may  not  arrive  wholly  unfit  for  work  ? 
When  they  are  there,  those  who  know  what  the  working  of  the  food-trucks 
has  been  to  London  Dock-laborers  cannot  but  hope  earnestly  that  some- 
thing of  the  same  kind  may  be  established  in  Manchester.  Many  who  will 
flock  there  will  need  to  be  fed  beforehand  if  they  are  to  be  fit  for  real  work. 
— Lor^mav^e  Magazinei 


CANADIAN  "HABITANS"  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

What  is  American  labor  in  New-England?  One  might  imagine,  from  the 
fuss  made  over  it  about  election  time,  that  it  was  Irish.  But  is  it  Amer- 
ican? Would  Lake  Erie  be  salt  if  a  bushel  of  brine  were  thrown  into  it? 
There  was  a  time  when  the  workshops  of  New  England  were  filled  by 
Americans,  but  that  was  a  good  while  ago.  Then  men  were  taken  from  the 
farms  to  fill  the  workshops.  Good  workmen  these  sturdy  farmers  and  sons 
of  farmers,  these  Americans,  made.  They  had  one  peculiarity ;  they  insisted 
upon  being  paid  a  fair  price  for  their  work.  When  the  manufacturers  began 
to  evince  a  desire  to  squeeze  their  American  workmen  the  latter  did  not  go 
oa  strike.  They  simplv  looked  for  work  elsewhere,  and  as  they  were 
bright,  active,  steady  fellows,  they  got  it.  The  attempt  of  the  manufacturer 
failed  to  injure  the  American  workman,  because  he  was  too  brainy  and  too 
independent  to  permit  such  injustice.  He  either  sought  other  fields  than 
New  England  or  entered  some  other  vocation. 

Europe  filled  his  place  in  the  New  England  manufactories.  Irishmen, 
Englishmen,  and  Germans  took  the  places  of  Americans,  but  the  Irishman 
was  in  the  ascendant.  An  Irishman  doesn't  lose  much  time  in  discovering 
his  own  value.  He  first  finds  out,  after  his  seat  becomes  warm,  the  value 
at  which  his  predecessor  was  held.  In  this  case  he  found  that  values  had 
decreased.  He  was  disgusted.  He  may  have  considered  himself  worth 
more  than  his  predecessor,  but  he  certainly  considered  himself  worth  as 
much.  He  said  as  much.  The  manufacturer  was  equal  to  the  occasion. 
The  Irishman  was  told  that  if  he  didn't  like  his  wages  he  could  look  for  a 
job  elsewhere.  Sometimes  he  concluded  to  remain  where  he  was  and  say 
no  more  about  it  until  such  a  time  as  it  would  be  difficult  to  fill  his  place 
In  many  cases  he  didn't  adopt  such  pacific  measures ;  he  was  more  trouble 


Canadian  ^'MAbIta^^s^'  1^  new  iKOLAND.  326 

some  than  his  American  predecessor.  He  expostulated ;  that  is  to  say,  he 
wouldn't  work  and  he  wouldn't  permit  his  place  to  be  filled.  So  was  intro- 
duced that  interesting  but  expensive  phase  of  business,  the  strike. 

The  manufacturer  looked  about  him.  Not  many  miles  from  a  portion  of 
the  American  bo'xier  dwelt  a  peaceftd  and  frugal  people — the  Canadian 
French — "the  Habitans."  The  Canadian  habitan  was  densely  ignorant, 
so  ignorant  that,  in  order  to  prevent  the  incursive  and  voracious  potato  bug 
from  entering  his  fields,  he  planted  crosses  on  the  roadside  that  bordered 
his  little  farm.  When  he  found  that  the  potato  bug  had  paid  no  attention 
to  the  crosses,  but  had  crawled  through  the  fence  or  climbed  over  it,  or  had 
simply  "growed"  on  the  premises,  the  habitan  concluded  that  in  some  way 
he  had  offended  his  patron  saint  and  then  thought  no  more  about  it.  Of 
Paris  Qreen  as  an  exterminator  of  potato  bugs  the  Canadian  habitan  had 
never  heard.  Poor  was  the  habitan,  so  poor  that  the  Dominion  Govern- 
ment couldn't  squeeze  a  shilling  out  of  iiim  in  taxes  and  long  since  gave 
up  the  attempt. 

The  Canaoian  habitan  kept  a  couple  of  sheep  and  grew  a  little  flax. 
His  family  wove  the  material  of  which  his  and  their  clothes  were  made. 
He  made  his  own  foot-gear.  He  grew  his  own  tobacco — ^villainous  stuff. 
He  had  never  heard  of  a  tariff.  When  he  heard  of  a  country  in  which 
people  could  make  a  dollar,  perhaps  more  than  a  dollar,  a  day,  in  return  for 
the  labor  of  the  hands,  he  laughed  in  his  simple  way.  It  was,  of  course, 
impossible.  But  the  thought  that  there  might  be  such  a  country  kept 
coming  back  and  when  a  stranger,  followed  by  other  strangers,  passed 
through  the  little  villages,  each  of  which  gloried  in  a  church  with  a  tall 
tin-covered  spire  that  glistened  on  sunshiny  days  like  silver,  and  when 
these  strangers  told  how  fortunes  awaited  the  adventurous  people  who 
would  leave  their  dull,  sleepy  homes  in  the  province  of  Quebec  and  settle 
in  New  England  the  habitan  lost  sleep.  He  would  ask  the  Seigneur  if 
such  a  country  as  New  England  really  existed.  The  great  man  of  the  vil- 
lage said  it  md  exist.  Then  the  habitan  allowed  his  thoughts  to  dwell  on 
the  parish  priest.  How  would  M'seur  le  Curd  view  his  half-formed  inten- 
tion of  going  out  into  the  world?  Not  pleasantly,  he  feared.  The  habitan 
was  right.  M'seur  le  Cur^  told  him  to  stav  where  he  was.*  What  would 
become  of  the  Mother  Church  if  all  her  children  deserted  hert  The  habi- 
tan, thinking  of  a  dollar  a  day,  began  to  lose  interest  in  the  Mother  Church. 
That  institution,  when  he  devoted  some  cold  thought  to  it,  hadn't  done 
much  for  him ;  he  had  done  everything  for  it. 

He  stamped  his  foot  and  tried  to  look  fierce.  He  would  try  this  new 
life.  He  might  make  a  fortune;  he  could  lose  nothing;  Jacques  could 
take  care  of  the  faraou  The  whole  village  turned  out  to  witness  the  depart- 
ure. He  would  return ;  they  all  said  so.  The  adventurous  habitan  felt 
'ike  a  malefactor  and  thought  his  fellows  might  be  right.    But  without 


m  mk   Ll6kAl&   MACtAZiM, 

knowing  it  he  was  charged  with  undeveloped  resources.  In  New  England 
his  wits  were  polished.  He  was  patient ;  he  was  quick  to  learn ;  he  could 
work  sixteen  hours  a  day.  It  cost  him  almost  nothing  to  live.  He  knew 
nothing  of  the  prices  of  labor ;  he  took  what  was  oflFered.  In  comparison 
with  his  old  life  the  new,  from  a  money-making  standpoint,  was  dazzling. 
He  prospered,  and  when  he  had  worked  and  saved  K)r  a  year  be  paid  a 
visit  to  the  old  home,  the  little  Quebec  village.  The  stay-at-homes  hardly 
recognized  him.  He  even  lightened  them.  He  dared  to  even  argue  with 
M'seur  le  Cur6.  While  he  remained  at  his  old  home  he  was  the  magnet ; 
his  old  friends  were  the  needles.  He  told  them  of  the  great  United  States 
— of  New  England.  After  he  had  taken  himself  oflF  again  his  words  were 
carried  from  village  to  village,  slowly,  maybe,  for  the  Canadian  habitant  is 
not  very  partial  to  railroads  or  telegraphs,  but  in  time  they  were  carried  all 
over  the  province. 

What  was  the  result?  There  are  to-day  a  half  million  Canadian  French 
in  New  England.  Are  they  Americans  ?  Not  a  single  one,  except  in  the 
sense  that  some  of  them  have  votes.  In  thought  and  purpose  they  are 
Americans  not  a  whit  more  than  the  people  of  Thibet.  In  many  places 
they  have  schools  of  their  own  in  which  the  French  language  is  taught. 
Among  themselves  they  talk  in  French.  Their  children — and  the  children 
of  a  French-Canadian  family  generally  number  from  one  to  two  dozen — are 
taught  the  traditions  of  New  France.  The  parents  say  to  the  children, 
•*  Never  forget  the  New  France,"  Canada.  Well,  Canada  is  a  part  of  this 
New  France.  These  quiet,  plodding,  hard-working,  saving  people  believe 
that  the  time  is  coming  when  the  New  France,  which  is  to  be  ruled  and 
owned  by  the  habitans,  will  consist  not  only  of  Quebec  and  Ontario  and 
other  parts  of  the  Dominion  of  Canada*,  but  of  New  England  also.  The 
New  England  French  may  not  be  talkative  on  this  subject,  but  in  their  old 
homes  across  the  border  the  habitans  become  thoroughly  aroused  when  he 
pictures,  or  has  pictured  for  him,  the  glories  of  the  New  France.  In  New 
England  the  habitan  is  reticent;  in  Quebec  he  is  another  creature  when  this 
topic  is  broached.  If  he  becomes  a  citizen  it  is  only,  except  in  a  few  cases 
that  he  may  reap  whatever  benefits  may  be  attached  to  citizenship.  The 
latter  does  not  weaken  his  allegiance  to  New  France ;  it  is  considered  merely 
an  aid  to  the  prosecution  of  an  impossible  scheme. — T.  B.  F.,  in  The 
New  York  Times. 


CHARITY  BAZAABS. 

There  are  so  many  definitions  of  the  beautiful  and  "  excellent  gift  of 
charity ''  that  it  is  hard  to  select  the  one  that  may  most  frilly  express  my 
meaning  of  it  in  the  present  discussion,  wherein  1  hope  to  point  out  some 
of  the  forms  and  methods  by  which  it  is  exhibited  at  the  present  day 


i^ 


CBABITT   BAZAARS,  SST 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  application  of  the  term  has  become  greatly  nar- 
rowed and  perverted  by  using  it  for  alms-giving  alone.  It  would  be,  I  ven- 
ture to  think,  both  interesting  and  instructive  were  we  able  to  trace  the 
history  of  the  course  and  progress  of  what  we  will  continue  to  call  charity, 
through  various  ages  to  the  present  time.  I  fear,  however,  that  it  will  be 
quite  impossible  to  discover  the  period  when  the  idea  was  first  promul- 
gated, that  charity  could  ever  be  considered  a  term  or  a  method  synony- 
mous with  the  purchase  either  of  goods  or  amusements,  or  when  the  two 
proceedings  became  confounded,  as  at  the  present  day.  Equally  instructive 
it  would  be  to  discover  when  the  Eastern  name  for  a  shop,  store,  or  market, 
for  the  sale  of  goods,  came  to  be  applied  to  the  dissimilar  affairs  which 
have  now  adopted  the  name  of  their  Eastern  originals. 

Charity  has  been  defined  as  "  fervent,  unselfish  love."  "We  may,  perhaps 
bear  this  in  mind  as  a  text  in  our  investigations,  for  though  I  am  not  about 
to  preach  a  sermon  on  religious  duties,  it  must  be  remembered  that  the 
matter  is  one  which  claims  a  high  and  lofty  position,  as  affecting  our  very 
noblest  and  purest  principly,  and  that  the  question  of  motives  underlying 
our  actions,  is  at  the  very  foundation  of  the  inquiry.  We  cannot  cast  it 
aside  as  a  matter  of  no  moment,  about  which  a  few  persons  are  making  an 
unnecessary  fuss.  So  wide  and  far-spreading  is  the  system  of  exciting  and 
promoting  charity  by  modern,  and  even  novel,  schemes,  that  we  are  bound 
to  ask  the  question,  is  it  right  or  wrong?  and  if  not  absolutely  wrong,  and 
to  be  condemned  from  the  highest  point  of  view,  is  it,  at  least,  harmless 
and  desirable?  I  believe  I  am  correct  in  saying  that  the  system  is  essen- 
tially English,  but  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  examples  and  methods  of 
"  charitable  England "  are  rapidly  extending  to  other  countries  also,  and 
thus  the  necessity  becomes  still  greater  of  endeavoring  to  create  and  spread 
abroad  a  right  judgment  as  to  the  principles  on  which  they  are  carried  out. 
I  can  hardly  refrain  from  referring  to  the  instructions  given  in  that  Book 
on  which  all  our  practice  is  or  should  be  founded,  and  from  this  point  of 
view  I  will  take  that  grand  and  remarkable  chapter  in  the  first  book  of  the 
Chronicles,  which  describes  the  gathering  together  of  the  materials  for  the 
future  Temple,  for  surely  this  can  be  no  unfitting  guide  for  our  purpose, 
seeing  how  many  similar  demands  are  made  at  the  present  day.  We  there 
read  that  "the  people  rejoiced,  for  that  they  offered  willingly,  because  with 
j>erfect  heart  they  offered  willingly  to  the  Lord."  And  even  after  the  erec- 
tion of  the  building  had  been  provided  for,  we  may  be  sure  that  further  lib- 
erality was  required,  and  given  in  the  same  spirit,  for  the  maintenance  of 
the  Holy  House  and  its  services.  In  future  reigns,  when  repairs  were 
found  to  be  needed;  we  read  that  the  High  Priest  provided  a  chest  beside 
the  Altar,  into  which  was  put  the  "money  that  cometh  into  any  man's 
heart  to  bring  into  the  House  of  the  Lord."  This  instance  well  testifi/*8  to 
^he  spirit  of  the  old  times.    It  is  supplemented  by  precepts  of  sim/lar 


import  throughout  all  the  books  of  the  Bible,  and  even  in  the  earlier  ones 
of  the  Pentateuch.  From  all—prophets,  priests,  and  teachers  alike— fix>ni 
the  beginning  to  the  end,  we  learn  that  giving  of  our  substance  is  to  be 
done  "devoutly,"  "willingly,"  "cheerfiilly,"  "ungrudgingly,"  "freely," 
"secretly,"  as  mr  as  may  be,  looking  for  nothing  in  return,  and  therefore 
certainly  not  for  a  full  equivalent,  either  in  the  shape  of  goods  or  amuse- 
ments. 

Can  we  honestly  say  that  any  of  these  conditions  are  complied  with  in 
such  methods  as  we  are  now  considering?  The  system  was  probably 
unknown  before  the  beginning  of  the  century,  but  owing  to  the  immense 
increase  and  multiplication  of  societies  and  objects  requiring  support  during 
the  last  fifty  years  (not,  I  fear,  in  all  respects  a  matter  for  rejoicinff),  the 
plans  hitherto  generally  employed  for  procuring  money  were  found  to  be 
insufficient — such  as  the  annual  guinea  subscription,  or  the  occasional 
"charity  sermon"  (now  much  less  frequently  resorted  to,  but  surely  prefer- 
able to  many  other  schemes) ;  and  thus  other  and  more  exciting  methods 
were  devised. 

Fifty  years  ago  these  schemes  were  probably  adopted  at  the  suggestion 
of  some  who  could  give  time  and  labor,  but  not  money,  to  charitable 
objects ;  thus  dolls  were  dressed,  clothes  were  made,  or  drawings  painted, 
by  ladies  who  had  not  the  means  of  giving  directly  to  an  object  tney  wished 
to  help.  But  though  my  memory  extends  back  for  a  considerable  distance, 
I  have  no  recollection  until  recently  of  any  public  exhibitions  or  sales  of 
such  articles ;  certainly  there  were  none  of  the  attendant  circumstances  of 
modern  times ;  and  the  limited  extent  to  which  the  system  formerly  pre- 
vailed renders  any  comparison  impossible. 

The  same  arguments  are  used  in  favor  of  the  present  state  of  things;  but 
let  us  see  how  far  we  have  departed  from  the  older  methods,  even  if  it  be 
granted  that  they  were  altogether  harmless.  There  was  then,  certainly, 
the  principle  of  barter,  of  obtaining  something  for  your  money,  which  of 
course  did  away  with  the  highest  motives  to  cnarity  in  the  purchasers  (if 
my  definition  of  charity  is  correct);  but  the  still  more  destructive  and 
anomalous  element  of  amusement  had  not  then  been  introduced.  It 
remained  for  a  later  period,  which  prides  itself  on  the  revival  of  active  life 
and  renewed  religious  vigor,  to  hold  forth,  in  order  to  stimulate  the  flag- 
ging zeal  and  love  of  Christian  people,  such  temptations  as  gambling  (for 
which  the  milder  term  of  raffling  is  substituted),  dramatic  performances, 
concerts,  mediaeval  villages  and  fairs  (on  which  enormous  sums  are  spent), 
and  other  means  even  more  childish  or  objectionable,  the  half  of  which  we 
cannot  enumerate  or  describe.  Costly  articles  bought  at  shops,  at  home  or 
abroad,  are  substituted  for  the  work  done  by  needy  persons,  and  resold  at 
fictitious  prices,  the  supply  in  all  instances  being  so  far  in  excess  of  the 
demand,  that  the  burden  of  unsold  goods  becomes  ever  greater,  and  they 


CEABITY  BAiAAia.  m 

are  either  passed  on  to  other  places,  or  fresh  schemes  have  to  be  resorted 
to  in  order  to  dispose  of  them ;  while  the  public  who  can  be  found  to  attend 
these  displays  bepomes  naturally  overburdened  with  the  purchases  they  are 
called  upon  to  make. 

But  it  may  perhaps  be  said,  "We  do  not  pretend  this  is  charity  in  the 
highest  sense;  it  is  merely  combining  two  actions  for  useful  purposes, 
serving  ourselves  and  helping  a  good  work."  This  explanation  may  per- 
haps satisfy  the  somewhat  troubled  consciences  of  weaker  brethren,  but 
when  "Charity  Bazaars"  for  special  purposes  are  openly  proclaimed  as  such, 
their  intention  can  hardly  thus  be  evaded  or  denied,  and  we  must  face  the 
fact  that  we  are  called  upon  to  do  a  charitable  work  in  patronizing 
them. 

The  chief  argument  adduced  in  favor  of  these  plans  has  hitherto  been 
their  success,  for  we  have  rarely  found  any  supporters  to  justify  them  on 
other  grounds;  on  the  contrary,  many,  though  reluctantly  taking  part  in 
them,  ao  not  hesitate  to  express  their  dislike,  or  even  stronger  disapproval, 
doubting  the  plea  of  expediency,  and  of  the  end  justifying  the  means. 
"  Mais,  que  /aire  f  Money  must  be  obtained,  and  this  is  the  easiest  way," 
seems  the  only  reply  to  the  arguments  of  objectors.  But  even  on  this  score  we 
have  a  word  to  say,  and  the  success,  if  hitherto  great,  is  hardly  likely  to  be 
maintained.  I  am  assured  that  in  one  gigantic  effort  of  the  last  season,  the 
expense  of  the  preparations  amounted  to  no  less  a  sum  than  £1000,  out  of  the 
£1700  that  was  gamed.  And  who  can  estimate  the  cost  of  precious  time  and 
labor  expended  during  previous  months  of  preparation  for  what  ought 
never  to  have  been  required  in  support  of  a  true  and  genuine  object  of 
Christian  work,  for  which  thousands  profess  zeal  and  enthusiasm  ?  I  am 
also  credibly  informed  that  the  cost  of  the  fancv  dresses  of  the  stallholders 
is  (at  least  in  some  instances)  provided  out  of  tne  receipts  taken. 

Though,  as  I  have  said,  the  principle  is  the  chief  point  on  which  I  desire 
to  dwell,  there  are  still  other  objections  to  which  1  would  draw  attention. 
The  extravagances  of  a  system  ought  not,  perhaps,  to  be  named  as  con- 
demning it,  but  at  least  they  serve  to  show  its  tendency,  and  the  results  to 
which  they  inevitably  lead  when  the  path  is  once  entered  upon.     A  few 
years  ago  we  shoula  have  found  at  least  certain  objects  excluded  from  the 
sphere  of  any  such  aid  as  we  are  contemplating.     Amongst  these  would 
liave  been  church -building  or  restoration,  and  we  may  surely  add,  all  work 
for  the  help  and  rescue  of  the  fallen,  such  as  penitentiaries  and  refuges.     It 
s  not  long  ago  that  attention  was  drawn  to  an  instance  of  this  latter  kind 
n  which  the  anomaly  was  so  striking  that  it  could  not  fail  to  be  perceived. 
The  object  and  the  purpose  was  well  known  and  advertised,  yet  a  public 
xhibition   of   fantastic  costumes  amid  grotesque  surroundings  was  not 
lought  incongruous,  in  order  to  furnish  the  means  for  carrying  on  one  of 
\e  most  sacred,  as  well  as  sad,  duties  that  Christian  people  can  be  called 


S^  TME   LIBBABY   MAGAZINE, 

to  perform,  a  work  that  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say,  in  the  recent  words  of  a 
good  Bishop,  "  has  to  be  done  with  as  little  public  show  as  possible,  by 
dogged  perseverance  in  quiet,  rather  than  by  earnestness  in  public.  There 
are  occasions,  no  doubt,  when  it  is  necessary  to  compel  men  to  listen  to  the 
awful  story  of  the  evil  that  lies  hidden  under  the  decent  veil  of  society  ; 
but  these  occasions  are  rare,  and,  as  a  rule,  the  less  that  is  publicly  known 
of  what  we  are  doing  in  this  conflict  the  better." 

In  endeavoring  to  justify  the  system  (which  I  have  rarely  found 
attempted)  it  has  been  asked,  what  harm  would  there  be,  for  one  instance,  if  a 
tradesman  determined  to  devote  the  results  of  one  day's  sale  to  charitable 
purposes,  and  why  should  we  not  therefore  sell  alsor  I  should  be  glad 
indeed  if  many  tradesmen  were  disposed  to  act  thus,  but  I  should  haixlly 
consider  that  his  customers  were  "doing  charity"  by  going  to  make  pur- 
chasers on  that  particular  day,  even  if  he  proclaimed  his  intention  before- 
hand. And  in  the  same  way,  if  ladies  or  artists  or  needle- women  can  dis- 
pose of  their  work  or  their  talents  at  fair  and  reasonable  prices,  and  give 
the  proceeds  away,  their  action  is  commendable,  but  do  not  let  us  suppose 
that  the  purchasers  of  goods  or  tickets,  who  want,  or  suppose  they 
want,  the  articles,  can  have  any  claim  to  a  share  in  the  good  work. 
They  have  their  reward  in  their  money's  worth,  and  that  must  suffice 
for  them.  "Sales  of  work"  are  justified  by  many  who  would  conden.ii 
the  other  schemes  to  which  I  have  alluded,  and  if  the  right  princijile 
b3  kept  in  view  there  is  neither  delusion  nor  falseness  in  the  plan.  But 
mark  that  even  here  deceit  begins  to  be  practiced  and  creep  in.  "A  sale 
of  work  "  recently  advertised  added  to  its  announcement  that  there  would 
also  be  a  stall  for  Art  Pottery,  which  can  have  none  of  the  same  claims  to 
exemption,  unless  painted  by  the  same  hands  that  did  the  needlework. 

And  here  I  may  be  allowed  to  say  a  word  on  behalf  of  the  tradesmen 
who  are  universally  complaining  of  hard  times  and  bad  trade.  Have  they 
nothing  to  say  about  the  system  that  can  hardly  fail  to  injure  many  of  them 
by  withdrawing  custom  from  their  shops?  It  is  obviously  impossible  for 
purchasers  to  spend  their  money  at  both  shop  and  bazaar,  especially  when 
"  useful  articles"  are  among  those  enumeratea  at  the  latter.  Some  articles 
may  be  procured  originally  from  the  shops,  but  if  sojprobably  at  a  lower 
rate,  unless  a  fictitious  price  is  added  on  afterwards.  The  latest  announce- 
m3nt  was  that  of  a  sale  of  Christmas  presents,  suitable  for  all  classes,  at  a 
private  house.  Can  there  be  any  doubt  that  this  must  be  a  serious  injur*' 
to  the  shops  which  rely  greatly  on  such  sales? 

A  noble  protest  has  been  raised  against  receiving  money  thus  acquirec^ 
by  one  of  our  oldest  and  most  respected  Societies  for  the  Furtherance  o 
Oliristianity  throughout  the  world,  oy  the  propagation  of  the  principles  oi 
truth,  honesty,  ana  sincerity.  I  can  but  trust  such  an  example  may  b 
largely  and  widely  followed,  and  that  powerful  voices  will  be  raised  in  suj 


CBASITT   BAZAAM,  S31 

port  of  wliat  that  Society  has  thus  ventured  to  ^fl&rm.  Fashion  and  custom 
are  strongly  against  us.  Boyal  and  nobl^  personages,  m  the  kindness  of 
their  gooa  nature,  not  pausii^  to  reflect  before  they  agree  to  perform  an 
easy  act  in  aid,  as  they  are  told,  of  some  great  and  good  work,  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  grant  the  favor  requested,  and  so  an  added  sanction  is  given  to  the 
system  1^  their  encouragement. 

One  of  the  saddest  aspects  of  these  exhibitions  is  perhaps  when  little 
children  are  brought  on  to  the  scene,  frequently  in  varied  and  fantastic  cos- 
tumes, with  the  object  of  importuning  their  elders  to  purchase,  or  offering 
some  special  attraction  of  display  or  vanity.  Surely  the  innocence  and 
self-forgetfulness  natural  to  children  carefully  trained  and  sheltered,  should 
not  be  exposed  to  lose  its  early  bloom  thus  prematurely  by  contact  with 
such  scenes  as  these  I  To  bring  children  forward  in  any  way  as  taking 
part  in  active  philanthropy,  is  a  question  which,  to  many  minds,  is  fraught 
with  objections  and  dangers  well  worth  consideration.  But  hardly  less 
painful  is  it  to  see  girls  of  older,  but  still  of  tender,  years,  walking  about  to 
importune  strangers  of  the  other  sex  to  purchase  some  trifle  or  partake  of 
some  amusement. 

It  may  be  objected  that  these  are  but  the  views  of  a  few  individual 
minds,  and  are  over-balanced  by  the  majority  who.  gave  a  diflerent  judg- 
ment. But  I  think  not  so  unworthily  of  English  feeling  as  to  believe  this. 
Anyhow,  in  reply,  I  venture  to  give  the  thoughts  of  a  few  writers  on  the 
subject  which  will  surely  not  be  lightly  esteemed,  and  may,  I  trust,  carry 
more  weight  than  my  poor  words  can  hope  to  do. 

An  esteemed  Bishop  of  a  Colonial  Church,  finding  that  the  English 
methods  for  collecting  money  were  rapidly  spreading,  has  recently  spoken 
out  strongly  and  plainly  as  to  this  matter,  condemning  the  "  unscriptural 
and  utterly  fallacious  methods  of  raising  money  for  Church  purposes ; "  he 
then  formally  inhibits  all  churches  and  congregations  within  nis  diocese 
from  using  the  following  methods :  (1.)  Baffling,  throwing  of  dice,  games 
of  chance,  or  gambling  of  any  kind.  (2.)  All  theatrical,  dramatic,  or 
impersonating  exhibitions,  whether  public  or  private.  He  then  proceeds 
to  say  that 'Hhe  only  true  and  scriptural  method  bjr  which  we  can  raise 
money  for  the  cause  of  Christ "  (ana  does  not  that  include  all  charitable 
work?)  "is  the  exercise  of  the  Divine  principle  of  self-renunciation.  The 
spirit  too  often  invoked  is  that  of  self-gratification  or  aggrandizement. 
Our  offerings,  to  be  acceptable  to  God,  must  represent,  not  tlie  price  which 
3ome  have  paid  for  amusement  and  others  for  gain ;  but  the  self-denial  of 
OUT  hearts  for  the  love  we  bear  to  Christ."  Let  us  hear  again  the  words  of 
John  Buskin,  which  may  have  weight  with  some  who  have  long  admired 
his  talents  and  his  noble  generosity : 

''  Thus  bazaars,  oonoerts,  private  theatricals,  eyen  football  matches,  are  made  the  menns  of 
wheedUog  money  out  of  people  who  are  too  indifferent  or  too  niggardly  to  give.    We  are 


^  THE    LIBBABY    MAGAZINE. 

simple  enough  to  believe  that  the  motiye  qualifies  the  gift,  and  that  money  reluctantly 
extorted  brings  no  blessing  with  it  Voting  charities  appeal  to  the  commercial  instinct 
and  offer  a  quid  pro  quo  in  the  shape  of  patronage.  You  give  a  guinea  and  get  a  guinea's 
worth.  Ton  are  giver  and  taker  at  once,  and  are  twice  blessed."  Hear,  again,  one  of  the 
most  eloquent  preachers  of  the  present  day,  when  he  condemns  "  all  kinds  of  methods  to 
spice  charity  with  iiushion  and  idleness,  and  to  galvanize  one  or  two  thousand  pounds  ont  of 
a  spurious  and  spasmodic  philanthropy.'' 

I  caa  hardly  wonder  at  the  effects  and  results  of  a  system  so  demoraliz- 
ing, because  based  on  so  unsound  a  foundation  as  I  nave  endeavored  to 
describe.  The  pure  springs  of  charfty,  from  which  alone  the  true  stream 
can  flow,  are  apt  to  oe  forgotten  and  lost  sight  of  in  the  vain  and  frantic 
efforts  that  are  made  to  increase  its  bulk,  but  which  are  more  likely  to 
result  in  choking  it.  There  are  not  wanting  signs  that  a  climax  has  been 
reached,  and  that  the  palled  and  satiated  appetite  for  novelty  cannot  long 
continue  to  be  fed  witn  still  newer  and  more  exciting  draughts,  and  then 
the  system  must  collapse.  I  believe  that  a  conviction  of  the  unsoundness, 
the  un worthiness,  of  tne  principle  has  reached  many  hearts,  who  would 
gladly  speak  out  their  dissatisfaction,  but  who  are  still  following  the  lead- 
ing multitude  in  ways  they  secretly  condemn. 

Let  us  have  the  faith  and  courage  to  believe  that  work  which  is  worthy 
of  support  will  receive  it  when  sought  in  true  and  honest  ways,  and  when 
the  present  mists  of  delusion  have  passed  away.  We  hear  occasionally 
some  remarkable  and  cheering  facts  in  support  of  this  assertion — small 
parishes  contributing  sums  large  in  proportion  to  their  size  and  means,  for 
missionary  and  other  purposes.  One  such  example  is  now  before  me,  when 
a  population  of  500  helped  in  the  restoration  of  their  old  parish  church ; 
"there  was  scarcely  a  poor  person  who  was  not  eager  to  aid  the  work,  and 
the  small  tradesmen  collected  from  £6  to  £8  each  I "  In  another  case  a 
parish,  in  the  East-end  of  London,  containing  about  6000  people,  chiefly 
dock-laborers,  contributed  over  £160  to  the  Bishop  of  Bedford's  fund. 

If  we  believe  that  the  systems  now  adopted  for  procuring  money  by 
means  of  bazaars  are  undermining  the  spring  and  source  of  the  Divine  vir- 
tue, as  we  have  it  described  by  the  highest  authority,  by  confusing  and 
warping  all  our  ideas  and  motives  concerning  it,  surely  we  shall  do  well  to 
pause  and  consider  our  ways.  Those  who  have  looked  with  pride  on  our 
"  charitable  England,"  the  centre  of  wealth,  as  of  true,  generous  benevol- 
ence, may  well  reflect  with  sorrow,  not  unmixed  with  alarm,  on  these  pres- 
ent aspects  of  alms-giving,  for  whatever  may  be  the  immediate  results  in  a 
few  instances,  they  must  inevitably  end  in  failure  and  disaster  to  the  great 
cause  of  which  I  have  been  endeavouring  to  speak. — LotiiSA  Twining, 
in  Murray's  Magazine. 


MOUNTAIN    FLOODS.  333 

MOUNTAIN  FLOODS. 

Almost  every  traveller  who  passes  througli  the  Southern  Alps  and 
Northern  Italy  must  be  struck  by  the  extent  and  desolation  of  their  river- 
beds. In  summer  a  small  stream  trickles  through  a  waste  of  sand,  gravel, 
and  pieces  of  rock,  beneath  which  it  occasionally  disappears;  in  winter  the 
condition  of  the  brooks  and  rivers  is  nearly  the  same,  though  few  pause  to 
observe  these  things  in  winter,  when  the  attractions  of  Florence,  Home,  and 
Naples  lie  temptingly  open  before  them.  In  spring  and  autumn  the  bed  of 
the  lower  streams  is  filled  with  a  liquid  which  seems  to  consist  of  stones 
and  mud  rather  than  water,  which  rises  and  falls  with  an  apparent 
capriciousness,  and  if  it  happens  to  pass  beyond  its  usual  boundaries  spreads 
desolation  around.  It  is  not  the  water,  but  what  the  water  brings  with  it 
that  does  the  lasting  harm.  Theorists  have,  from  century  to  century,  pro- 
posed remedies  for  the  evil,  but  none  of  those  which  have  hitherto  been 
adopted  have  proved  entirely  successful.  If  money  enough  were  forth- 
coming, practical  men  say,  the  streams  might  be  regulated  in  an  effectual 
manner;  but  how  to  find  the  necessary  cash  is  a  question  that  sometimes 
bids  States  as  well  as  individuals  pause. 

It  is  only  in  countries  where  streams  have  their  birth  that  one  can  form 
a  clear  conception  of  the  rise,  and  progress  of  floods.  The  permanent 
injury  they  do,  as  has  been  said,  lies  less  in  the  water  than  in  what  it  con- 
tains. In  the  Dolomites,  which  owe  their  bold  outlines  to  the  ease  with 
which  the  stone  is  disintegrated,  every  frost  loosens  large  masses  of  rock 
that  only  wait  for  an  impetus  to  be  cast  into  the  valleys.  This  is  given  by 
the  rains  of  autumn  and  the  thawing  snows  of  spring,  when  the  water  at 
once  undermines  and  presses  upon  them.  They  tnen  fall,  either  in  masses 
larger  than  most  churc-nes,  or  in  fragments  which  are  churned  into  roundness 
by  the  torrent  below.  They  block  the  stream  till  it  breaks  a  new  course 
for  itself,  or  increases  in  fury  till  it  sweeps  the  whole  obstruction  before  it. 
It  is  difficult  to  say  which  is  the  more  dangerous  of  the  alternatives.  In 
the  one  case,  a  valley  that  has  never  before  been  overflooded  may  be  turned 
into  a  desert,  and  houses  that  were  supposed  to  be  entirely  secure  may  be 
inundated  or  swept  away;  in  the  other,  a  certain  destruction  is  sent  to 
those  who  dwell  in  the  lower  valleys. 

When  the  brooks  have  passed  the  huge  limestone  gates,  by  which  in  the 
Dolomites  they  usually  rush  from  the  rocky  wilderness  in  which  they  have 
their  source  to  the  central  stream,  the  danger  is  not  over.  After  rainy 
weather  of  any  duration,  the  whole  country  is  in  the  condition  of  a  wet 
sponge.  The  greensward  and  the  roots  of  the  trees,  with  the  vegetation 
tiiat  woods  favor,  retain  a  great  deal  of  the  water,  and  only  part  with  it 
gradually,  but  any  wanderer  can  at  such  times  easily  produce  a  rivulet  by 
^hrusting  his  stick  into  the  ground  and  drawing  a  small  runnel  to  a  lower 


334  TEE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE, 

level,  and  he  will  be  sarpriaed  on  the  r<^lownig  day  to  see  iphat  nature  had 
made  out  of  his  simple  handiwork.  Now,  when  a  meadow  lies  on  a  bed 
of  soft  rock  or  gravel — and  most  that  border  the  mountain  streams  do  so — 
it  becomes  a  source  of  danger  as  soon  as  the  turf  ceases  to  extend  to  the 
river's  brink.  Not  only,  does  the  force  and  friction  of  the  torrent  wear 
away  the  lower  part  of  the  bed,  but  the  water  that  soaks  through  from 
above  disintegrates  the  upper.  Anv  one  who  watches  such  an  exfjosed 
brook-side  when  floods  threaten  will  be  suiprised  to  see  with  what  rapidity 
small  fountains  make  their  appearance  in  tne  centre  of  the  gravel  and  how 
rapidly  they  grow,  always  pushing  larger  quantities  of  stone  and  earth 
before  them.  Nature,  of  course,  is  only  doing  here  what  the  wanderer  has 
done  above  with  his  walking-stick;  it  is  providing  channels  by  which  the 
saturated  grass  is  drained ;  but  if  this  condition  of  things  continues  long, 
a  great  part  of  the  bank  is  carried  gradually  away  and  the  turf  that  rested 
upon  it  caves  in  and  falls.  This  is  always  a  loss  to  the  proprietor  of  the 
meadow,  but  it  is  most  dangerous  for  others  when  trees  are  standing  upon 
it,  the  branches  of  which  catch  the  passing  stones  and  mud,  and  form  a 
natural  dam  that  diverts  the  course  of  the  stream.  The  officials  who  are 
responsible  for  the  safety  of  the  roads  would  therefore  willingly  fell  most 
of  the  alders  and  willows  that  fringe  the  brooks,  but  they  have  no  legal 
power  to  do  so.  When  it  is  necessary,  they  can  prohibit  a  man  from  cut- 
ting down  his  own  timber,  but  they  cannot  touch  a  stem  that  does  not 
belong  to  the  State.  All  they  can  do  is  to  bring  the  danger  the  tree  causes 
before  the  proprietor  and  the  village  authorities;  but  the  former  has  fre- 
quently no  objection  to  see  his  neighbors'  fields  under  water,  and  the  latter 
are  unwilling  to  incur  unpopularity  by  their  interference.  Lovers  of  the 
picturesque  may  be  glad  oi  tnis. 

Every  one  who  has  watched  children  building  their  mimic  dykes  and 
harbors  on  the  side  of  a  rivulet  must  have  noticed  how  a  single  stone  cast 
into  the  water  will  occasionally  alter  the  whole  current.  In  a  flood,  nature, 
with  the  apparent  thoughtlessness  of  a  child,  acts  much  as  he  does.  A 
fragment  of  rock,  or  the  root  of  a  tree  which  is  caught  on  the  bed  of  the 
stream,  changes  its  course.  Instead  of  beating  on  tne  solid  rock  at  the 
next  turn,  as  it  has  done  harmlessly  for  centuries,  its  chief  force  is  now 
directed  against  the  opposite  bank,  which  crumbles  away  beneath  it. 
These  changes  in  the  current  of  a  stream  are  the  dangers  against  which 
those  who  live  in  the  lower  valleys  have  chiefly  to  guard;  but  when  they 
seem  distant  a  mutual  jealousy  often  prevents  the  necessary  steps  being 
taken,  and  when  the  flood  has  come  it  is  too  late  to  oppose  its  violence. 

In  the  Alps  floods  are  as  usual  and  as  incalculaole  as  snowstorms  in 
England.  It  is  certain  that  they  will  come;  but  when,  and  what  districts 
will  be  chiefly  affected,  are  matters  of  doubt.  The  Austrian  Government 
has,  therefore,  taken  steps  to  minimize  their  influence,  though  its  action  has 


MOUNTAIN    FLOODS.  335 

hitherto  been  confessedly  inadequate.  We  have  no  space  to  enter  here 
either  into  the  intricacies  of  the  Austrian  Constitution  or  the  plans  and 
achievements  of  engineers.  A  rough  sketch  must  suffice.  In  each  of  the 
Alpine  lands  appertaining  to  the  Imperial  Crown,  which  we  for  conven- 
ience usually  call  provinces,  a  permanent  Commissioti  is  appointed,  which 
has  the  charge  of  all  matters  that  concern  the  mountain  torrents.  To  it  all 
representations  with  respect  to  the  conduct  of  an  unruly  brook  must  be 
addressed,  and  it  inquires  into  them  on  the  spot.  It  weighs  the  amount  of 
the  danger  and  the  claims  of  various  districts,  and  then  draws  up  proposals 
which  are  submitted  to  the  Landtag  or  provincial  Parliament,  and  when 
'^  they  have  been  approved,  these  are  in  due  course  laid  before  the  Parliament 
of  the  Empire.  The  funds  required  by  the  single  provinces  are  supposed 
to  be  contributed  by  them,  but  in  undertakings  of  great  extent  or  difficulty 
Imperial  grants  are  made,  and  in  all  cases  the  central  Government  supplies 
highly-trained  and  competent  officials  to  direct  the  works,  without  requir- 
ing any  remuneration  for  their  services.  To  these  large  powers  are  granted 
in  cases  of  emergency,  and  during  disastrous  floods  soldiers  ate  frequently 
employed  for  weeks  together,  not  merely  to  rescue  those  whose  lives  are  in 
danger,  but  as  laborers  in  constructing  the  works  necessary  to  regulate  the 
course  of  the  stream.    In  such  cases,  however,  they  receive  extra  pay. 

Those  streams  are  most  dangerous  which  run  down  the  steepest  declines, 
because  they  are  the  most  apt  to  wear  away  their  banks,  and  it  is  easiest 
for  them  to  bring  down  the  fallen  earth  and  stones  of  the  uplands.  The 
method  at  present  chiefly  adopted  in  regulating  them  is  that  of 
building  a  series  of  dams.  These  are  little  more  tnan  strong  walls  with 
apertures,  through  which  the  water  can  freely  flow.  They  span  the  whole 
bed  of  the  stream,  and  rise  to  a  considerable  height  above  it.  By  this 
contrivance  the  shingle  is  left  behind  while  the  book  flows  on  in  its  usual 
course.  In  the  course  of  years  the  upper  bed  is  filled,  and  the  dam  is  then 
raised  from  time  to  time  as  long  as  the  condition  of  the  banks  permits.  A 
brook  which  has  been  regulated  in  this  way  will,  after  the  lapse  of  a  longer 
or  shorter  period,  run  from  cascade  to  cascade  over  distances  which  have 
only  a  slight  fall,  and  where  it  will  lose  the  greater  part  of  its  force.  But 
it  takes  longer  than  might  at  first  sight  be  supposed  to  bring  about  such  a 
change.  The  masses  of  stone  are  at  first  piled  so  roughly  on  each  other  by 
the  floods  that  after  the  level  of  the  dam  has  been  reached  the  water  for 

{rears  finds  an  easy  way  between  them,  and  spouts  through  its  former  out- 
ets,  far  below  the  surface  of  its  new  bed,  leaving  its  dangerous  freight 
behind.  A  waterfall  makes  a  great  impression  on  a  tourist ;  a  stream  flow- 
ing downwards  at  a  steep  gradient  hardly  any ;  yet  the  latter  is  far  more 
dangerous  than  the  former,  and  where  a  series  of  artificial  cascades  is 
constructed  it  prevents  the  brook  not  only  from  carrying  the  rubble 
further,  but  also  from  pieying  upon  the  banks.     By  this  means  time  is 


336  THE    LIBRARY    MAGAZINE, 

afforded  for  the  vegetation  to  grow  on  the  comparatively  level  portions  of 
the  course. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  a  succession  of  such  dams  does  not  add  to  the 
charms  of  a  mountain  valley ;  indeed,  when  first  built,  they  are  a  positive 
eyesore ;  but  even  the  most  romantic  would  have  little  reason  to  regret  the 
suppression  of  floods,  if  it  could  be  accomplished.  Frequently  as  they 
have  been  employed  in  novels,  there  is  probably  no  natural  spectacle  which 
combines  so  much  loss  and  danger  with  so  little  sublimity.  It  is  surprising 
to  see  what  used  to  be  fields  turned  into  a  pond,  and  some  of  the  incidents 
may  be  startling  or  even  dramatic ;  but  there  is  little  beauty  in  an  expanse 
of  muddy  water  which  is  evidently  in  its  wrong  place,  and  the  incidents 
are  more  effective  in  print  than  in  reality.  At  any  rate,  even  from  a 
scenical  point  of  view  the  entertainment  is  too  costly.  To  have  to  look 
for  years  on  long  stretches  of  gray  and  barren  rubbish  instead  of  upon  trees 
and  greensward  is  too  high  a  price  to  pay  for  a  few  hours '  excitement. — 
Saturday  Review. 


AGRICULTURAL  DISTRESS  IN  ENGLAND. 

[We  here  copy  from  the  London  Quarterly  Review  the  opening  and  closing  paragraphs  of  a 
loag  and  exhaastive  article  entitled  *'  Landed  Income  and  Landed  Estates,"  the  greater  por- 
tion of  which  is  devoted  to  statistics  substantiating  the  conclusions  announced.  From  the 
omitted  part  we  except  a  paragraph  showing  how  the  present  state  of  things  aiTects 
"  those  ministers  of  the  Church  who  are  unfortunate  enough  to  derive  the  income  of  their 
benefices  from  glebe  farms."-.  After  giving  a  number  of  special  instances,  the  reviewer, 
quoting  from  the  Morning  Pod  says: — 

*'  I  have  the  names  of  twenty  livings,  mostly  in  Bedfordshire,  Suffolk,  and  Huntingdon, 
wi  th  aggregate  glebe  at  just  under  7fiW>  acres,  or  on  an  average  of  350  acres  each.  Ten  years 
ago  the  rental  was  over  £12,000,  or  about  35s.  an  acre,  the  average  being  £600  apiece.  It 
is  now  £3,731,  being  less  than  lis.  an  acre,  or  £186  for  each  benefice ;  and  even  this  amount 
is  subject  to  large  deductions  for  charges  of  various  kinds.  If  the  reader  will  picture  to 
himself  his  own  position  if  his  entire  income,  whatever  it  may  be,  were  suddenly  reduced 
to  one-third  of  its  amount,  he  will  have  some  notion  of  the  unfortunate  position  of  many  of 
the  clergy  in  what  used  to  be  the  finest  wheat-growing  districts  in  England." 

Full  statistics  are  given  as  to  the  ownership  of  the  land  in  the  United  Kingdom,  which 
we  thus  summarize:  The  entire  number  of  persons  who  own  more  than  ten  acres  is  about 
180,000 ;  those  who  own  less  than  ten  acres,  and  are  nuiin]y  only  house-holders,  holding 
less  than  one-hundredth  part  of  the  land.  Descending  to  particulars,  we  are  told  fhat — 
excluding  properties  under  one  acre  in  extent^-one-fourth  of  the  whole  territory  is  held  by 
1*2,000  persons,  at  an  average  of  16,200  acres ;  another  fourth  by  6,200  persons  at  an  average  of 
3,150  acres;  another  fourth  by  50,770  persons,  at  an  average  of  380  acres;  while  the  remain- 
ing fourth  is  held  by  261,830  persons,  at  an  average  for  each  person  of  70  acres.  From  such 
facts,  the  writer  draws  the  conclusion  that  "  it  is  of  importance  to  the  country,  and  of 
presiding  importance  to  landlords,  if  they  wish  to  be  secure  from  confiscation  and  pillage  in 
the  fature,  that  the  land-owning  class  should  be  increased.  Nothing  t^ids  more  to  keep  a 
country  together  and  free  it  from  revolutionary  and  socialistic  brands  than  the  fact  of  a 
large  number  of  freeholders  in  the  community.  It  is  what  has  saved  France  again  and 
again,  and  we  believe  it  will  save  Eugland  if  not  neglected  too  long.     Whatever  may  be 


AQRICULTUBAL    DI8TBEB8    IN   ENGLAND.  337 

said  about  peasant  pToprietonihip,  the  great  &et  remaiDS  that  it  is  the  one  force  which 
oppoees  most  strongly  the  doctrine  of  plunder  and  confiscation ;  and  it  is  for  this  reason,  if 
for  this  reason  alone,  that  we  consider  that  it  behoves  eveiy  landlord  to  give  eyeiy  fiacilily 
for  the  establishment  of  small  freeholds.  Already  there  are  indications  that  something  of 
the  sort  is  going  on.  That  the  i^stem  will  assume  large  proportions  before  long  we  feel 
confident ;  and  unless  the  march  of  reyolutionary  power  is  too  strong  for  us,  it  will  be 
attended  with  success.'' — ^Ed.  Lib.  Mag.] 

The  astounding  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  the  last  ten  or  twelve 
years  in  the  condition  and  prospects  of  the  agricultural  interests  of  England, 
and  consequently  in  the  position  of  the  owners  and  occupiers  of  land,  have 
naturally  called  much  attention  to  the  present  condition  and  future  prospects 
of  the  landed  interest.  We  live  in  a  country  having  a  limited  area,  densely 
populated,  and  abounding  in  great  cities ;  vet  we  are  unable  to  grow 
agricultural  produce  at  a  profit.  Farms  that  formerly  were  eagerly 
sought  for  by  numerous  competitors,  all  substantial  men  with  capital  and 
credit,  are  now  waiting  in  vain  to  be  hired.  Land,  which  was  the  favorite 
investment,  and  was  in  such  demand  that  it  not  unfrequently  fetched  forty 
years'  purchase  on  rents  which  were  known  to  have  been  raised  just  before 
tlie  sale,  is  at  the  present  moment  almost  unsaleable.  In  Essex,  but  a  few 
miles  distant  from  the  largest  city  in  the  world,  there  is  a  spot  from  which, 
it  is  said,  there  can  be  seen  nineteen  large  farms,  all  vacant,  without  tenants, 
and  for  the  most  part  uncultivated ;  this  too  in  a  county  which  only  a  few 
years  back  used  to  be  one  of  our  greatest  food-producing  districts.  Fifty 
years  ago  we  raised  nearly  all  the  com  required  in  the  United  Kingdom, 
supplies  from  foreign  countries  being  only  brought  into  requisition  when 
the  crops  were  damaged  or  deficient.  Our  population  has  now  doubled, 
and  we  only  supply  a  third  of  what  they  eat  in  the  shape  of  bread.  We 
are  also  dependent  to  a  large  extent  on  foreign  countries  for  the  supply  of 
meat  consumed  at  home;  reckoning  here,  not  only  the  actual  meat  im- 
ported, but  also  the  meat-making  substances,  such  as  Indian  corn,  barley, 
oats,  and  linseed.  It  is  estimated  in  this  way  that  two-fifbhs  of  our  animal 
food  is  produced  directly  or  indirectly  in  other  countries 

As  oats,  barley,  hay,  and  green  crops,  which  are  principally  used  for  the 
manufacture  of  meat,  are  during  the  present  year  [1887]  lamentably  defi- 
cient, and  in  some  cases,  especiallv  as  regards  green  crops,  total  failures,  it  is 
not  too  much  to  say,  that  we  shall  be  a  third  short  in  our  winter  keep,  and 
therefore  those  farmers  who  wish  to  fatten  stock  during  the  winter  months 
must  invest  largely  in  foreign  feeding  stuffs.  The  poverty  of  the  majority 
of  our  farmers  makes  it  almost  impossible  that  they  will  be  able  to  afford 
to  fatten  much  stock  this  winter  by  the  purchase  of  foreign  food,  so  that 
the  advantage  of  any  increase  in  price  of  cattle  will  only  benefit  the  foreigner, 
and  to  some  extent  our  colonists. 

According  to  these  figures  the  outlook  is  singularly  gloomy,  and  probably 
the  agricultural  year  of  1887-1888  will  be  one  of  the  worst  this  country 


338  THE   LIBMABT   MAGAZINE. 

has  ever  known.  Of  hay  there  is  a  deficiency  of  at  least  two  million  tons, 
and  also  a  similar  amount  in  straw ;  at  the  most  favorable  computation  the 
deficiency  in  turnips  is  more  than  ten  million  tons,  in  oats  four  million 
quarters.  It  is  stated  that  to  replace  these  losses  twelve  million  quarters  of 
foreign  barley  would  have  to  be  forthcoming,  or  else  4,000,000  quarters  of 
oats  more  than  are  usually  imported.  Although  the  crop  of  barley,  oats, 
and  maize,  are  unusually  good  in  Russia  and  the  Danubian  Principalities, 
the  demand  for  forwara  shipment,  notwithstanding  the  low  prices,  is  very 
small.  Nothing  is  more  indicative  of  the  present  dearth  of  capital  amongst 
the  British  agriculturists  than  that,  with  the  prospect  of  an  almost  certain 
profit  by  buying  stock  at  the  present  ruinous  prices  and  feeding  it  with 
Kussian  barley  or  oats  or  Danubian  maize  at  figures  below  anything  known 
for  a  century,  the  trade  in  these  articles  remains  undemonstrative,  and 
values  are  little  more  than  maintained.  The  unremunerative  prices  of  grain 
have  been  the  cause  of  many  acres  of  land  once  productive  for  tillage  being 
laid  down  in  grass ;  but  as  they  are  unsuited  for  grass  and  unproductive  as 
pasture,  they  now,  after  great  expense,  only  let  for  a  few  shillings,  whereas 
a  few  years  back  they  made  pounds  per  acre. 

At  every  turn  the  British  agriculturist  appears  to  be  beaten  out  of  the 
field 

The  unremunerative  price  of  com,  and  the  consequent  laying  down  of 
arable  in  pasture,  have  very-  much  contracted  the  labor  market.  This  very 
fact  ought  to  lend  an  additional  stimulus  to  the  movement,  for  increasing 
the  number  of  land-owners,  as  many  laborers  who  now  find  themselves 
destitute  of  employment  would,  if  they  had  the  opportunity  of  acquiring 
small  freeholds,  gladly  avail  themselves  of  any  scheme  that  would  enable 
them  to  do  so.  Meanwhile  the  agricultural  interest,  as  it  at  present  exists, 
has  to  face  immense  difficulties.  What  is  in  the  future  no  one  knows. 
How  it  will  all  end  no  one  dares  to  guess.  That  it  is  a  question  of  vital 
and  national  importance  no  one  with  commonsense  will  deny.-  There  is  a 
"Health  of  Nations"  as  well  as  a  "wealth : "  who  shall  say  that  the  former 
is  not  as  important  as  the  latter?  The  decrease  of  the  rural  population, 
from  whom  we  have  always  drawn  fresh  blood  and  vigorous  constitutions 
to  replace  the  wear  and  tear  of  the  cities,  cannot  be  viewed  without  alarm 
and  apprehension. 

Are  our  country  districts  to  become  depopulated,  our  villages  and  ham- 
lets, on  which  we  have  so  justlv  prided  ourselves,  deserted?  Are  our 
country  towns  to  become  decayed  and  neglected,  and  their  tradesmen  and 
professional  men,  who  are  dependent  on  the  neighboring  district,  practically 
ruined  ?  Are  our  laborers  to  leave  their  homes  to  swell  the  great  mass  of 
the  unemployed  in  our  great  cities,  and  there  lead  a  life  compared  with 
which  the  hardest  moments  of  their  present  lives  would  be  as  paradise  on 
earth?     Is  the  farmer  to  gather  up  what  he  can  out  of  the  wrecKs  of  what 


ABBAEAM   LINCOLN.  339 

used  to  be  a  moderate  fortime,  and  leave  the  home  in  which  he  was  bom, 
and  the  country  of  which  he  used  to  be  pioud,  for  some  distant  land  in 
which  he  can  nnd  interest  for  his  money,  remuneration  for  his  labor,  or  at 
all  events  fair  play?  And  lastly,  will  the  landowner  himself  be  obliged  to 
leave  the  home  of  his  fathers — a  home  which  may  have  been  endeared  to 
him  by  a  thousand  memories,  which  has  historical  associations  and  inci- 
dents preserved  through  a  Iod^  Une  of  ancestors?  Are  all  the  noble  man- 
sions and  their  beautiful  surroundings,  of  which  we  are  as  a  nation  so  justly 
proud,  to  fall  into  disuse  and  become  no  more?  Are  our  manly  fiela- 
sports,  which  have  done  so  much  to  give  our  people  the  fine  constitutions 
and  powers  of  endurance  they  possess,  and  make  them  manly,  courageous, 
and  self-reliant,  to  pass  away?  If  England  loses  these  things,  she  loses 
much  that  makes  her  England,  and  makes  us  ready  to  love  her,  cherish 
her,  and  protect  her.  It  is  the  rural  life  of  England,  quite  as  much  as  her 
commerce  and  mighty  cities,  that  have  been  at  once  the  wonder  and  the 
envy  of  all  nations.  How  often  do  we  hear  foreigners  say  to  us,  "We  have 
much  finer  thin^  than  your  towns,  but  we  have  nothing  like  your  country 
life:  it  is  as  unique  as  it  is  delightful,  and  as  delightful  as  it  is  unique." — 
Quarterly  Eeview. 


ABRAHAM  LINCOLN* 

We  have  met  to  honor  the  greatest  statesman  the  greatest  statesman  this 
country  has  produced.  Only  a  few  years  ago  there  were  two  parties  in  the 
United  States,  neither  of  them  with  honor  enough,  or  moral  character 
enough,  or  a  clear  perception  enough  to  denounce  an  institution  that  in- 
volve, the  commission  of  crime. 

A  few  men — a  few  good  and  splendid  spirits — not  only  thought  but  knew 
that  a  wrong  like  that  could  not  live  for  ever ;  a  few  men  prophesied  the 
dawn  of  another  day.  A  few  men  said  our  flag  some  time  shall  cease  to 
pollute  the  air  in  which  it  waves.  A^ong  these  was  the  man  whose  name 
we  honor  to-night.  He  saw,  with  prophetic  vision,  that  a  house  divided 
against  itself  could  not  stand.  He  was  patriotic  enough  to  defend  the  right, 
and  no  man  yet  has  ever  shown  patriotism  by  defending  the  wrong.  He 
only  is  a  true  patriot  who  endeavors  to  make  his  country  nobler,  grander, 
and  nearer  just.  The  man  who  defends  the  mistakes  and  crimes  of  his 
fellow-men  is  a  political  panderer  and  a  wretched  demagogue.  I  always 
thank  the  man  who  points  out  my  faults,  if  he  does  it  through  tenderness 
and  love ;  the  man  who  flatters  your  crimes  is  your  enemy. 

*  This  is  the  address  deliyered  be^ie  the  Brooklyii  Bepnblieaai  League  by  lir.  Bobeit 
O.  Ingenoll,  Febmarf  12, 1888,  thai  being  the  aeyeDtr-niiith  aniilTenHirY  of  the  birthday 

of  ^illCO)!}. 


340  TffE   LIBEABY   MAGAZINE, 

Abraham  Lincoln  was  one  of  the  few  who  saw  that  slavery  could  not 
exist  forever.  He  was  bom  in  a  cabin,  laid  in  the  lap  of  the  poor-born  in 
a  cabin,  in  the  wilderness  of  Kentucky,  yet  he  rose  to  such  a  supreme  and 
splendid  height  that  fame  never  reached  higher  than  his  brow  when  putting 
its  laurels  on  the  brow  of  a  human  being.  He  was  a  man  who  was  true  to 
himself,  and  for  that  reason  true  to  others.  He  was  a  strange  mingling  of 
mirth  and  tears,  of  the  perfect  and  grotesque,  of  Socrates  and  Babelais,  of 
^sop  and  of  Marcus  Aurelius,  of  all  that  was  noble  and  just,  of  mercy 
and  honesty,  merciful,  wise,  lovable,  and  divine — ^and  all  consecrated  to  the 
use  of  man,  while  through  all  and  over  all  was  an  overwhelming  sense  of 
chivalry  and  loyalty,  and  above  all  the  shadow  of  a  perfect  mind.  Of  nearly 
all  the  creat  characters  of  history  we  know  nothing  of  their  peculiarities. 
About  the  oaks  of  these  great  men,  and  about  the  roots  of  there  oaks,  we 
know  nothing  of  the  earth  that  clings  to  them.  Washington  himself  is 
now  a  steel  engraving :  About  the  real  man  who  lived,  who  loved,  who 
schemed,  and  who  succeeded  we  know  nothing.  The  glass  through  which  we 
look  at  him  is  of  such  high  magnifying  power  that  the  features  are  indis- 
tinct.  .  Hundreds  of  people  are  now  engaged  smoothing  out  the  lines  in 
Lincoln's  face  so  that  ne  may  be  known,  not  as  he  really  was,  but  according 
to  their  poor  standard  as  he  should  have  been. 

Abraham  Lincoln  was  not  a  type ;  he  stands  alone — ^no  ancestors,  no  fol- 
lowers, and  no  successors.  He  had  the  advantage  of  living  in  a  new  coun- 
try, the  advantage  of  social  equality,  of  personal  freedom,  of  seeing  in  the 
horizon  of  his  life  the  perpetual  star  of  hope.  He  knew,  and  minded  with 
men  of  every  kind  and  became  familiar  with  the  best  books.  In  a  new 
country  you  must  possess  at  least  three  qualities — ^honesty,  courage,  and 
generosity.  In  cultivated  society  cultivation  is  often  more  important  than 
soil,  and  while  polished  counterfeit  sometimes  passes  more  readily  than  the 
blurred  genuine,  it  is  necessary  only  to  observe  the  uncertain  laws  of 
society  to  be  honest  enough  to  keep  out  of  the  penitentiary,  and  generous 
enough  to  subscribe  in  public  when  the  subscription  can  be  defined  as  a 
business  investment.  In  a  new  country  character  is  essential ;  in  the  old 
reputation  is  oflen  sufficient.  In  the  new  they  find  what  a  man  is ;  in  the 
old  he  generally  passes  for  what  he  resembles.  People  separated  by  dis- 
tance are  much  nearer  together  than  those  divided  by  the  walls  of  caste. 

Lincoln  never  finished  his  education,  although  he  was  always  an  inquirer 
and  a  seeker  after  knowledge.  You  have  no  idea  how  many  men  are 
spoiled  by  what  is  called  education.  For  the  most  part  colleges  are  where 
pebbles  are  polished  and  diamonds  are  dimmed.  If  Shakspeare  had 
graduated  at  Oxford,  he  might  have  been  a  quibbling  attorney  or  a  poor 
parson.  Lincoln  was  a  many-sided  man,  as  reliable  as  the  dfirection  of 
gravity.  His  words  were  kind  as  mercy,  and  gave  a  perfect  image  of  his 
tliougnt.     He  was  never  afraid  to  ask,  never  too  dignified  to  admit  that  he 


LITHOQRAPHIC    STONE    QUARRIES,  341 

did  not  know.  Lincoln  was  natural  in  his  life  and  thought,  master  of  the 
story  telling  art,  liberal  in  speech,  using  any  word  which  wit  would  disin- 
fect. He  was  a  logician.  He  did  not  say  wnat  he  thought  others  thought, 
but  what  he  thought.  He  was  sincerely  natural.  If  you  wish  to  be  sub- 
lime you  must  keep  close  to  the  grass.  Too  much  polish  suggests  insin- 
cerity. If  you  wish  to  know  what  is  the  difference  between  an  orator  and 
the  elocutionist  read  Lincoln's  wondrous  words  at  Gettysburg,  and  then  read 
the  speech  of  Edward  Everett.  The  oration  of  Lincoln  will  never  be  forgot- 
ten ;  it  will  live  until  languages  are  dead  and  lips  are  dust.  The  speech  of 
Everett  will  never  be  read.'  Lincoln  was  an  immense  personality,  firm  but 
not  obstinate — obstinacy  is  egotism,  firmness  is  heroism.  He  influenced 
others,  and  they  submitted  to  him. 

He  was  severe  to  himself  and  for  that  reason  lenient  to  others,  and  ap- 
peared to  apologize  for  being  kinder  than  his  fellows.  He  did  merciful 
things  as  stealthily  as  others  committed  crimes.  He  did  and  said  the 
noblest  deeds  and  words  with  that  nobleness  that  is  the  grace  of  modesty. 
Everything  for  principle,  nothing  for  money,  everything  for  independence. 
Where  no  principle  was  involved,  easily  swayed,  willing  to  go  somewhere 
if  in  the  right  direction;  willing  to  stop  sometimes,  but  he  would  not  go 
back,  and  he  would  n6t  go  away.  He  knew  that  fight  was  needed  and  full 
of  chances,  he  knew  that  slavery  had  defenders,  but  no  defense,  and  tbat 
those  who  advocated  the  right  must  win  some  time.  He  was  neither 
tyrant  nor  slave.  Nothing  discloses  real  character  like  the  use  of  power, 
and  it  was  the  quality  of  Lincoln  that,  having  almost  absolute  power,  he 
never  abused  it  except  upon  the  side  of  mercy.  Wealth  could  not  purchase 
power,  could  not  awe  this  divine,  this  living  man.  He  knew  no  fear  except 
the  fear  of  doing  wrong.  He  was  the  embodiment  of  self-denial  and  courage. 
He  spoke  not  to  upbraid  but  to  convince.  He  raised  his  hands,  not  to 
strike,  but  in  benediction,  and  longed  to  see  pearls  of  tears  on  the  cheeks 
of  the  wives  whose  husbands  he  had  saved  from  death.  Lincoln  was  the 
grandest  figure  of  the  greatest  civil  war  of  our  world. 


LITHOGRAPHIC  STONE  QUARRIES. 

LiTHOGBAPHic  stone,  which  is  so  largely  used  in  printing — and  is  indeed, 
for  some  branches  of  the  art,  indispensable— comes  mainly  from  the  little 
village  of  Solnhofen  in  Bavaria.  It  is  a  peculiar  species  of  porous  lime- 
stone, and. is  found  in  the  quarries  which  abound  in  this  neighborhood,  the 
sources  of  supply  being  limited  to  an  area  of  a  few  square  miles.  It  is 
chiefly  of  a  yellowish-white  color,  and  is  very  absorbent  of  water,  which  is 
its  great  virtue ;  and,  inasmuch  as  science  nas  hitherto  failed  to  find  an 


342  TBE    UBRARY   MAGAZINE, 

efficient  substitute,  it  is  fortunate  that  the  quarries  are  almost  inexhaustible. 
The  stone  which  is  found  in  the  vicinity  of  this  place  goes  all  over  the 
world;  and  even  America,  having  no  geological  formation  of  the  kind  of 
her  own,  has  to  send  here  for  it. 

A  visit  to  Solnhofen,  which  is  on  the  main  line  between  Nuremberg  and 
Munich,  and  therefore  not  at  all  out  of  the  track  of  the  ordinary  tourist, 
cannot  fail  to  prove  interesting.  No  sooner  do  we  arrive  at  the  railway- 
station  than  we  perceive  unmistakable  evidence  of  the  trade  of  the  locality 
in  the  goods  siding,  which  is  filled  with  trucks  and  carts  loaded  with  litho- 
graphic stones  of  various  sizes. 

Through  the  quiet  German  village  a  rough  road,  made  entirely  of  refuse 
stone,  leads  us  to  the  foot  of  a  chain  of  hills;  and  an  hour's  walk — for  vehic- 
ular traffic  on  such  roads  is  nearly  an  impossibility — ^brings  us  to  the  out- 
skirts of  one  of  the  big  quarries.  We  first  become  aware  that  there  is  any 
life  in  this  silent  place  by  a  repeated  tapping,  which  echoes  seemingly  from 
out  of  the  earth ;  then,  as  we  climb  nearer  and  round  the  projecting  niUside, 
we  see  it  covered  with  stone  which  has  been  shot  down  from  the  top,  thus 
turning  the  thick  undergrowth  of  bushes  and  saplings  in  this  particular 
place  into  a  precipitous  and  dangerous  declivity  whereon  is  no  foothold, 
save  the  narrow  path  used  by  the  workmen. 

Climbing  still  higher,  we  eventually  reach  the  quarrv  itself,  where  are 
some  hundred  men  at  work  eating  into  the  heart  of  the  hill  with  pick  and 
mattock.  The  method  of  quarrying  is,  we  believe,  peculiar  to  this  stone. 
It  lies  in  layers,  varying  from  half  an  inch  to  several  inches  in  thickness, 
and  the  whole  art  consists  in  getting  out  these  pieces  of  stone  of  as  large  a 
size  as  possible,  for  the  value  of  lithographic  stones,  like  that  of  diamonds, 
varies  in  inverse  proportion  to  their  size.  Thus  a  dealer  will  quote  just 
twice  the  price  per  pound  for  stones  twenty  inches  by  thirty  inches  com- 
pared with  what  ne  asks  for  those  fifteen  inches  by  ten  inches. 

We  will  suppose  that  the  quarryman  has  managed  to  unearth  a  slab  of 
stone.  It  is  now  placed  upon  a  truck,  and  run  along  a  narrow  tram-rail  to 
the  grinding-shed.  This  is  a  long  whitewashed  room,  where  are  to  be 
seen  some  dozen  of  men  and  women-^for  the  women  here  work  quite  as 
hard  as  the  sterner  sex — ^busily  engaged  in  grinding  the  surfaces  of  the  slabs 
to  one  level.  This  is  done  by  placing  one  stone  above  another,  using  sand 
and  water,  and  twisting  the  top  stone  round  with  a  circular  motion.  Thus 
two  stones  are  prepared  in  the  time  it  would  otherwise  take  to  finish  one, 
on  the  principle  oi  "diamond  cut  diamond" — ^**man  kann  den  einen  Dia- 
mant,  nur  mit  dem  andern  schleifen."  The  men  word  all  day  with  their 
long  German  pipes  in  their  mouths,  uttering  hardly  a  syllable,  but  puffing 
away  with  unceasing  regularity,  and  the  visitor  cannot  fail  to  be  struck 
with  the  difference  which  here  exists  between  the  German  workman  and 
his  English  cor/rdre.    Go  wh^e  you  will  about  these  quarries,  tbe  men  all 


LITHOGRAPHIC   STONE    QUABBIES.  34« 

lift  their  hats  and  take  their  pipes  from  their  mouths  as  they  greet  von 
with  "Griiss  Gott ; "  and,  save  at  their  meals,  when  it  is  reverently  laid  on 
one  side,  the  pipe  is  scarcely  ever  absent.  Their  habits  are  extremely 
simple.  They  eat  little  but  the  coarsest  black  bread  and  cheese  or  sausage, 
washed  down  by  the  never-failing  Bavarian  beer. 

In  the  course  of  a  conversation  which  we  had  with  one  old  quarryman, 
he  told  us  that  he  earned,  in  fine  weather  and  during  summer,  eighteen  shil- 
lings a  week,  of  which  three  shillings  were  spent  in  beer  for  his  wife  and 
family,  for,  as  he  remarked,  "to  us  it  is  meat  and  drink."  Such  is  the 
power  of  habit  in  regard  to  national  diet.  This  beer  is  cheap,  however, 
costing  only  three-half-pence  per  quart,  and  is  very  light.  This  same  man 
told  us  he  had  worked  in  the  quarries  some  thirty-six  years,  earning  all  the 
summer  *full  wages,  and  in  winter  perhaps  three  shillings  a  week  at  the 
most;  yet  he  was  contented  and  happy,  and  had  never  known  a  day's  idle- 
ness. He  lived  some  five  miles  from  his  work,  which  distance  he  had  to 
walk  morning  and  evening;  and  as  we  accompanied  him  to  his  village  he 
regaled  us  with  many  anecdotes  to  enliven  the  way,  for  he  was  a  fellow  of 
considerable  humor,  as  well  as  intelligence. 

Having  traced  the  stone  to  the  grinding-sheds,  we  will  now  proceed  to 
follow  their  further  history.  As  soon  as  they  are  ready  here  they  are 
packed  in  rows,  one  against  another,  along  the  walls,  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  the  buyers  to  come  and  pick  them.  This,  we  should  imagine,  is  no  easy 
matter,  for,  as  there  is  no  standard  price  for  each  size,  each  owner  working 
his  own  quarry  at  a  yearly  rental,  and  making  as  much  as  he  can  out  of  it, 
it  necessarily  follows  that  a  bid  for  a  lot  of  stones  becomes  a  mercenary 
haggle,  compared  to  which  horse-dealing  is  innocence  itself. 

On  the  occasion  of  our  visit  we  ourselves  were  witnesses  of  a  case  in 
which  a  German  merchant  had  bid  what  he  considered  a  fair  price  for  some 
choice  stones,  but  his  offer  was  refused.  So,  wishing  the  stone  merchant 
good  day,  he  strode  away,  apparently  in  high  dudgeon,  and  was  soon  lost  to 
sight  in  the  thick  wood.  The  stone  merchant,  evidently  piqued  at  having 
lost  a  good  order,  watched  his  man  disappear,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
running  after  him,  when  the  latter  was  seen  coming  back.  The  stone  mer- 
chant, not  wishing  to  let  it  be  seen  that  he  was  going  to  give  way,  turned 
to  one  of  his  workmen  and  pretended  to  have  been  giving  him  some  instruc- 
tions; but  lookers-on  see  most  of  the  game,  and  it  was  evident  to  us  that 
the  buyer  saw  the  ruse,  and,  taking  advantage  of  this,  was  able  before  long 
to  strike  a  bargain  at  his  own  price. 

We  have  already  remarked  upon  the  frugality  of  these  quarrymen  in  the 
matter  of  living.  There  is  only  one  inn  to  be  found  in  the  whole  place,  and 
thither  at  midday  all  the  masters  flock  to  talk  over  the  day's  doings.  •  The 
scene  is  picturesque  in  the  extreme.  Seated  in  one  common  room  are  to  be 
seen  masters  and  men,  busily  engaged  in  eating  and  taUdng,  while  lying 


S44  TEE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

about  all  over  the  place  is  a  multitude  of  dogs  of  all  sizes  and  breeds,  fi*om 
the  bandy-legged  dachshund  to  the  truculent  boarhound.  Every  man  seems 
to  own  a  dog,  which  follows  him  wherever  he  goes.  So  that,  what  with 
the  barking  of  dogs,  the  clatter  of  plates,  and  the  hoarse,  guttural  cries  of 
the  workmen  in  their  peculiar  patois — which  is  perfectly  incomprehensible 
to  an  Englishman,  no  matter  how  well  he  may  speak  ordinary  German — 
the  scenes  and  the  sounds  to  be  heard  in  that  gasthaus  at  noon  every  day 
are  not  likely  to  be  speedily  forgotten.  Beer  is  the  only  drink,  and  is 
served  in  huge  tankards,  each  containing  nearly  a  quart.  Bill  of  fare,  there 
is  none,  but  you  can  get  Limburger  or  Dutch  cheese,  and  as  much  bread  to 
eat  as  you  like.  Such  is  the  midday  meal.  At  one  o'clock  the  men  return 
to  their  work,  whilst  the  masters  remain  half  an  hour  longer  to  gossip  over 
their  affairs  and  play  at  cards. 

The  stones  having  been  picked,  are  packed  in  wooden  cases  and  sent 
down  in  long  two-horse  wagons  to  the  railway-station.  All  the  way  back 
one  notices  now  largely  this  particular  stone  is  used  for  almost  everjr  pur- 
pose to  which  stone  can  be  applied.  The  roads  are  macadamised  with  it, 
the  result  being  that  in  dry  weather  the  dust  on  the  highways  is  thi'ee  or 
four  inches  thick,  a  fine  floury  dust,  which,  if  it  gets  into  your  eyes,  almost 
blinds  you.  The  roads  themselves  are  of  a  dazzling  whiteness,  which  it  is 
impossible  to  face  on  a  blazing  hot  day,  so  that  relief  has  to  be  sought  by 
looting  at  the  woods  by  the  wayside.  When,  therefore,  you  get  among  the 
quarries  themselves  with  no  green  to  relieve  the  eye,  the  dust  rising  in 
clouds  at  every  footstep,  and  the  sun  scorching  down  upon  you,  your  lot  is 
not  an  enviable  one.  The  roofs  are  slated  with  thin  layers  of  stone,  the 
ground  is  also  paved  with  it,  the  houses  themselves  are  for  the  most  part 
built  of  it,  so  that  when  once  you  reach  the  village  you  are  reminded  of 
the  trade  of  the  place  at  every  turn. 

Arrived  at  the  station,  the  stones  are  loaded  on  the  trucks  and  are  then 
ready  for  exportation.  Those  forwarded  to  England  arrive  either  vid 
Antwerp  or  Rotterdam  about  a  fortnight  after  leaving  their  native  home. 
They  are  used  by  printers  verv  largely  in  the  manufacture  of  chromos, 
show  cards,  etc.,  and  the  colored,  posters  one  sees  on  the  hoardings  of  Lon- 
don are  almost  entirely  printed  nx)m  lithographic  stones,  as  also  are  the 
colored  supplements  presented  at  Christmas  with  most  of  the  weekly 
illustrated  newspapers.  In  fact,  so  indebted  are  we,  in  an  unobtrusive  way, 
to  the  valuable  properties  this  stone  possesses,  that  should  the  sources  of 
supply  ever  cease,  it  is  difficult  to  see  where  we  should  look  for  a  substi- 
tute. It  is  true  there  are  a  few  quarries  of  inferior  stone  in  France,  but 
their  area  is,  we  believe,  extremely  limited, — N.  T.  biddlb,  in  Leisure 
ffbur. 


> 

e 


CtlMMMT  THOtJQST. 


345 


CITERENT  THOUGHT. 

The  New  Afbican  Gold  Field.— There 
seems  no  doubt  that  a  gold-field  of  almost 
unexampled  extent  and  richness  has  been 
discovered  in  Sonth  Africa.  The  PaU  MaU 
QaeeUe  contains  a  report  of  an  interview  with 
Mr.  B.  W.  Murray,  one  of  the  proprietors  of 
the  Cape  Times,  and  one  of  the  best  known 
and  most  energetic  colonists  in  South  Africa 
where  he  has  been  a  resident  for  the  last 
thirty-four  years.  We  copy  some  of  the  most 
important  of  Mr.  Murray's  statements  :— 

**  It  is  the  most  magnificent  gold-field  in 
the  world — one,  the  wealth  of  which  is  sim- 
ply incalculable.  I  have  conglomerate  here 
from  the  richest  viens  in  tiie  Randt,  which 
yield  ten  ounces  to  the  ton.  That,  however, 
is  exceptional,  there  are  other  lodes  which 
average  ih>m  five  to  six  ounces,  but  take  the 
whole  mass  of  the  Randt  reef  it  will  aver- 
age ftilly  one  ounce  of  pure  gold  to  the  ton 
of  cooglomerate.  No  one  can  say  how  much 
there  is  of  the  auriferous  reef.  The  partic- 
ular reef  of  which  I  am  speaking  is  65  miles 
long,  and  how  deep  no  one  knows.  At  pres- 
ent the  miners  have  gone  down  200  feet  below 
the  surface  and  have  not  touched  bottom 
yet.  And  this  is  only  one  among  many 
reefs  which  run  parallel  to  each  other.  No 
one  knows  how  much  gold  has  been  actually 
produced  in  the  Transvaal  in  the  last  twelve 
months,  but  the  Kandt  reef  alone  was  yield- 
ing at  the  rate  of  £500,000  of  gold  per  an- 
num, and  that  is  the  product  of  only  500 
stamps.  They  are  putting  up  500  more, 
which  will  increase  the  yield  to  £1,000,000 
a  year.  This  El  Dorado  is  about  900  miles 
from  the  Cape,  600  miles  of  which  are  cov- 
ered by  railway ;  the  other  300  miles  from 
Kimberley  lying  across  level  country.  Last 
January  (1887),  Johannisberg,  which  is 
built  on  the  Bandt,  consisted  of  a  few  scat- 
tered shanties.  When  I  left  twelve  months 
afterwards,  Johannisberg  was  a  town  of  10,- 
000  inhabitants,  with  churches,  chapels, 
stone-built  mansions,  courts,  caf<6s  hotels, 
and,  iu  short,  all  the  appliances  of  civiliza- 
tion except  newspapers  and  a  railway.  The 
conglomerate  is  easily  worked,  and  crumbles 
eadily  under  the  stamper.  On  the  Randt 
•he  stamps  are  worked  by  steam,  although  in 
lome  places  where  water-power  is  available, 
'hey  are  driven  by  turbines.  There  is  any 
mount  of  coal  for  ftiel  in  the  Transvaal.  I 
m  myself  the  owner  of  a  coal  field  which 


!  contains  some  hundred  million  tons  of  coal. 
It  is  easily  worked,  costing  only  about  3s. 
per  ton  to  bring  it  to  the  surface.  It  is  about 
65  miles  from  Johannisberg,  and  the  cost  of 
cartage  is  far  greater  than  that  of  working. 
But  even  after  paying  all  expenses  I  can  de- 
liver the  coal  at  the  mill  for  308.  a  ton ;  and 
you  can  do  a  great  deal  of  quartz  crushing 
with  a  ton  of  coal.  The  one  essential  is 
water  for  washing ;  and  of  that  there  is  for- 
tunately no  lack.  Hence  in  the  Transvaal 
you  have  all  the  conditions  of  success :  a 
practically  illimitable  auriferous  reef,  cheap 
coal,  and  any  amount  of  water." 


Labobb  and  Bbiohteb  Suns  than 
Ours. — In  a  poper  in  the  Popular  Science 
Monthly,  entitl^  "  Astronomy  with  an  Opera- 
Glass,"  Mr.  Garrett  P.  Serviss  says : — 

"  Sirius — ^  the  Dog-Star  * — stands  in  a  class 
by  itself  as  the  brightest  star  in  the  sky. 
Its  extraordinary  size  and  briliancy  might 
naturally  enough  lead  one  to  suppose  that  it 
is  the  nearest  of  the  stars,  and  such  it  w&s 
once  believed  to  be.  Observations  of  stellar 
parallax,  however,  show  that  this  was  a  mis< 
take,  llie  distance  of  Sirius  is  so  great  that 
no  satisfiEMstoiy  determination  of  it  has  yet 
been  made.  We  may  safely  say,  though, 
that  that  distance  is,  at  the  least  calculation, 
50,000,000,000,000  miles.  In  other  words, 
Sirius  is  about  537,000  times  as  far  from  the 
earth  as  the  sun  is.  Then,  since  light  di- 
minishes as  the  square  of  the  distance  in- 
creases, the  sun,  if  placed  as  far  from  ns  as 
Sirius  is,  would  send  us,  in  round  numbers, 
288,000,000,000  times  less  light  than  we  now 
receive  from  it.  But  Sirius  actually  sends 
us  only  about  4,000,000,000  times  less  light 
than  the  sun  does ;  consequently  Sirius  must 
shine  [4,000,000,000)288,000,000,000(72]  sev- 
enty-two times  as  brilliantly  as  the  sun.  If 
we  adopt  Wollaston's  estimate  of  the  light 
of  Sirius,  as  compared  with  that  of  the  sun, 
viz.,  1-20,000,000,000,  we  shal  Istill  find  that 
the  actual  brilliancy  of  that  grand  star  is 
more  than  fourteen  times  as  great  as  that  of 
our  sun.  But  as  observations  on  the  com- 
panion of  Sirius  show  that  Sirius's  mass  is 
folly  twenty  times  the  sun's,  and  since  the 
character  of  Sirius's  spectrum  indicates  that 
its  intrinsic  brightness,  surface  for  surface,  is 
much  superior  to  the  sun's,  it  is  probable 
that  our  estimate  of  the  star's  actual  bril- 
liancy, as  compared  with  what  the  sun 
wo^d  possess  at  the  same  distance,  viz., 


346 


TMt:    LlMAnt   MACfA^lKR 


seventy-two  times,  is  mneh  nearer  tbe  tmtb. 
It  is  evident  that  life  would  be  insapportable 
upon  the  earth  if  it  were  placed  as  near  to 
Sirias  as  it  is  to  the  snn.  If  the  earth  were 
a  planet  belonging  to  the  system  of  Sirins,  in 
order  to  e^joy  the  same  amount  of  heat  and 
light  it  now  receives,  it  would  have  to  be 
removed  to  a  distance  of  nearly  800,000,000 
miles,  or  about  8it  times  its  distance  ftom  the 
sun.  Its  time  of  revolution  around  Sirius 
would  then  be  nearly  5}  years,  or,  in  other 
words,  the  year  would  be  lengthened  6} 
times.  But,  as  I  have  said,  tbe  estimate  of 
Sirius's  distance  used  in  these  calculations 
is  the  smallest  that  can  be  accepted.  Good 
authorities  regard  the  distance  as  being  not 
less  than  100,000,000,000,000  miles;  in  which 
case  the  star's  brillianc^  must  be  as  much 
as  228  times  greater  than  that  of  the  sun. 
And  yet  even  Sirius  is  probably  not  the 
greatest  sun  belonging  to  the  visible  uni- 
verse. There  can  be  little  doubt  that  Cano- 
pns,  in  the  southern  hemisphere,  is  a  grander 
sun  than  Sirius.  To  our  eyes,  Ganopus  is 
only  about  half  as  bright  as  Sirius,  and  it 
ranks  as  the  second  stu'  in  the  heavens  in 
the  order  of  brightness.  But  while  Sirius's 
distance  is  measurable,  that  of  Ganopus  is  so 
unthiukably  immense  that  astronomers  can 
get  no  grip  upon  it.  If  it  were  only  twice 
as  remote  as  Sirius  it  would  be  equal  to  two 
of  the  latter,  but  the  probability  is,  its  dis- 
tance is  much  greater  than  that  And  pos- 
sibly even  Ganopus  is  not  the  greatest  gem 
in  the  coronet  of  creation." 


Natubalizikq  in  thb  Solomon  Is- 
lands.—This  group  in  the  South  Pacific 
consist  of  seven  or  eight  large  volcanic 
islands,  varying  in  length  fh)m  70  to  100 
miles,  and  a  large  nnmlMr  of  smaller  islets, 
varying  in  length  from  15  to  20  miles  down 
to  tiie  tiny  coral  islet  only  half  a  mile  across. 
The  larger  islands  present  several  peaks  ris- 
ing to  the  height  of  7,000  to  10,000  feet. 
The  total  area  of  the  group  is  estimated  at 
10,000  square  miles.  Mr.  H.  B.  Guppy,  late 
Surgeon  in  the  British  Navy,  has  just  pub- 
lished a  work  on  the  natural  histoiy  of  these 
islands.    He  says : — 

"When  geologizing  in  these  islands  one 
labors  under  the  very  serious  disadvantage 
of  being  unable  to  get  any  view,  or  form  any 
idea  of  the  surroundings,  on  account  of  the 
dense  forest-growth  clothing  both  the  slopes 
and  summits  of  the  hiUs^  which  is  often  im- 


passable exoept  by  the  rode  native  trackfi 
that  are  completely  hemmed  in  by  trees  on 
either  side.  Bush-walking,  where  there  is 
no  native  track,  ia  a  very  tedious  process, 
and  requires  the  constant  use  of  the  compass. 
In  dii^cts  of  coral  limestone,  such  tra- 
venes  are  eqoaUy  trying  to  the  soles  of 
one's  boots  and  to  Uie  measure  of  one's 
temper.  After  being  provokingly  entangUd 
in  a  thicket  for  some  minutes,  the  persever- 
ing traveller  walks  briskly  along  through  a 
comparatively  dear  space,  when  a  creeper 
suddenly  trips  vp  his  feet  and  over  he  go<  s 
to  the  ground.  Picking  himself  up,  he  no 
sooner  starts  agftin  when  he  finds  his  fieioe 
in  the  middle  of  a  strong  web  which  some 
huge-bodied  spider  has  been  laboriously  con- 
structing. However,  clearing  away  the  web 
from  his  features,  he  strug^es  along  until 
ooming  to  the  fallen  trunk  of  some  giant 
of  the  forest  which  obstructs  his  path,  he 
with  all  confidence  plants  his  foot  firmly  on 
it  and  sinks  knee-deep  into  rotten  wood. 
With  resignation  be  lifts  his  foot  out  of  tbe 
mess  and  proceeds  on  his  way,  when  he  feels 
an  uncomfortable  sensation  inside  his  belmet, 
in  which,  on  leisurely  removing  it  from  his 
head,  he  finds  his  old  friend  the  spider,  with 
a  body  as  big  as  a  filbert,  quite  at  hie  eape. 
Shaking  it  out  in  a  hurry,  he  hastens  along 
with  his  composure  of  mind  somewhat  ruf- 
fled. Going  down  a- steep  slope,  he  clasps  a 
stout-looking  areea-polm  to  prevent  himself 
falling,  when  down  comes  the  rotten  pa]m,aEd 
tibe  longnniffering  traveller  finds  himself  once 
more  on  the  ground.  To  these  inconven- 
iences must  be  added  the  peculiarly  oppres- 
sive heat  of  a  tropical  forest,  the  continual 
perspiration  in  whidi  the  skin  is  bathed, 
and  the  firequent  difficult  of  getting  water. 
There  are,  uieiefore,  many  drawbacks  to  the 
enjoyment  of  such  excursions  undertaken 
without  an  aim.  But  let  there  be  some  ob- 
ject to  be  gained,  and  it  is  astonishing  how 
small  a  success  amply  repays  the  naturalist 
for  all  the  toiL  As  an  example  of  the 
tedious  nature  of  bueh-walking  in  these 
regions,  I  may  state  that,  crossing  the  small 
island  of  Santa  Anna  from  south  to  north — 
a  distance  of  2}  miles — occupied  on  one  oc- 
casion five  hours.  For  nearly  the  whole  dis- 
tance my  path  lay  either  through  a  dense 
forest  growth  which  had  never  been  cleared 
since  this  little  island  first  rose  as  a  coral- 
atoll  above  the  waves,  or  amongst  tangUd 
undevgrowth  which  often  snooeSted  e&ci 


CtJBBEl^  TffomSf. 


!M1 


ually  in  barring  the  way.  Rarely  oonld  I 
obtf&n  ft  glimp^  of  my  surroniidiiigs,  and 
in  oonaeqnenoe  it  was  on  my  pocket-oompaBS 
that  I  entirely  depended.  Coral-rock  honey* 
combed  into  sharp  tearing  edges  eoTered  the 
slopes,  my  way  lying  between  the  laige 
masses  of  this  rock  that  lay  abont  in  strange 
oonfosion,  the  smaller  blocks  swaying  abont 
under  my  weight  as  if  eager  to  rid  them- 
selves of  their  nnnsnal  harden.  At  one 
place  the  coral  limestone  over  a  qpace  of 
abont  a  hundred  yards  was  perforated  like  a 
sieve  by  numeroos  holes  two  to  three  feet 
across  and  five  to  ten  feet  deep ;  bnt  now 
and  then  a  deep  fissure  appeared  at  the  bot- 
tom of  one  of  these  cavities — leading  Heaven 
knows  where — in  all  probability  the  swal- 
low-hole of  some  stream  that  onoe  became 
engulfed  in  the  solid  rock.  The  spreading 
roots  of  trees,  together  with  ferns  and  shrubs, 
often  nearly  concealed  these  mantraps  from 
my  view ;  and  I  found  it  neoessaiy  to  de^r 
the  way  for  every  step,  a  very  tedious  process 
at  the  close  of  a  tiresome  day's  excursion." 

Japav  and  Fobkign  Missions. —Rev. 
GeoTge  William  Knox,  Professor  in  the 
University  of  Tokfb,  Japan,  writes  in  the 
Minionary  Betriew  .* — 

**The  early  romance  of  missions  gives 
way  to  the  prosaic  commonplace  of  well- 
known  facts.  Oar  missionaries  go  to  no 
mysterious  and  distant  world  never  to 
retarn.  Every  land  has  been  explored ;  we 
know  the  geography  of  our  globe.  Every 
people  has  Wn  studied  ;  we  know  the 
history,  the  language,  the  population,  the 
customs,  the  religion  of  alL  No  land  is  &r 
away,  no  nation  is  alien — modem  civiliza- 
tion binds  all  together.  The  world  grows 
small  as  we  can  state  its  area  accurately  in 
square  miles,  but  our  work  grows  large  as 
the  consciousness  of  the  mighty  populations 
of  heathen  empires  is  thrust  upon  ns.  A 
new  study  of  engrossing  interest  is  begun — 
new  questions  of  supreme  importance  press 
for  solution.  What  is  to  be  the  future  of 
the  East?  Are  the  great  empires  of  Asia 
ibrever  to  repeat  the  history  of  the  past  ? 
)hall  the  coming  centu  ries  bring  no  Kingdom 
»f  God  for  the  great  majority  of  the  human 
ace  ?  Is  Asia  to  continue  oppressed,  super- 
ititioos,  ignorant,  idolatrous,  degraded, 
rretched?  Is  there  national  regeneration, 
I  tliere  new  birth  for  a  continent,  is  it 
Asdbla  for  great  empires  to  start  upon  a 


new  life  of  liberty,  progress  and  truth  after 
millenniums  of  slavery,  stagnation  and 
error?  Japan,  first  of  all  Asiatic  empires, 
seeks  answer  to  these  problems.  Under 
most  favoring  conditions  it  tries  the  great 
experiment,  turning  from  the  East  and 
striving  for  position  among  the  progressive, 
enlightened,  and  Christian  nations  of  the 
West.  So  far  as  man  can  judge,  upon  the 
issue  of  this  experiment  rests  the  future  of 
Asia.  Let  Japan  succeed,  and  China  will 
follow  in  the  same  path ;  let  Japan  fail,  and 
what  hope  remains  for  the  greater  empires 
which  will  face  their  greater  problems  under 
leas  &voring  conditions? " 

Unity  among  Christian  Chubches.— 
Rev.  A.  T.  Pierson,  in  the  Mitsionary  Review, 
thus  speaks  of  the  National  Conference  at 
the  Evangelical  Alliance,  held  at  Washington 
early  in  December,  1887 : — 

**  It  may  be  doubted  whether,  during  these 
eighteen  centuries,  any  body  of  Evangelical 
Christians  has  met  to  consider  questions  of 
greater  practical  importance.  like  the 
Council  of  Nice,  more  than  fifteen  centuries 
ago,  it  brought  together  the  scarred  and 
battle-worn  veterans  ttom  many  fields  of 
social  and  religious  conflict.  All  denomina- 
tions were  represented,  and  by  their  promi- 
nent representative  men.  Episcopal  and 
Methodist  and  Moravian  bishops,  Presby- 
terian, Baptist,  Congregationalist,  Lutheran 
pastors,  theological  professors  and  college 
presidents,  distinguished  merchants  nnd 
scientists,  Christian  students  and  aggressive 
workers,  assembled  to  consider  the  perils, 
opportunities,  and  responsibilities  confront- 
ing us  in  this  great  land.  Never  did  the  few 
remaining  obstacles  to  even  a  visible  and 
organic  Unity  seem  so  small.  The  singing 
of  psalms  or  hymns,  the  use  of*  liturgical  or 
extemporaneous  prayers,  the  baptism  by 
sprinkling  or  immersion,  the  open  or 
restricted  Lord's  Table,  and  the  Episcopal 
ordination  of  the  clergy — these  are  the  five 
bars  in  the  fence  that  now  keeps  Christipos 
from  being  organically  one.  Are  they  not 
insignificant  in  comparison  to  the  ties  wbicli 
bind  us  in  a  common  faith?  At  the  late 
Presbyterian  Council  at  Belfast,  a  French 
delegate  said,  *"  I  find  you  here  agitated  over 
the  question  whether  hymns  may  be  sung 
at  public  worship ;  over  in  France  people 
are  inquiring  whether  there  he  a  Ood  I '  Never 
have  we  been  in  any  gathering  representing 


:ms 


THE   LlMA^r   MAGAZINE. 


disciples  of  every  name  where  the  disposi- 
tion was  so  nnanimoas  to  lift  into  promi- 
nence only  the  great  jfhndamental,  rndi- 
mental  truths  of  oar  common  faith.'' 


Adulterations  in  Food  and  Ck)NDi- 
MKNT8, — Dr.  Alexander  Wynter  Blyth's 
work  entitled  Foods  t?ieir  OtnuposUion  and 
Analysis,  has  long  been  held  to  be  an  author- 
ity upon  the  subject  of  which  it  treats.  A 
new  edition  has  just  appeared,  with  an  In- 
troductory Essay  on  2he  History  of  Aduliera- 
tionSy&n  epitome  of  which  is  given  in  the 
Westminster  Eeview : — 

**  The  section  on  carbo-hydrates  discusses  a 
large   number   of  food  substauces,   among 
which  sugar,  honey,  treacle,  starch,   flour, 
bread,  and  various  grains  are  the  more  im- 
portant.    Some  substances,  like  loaf  sugar, 
appear  to  be  always  pure.    Honey  is  fre- 
quently  pure,  but   sometimes   adulterated 
with  starch  and  sugar.    Jams  are  chiefly 
adulterated  by  the  substitution  of  vegetable 
marrow  and  turnips  for  fruit,  but  under  the 
microscope   the  substitution    is  easily  de- 
tected.   The  microscope  is  indeed  the  main 
agent  in   the  examination  of  the  starches 
and  other  vegetable   foods.      The  import- 
ance of   milk    and    the   products  derived 
from  it  has  led  to  a  discussion  of  the  subject 
at  great  length.    Not  only  do  the  diflerent 
cows  give  with  age,  milk  of  diflerent  com- 
position, but  the  analysis  of  the  milk  which 
the  cow  yields  first  shows  less  fat,  and  some- 
times lees  caseine,  than  the  milk  which  is 
obtained  last.    One  of  the  most  curious  in- 
stances in  the  adulteration  of  coflee  is  the 
granting  of  patents  for  compressing  ground 
coffee  and  chicory  into  the  form  of  coffee- 
berries.    The  author's  definition  of  beer  is 
that  it  is  a  fermented  saccharine  infusion,  to 
which  has  been  added  a  wholesome  bitter, 
and  we  gather    that    the  fine  aroma  and 
peculiar  flavor  of  Bavarian  beers  are  due 
to  the  resinous  matters  nsed  to  caulk  the 
casks.    Wine  appears  to  be  the  happy  hnnt- 
ing-ground  for  the  adulterator,  and  the  pro- 
cesses are  elaborately  detailed,  by  means  of 
which  we  learn  that  the  fluid  placed  before 
us  as  wine  is  the  juice  of  the  beet,  or  con- 
tains whortle-berries,  logwood,  elder,  or  any 
of  the  multitude  of  coloring  matters  which 
vegetable  substances  yield.     The  more  im- 
portant  adulterations  in  vinegar  are  water 
and,  occasionally,  mineral  acids.     Mustard 
is  often   adulterated  with  wheat-flonr,  and 


colored  with  tumeric.  Pepper  is  adulterated 
with  linseed-meal,  the  hu8|(8  of  mustard, 
and  ground  rice ;  but  large  oonsignmentB  of 
pepper  came  into  Great  Britain  in  IH&S  adul- 
terated with  ground  olive-stone;  sand  is  a 
common  adulterant.  Water-analysis  receives 
some  attention,  though  the  author  remarks 
that  pure  water  is  not  found  in  Nature,  or  in 
the  laboratory  of  the  chemist.  Some  waters 
are  readily  condemned  by  the  senses.  Chem- 
ical examination  is  used  to  detect  nitrites, 
nitrates,  and  metals.  There  is  also  the 
biological  examination,  which  consists  in 
the  identification  of  bacteria  and  other 
organisms  in  the  water." 

The  Dead  Moon. — Pro£  Samuel  P. 
Langley,  in  his  New  Astronomy,  thus  moral- 
izes:— 

"  The  moon,  then,  is  dead ;  and  if  it  ever 
was  the  home  of  a  race  like  ours,  that  race 
is,  dead  too.  I  have  said  that  our  New 
Astronomy  modifies  our  view  of  the  moral 
universe  as  well  as  of  the  physical  one ;  nor 
do  we  need  a  more  pregnant  instance  than  in 
this  before  us.  In  these  days  of  decay  of 
old  creeds  of  the  eternal,  it  has  been  sought 
to  satisfy  man's  yearning  toward  it  by 
founding  a  new  religion  whose  god  is  Hu- 
manity, and  whose  nope  lies  in  the  future 
existence  of  our  own  race,  in  whose  collective 
heing  the  individual  who  must  die  may  fiincy 
his  aims  and  purpose  perpetuated  in  an  end- 
less progress.  But  alas  for  hopes  looking  to 
this  alone !  We  are  here  brought  to  face  the 
the  solemn  thought  that,  like  ibe  individual, 
though  at  a  little  fhrther  date.  Humanity 
itself  may  die." 

Waltzing  by  the  Mite.— Mr.  Edward 
Scott,  in  his  Dancing  and  Dancers^  makes  the 
following  apparently  exaggerated  estimate 
of  ^e  distance  actually  waltzed  over  in  an 
evening  by  a  belle  of  the  ball-room : — 

**Do  you,  'my  fair  and  f^gile  reader,' 
think  you  would  go  six  times  round  a  mod- 
erate-sized ball-room,  say,  making  a  circuit 
of  eighty  yards,  during  a  waltz?     Yes;  a* 
least,  even  allowing  for  rest.    That,  then,  i 
four  hundred  and  eighty  yards  if  yon  wen i 
in  a  line.     Bnt  you  are  turning  nearly  al 
the  time,  say,  on  an  average,  onoe  in  eacl 
yard  of  onward  progress,   and  the  ciroum 
ference  of  a  circle  is  rather  more  than  thre 
times  its  diameter,  which  will  bring  eac 
waltz  to  over  three-quarters  of  a  muei  o 


CURRENT  THOUOHT, 


349 


at^  leasC,  fonrtden  miles'  for  the  eighteen 
walftzes.  I  do  not  say  that  this  oompntation 
is  scientifically  accarate.^' 

PUNISHMENTB  IN  PERSIA.— Sir  Henry 
Lay  aid  has  jost  pat  forth  a  work  in  two 
volames  describing  his  **  Early  Adven tores 
in  Persia,  etc  '^  These  occurred  more  than 
forty  years  ago,  bat  they  relate  to  the 
manners  and  cnstoms  of  a  country  which  is 
perhaps  the  least  changeable  of  any  in  the 
world.  He  thus  speaks  of  a  personage  who 
is  described  as  ^'  one  of  the  best  administra- 
tors of  the  Kingdom  : — ^'^  One  of  his  modes 
of  dealing  with  criminals  was  what  he 
called  '  planting  Tines. '  A  hole  having 
been  dug  in  the  ground,  men  were  thrust 
headlong  into  it  and  then  covered  with 
earth,  their  legs  were  allowed  to  protrude 
to  represent  what  ho  facetiously  called  ^  the 
vines.'  A  tower  still  existed  near  Shiraz 
which  he  had  bnilt  of  three  hundred  living 
men  belonging  to  a  tribe  which  had  rebelled 
against  the  Shah.  A  couple  of  servants 
were  accused  of  stealing  a  gun.  *'  These 
nnfortnnate  men,"  says  Sir  Henry,  *'were 
first  subjected  to  a  cruel  bastinado  on  the 
soles  of  their  feet  until  they  fainted.  When 
they  had  been  revived  by  buckets  of  water 
ponred  upon  them,  they  were  burnt  in  the 
most  sensitive  parts  of  their  bodies  with 
hot  irons.  They  still  maintained  their 
innocence,  and  only  admitted  they  were 
guilty  when  unable  to  resist  the  excruciat- 
ing agony  of  having  packing-needles  forced 
under  their  finger  nails." 

The   Presbyterian   Church   op  the 

North  and  the  South. — The  Presbyterian 

Quartetiy,  of  Atlanta,  Georgia,  entertains  a 

very  high  opinion  of  the  Church  South,  and 

a  very  low  one  of  the  Church  North.    In 

the  December   number  %£  the    Library 

Magazine  we  copied  from  the  Preabpterian 

Quarterly  the  Bev.  Dr.  Vaughan's  indictment 

of  the  Northern  Church   for  unsoundness 

upon  the  slavery  question.     In  the  January 

lumber  of  the  (^wirierly,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Smoot 

ihos    compares    the    position  of  the  two 

Hhnrches  npon  certain  other  points.      He 

ays: — 

'*The  Southern  Presbyterian  Church,  as  a 

iinrch,  demands  a  perfect  and  entire  con- 

brmity  to  the  word  of  God  in  all  her  practi- 

al  work,  no  less  than  in  the  formulas  of  her 

uth.    The  model  of  the  church  is  the  work 


of  the  Almighty.  "Her  doctrine  is  revealed 
by  Him,  and  the  wrder  of  procedure  is  fhr- 
nished  by  Him.  To  the  church  as  a  spiritual 
commonwealth  He  has  committed  the  means 
of  saving  His  neople  out  of  the  world.  He 
has  made  the  church  perfect  in  all  her  pmits 
for  the  accomplishment  of  every  end  to 
which  she  is  called.  For  this  He  has  fur- 
nished a/orm  of  church  govemmentf  beginning 
with  the  deacon  and  up  through  all  the 
courts  to  the  very  highest,  the  methods  for 
work,  in  which  are  the  most  perfect  that  can 
be  instituted  for  effectually  doing  whatever 
is  to  be  done.  He  has  enjoined  ujMn  her  to 
do  steadily  and  unremittingly  all  that  her 
ability  enables  her  to  do,  and  with  that  do- 
ing there  is  a  promise  of  accruing  ability  to 
do  more,  until  the  world  by  her  shall  be 
brought  to  Him.  This  simple,  beautiful, 
scriptural  system,  addressed  directly  to  the 
faith  of  God's  people,  has  been  characterized 
by  the  representatives  of  the  Northern  As- 
sembly as  the  *  Jus  divinutn  theory  in  its 
dotage.'  The  Northern  Presbyterian  Church, 
as  a  church,  holds  that  the  church  of  God, 
as  organised,  is  not  sufficient  to  do  the  work 
of  the  Master.  She  takes  reftige  behind 
many  kinds  of  human  contrivances,  and 
fluctuates  between  the  word  of  God  and  the 
ingenuity  of  man.  It  is  this  defect  in  her 
system  which  gave  rise  to  all  her  voluntary 
societies.  Declaring  herself' insufficient  to 
do  the  work,  she  professes  to  be  all-sufficient 
to  commit  it  to  human  contrivances,  by  them 
to  be  done;  and  then,  strange  to  say,  gives 
herself  to  work  which  was  never  addressed 
to  either  her  faith  or  practice.  She  thus 
takes  a  position  which  revolutionizes  the 
who]&  theory  of  the  church,  as  it  is  found  in 
the  Word.  For  that  Word  says  the  church 
must  do  the  work  of  the  Master,  and  she  says 
the  Master's  work  may  be  committed  into  the 
hands  of  Boards,  and  all  that  is  required  of 
her  is  to  see  that  the  work  is  done.'' 


A  Good  Example  for  Ecropeak 
BULERS. — In  the  first  year  of  the  present  cen- 
tury, Europe  was  in  a  decidedly  bellicose 
condition,  ji'rance  on  the  one  side,  and 
most  of  the  rest  of  Europe  on  the  other. 
Paul  I.,  the  half-mad  Emperor  of  Russia,  ap- 
peared to  be  desirous  of  keeping  out  of  the 
fight.  But  all  of  a  sudden  it  came  into  his 
crazy  head  to  take  a  personal  part  in  the 
contest.  It  would  be  a  happy  thing  for 
their  subjects  if  the  present  sovereigns  of 


350 


THE   LIBEABY   MAQAZINK 


Earo|>e  would  AotnaUy  do  what  Panl  pro- 
posed to  do  in  the  following  proclamation 
which  he  pat  forth  in  the  ac  Mankwrg 

**The  Emperor  of  Riunia,  finding  the 
Powers  of  Europe  cannot  agree  among  them- 
selves, and  being  desiroas  to  pnt  an  end  to  a 
war  which  has  desolated  it  for  eloTcn  years, 
intends  to  point  oot  a  spot,  to  which  he 
will  invite  all  the  other  sovereigns  to  repair, 

to  FIGHT  IN  8INOLB  OOMBAT,  bringing  with 

them,  as  seconds  and  esquires,  their  most  en- 
lightened ministers  and  able  generals,  sach 
as  ThufKot,  Pitt,  Bemstoff,  etc,  and  the 
Emperor  himself  purposes  being  attended  by 
(jrenerals  Count  Pahlen  and  Kutusoff.'' 


^  The  M absbillaisb.  '*—  Perhaps  the 
most  famous  nati<Mial  war-song  ever  com- 
posed is  Rouget  de  I'lsle's  ^*  Hymn  of  the 
Army  of  the  Rhine,''  generally  known  as 
"The  Marseillaise."  Mr.  R.  Heath,  in 
Leiswre  Hour^  gives  an  account  of  the  occa- 
sion of  its  composition.  On  the  20th  of 
April,  1792,  the  National  Assembly  of  France 
voted  for  war  with  the  Emperor  of  Austria, 
in  response  to  the  humiliating  ** ultimatum" 
announced  by  the  Emperor.  Rtrassbuig  was 
the  place  most  immediately  threaten^  by 
the  Austrian  invasion.  On  the  day  after 
the  vote  in  the  National  Assembly,  M. 
Dietrich,  the  Mayor  of  Strassburg  enter- 
tained some  French  officers  at  his  house. 
Among  these  was  Rouget  de  I'Isle,  a  young 
man  of  three-and- twenty,  who  had  acquired 
some  repute  as  a  poet  and  musician.  Some 
one  expressed  a  wish  that  a  poet  might  be 
inspired  to  compose  a  national  song  which 
should  express  the  national  feeling  through- 
out France,  and  de  Plsle  was  uii;ed  to  at- 
tempt this.  In  June  the  song  was  sung  to 
the  six  hundred  volunteers,  who  were  set- 
ting out  from  Marseilles  and  it  was  soon 
sung  all  over  France.  A  single  incident  will 
evince  the  effect  of  this  song :  A  French  gen- 
eral, on  the  eve  of  a  battle,  made  the  follow- 
ing requisition,  *'  Send  me  a  thousand  men, 
and  a  copy  of  the  Marseillaise."  There  have 
been  several  accounts  of  the  circumstances 
under  which  the  **  Hymn  of  the  Army  of  the 
Hbiue''  was  composed.  The  following  ac- 
count is  given  by  M.  Delabarre,  a  friend  of 
de  I'Isle,  who  says  that  he  derived  the  fiu;ts 
from  the  poet  himself: — 

"  M.  Dietrich  appealed  to  him  to  compose 
botb  words  i^nd  music  of  the  song  required  | 


all  conenrred  in  the  Mquest*  and  about  ac 
honr  before  midnight  he  retained  home,  and 
finding  his  violin  on  his  bed,  he  took  it  np, 
and  full  of  the  idea  of  that  which  he  was  re- 
quested to  do,  he  began  playing  upon  the 
upper  strings  for  a  ftigue  for  the  air.  Be- 
lieving himself  to  have  found  it,  he  imme- 
diately oompoaed  the  words,  trusting  entirely 
to  memory,  and  not  committing  anydiing  to 
paper,  h^  went  to  bed.  The  next  morning, 
rising  at  six,  he  fortunately  recollected  both 
music  and  words.  He  took  it  himself  to  M. 
Dietrich,  to  whom  be  submitted  it,  and  who 
was  not  a  little  astonished  at  his  very  prompt 
inspiration.  He  was  in  his  garden,  and  after 
a  cursory  perusal  of  the  song,  he  said,  '  Let 
us  go  into  the  drawing-room,  that  I  may  tnr 
your  sir  on  the  piano.'  He  was  struck  wiin 
its  beauty,  aroused  his  wifo,  who  was  still  in 
bed,  and  directed  that  each  of  the  guests  of 
the  night  before  should  be  bidden  to  break- 
fost,  as  he  had  scmiething  of  importance  to 
communicate  to  them.  AH  came,  believing 
that  he  had  already  received  news  of  blows 
struck  in  the  war,  tcom  Gtoerals  Luckner 
and  La&yette.  He  would  not  satisfy  their 
curiosity  on  the  point  until  they  had  bresk- 
tasted.  Then  he  sang  the  hymn  heartily, 
and  it  produced  immediate  admiration." 

Amebicakisms  akd  ANGLicisifB.— In  the 
California  OMm  ErOy  Mr.  Evacuates  A. 
Phipson  makes  sundry  sensible  suggestions, 
among  which  are  these : 

*'To  write  'mama'  with  three  m't  be- 
cause that  is  the  way  a  certain  Latin  word 
is  written,  is  a  Tulgar  pedantry,  as  if  the 
childish  word  were  any  more  than  mere 
prattle.      'Wrath'   is    rightly   spoken    to 
rhyme   with   'path,'   and    'diop,'  a  place 
where  work  is  done,  should  not  m  used  for 
a    mere    'store'   where   thing"   are    sold. 
'Gar'  is  an  excellbnt  word  to  use  for  rail- 
way or  tramway  vehicles,  and  to  call  them 
'coaches,'  as   the   Anglomaniacs  do, -is  a 
great  mistake,  for  even  in  England  the  word 
is  seldom  so  used,  but  confined  to  its  prope** 
meaning,  as  'stage-coach.'     On  the  othi 
hand,  for  Americans  to  call  this  latter 
stage'    is  wrong,  and   also  'bisonit'   fc 
'  hot  roll,'  while  the  real  biscuits  are  deaii 
nated    by    the    slang     term,     'crackers 
'Shunt'  is  a  better  word  than  'switcfc 
the  latter  signifying  the  mere  act  of  movin 
the  'switch' or  bar;  and  'lift'  than  'el 
vator,"  since  it  is  used  tp  lift  both  up  ar 


CURRENT  THOUGHT. 


851 


down.  It  16  certainly  absurd  to  use  the 
Spanish  word  burro,  when  the  English  lan- 
guage possesses  both  'donkey'  and  'ass' 
to  describe  that  animal ;  and  the  ambiguously 
spelt  '  canyon  *  or  cafiony  when  we  have  so 
many  words,  such  as  *  valley,'  *  dale,*  *  gorge,' 
*  vale,' 'gully,'  'gulch,'  'ravine,'  which  give 
the  meaning  :  as  also  to  say  '  homely/  which 
really  means  'homeUke,'  'domesticated,' 
'simple,*  for  'ugly.*  To  call  a  young  lady 
'homely*  should  rather  be  a  compliment 
than  otherwise.  And  young  women  ought 
to  be  so  denominated,  and  not  'girls,'  and 
young  men  'boys.*  Two  or  three  o'clock  at 
night  should  not  be  called  'morning,'  any 
more  than  nine  or  ten  o'clock  be  spoken  of  as 
'  evening.'  Morning  begins  vnth  dawn.  And 
why  should  it  be  'tony'  to  call  dinner 
'lunch,'  and  supper  'dinner?'  One  of  the 
worst  effects  of  Anglomania  is  the  calling  of 
so  many  American  places  by  English  names. 
There  are  a  hundred  or  more  Kichmonds, 
and  scores  of  Yorks,  Gloucesters,  and  Ox- 
fords. It  is  true  that  even  these  are  better 
than  such  names  as  Jonesville,  Minneapolis, 
and  the  numerous  Washingtons  and  Jeffer- 
sons ;  but  how  much  better  than  all  to  use 
the  old  native  names,  such  as  Chicago,  On- 
tario, Susquehanna,  Iowa  and  Yosemite ! 
Lastly,  if,  as  appears  likely,  America  adopts 
the  metric  system  of  weights  and  measures, 
let  us  at  least  correctly  transliterate  the 
Qreek  words  composing  their  names.  '  Kilo- 
gram '  and  '  hectogram  are  gross  barbarisms 
for  chiliogram  and  hecatogram.  And  the 
motto  of  California  should  be  not  '  Eureka,' 
but  Heureca,  the  former  spelling  being  as 
bad  as  'olokaust'  for  holocaust,  or  'eka- 
tomb '  for  hecatomb.  Its  first  syllable  has 
no  connection  with  the  eu  of  '  eulogy,' 
'euphony/  and  so  forth." 


Western  Characteristics. — Two  gener- 
ations ago  "  the  West "  meant  anv  portion  of 
the  United  States  lying  westward  of  the  val- 
ley of  the  Mohawk.    Thirty  years  ago  "the 
West "  meant  Ohio  and  wnat  lay  beyond  it 
owards  the  setting  sun.    Now — at  least  in 
/aUfomia — "the  West"    means    the  broad 
*trip  of  territory  washed  by  the  Pacific,  and 
more  especially  the  " Golden  State"  of  Caii- 
bmia.    In  this  sense  the  term  is  used  by  Mr. 
iarr  Wagner  who  has  charge  of  the  depart- 
fient  entttled  "The  Editor's  Office"  in  the 
Hn  Diego  Golden  Era,  who  thus  discourses 
"The  Growth  of   Western   Characteris- 


"  Life  in  the  West  is  above  the  evenness  of 
the  more  settled  countries.  Men  are  greater 
and  less  than  they  are  in  London  or  New 
York.  They  are  more  like  the  wild  horse, 
that  may  be  an  Arabian  steed  or  a  common 
'broncho.*  Tliere  is,  therefore,  among  the 
brilliant  men  a  larger  intelligence,  a  warmer 
nature,  and  a  sufficiency  of  reserved  force, 
that  is  not  realized  elsewhere.  The  tcudency 
of  the  i>ine-trees  of  the  Sierras,  and  the  rich, 
red  soil — naked,  and  warm  of  color — of 
Southern  California,  has  been  to  formulate 
thinking.  The  cactus  of  this  immediate  sec 
tion  has  influence  on  character ;  the  tall  trees 
of  Mariposa  and  the  Canyon  of  the  Tuolumne 
are  not  without  their  effect.  The  thinking  of 
the  West  is  unusually  vigorous,  generally 
logical,  and  the  results  attained  with  remarka- 
ble quickness.  Added  refinement  and  cul- 
ture place  our  logicians  in  high  place**. 
There  is  no  question  but  that  the  natural  at- 
tractions add  a  largeness  to  the  entire  range  of 
human  thought.  In  the  Yosemite  there  is  a 
record-book  where  people  write  their  ideas  of 
the  place.  It  is  a  book  filled  with  stupendous 
thoughts  that  widen  from  the  blade  of  grass 
to  the  Almighty.  The  old  pioneers,  we  pre- 
sume, are  the  best  illustrations  of  the  growth 
of  character.  Those  who  have  attained 
wealth  stand  out  before  the  world  for  tlie 
way  in  which  they  distribute  their  for- 
tunes. Where  will  you  find  the  equal  of  the 
4^rs — tlie  larger  class  of  pioneers  who  feed 
upon  the  past,  forgetful  of  that  larger  life  in 
the  future?  Truly  the  West  is  great ;  great 
in  its  thinking,  great  in  its  acting,  great  in 
its  possibilities.  And  the  evolution  of  char- 
acter is  of  interest  to  the  student  of  history, 
and  is  not  without  value  to  those  who 
indulge  in  the  contemplation  of  current 
events.  Western  Characteristics!  Whence? 
Where?" 


HOMOBOPATHICOALLOPATHiyO&CACHIA. 

About  a  year  ago,  as  we  are  told  by  Dr. 
Kenneth  Millican,  in  the  Ninetee^ith  Century, 
seven  members  of  the  medical  staff  of  an  old- 
established  English  charity  resigned  their  posts 
on  the  express  ground  that  "a  vote  of  the 
govemoi's  of  the  charity,  whicli  enables  pro- 
fessed homoeopaths  to  hold  ofiice  on  the  med- 
ical staff,  has  left  us  no  alternative."  The 
vacancies  thus  created  were  sjjeedily  filled 
up,  the  new-comers  being  drawn  from  both 
sections  of  tlio  medical  profession.  Where- 
upon the  medical  press  proceeded  to  take  to 
task  these  allopathic  i^sculapian  "scabs." 


} 


sr)2 


THE  LIBRAEY  MAGAZINE. 


one  of  whom  replied  to  the  censors  in  this 
fashion,  which  seems  to  us  an  exceedingly 
clever  bit  of  logical  argumentation  : — 

"The  presence  of  homoeopathists  on  the 
staff  IB  either  prejudicial  to  the  interests  of 
the  patients  or  it  ls  not.  If  the  former,  then 
the  action  of  medical  men — not  avowed  ho- 
mceopathists — in  joining  the  staff  deserves 
your  approbation,  since  by  diluting  homoeo- 
pathic mflucnce,  and  diminishing  homceopa- 
thic  practice,  they  would  tend,  ex  hypothesis 
to  augment  the  advantages  and  lessen  the 
risks  of  the  patients.  If,  on  the  other  hand, 
homoeopathists  do  not  imperil  the  welfare  of 
the  patients,  there  is  no  justification  for  your 
condemnation  of  those  who  choose  to  serve 
in  the  same  charity  as  they.  You  may  hold 
that  I  have  not  stated  the  real  point  at 
issue,  and  maintain  that  it  is  professional 
honor  which  is  at  stake  ;  in  which  case  it  ap- 
pears to  me  you  would  exalt  the  importance 
of  boycotting  certain  members  of  the  profes- 
sion above  the  needs  of  those  for  whose  bene- 
fit the  charity  exists.  Doctors  are  made  for 
man,  net  man  for  doctors.  Supposing  every 
membc?-  who  is  not  a  homoeopathist,  avowea 
or  otherwise,  had  abstained  from  applying 
for  a  vacant  post,  one  of  two  things  must 
have  happened — either  the  vacancies  would 
have  been  filled  by  homoeopathists,  or  not 
filled  at  all.  I  have  dealt  above  with  the 
question  of  a  homoeopatliic  staff  as  affecting 
the  patients ;  and  as  regards  the  other  alter- 
native, of  the  posts  being  left  vacant,  it 
comes  to  this :  that  the  leading  journal  of  a 
so-called  noble  profession — a  profession 
which  is  supposed  to  embody  some  of  the 
grandest  iaslincts  of  humanity — by  implica- 
tion advocates  that  patients  should  be  left 
destitute  of  advice  until  certain  offending 
brothers,  guilty  of  the  unpardonable  sin  of 
differing  from  the  majority  respecting  thera- 
peutic doctrine,  shall  be  excommunicated. 
The  interests  of  the  poor  are  to  be  sacrificed 
in  order  that  professional  p^-ejudice  may  be 
satisfied." 


<( 


Like  Cures  Like." — This  is  not  an  ac- 
curate rendering  of  the  famous  maxim  of 
Hahnemann,  which,  as  commonly  quoted,  is 
Similia  fdmilibns  euranttir,  the  strict  ren- 
dering of  which  is:  "Likes  are  cured  by 
likes,  but  this  isj  not  exactly  wimt  Hahne- 
mann wrote ;  his  words  are :  Similia  simili- 
Ims  curentur,  "T^t  likes  !>e  trcjited  by 
likes:'*  that  is.  "If  a  drug  produces  certain 
morbid  symptoms  when  taken  by  a  pei*son  in 
health,  that  drug  is  the  proper  one  to  be  ad- 


ministered in  the  case  of  a  patient  who  mani- 
fests these  same  morbid  symptoms."  The 
question  as  to  the  amount  has  properly  no 
bearing  upon  the  contention  between  Homa  o- 
paths  and  Allopaths.  A  practitioner  of 
either  school  mi^ht  quite  consistently  admin- 
ister "infinitesimal  or  "heroic"  doses  of 
any  proper  remedy.  Indeed,  in  this  respect 
we  believe  that  the  two  schools  arc  approxi- 
mating towards  each  other.  If  we  are  right- 
ly informed,  few  sensible  Homoeopaths  rely 
upon  the  incalculably  minute  doses  laid  down 
by  the  early  teachers  of  their  school ;  and 
few  sensible  Allopaths  administer  t^e  enor- 
mous doses  which  were  formerly  the  genend 
rule.  Which  theory  is  the  right  one — or  in- 
deed whether  either  is  the  right  or  the  wrong 
one  in  all  cases — can  be  decided  only  empiri- 
cally— using  the  word  in  its  legitimate  sense- 
that  is,  by  actual  trial. 

The  Last  WirNESBFOR  "The  Book  of 
Mormon." — David  Whitmer,  the  last  sur- 
vivor of  the  three,  who,  in  1880  testified  to 
the  genuineness  of  Joseph  Smith's  "  Book  of 
Mormon,"  died  on  Januair  24,  at  the  age  of 
eighty-three,  at  Richmond,  Missouri,  where 
he  had  resided  for  about  half  a  century. 
During  all  this  period  he  is  said  to  have  borne 
a  most  unexceptionable  character.  He  left 
the  Mormon  Society  in  1888,  on  account,  as 
he  said,  of  their  having  departed  from  the 
true  doctrine  revealed  to  Smith,  especially  by 
the  inculcation  of  polygamy,  which  he  repu- 
diated. A  few  hours  before  his  death  he 
called  his  family  and  friends  around  him.  and 
bore  his  dying  testimony  to  his  continued  be- 
lief in  the  "Book  of  Mormon,"  and  also  in  the 
Bible.  His  testimony  respecting  the  "Book 
of  Mormon,"  prefixed  to  the  origmal  edition, 
printed  in  18^,  is  signed  by  himself,  Oliver 
Cowdery,  and  Martin  Smith,  who  are  by 
the  Mormons  styled  "The  Three  Witnesses." 
They  aver:  "We  declare  with  words  of 
soberness  that  an  angel  of  God  came  down 
from  heaven  and  he  brought  and  laid  before 
our  eyes  that  we  beheld  and  saw  the  plates 
and  the  {engravings  thereon."  Not  only  is 
they  affirmed,  did  they  "behold  and  s-  " 
these  miraculous  plates,  but  they  actuj  y 
*  •  hefted  "  them  ;  and  thus  had  the  evide  « 
of  two  senses  as  to  their  material  exister  ;. 
It  would  be  interesting  to  know  what  beca  le 
of  these  plates,  since — apart  from  their  saci  d 
value — they  must  have  been  worth  muol  is 
mere  bullion,  as  the}'  formed  a  pile  8  inc  -s 
long,  7  inches  wide,  and  6  inches  thick,  >f 
the  purest  gold." 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  363 

*  THE  CONSTITUTION  OP  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

The  year  that  has  lately  closed  has  terminated  the  first  century  since  the 
adoption  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  In  the  reckoning  of  his- 
tory the  period  is  not  a  long*  one.  In  the  accelerated  pace  of  modern  times 
it  has  beeu  long  enough  to  form  that  instrument  into  a  complete  system  of 
governmant,  and  to  test  pretty  thoroughly  its  efficacy  and  value.  In  its 
origin  it  was  a  striking  and  in  many  respects  an  original  experiment.  In 
its  republican  form  it  was  substantially  without  precedent.  It  was  the  pro- 
duct of  conflicting  opinion,  proposed  in  doubt,  ratified  with  hesitation.  The 
States  which  adopted  it  were  small  and  struggling,  exhausted  and  impover- 
ished by  a  long  war,  with  no  central  government  worth  the  name,  no  credit, 
no  finance,  no  certain  outlook  for  the  future.  The  hundred  years  of  its 
history  have  seen  the  civilization,  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific,  of  the 
continent  on  the  margin  of  which  its  administration  began ;  the  increase  of 
its  subjects  from  three  millions  to  nearly  sixty  millions ;  the  rise  and  maturity 
under  its  protection  of  a  great  and  powerful  nation,  whose  growth  has  been 
phenomenal,  and  whose  future  lies  oeyond  the  field  of  prediction.  As  its 
institutions  have  gradually  taken  shape,  and  as  one  after  another  of  the 
dangers  that  menaced  them  has  been  overcome,  it  is  natural  that  they  should 
have  attracted  in  an  increasing  degree  the  attention  of  mankind,  and 
especially  of  the  English-speaking  race.  The  American  nation  is  the  first- 
born child  of  Great  Britain,  the  nrst  and  greatest  fruit  of  the  characteristic 
power  of  the  Anglo-Saxons  for  colonization,  and  for  going  by  the  sea.  The 
connection  between  the  two  countries  grows  constantly  larger  and  more 
intimate.  It  is  clearer  day  by  day  that  the  future  of  America  for  better  or 
worse,  is  to  bo  the  inheritance,  not  of  a  nation  only,  but  of  the  race  to  which 
the  nation  belongs. 

But  it  is  probable  that  very  few  even  among  the  best  instructed  English- 
men have  a  clear  or  accurate  conception  of  the  Government  of  the  tmited 
States,  as  it  actually  exists.  Some  features  of  it  are  conspicuous,  and  some 
qualities  obvious.  He  who  runs  may  read  them.  The  real  working  of  its 
institutions,  the  exact  relations  of  its  system  of  dual  sovereicnty,  apparently 
complicated,  in  reality  simple,  are  Weaaily  apparent.  Nor  hL  a  stranger 
the  means  of  readily  acquainting  himself  with  the  subject.  The  text  of  the 
Constitution,  considering  its  scope,  is  singularly  brief.  Its  language  is  terse 
and  comprehensive.  It  enunciates  general  principles  in  the  fewest  words, 
and  deals  with  details  as  little  as  possible.  Its  perusal  is  easy — even 
attractive — for  its  simplicity  and  dignity  of  expression,  but  leaves  it  obvious 
to  the  reader  that  its  practical  efficiency  must  depend  altogether  upon  the 
construction  that  is  given  to  its  phraseology,  and  the  manner  in  wnich  its 
provisions  are  carried  into  effect  by  legislation.  An  acquaintance  with  these 
results,  as  they  have  from  time  to  time  taken  place,  must  be  sought  through 


354  TEE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

•  many  judicial  decisions,  Congressional  debates,  and  legislative  enactments ;  or 
at  least,  by  study  of  the  elaborate  treatises  in  which  they  have  been  brought 
together  by  commentators,  and  which  are  written  for  the  lawyer  rather  than 
for  the  general  reader.  A  concise  and  accurate  outline  of  the  Constitution  of 
the  United  States,  and  of  the  system  of  Federal  government  of  which  it  is 
the  foundation  and  the  supreme  law,  may  answer  many  inquiries,  and  may 
perhaps  be  found  useful  to  those  interested  in  political  science,  as  well  afi  to 
those  who  care  to  know  more  about  that  country.  Government  is  only  one 
factor  in  the  life  of  a  nation,  but  it  is  the  most  important.  An  acquaintance 
with  it  is  a  large  advance  toward  a  knowledge  of  its  people. 

It  is  necessary  to  a  correct  understanding  of  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States,  that  some  attention  should  be  given  to  the  national  conditions 
which  preceded  its  origin.  At  the  close  of  the  American  Kevolution,  in 
1783,  the  thirteen  British  colonies  which  under  a  loose  and  hasty  association 
for  that  purpose  had  brought  the  war  to  a  successful  result,  had  become 
independent  States,  and  had  adopted  separate  Constitutions  of  their  own. 
Contiguous  to  each  other,  though  extended  along  a  very  wide  reach  of  coast 
from  New  Hampshire  to  Georgia,  and  inhabited  by  .the  same  race,  there  was 
but  little  connection  between  Qiem,  except  the  bond  of  a  common  sympathy 
in  a  common  cause.  The  attempt  at  a  Union,  formed  during  the  progress  of 
the  war,  under  what  were  called  the  Articles  of  Confederation,  was  rather  an 
association  than  a  government.  Its  obligation  was  well  described  as  "  a  rope 
of  sand."  The  central  organization  had  no  control  over  the  States  which 
formed  it,  no  power  to  raise  revenue,  nor  to  assert  any  permanent  authority. 
Trial  had  shown  it  to  be  destitute  of  the  elements  oi  self-preservation  or  of 

fermanence,  and  had  made  it  clear  on  all  hands  that  it  must  be  abandoned. 
t  is  unnecessary  to  recur  to  it  further,  since  nothing  came  of  it  at  last  but 
the  experience  that  pointed  the  way  to  a  better  system. 

But  that  a  union  of  some  sort  must  be  formed,  and  a  government  based 
upon  it,  was  an  obvious  necessity.  Neither  of  the  States  was  strong  enough 
to  maintain  its  independence.  Conflicting  interests  were  likely  to  involve 
them  in  perpetual  controversy  among  themselves.  The  vast  territory  behind 
them,  when  it  should  become  occupied,  was  likely  to  develop  into  a  multitude 
of  small  and  independent  republics,  or  perhaps  provinces  under  foreim 
governments,  and  unavoidably  to  give  rise  to  contant  disputes  between  tBe 
States  in  regard  to  the  possession  of  lands,  in  which  some  of  them  claimed 
rights  indicated  by  vague  and  indeterminate  boundaries,  and  others,  without 
special  title,  would  nevertheless  have  strong  claims  to  share.  There  was  no 
substantial  hesitation  therefore,  among  the  people  of  the  States  or  their 
leaders,  touching  the  necessity  of  an  alliance,  and  of  a  national  government 
but  the  gravest  difference  of  opinion  naturally  arose  as  to  the  terms  upoi 
which  they  should  be  constructed.    Jealous  of  their  dearly  purchased  inde 


i 


THE  constitution:  of  the  united  states,  355 

pendence,  the  States  were  reluctant  to  part  with  a  sovereignty  which  it  was 
much  easier  to  discard  than  to  recall. 

It  was  tinder  these  circumstances,  and  in  this  condition  of  public  senti- 
ment, that  a  Convention  was  finally  summoned  by  Congress  to  meet  at 
Philadelphia,  in  February,  1787,  to  revise  the  Articles  of  Confederation,  and 
to  report  to  Congress  and  the  several  States,  such  amendments  as  should  be 
adequate  to  the  exigencies  of  government,  and  the  preservation  of  the  Union. 
To  tne  meeting  of  tnis  body  came  as  delegates  the  most  distinguished  men  in 
all  the  States  except  one,  which  was  not  represented.  It  was  presided  over 
by  Washington,  himself  the  most  ardent  advocate  of  union,  and  was  an 
assembly  of  uncommon  dignity  and  ability.  Its  discussions  were  protracted 
and  earnest.  A  wide  diversity  of  opinion  appeared,  principally  between 
those  disposed  to  conservative  views,  and  those  inclined  toward  (democracy. 
There  were  also  to  be  reconciled  what  were  thought  to  be  the  conflicting 
interests  of  the  different  States.  The  Convention  finally  abandoned  altogether 
the  Articles  of  Confederation,  as  hopeless  of  amendment,  and  instead  of  them, 
on  the  17th  of  September,  1787,  adopted  by  a  considerable  majority  the 
original  Constitution  substantially  as  it  now  stands,  and  submitted  it  to  the 
people  of  the  several  States  for  ratification,  under  a  proviso  that  the  assent 
of  nine  States  should  be  sufficient  to  render  it  binding  between  the  ratifying 
States.  Each  State  called  a  Convention  of  its  own  to  consider  the  proposal, 
in  which  prolonged  discussions  took  place.  There  was  more  or  less  opposi- 
tion in  many  quarters,  and  upon  many  grounds.  But  it  was  finally  ratified 
and  formally  adopted  by  the  thirteen  States,  at  different  times.  Meanwhile 
after  eleven  States  had  assented  to  it,  and  on  the  30th  of  April,  1789,  the 
Grovernment  it  established  was  organized.  The  two  remaining  States  ratified 
the  Constitution  and  came  into  the  Union — one  in  November,  1789,  the  other 
in  May,  1790. 

The  State  of  Vermont,  in  which  settlements  had  been  begun  before  the 
revolution  commenced,  upon  land  titles  acquired  under  the  New  Hampshire 
grants  from  the  Crown,  nad  fought  through  the  war  on  the  American  side, 
without  becoming  a  member  of  the  Union  formed  by  the  Articles  of  Con- 
federation. At  the  close  of  the  war,  land  titles  were  attempted  to  be  asserted 
against  those  of  the  settlers,  under  the  grant  to  the  Duke  of  York,  by  which 
a  large  part  of  New  York  was  held.  The  boundaries  of  both  grants  were  so 
^  oosely  defined,  that  each  covered  a  part  of  what  was  embraced  in  the  other. 
'  l?he  Vermonters  resisted  these  claims,  set  at  defiance  the  legal  process  from 
]  he  New  York  courts,  and  ip  defence  of  their  lands  maintained  the  independ- 
i  nee  of  their  State,  under  a  Constitution  of  their  own,  until  1791,  when  their 
I  itles  having  been  conceded,  they  applied  for  admission,  and  were  received 
i  nto  the  Union. 

All  the  territory  now  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  United  States  Government, 
4  nd  not  embraced  within  these  fourteen  States,  including  that  afterwards 


'^ 


366  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE, 


derived  from  France,  from  Spain,  and  from  Mexico,  became  subject  to  the 
exclusive  control  of  the  Federal  Government.  As  the  various  parts  of  it 
were  occupied  or  acquired,  territorial  governments  were  from  time  to  time 
organized  oy  Congress  and  administerea  under  the  national  authority,  until 
8uch  time  as  these  Territories,  or  successive  portions  of  them,  were  admitted 
by  Congress  into  the  Union  as  States,  on  the  same  footing,  under  the  Constitu- 
tion, with  the  original  States.  Texas  alone  was  admitted  as  a  State  when  it 
v^as  first  annexed,  to  the  United  States,  never  having  been  made  a  Territory. 
There  are  now  thirty-eight  States  in  the  Union,  and  seven  organized  Terri- 
tories, which  will  in  time,  as.  their  population  becomes  sufficient,  be  admitted 
as  States.  Each  Staiie  has  a  Constitution,  and  a  complete  system  of  govern- 
ment of  its  own. 

From  this  meagre  outline  of  a  most  interesting  chapter  in  history,  it  will 
be  perceived  that  the  States  which  originally  adopted  the  Constitution  were 
independent  and  separate,  and  entered  tne  Union  voluntarily,  on  a  footing  of 
entire  equality.  There  was  no  subordinate  and  no  superior,  nor  any  conquest 
or  compulsion  of  one  by  the*  others.  And  the  cardinal  idea  upon  which  the 
Constitution  is  founded,  is  that  every  State  which  becomes  subject  to  it  is 
Independent  of  the  other  States,  and  retains  its  full  sovereignty,  except  so  far 
as  by  the  express  terms  of  tiie  Constitution,  or  by  necessary  implication, 
certain  powers  are  relinquished  by  the  States,  or  conferred  upon  the  Federal 
Government.  In  determining  therefore,  in  which  jurisdiction  any  govern- 
mental power  resides,  the  inquiry  is  whether  it  has  been  parted  with  by  the 
States,  under  the  provisions  of  the  Constitution  and  if  so,  whether  it  has 
been  granted  to  the  National  Government,  There  are  certain  powers  that  are 
prohibited  to  the  States,  but  which  that  Government  has  not  acquired. 

The  most  serious  question  under  the  Constitution  that  has  ever  arisen,  was 
that  which  involved  the  nature  of  the  compact  upon  which  it  was  founded — 
whether  the  Union  thus  formed  could  be  dissolved  by  some  of  the  States  that 
were  parties  to  it,  and  they  allowed  to  withdraw  without  the  consent  of  the 
others.     No  discussion  of  a  constitutional  question  in  America,  was  ever  so 
prolonged,  so  excited,  and  so  bitter  as  this.     It  culminated  finally  in  the  civil 
war  of  1861,  and  then  received  its  final  settlement.     It  was  contended  on  the 
part  of  the  Southern  States,  in  which  slavery  existed  when  the  Constitution 
was  adopted,  that  the  Union  was  virtually  a  partnership  of  States,  volun- 
tarily entered  into,  and  depending  for  its  existence  upon  the  continued  con- 
sent of  the  parties ;  that  those  who  made  the  compact  could  dissolve  it ;  an< 
that  no  power  was  conferred  upon  the  Federal  Government  by  the  Constitu 
tion,  to  compel  States  to  remain  under  its  authority,  or  to  continue  an  alii 
ance  from  wnich  they  found  it  their  interest  to  withdraw.     This  view  wa 
urged  with  great  earnestness  by  Southern  statesmen,  under  the  leadership  c 
Mr.  Calhoun.     In  the  earlier  stages  of  the  discussion  it  was  plausible,  an 
not  without  force,  and  Southern  sentiment  was  generally,  thougii  not  univei 


mE  COMTITtJftON  OP  THE  tl KITED  STATES.  36* 

sally,  in  its  favor.  But  in  the  great  debate  on  the  subiect  in  the  United 
States  Senate,  in  1830,  the  answer  to  this  construction  of  the  Constitution 
was  brought  forward  by  Mr.  Webster  with  extraordinary  and  convincing 
power.  iTo  speech  in  Alnerica  was  ever  so  widely  read,  so  striking  in  its 
immediate  effect,  so  lasting  in  its  ultimate  results.  From  that  time  there  has 
been  no  difference  in  opinion  among  the  Northern  people,  as  to  the  question 
involved.  It  was  shown  that  the  compact  of  the  Constitution  was  of  a  far 
higher  and  more  enduring  character  tnan  a  mere  dissoluble  partnership, 
existing  upon  sufferance ;  that  it  was  a  National  Government,  permanent  and 
perpetual  in  its  nature,  not  contracted  for  by  the  States,  but  ordained  by  the 
people ;  that  while  the  assent  to  it  in  the  first  instance  was  voluntary,  and 
was  expressed  through  the  medium  of  the  Stat«  Governments,  it  was  an 
assent  that  once  given  and  acted  upon,  could  not  be  recalled ;  from  which  lio 
power  of  recession  was  reserved,  or  could  exist,  consistently  with  the  object 
of  the  contract,  or  the  nature  of  the  Government ;  and  that  the  States, 
though  retaining  their  independence  and  sovereignty  in  many  particulars, 
had  parted  with  their  right  to  a  political  existence  separate  from  the  Gov- 
ernment they  had  created. 

When  this  question  finally  came  to  the  arbitrament  of  arms,  there  was  no 
hesitation  in  the  minds  of  the  Northern  people  touching  the  merits  of  the 
quarrel,  or  the  indispensable  necessity  of  maintaining  it.  Nor  did  the  theory 
of  the  right  of  secession  command  universal  acceptance  in  the  Southern 
States.  Four  of  them  declined  to  join  the  Confederacy,  and  remained  on  the 
Union  side  through  the  war.  Since  the  war,  this  question  is  at  an  end.  It 
is  not  likely  ever  to  recur.  With  the  disappearance  of  slavery,  no  reason  for 
asserting  a  right  of  secession  remains.  No  respectable  vote  could  be  obtained 
in  any  Southern  State  to-day,  in  favor  of  a  dissolution  of  the  Union. 

The  Constitution  of  the  United  Stafes  reproduces  under  a  different  form 
of  government,  and  under  different  conditions,  all  the  principles  of  English 
liberty,  and  the  safeguards  of  English  law.  These  are  the  foundations  upon 
which  it  rests,  and  the  model  upon  which  it  is  constructed.  It  affords  the 
highest  proof  that  those  principles  are  neither  local  nor  national  in  their 
character,  nor  dependent  upon  the  form  of  government  under  which  they 
exist,  so  long  as  it  is  in  its  nature  a  free  government.  Sovereignty  is  distri- 
buted, as  in  England,  among  three  principal  and  independent  departments — 
the  executive,  the  legislative,  and  the  judicial. 

1.  The  President  is  the  head  of  the  Government,  the  chief  executive  officer, 
and  the  commander-in-chief  of  the  army  and  the  navy.  He  is  required  to 
be  of  American  birth,  to  be  not  less  than  thirty-five  years  of  age,  and  a  resi- 
<lent  of  the  United  States  for  fourteen  years  when  elected,  ne  holds  office 
for  four  years,  and  is  constitutionally  eligible  to  repeated  re-elections.  No 
President  however,  has  been  re-elected  more  than  once ;  and  political  tradi- 
tion, as  well  as  general  sentiment^  is  opposed  to  a  second  re-election. 


.1:>8  TM   LIMARY   MAQAZtifE, 

Both  the  President  and  Vice-President  are  elected  by  a  College  of  Electors, 
chosen  in  each  State  in  numbers  corresponding  to  the  number  of  Senators 
and  Bepresentatives  in  Congress  to  vrhich  the  State  is  entitled,  and  in  such 
manner  as  the  State  may  by  law  provide.  In  South  Carolina  they  have 
always  been  chosen  by  tne  legislature,  and  no  popular  election  for  Presiden- 
tial Electors  has  ever  been  held  there.  In  the  other  States  they  are  elected 
by  the  people.  The  electors  so  chosen  are  required  to  meet  in  February  fol- 
lowing the  election,  in  their  r^ective  States,  and  to  cast  their  votes  for 
President  and  Vice-President.  Tne  votes  are  transmitted  to  the  seat  of  gov- 
ernment, and  are  opened  and  counted  by  the  president  of  the  Senate,  in  the 
presence  of  the  Senate  and  House  of  Eiepresentatives.  The  persons  having 
the  greatest  number  of  votes  are  declared  elected,  provided  they  receive  a 
majority  of  all  the  electoral  votes,  and  they  hold  office  from  the  4th  day  of 
March  next  ensuing.  If  no  person  has  a  majority  of  votes  for  the  office  of 
President,  the  House  of  Bepresentatives  then  elects  the  President  from  the 
persons — ^not  exceeding  three — ^who  received  the  highest  number.  But  in 
this  election  each  State  has  but  one  vote,  which  is  cast  by  the  majority  of  its 
representatives.  If  no  person  has  received  a  majority  of  electoral  votes  for 
the  office  of  Vice-President,  the  Senate  elects  that  officer  from  the  two  per- 
sons having  the  highest  number.  If  the  House  fails  to  elect  a  Presiaent 
before  the  4th  of  March  next  following,  the  Vice-President  becomes  the 
President. 

It  was  intended  by  the  Constitution  that  the  President  and  the  Vice-Pres- 
ident should  be  chosen  by  the  Electoral  College,  acting  independently  and  in 
the  exercise  of  their  own  judgment ;  but  recent  elections  have  proceeded 
upon  the  nomination  in  the  different  States,  as  Electors,  of  persons  pledged 
to  the  support  of  particular  candidates  for  President  and  Vice-President,  who 
have  been  proposed  in  party  conventfons.  The  election  becomes  therefore,  to 
all  intents  and  purposes,  an  election  of  these  officers  by  the  people,  the 
Electors  chosen  feeing  a  mere  medium  for  registering  the  popular  vote,  with- 
out any  discretion  of  their  own.  The  Constitution  contemplated  the  election 
of  no  Federal  officer  whatever  by  popular  vote,  except  members  of  the  House 
of  Representatives  in  Congress,  and  in  States  where  it  should  be  so  provided, 
members  of  the  Electoral  CoUece.  That  office,  originally  a  very  important 
one,  has  become  insignificant,  and  only  formal  in  its  duties. 

The  President  appoints  his  own  Cabinet,  subject  to  confirmation  by  the 
Senate,  which  in  the  case  of  a  Cabinet  officer  has  never  been  refused.    The] 
hold  office  during  his  pleasure,  and  irrespective  of  the  majority  in  eithe 
House,  or  any  vote  it  may  adopt,  and  cannot  be  members  of  either  Hous^ 
The    Cabinet    consists  of  a    Secretary  of  State  (Foreign  Afiairs),   of  the 
Treasury,  of  War,  of  the  Navy,  and  of  the  Interior,  an  Attorney-Qenera? 
aud  a  Postmaster-General.     Each  conducts,  subject  to  the  genenJ  direotiou 


TEH  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  359 

of  the  President,  his  respective  department,  that  of  the  Attorney-Greneral 
being  the  Department  of  Justice. 

The  principal  powers  of  the  President,  apart  from  his  general  conduct  and 
supervision  of  the  administration  of  the  Groverment,  are  four^— the  veto,  the 
appointment  to  public  office,  the  making  of  treaties  with  foreign  nations,  and 
the  pardoning  power  for  offences  against  the  Federal  laws.  And  he  is 
required,  at  the  opening  of  each  session  of  Congress,  to  transmit  to  that  body 
a  message  informing  them  of  the  condition  of  public  affairs,  and  recommend- 
ing any  subjects  to  their  attention  which  seem  to  him  to  require  it. 

The  exercise  of  the  veto  power  is  altogether  in  the  President's  discretion. 
All  Acts  that  pass  Congress  are  sent  to  him  for  signature,  and  if  he 
approves,  are  signed  accordingly.  He  may  however,  within  ten  days 
(Sundays  excepted)  after  the  reception  of  any  such  Act,  return  it  without 
approval  to  the  House  m  which  it  originated,  with  his  objections  in  writing, 
which  are  required  to  be  entered  on  the  journal  of  the  House.  If  he  retains 
the  Act  beyond  the  ten  days  without  signing  or  returning  it  disapproved,  it 
becomes  a  law  without  his  signature.  If  returned  disapproved,  it  may  be 
again  passed  and  become  a  law  without  his  approval,  if  a  majority  of  two- 
thirds  of  both  Houses  can  be  obtained  in  its  favor.  The  vote  for  that 
purpose  must  be  taken  by  yea  and  nay,  and  the  names  of  the  voters  for  and 
against,  recorded  in  the  journal. 

Treaties  with  foreign  nations,  when  completed  and  signed,  are  transmitted 
by  the  President  to  the  Senate  with  his  recommendation,  and  must  be  ratified 
by  a  vote  of  two-thirds  of  that  body  in  order  to  take  effect.  There  is  no 
restriction  upon  the  power  of  the  President  in  making  treaties,  except  the 
implied  one  that  nothing  can  be  done  under  it  which  changes  the  Constitu- 
tion, or  robs  a  department  of  the  Government  or  any  of  the  States  of  its 
constitutional  authority.  Legislation  by  Congress  however,  may  often  be 
necessary  to  carry  the  provisions  of  a  treaty  into  effect. 

The  power  of  appointment  to  office,  and  of  removal  therefrom,  is  the 
heaviest  tax  which  is  imposed  by  the  Constitution  upon  the  attention  of  the 
President.  All  diplomatic,  judicial,  executive,  and  administrative  officers  of 
the  United  States  Grovernment  including  those  of  the  army  and  navy,  are 
appointed  by  the  President  and  confirmed  by  the  Senate,  except  a  class  of 
minor  civil  officers,  who  are  authorized  by  law  to  be  appointed  by  the  heads 
of  departments,  or  by  other  executive  or  judicial  authority,  and  do  not  require 
confirmation.  Vacancies  in  Presidential  appointments  occurring  in  the  recess 
of  the  Senate,  may  be  filled  by  commissions  expiring  at  the  end  of  its  next 
session.  Officers  of  the  army  and  navy  are  usually  appointed  from  the 
graduates  of  the  military  ana  naval  academies  respectively,  promotion  in  both 
services  being  exclusively  by  seniority,  except  that  general  officers  and  officers 
in  certain  branches  of  the  staff  are  appointed  by  the  President  by  selection. 


3<J0  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE, 

The  Vice-President  holds  office  for  four  years,  and  is  President  of  the 
Senate,  and  except  in  case  of  the  death  or  disability  of  the  President,  or  of 
the  failure  to  elect  a  President,  has  no  other  duty  to  perform.  On  the  death 
or  disabihty  of  the  President,  or  if  no  President  be  elected,  the  Vice- 
President  become  the  President.  What  constitutes  "  disability"  within  the 
meaning  of  the  Constitution,  or  how  it  shall  be  declared  to  exist,  there  has 
arisen  no  occasion  to  decide.  It  may  be  assumed  to  be  a  permanent  disability, 
or  what  is  regarded  as  such,  and  would  probably  be  treated  as  within  the  de- 
termination of  Congress.  It  seems  clear  that  if  such  a  disability  be  once 
declared,  and  the  Vice-President  thereupon  becomes  President,  a  recovery  by 
the  President  from  the  disability  would  not  restore  him  to  office. 

2.  The  legislative  power  of  the  United  States  Government  is  vested  in 
Congress,  which  is  composed  of  two  Houses,  the  Senate  and  the  House  of 
fiepresentatives.  No  Act  can  become  a  law  until  it  has  passed  both.  The 
Senate  consists  of  two  members  for  each  State  in  the  Union,  irrespective  of 
its  size  or  population.  They  are  elected  by  the  legislatures  of  tne  respec- 
tive States,  hold  office  for  six  years,  and  are  eligible  for  re-election  indefi- 
nitely. To  be  eligible  as  senator  a  person  must  be  thirty  years  of  age,  a 
citizen  of  the  United  States  for  nine  years,  and  an  inhabitant  of  the  State 
from  which  he  is  elected.  The  Senate  has  also  very  important  powers  aside 
from  the  general  duties  of  legislation.  Beside  the  ratification  of  treaties, 
and  the  confirmation  of  appointments  to  office  already  mentioned,  all 
impeachments  of  officers  of  tne  United  States  Government  who  are  subject 
to  that  process  must  be  tried  before  it  (specially  sworn  for  that  purpose),  a 
vote  of  two-thirds  bein^  necessary  for  a  conviction.  In  case  of  the 
impeachment  of  the  President,  the  uhief  Justice  of  the  Supreme  Court  of 
the  United  States  presides  at  the  trial. 

The  House  of  Representatives  has  no  other  duty  than  that  of  general  leg- 
islation, in  which  tne  concurrence  of  the  Senate  is  requisite,  except  in  the 
election  of  President,  before  referred  to,  and  except  that  all  bills  for  raising 
revenue  must  originate  in  the  House  of  Representatives,  though  subject  to 
amendment  by  the  Senate.  They  have  also  the  sole  power  to  present  articles 
of  impeachment.  To  be  eligible  as  a  member  of  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives a  person  must  be  twenty-five  years  of  age,  seven  years  a  citizen  of  the 
United  States,  and  an  inhabitant  of  the  State  from  which  he  is  chosen.  The 
representatives  are  apportioned  to  the  several  States  upon  the  basis  of  popu- 
lation, except  that  each  State  is  entitled  to  at  least  one  member.  They  ar- 
chosen  for  two  years.  A  new  census  is  taken  once  in  ten  years,  and  a  reap 
portionment  of  the  representation  is  made  accordingly. 

Members  of  both  Mouses  are  paid  a  compensation  for  their  services,  oi 
$5,000  per  annum  and  a  travelling  allowance,  and  are  precluded  from  hold 
ing  any  office  under  the  United  States  Government  wnile  members.  No 
can  any  Senator  or  Representative  be  appointed,  during  the  period  for  whiclj 


TBE  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES,  361 

he  Is  elected,  to  any  civil  office  under  the  authority  of  the  United  States, 
which  is  created  or  its  emoluments  increased  during  such  time.     They  are 

S)rivileged  from  arrest,  except  for  treason,  felony,  or  breach  of  the  peace;  and 
or  speech  or  debate  in  either  House  cannot  be  questioned  in  any  other  place. 

The  legislative  powers  that  may  be  exercised  by  Congress  are  those  only 
that  are  specially  conferred  upon  it  by  the  terms  or  necessary  implication  of 
the  Constitution.  All  others  are  reserved  to  the  States,  unless  expressly  pro- 
hibited to  them  in  the  Constitution.  Those  assigned  to  Congress  comprehend 
generally  all  powers  necessary  for  the  Federsa  Legislature  to  possess,  to 
enable  the  National  Government  to  be  maintained  and  carried  on,  and  the 
duties  and  functions  appropriate  to  it  to  be  discharged.  The  line  is  so  drawn 
as  to  give  to  the  central  authority  all  that  is  requisite,  and  nothing  more. 
Whatever  is  within  its  sphere,  the  States  are  prohibited  from  interfering 
with.  What  is  left  to  the  States,  the  Federal  Government  is  excluded  from. 
The  dual  government  thus  created  can  therefore  never  be  a  conflicting  one. 
And  the  Federal  courts,  and  in  the  last  resort  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
United  States,  as  will  be  pointed  out  hereafter,  afford  a  tribunal  in  which 
any  disputed  question  of  jurisdiction  finds  its  immediate  solution. 

Speaking  comprehensively,  the  powers  of  legislation  conferred  upon  Con- 
gress may  be  thus  summarized :  To  collect  revenue  upon  a  uniform  system 
for  the  general  welfare  and  common  defence ;  to  borrow  money ;  to  regulate 
foreign  and  interstate  commerce ;  to  coin  money  and  establish  weights  and 
measures ;  to  maintain  the  post  office ;  to  establish  naturalization  laws  and 
a  uniform  system  of  bankruptcy ;  to  constitute  Federal  judicial  tribunals 
inferior  to  the  Supreme  Court;  to  grant  patents  and  copyrights;  to  declare 
war,  grant  letters  of  marque  and  reprisal,  and  make  ruies  concerning  cap- 
tores  ;  to  maintain  an  army  and  a  navy ;  to  provide  for  calling  into  service 
the  militia  of  the  States,  when  necessary  to  execute  the  laws  of  the  United 
States,  to  suppress  insurrection,  or  to  repel  invasion,  and  to  regulate,  officer, 
and  govern  tne  militia  when  in  such  service;  to  punish  piracy,  felony  on 
the  high  seas,  offences  against  the  law  of  nations,  and  against  the  statutes 
of  the  United  States;  to  exercise  exclusive  jurisdiction  over  territory 
acquired  for  the  seat  of  Government,  or  for  fortifications,  navy  yards,  or 
necessary  public  buildings  of  the  Federal  Government ;  to  organize  and 
govern  Territories  and  to  admit  them  into  the  Union  as  States ;  and  to 
make  all  laws  necessary  and  proper  to  carry  into  execution  these  and  other 
powers  vested  by  the  Constitution  in  the  Government  of  the  United  Statea. 
Congress  has  also  authority,  as  will  be  more  fully  stated  hereafter,  to  pro- 
pose amendments  to  the  Constitution. 

The  powers  of  Congress  bein^  confined  to  those  which  are  thus  specially 
conferred,  it  has  no  general  legislative  capacity  outside  of  them,  except  so 
far  as  may  be  necessary  to  enforce  the  Federal  authority.  What  any  branch 
of  the  Government  is  empowered  by  the  Constitution  to  do,  Congress  may 


363  mJS    LIBBABY    MAGAZINE. 

adopt  the  requisite  legislation  to  enable  it  to  carry  out.  The  authority  of 
Congress  under  this  head  has  been  liberally  construed,  and  it  is  held  to  be 
its  own  judge  as  to  the  means  proper  to  be  employed  for  that  purpose. 

But  the  Constitution  also  contains  certain  special  restrictions  upon  the 
power  of  Congress,  in  respect  to  matters  that  might  otherwise  be  within  its 
scope.  It  is  provided  that  the  writ  of  habeas  carpus  shall  not  be  suspended 
unless  in  cases  of  rebellion  or  invasion ;  that  no  bill  of  attainder  or  ex  post 
facto  law  shall  be  passed  ;  that  no  capitation  or  other  direct  tax  shall  be 
laid  unless  in  proportion  to  the  census  provided  to  be  taken ;  that  no  tax 
or  duty  be  laid  on  exports  from  any  State ;  that  no  preference  shall  be 
given  by  commercial  or  revenue  regulations  to  the  ports  of  one  State  over 
those  of  another,  nor  vessels  bound  to  or  from  one  State  be  required  to 
enter,  clear,  or  pay  duties  in  another;  that  no  title  of  nobility  shall  be 
granted ;  that  no  laws  shall  be  made  respecting  an  establishment  of  religion 
or  prohibiting  the  free  exercise  thereof,  ot>  abriflging  the  freedom  of  the 
press;  that  the  right  of  the  people  peaceably  to  assemble  and  to  petition 
the  Government  for  a  redress  of  grievances,  to  keep  and  bear  arms,  to  be 
secure  in  their  persons,  houses,  papers,  and  effects  against  unreasonable 
searches  and  seizures,  shall  not  be  infringed;  that  no  person  shall  be 
deprived  of  life,  liberty,  or  property  without  due  process  of  law,  nor  private 
property  be  taken  for  public  use  without  just  compensation. 

Of  these  restrictions,  the  most  important  of  all  is  that  in  respect  to  the 
deprivation  of  life,  liberty,  or  property.     By  one  of  the  amendments  of  the 
Constitution,  noticed  hereafter,  this  provision  is  extended  in  the  same  words 
to  governmental  action  by  the  States.     It  applies,  as  many  of  the  other 
restrictions  above  recited  do,  to  all  the  departments  both  of  State  and  Fed- 
eral Governments,  as  well  as  to  the  legislative.    It  is  contained  in  the  few 
words  above  quoted,  and  there  is  no  other  allusion  to  the  subject  in  the 
Constitution.     Much  discussion  and  many  judicial  decisions  have  taken, 
place  in  regard  to  their  true  meaning  and  application.    What  is  to  be 
understood  by  the  word  "  property  "  as  nere  employed,  what  is  a  "  depriva- 
tion" of  it,  and  especially  what  is  "due  process  of  law,"  are  questions  that 
have  been  much  and  very  carefully  considered.    The  language  has  been 
held  to  be  as  comprehensive  as  it  is  concise.    A  broad  and  liberal  and  at 
the  same  time  a  just  and  consistent  construction  has  been  given  to  it,  in 
fiivor  and  protection  of  the  rights  of  the  subject,  and  of  a  just  limitation 
upon  the  powers  of  Government.    It  would  be  beyond  the  limits  of  thii 
sketch,  to  indicate  even  the  outline  of  the  interesting  process  through  whicl 
this  significant  clause  of  the  Constitution  has  acquired  a  settled  and  well 
understood  meaning,  not  likely  ever  again  to  be  cnallenged.    It  is  enough 
to  say  that  it  results  in  this :  no  person  in  the  United  States  can  be 
ileprived  by  any  act  or  authority  of  government,  either  of  life,  of  liberty 
or  of  any  lawful  possession  which  the  law  recognizes  as  the  subject  of  pri 


ms  COlfSTIfVTIOK  OF  mE  tJNtfED  STATES,  3c:i 

vate  property,  unlesB  upon  the  judgment  or  decree  of  a  court  having  com- 
petent jurisdiction  of  tne  subject  matter,  and  of  the  parties  affected,  and 
acting  in  the  regular  course  of  judicial  procedure.  In  other  words,  no 
property  can  be  by  governmental  action  taken  from  any  person  in  posses- 
sion of  it,  until  it  has  been  adjudged  by  the  proper  tribunal  that  it  does  not 
lawfully  belong  to  him,  and  does  belong  to  the  party  to  whom  it  is  adjudged. 

To  this  proposition  there  are  but  two  exceptions — (1)  where  property  is 
sold  for  the  payment  of  a  tax  legally  assessed;  (2)  where  real  estate  is  taken 
for  public  use,  in  the  exercise  by  the  Government  of  the  power  of  eminent 
domain.  In  the  latter  case,  the  use  for  which  it  is  taken  must  be  a  public 
use  in  the  true  sense  of  the  wonl — that  is,  an  actual  use  by  the  general 
public.  It  cannot  be  taken  from  one  man  and  given  to  another,  upon  the 
ground  that  the  public  is  to  be  incidentally  or  indirectly  benefited.  And 
the  use  by  the  public  must  also  be  a  necessary  use,  though  this  term 
receives  a  liberal  and  reasonable  construction.  The  necessity  must  either 
be  declared  by  the  legislature  that  authorizes  the  taking,  or  it  must  be 
determined  by  a  judicial  or  other  tribunal  authorized  to  decide  the  question. 
And  in  all  cases  where  property  is  taken  for  public  use,  it  must  be  paid  for 
before  it  can  be  occupied.  If  the  parties  cannot  agree  upon  the  amount,  it 
must  be  judicially  ascertained. 

The  protection  thus  afforded  to  private  property  is  not  theoretical  merely, 
but  actual.  It  will  be  enforced  by  the  courts  oi  justice  in  all  cases,  at  the 
instance  of  any  party  aggrieved.  Any  Act  of  Congress,  or  proceeding  of 
the  Government,  which  is  found  to  be  in  conflict  with  these  or  any  provis- 
ions of  the  Constitution,  will  be  held  void  by  the  courts,  so  far  as  it  so  con- 
flicts. A  remedy  is  given  for  every  invasion  of  private  rights  that  may 
take  place  under  the  authority  of  such  an  Act  or  proceeding.  And  on  a 
question  whether  it  contravenes  the  Constitution,  an  appeal  lies  to  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  which  in  these  cases  is  the  ultimate 
tribunal. 

The  Constitution  also  contains  important  restrictions  upon  the  legislative 
power  of  the  States.  So  far  as  powers  have  been  conferred  upon  the  Fed- 
eral Government,  they  are,  as  a  general  rule,  regarded  as  relinquished,  and 
can  no  more  be  exercised  by  the  States.  In  some  minor  matters  it  has  been 
held  that  a  State  may  legislate  upon  a  subject  whfch  is  within  the  control 
of  the  national  authority,  so  long  as  that  control  is  not  actually  assumed, 
and  subject  to  the  power  of  Congress,  by  taking  action,  to  supersede  the 
State  legislation.  This  is  a  questionable  construction,  and  not  likely  to  be 
extended. 

But  aside  from  the  implied  abrogation  of  the  right  to  exercise  powers 
that  have  been  conferred  upon  the  National  Government,  it  is  expressly 
provided  that  no  State  shall  enter  into  any  treaty,  alliance,  or  confederation ; 
grant  letters  of  marque  and  reprisal;  coin  money;  emit  bills  of  credit^ 


364  THE    LIBRABY   MAQAZIKE. 

make  anything  but  gold  and  silver  coin  a  tender  in  payment  of  debts ;  pass 
any  bill  of  attainder,  ex  post  facto  law,  or  law  impairing  the  obligation  of 
contracts ;  or  grant  any  title  of  nobility ;  that  no  State  shall,  without  the 
consent  of  Congress,  lay  any  imposts  or  duties  on  imports  or  exports,  except 
what  may  be  absolutely  necessary  for  executing  its  inspection  laws ;  lay 
any  duty  of  tonnage ;  keep  troops  or  ships  of  war  in  time  of  peace;  enter 
into  any  agreement  or  compact  with  another  State  or  foreign  power ;  or 
engage  in  war  unless  actually  invaded,  or  in  such  imminent  danger  as  will 
not  admit  of  delay :  that  no  State  shall  make  or  enforce  any  law  which 
shall  abridge  the  privileges  or  immunities  of  citizens  of  the  United  States ; 
nor  deprive  any  person  of  life,  liberty,  or  property  without  due  process  of 
law ;  nor  deny  to  any  person  within  its  jurisdiction  the  equal  protection  of 
the  laws ;  nor  deny  or  abridge  to  citizens  of  the  United  States  the  right  to 
vote,  on  account  of  race,  color,  or  previous  condition  of  servitude ;  nor 
assume  or  pay  any  debt  or  obligation  incurred  in  aid  of  rebellion  or  insur- 
rection agamst  the  United  States,  or  any  claims  for  the  loss  or  emancipa- 
tion of  any  slave. 

It  will  be  perceived  that  these  restrictions  upon  the  power  of  the  State 
governments  are  principally  of  three  classes:  those  which  exclude  the 
States  from  interference  with  subjects  which  are  placed,  and  must  neces- 
sarily be  placed,  within  the  control  of  the  Federal  authority ;  those  which 
provide  for  the  privileges  of  the  citizens  of  one  State  in  other  States  ;  and 
those  which  have  reference  to  the  protection  of  personal  rights.  Of  the 
latter  class,  the  clause  in  respect  to  the  deprivation  of  life,  liberty,  and  prop- 
erty, only  extends  to  the  action  of  the  State  governments  the  same  safe- 
guards raised  bv  the  Constitution  against  injustice  by  the  Federal  Govern- 
ment, and  already  referred  to.  The  provision  which  prohibits  a  State  from 
passing  any  law  impairing  the  obligation  of  contracts  is  one  which  applies 
to  the  State  legislatures  onty,  and  has  proved  of  very  great  importance  ooth 
to  the  maintenance  of  the  Union,  and  to  the  preservation  of  personal  rights. 
It  has  been  the  subject  of  much  judicial  discussion,  and  many  decisions, 
from  which  it  has  derived  a  settled  meaning.  It  would  be  interesting  to 
review  its  history,  but  only  the  result  of  it  can  here  be  stated.  No  con- 
tract, whether  executed  or  executory,  express  or  implied,  derived  from 
State  charter  or  from  private  agreement,  can  be  affected  by  any  subsequent 
legislation,  either  in  any  material  feature  of  its  obligation,  or  by  depriving 
its  parties  of  a  remedy  for  its  violation. 

3.  The  judicial  power  of  the  United  States  Government  is  vested  by  the 
Constitution  in  one  Supreme  Court,  and  in  such  inferior  Courts  as  Congress 
may  from  time  to  time  establish.  The  number  of  the  judges  of  the 
Supreme  Court  is  also  fixed  by  Congress.  It  consists  at  this  time  of  a 
Chief  Justice  and  eight  associate  justices.  They  are  appointed  by  the  Pres- 
ident, confirmed  by  the  Senate,  hold  office  during  good  behavior,    and 


TEE  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  366 

receive  a  •compensation  which  cannot  be  diminished  during  their  term  of 
office.  On  attaining  the  age  of  seventy  years,  a  justice  of  this  court  is 
entitled  (if  he  has  served  ten  years)  to  retire  upon  the  same  compensation 
during  his  life,  which  he  has  received  while  on  the  bench.  The  court  sits 
at  Washington,  from  October  till  May,  with  short  intermediate  recesses. 

For  the  organization  of  the  inferior  Federal  Courts,  the  United  States  are 
divided  into  circuits,  in  number  equal  to  the  number  of  the  justices  of  the 
Supreme  Court.  To  each  of  these  circuits  a  justice  of  that  court  is  assigned, 
ana  has  usually  a  residence  within  it.  In  each  circuit  a  circuit  judge  is  ap- 
pointed. The  several  circuits  are  again  divided  into  districts,  in  proportion 
to  the  amount  of  judicial  business.  Each  State  constitutes  at  least  one  dis- 
trict, and  in  the  larger  States  there  are  several.  In  each  district  there  is 
appointed  a  district  judge.  The  circuit  and  district  judges  are  appointed  in 
tbe  same*  manner,  and  are  subject  to  the  same  provisions  as  to  tenure  of 
office  and  retirement,  as  apply  to  the  justices  of  the  Supreme  Court.  The 
Courts  held  by  these  judges  are  Circuit  Courts  and  District  Courts,  sitting 
for  the  districts  in  which  they  are  held.  The  Circuit  Courts  may  be  held 
by  a  justice  of  the  Supreme  Court,  by  the  circuit  judge  of  the  circuit,  or  by 
a  district  judge  within  his  own  distnct,  or  in  anv  other  district  of  the  same 
circuit  to  which  he  may  be  temporarily  assigned,  or  by  any  of  these  judges 
sitting  together.  The  District  Court  can  only  be  held  by  the  district  judge 
in  his  own  district. 

The  jurisdiction  of  the  Federal  Courts  is  extended  by  the  Constitution  to 
all  cases  in  law  and  equity  under  the  Constitution,  the  laws  of  the  United 
States,  or  treaties  made  under  their  authority;  to  all  cases  affecting  ambas- 
sadors, other  public  ministers,  and  consuls;  to  all  cases  of  admiralty  and 
maritime  jurisdiction ;  to  controversies  to  which  the  United  States  shall  be 
a  party;  to  controversies  between  two  or  more  States,  between  a  State  and 
citizens  of  another  State,  between  citizens  of  different  States,  between  citi- 
zens of  the  same  State  claiming  lands  under  grants  of  different  States,  and 
between  a  State  or  citizens  thereof,  and  foreign  States,  citizens,  or  subjects. 

The  result  is  that  the  Federal  Courts  have  a  general  jurisdiction  in  two 
classes  of  cases,  the  first  depending  on  the  subject  matter  of  the  controversy, 
the  second  upon  the  character  or  residence  of  parties.  Under  the  first  class 
are  comprehended  all  cases  where  the  cause  of  action  arises  under  the  Con- 
stitution or  laws  of  the  United  States,  such  as  actions  for  infringements  of 
patents  or  copyrights,  all  cases  in  admiralty,  all  cases  in  which  the  United 
States  is  a  party,  and  all  controversies  between  States.  Under  the  second 
class  are  embraced  all  cases  in  law  and  equity  in  which  an  ambassador, 
minister,  consul,  or  alien  is  a  party;  where  the  parties  are  citizens  of  differ- 
ent States,  or  of  the  same  otate  claiming  lands  under  grants  of  different 
States,  or  where  a  State  brings  action  against  a  foreign  State,  or  against  the 
citizens  of  another  State  or  of  a  foreign  State.    Certain  public  officers  of  the 


366  THE    LIBRARY    MAGAZINE. 

United  States  are  also  aathorised  to  cause  to  be  removed  into  tbe  Federal 
Courts,  actions  brought  against  them  for  acts  done  in  their  official  capacity. 

In  cases  within  the  first  class,  the  jurisdiction  of  the  Federal  Courts  is 
exclusive;  in  those  of  the  second,  it  is  concurrent  with  the  jurisdiction  of 
the  State  Courts.  In  the  latter  class  of  cases,  the  action  may  be  brought  in 
the  Federal  Courts  in  the  first  instance  by  the  party  entitled  to  sue  there,  or 
having  been  brought  in  the  State  courts,  it  may  be  seasonably  removed  by 
such  a  party  into  the  Federal  Courts. 

In  the  exercise  of  the  jurisdiction  belonging  to  the  Federal  Courts,  the 
District  Courts  have  original  jurisdiction  in  admiralty,  in  bankruptcy  pro- 
ceedings under  the  United  States  laws,  and  in  various  revenue  and  other 
cases  over  which  jurisdiction  is  specially  conferred  upon  them  by  Act  of 
Congress;  and  an  appeal  lies  from  the  district  court  to  the  circuit  court  sit- 
ting in  the  same  district. 

The  Circuit  Courts,  besides  this  appellate  jurisdiction  from  the  District 
Courts,  have  original  and  general  jurisaiction  in  all  cases  in  law  and  equity 
coming  within  either  of  the  two  classes  above  described.  They  have  also 
jurisdiction  in  all  criminal  cases  where,  the  offence  is  crime  on  the  high  seas 
or  against  foreign  nations,  or  is  made  criminal  by  statutes  of  the  United 
States  having  reference  to  subjects  within  the  control  of  the  National  Gov- 
ernment. From  the  Circuit  Courts  an  appeal  or  writ  of  error  lies  to  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  all  civil  cases  in  which  the  amount 
in  controversy  is  $5,000  exclusive  of  costs,  and  in  all  cases  where  a  question 
material  to  the  decision  arises  under  the  Constitution,  laws,  or  treaties  of 
the  United  States.  There  is  no  appeal  to  the  Supreme  Court  in  criminal 
cases,  tiiough  a  habeas  corpus  may  be  applied  for  in  that  court  where  a  per* 
son  has  been  convicted  and  sentenced  for  crime  in  a  Circuit  or  State  Court, 
and  is  in  confinement,  if  it  is  claimed  that  on  his  trial  or  sentence  any  pro- 
vision of  the  Constitution,  laws,  or  treaties  of  the  United  States  have  been 
violated.  The  courts  will  not,  however,  consider  any  other  question  upon 
such  an  application,  nor  take  cognizance  of  any  other  error. 

The  Supreme  Court  has  original  jurisdiction  in  cases  affecting  ambassa- 
dors, other  public  ministers,  and  consuls,  and  in  those  wherein  a  State  is  a 
party.  It  also  hears  applications  for  maTidamtis  and  habeas  corpus  in  certain 
cases.  In  all  other  cases  its  jurisdiction  is  appellate,  and  is  subject  to  the 
regulation  of  Congress.  It  has  been  uniformly  held  by  the  Supreme  Court 
that  the  jurisdiction  authorized  by  the  Constitution  is  permissive  only,  and 
requires  to  be  made  eflfectual  by  appropriate  legislation.  Congress  has 
however,  from  the  beginiling,  provioed  for  the  exercise  by  the  Federal 
Courts  of  all  the  jurisdiction  contemplated  bv  the  Constitution,  and  there 
has  never  been  any  disposition  to  attempt  to  abridge  it. 

The  Supreme  Court,  aside  from  the  limited  original  jurisdiction  before 
mentioned,  and  th«  large  appellate  jurisdiction  from  the  various  circuit 


THF  CONSTITUTION  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  367 

courts,  has  another  important  power  upon  appeal  or  writ  of  error,  in  certain 
cases  in  the  State  courtd.  whenever  in  an  action  in  a  State  Court  a  right 
is  claimed  on  either  side  arising  under  the  Constitution  or  laws  of  the  United 
States,  or  any  treaty  with  a  foreign  government,  and  the  right  so  claimed 
is  denied  upon  appeal  to  the  highest  court  in  the  State,  the  cause,  so  far  as 
that  question  is  concerned,  may  be  carried  to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the 
United  States  for  revision.  No  other  point  will,  however,  be  considered  in 
that  court  in  such  case.  And  if  the  question  does  not  distinctly  arise,  or  is 
not  necessary  to  be  decided  in  reaching  a  proper  judgment,  the  appeal  will 
not  be  entert£^ned.  It  will  thus  be  seen  that  no  person  claiming  the  pro- 
tection of  any  provision  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  or  any  of 
its  laws  or  treaties,  in  any  tribunal  in  the  country,  whether  State  or  Federal, 
can  be  deprived  of  it  short  of  a  decision  of  the  Supreme  Court,  if  he  chooses 
to  invoke  its  judgment  upon  the  question  ;  while  if  a  State  court  allows  him 
the  right  he  contends  for,  no  appeal  to  the  Supreme  Court  to  reverse  such  a 
decision  lies  against  him. 

In  the  Territories  organized  under  Acts  of  Congress  but  not  yet  admitted 
as  States,  the  judicial- power  is  exercised  by  Federal  courts,  the  judges  of 
which  are  appointed  by  the  President  for  a  fixed  term,  and  confirmed  by 
the  Senate.  From  the  judgment  of  these  courts  an  appeal  or  writ  of  error 
to  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  lies  in  most  cases.  In  some  of 
the  Territories,  inferior  local  courts  are  also  authorized  by  the  Acts  of 
Organization.  In  the  District  of  Columbia,  in  which  the  Federal  seat  of 
government  is  located,  and  over  which  permanent  and  complete  jurisdiction 
has  been  ceded  to  the  United  States  by  the  States  from  which  that  district 
was  taken,  there  is  a  system  of  Federal  courts  having  general  civil  and 
criminal  jurisdiction,  regulated  by  Acts  of  Congress.  From  their  decision  in 
most  cases,  except  criminal  cases,  an  appeal  to  the  Supreme  Court  is  allowed. 

Applicable  to  all  Federal  courts  in  the  United  States,  however  constituted 
and  wherever  sitting,  are  certain  general  provisions  in  the  Constitution, 
designed  for  the  protection  of  accused  persons  against  injustice,  and  for  the 
ensuring  of  fair  trials  in  all  cases. 

It  is  declared  that  no  person  shall  be  held  to  answer  for  a  capital  or 
infamous  crime  but  on  the  indictment  of  a  grand  jury,  except  in  military 
or  naval  service;  nor  for  the  same  offence  be  twice  put  in  jeopardy,  nor  be 
compelled  in  any  criminal  case  to  be  a  witness  against  himself;  that  in  all 
crimmal  prosecutions  the  accused  shall  enjoy  the  right  to  a  speedy  and  pub- 
lic trial  by  an  impartial  jury  of  the  district  (previously  ascertained  by  law) 
wherein  the  crime  shall  have  been  committed,  to  be  informed  of  the  nature 
and  cause  of  the  accusation,  to  be  confronted  with  the  witnesses  against 
him,  to  have  compulsory  process  for  obtaining  witnesses  in  his  favor,  and 
the  assistance  of  counsel;  that  excessive  bail  shall  not  be  required,  exces- 
sive fines  imposed,  nor  cruel  and  unusual  punishments  inflictea. 


368  TEE    LIBRARY    MAGAZINE. 

The  Constitution  also  provides  that  in  suits  at  common  law,  where  the 
value  in  controversy  exceeds  twenty  dollars,  the  right  of  trial  by  jury  shall 
be  preserved,  and  that  no  fact  tried  by  a  jury  shall  be  otherwise  re-exam- 
ined than  according  to  the  rules  of  the  common  law.  This  provision  has 
reference  only  to  proceedings  in  the  Federal  courts;  but  a  similar  clause 
exists  in  all  the  State  Constitutions,  applicable  to  all  State  courts. 

Upon  the  subject  of  the  judicial  powers  of  the  Federal  Government  it 
only  remains  to  add,  that  in  every  State  in  the  Union  there  is  a  complete 
system  of  courts  for  the  administration  of  civil  and  criminal  justice,  includ- 
ing courts  of  highest  appeal.  These  courts  are  independent^  of  the  courts 
of  other  States,  and  equally  independent  of  the  Federal  courts,  except  in 
the  particulars  already  mentionea — the  right  of  certain  parties  to  remove 
causes  from  the  State  to  the  Federal  courts,  and  the  right  of  appeal  from 
the  State  courts  to  the  United  States  Supreme  Court  when  a  right  claimed 
under  the  Constitution  or  laws  of  the  United  States  has  been  denied.  And 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  State  courts  is  universal,  except  in  the  limited  class  of 
cases  already  referred  to,  over  which  that  of  the  Federal  courts  is  exclusive. 

In  all  courts  in  the  United  States,  whether  Federal  or  State  (except  the 
State  courts  of  Louisiana),  the  common  law  of  England  is  administered,  so 
far  as  it  is  applicable  to  existing  institutions,  and  consistent  with  the  Con- 
stitutions of  the  United  States  and  of  the  several  States,  and  modified  by 
the  provisions  of  the  Acts  of  Congress  and  of  the  State  legislatures,  within 
the  sphere  of  their  respective  authority.  In  Louisiana  alone  the  civil  law 
prevails,  a  tradition  of  its  Spanish  and  French  history.  The  common  law 
as  it  existed  at  the  time  the  Constitution  was  formea,  was  adopted  by  the 
States,  or  has  been  assumed  by  their  courts  and  legislatures.  The  Federal 
courts  however,  have  no  common  law  criminal  jurisdiction,  and  in  civil 
cases  administer  the  law  prevailing  in  the  States  to  which  transactions 
before  them  are  subject. 

4.  In  respect  to  citizenship,  there  are  no  citizens  of  the  United  States 
except  the  citizens  of  the  States  and  Territories.  The  right  to  vote  is 
regulated  altogether  by  the  State  laws,  except  that,  as  has  been  seen,  it 
cannot  be  denied  on  account  of  race,  color,  or  previous  servitude,  and  except 
also  that  the  naturalization  of  foreigners  is  regulated  by  the  Federal  law,  so 
that  it  is  uniform  throughout.  A  vote  is  generally  given  to  every  man  of 
good  character,  twenty-one  years  of  age,  of  American  birth  or  duly 
naturalized,  who  has  resided  in  the  State  for  the  period  required  by  its  lawt 
In  some  States  he  must  be  a  tax-payer,  and  in  some  States  he  must  be  abl 
to  read  and  write,  in  order  to  have  a  vote. 

The  Constitution  provides  that  citizens  of  each  State  shall  be  entitled  U 
all  the  privileges  and  immunities  of  the  several  States;  that  full  faith  ar 
credit  shall  be  given  in  each  State  to  the  public  acts,  records,  and  judici 
proceedings  of  every  other  State;  and  that  Congress  may  prescribe  tl 


THE  CONSTITUTION  OF  TEE  UNITED  STATES.  369 

manner  in  whicli  they  shall  be  proved.  The  result  of  these  provisions,  as 
they  have  been  given  eflfeot,  is  that  the  citizen  of  any  State  or  Territory 
has  all  the  privileges  in  the  other  States  or  Territories  that  he  would  have 
as  a  citizen  there,  except  the  right  to  vote  and  to  hold  office ;  and  he  can 
acquire  full  citizenship  in  any  State  or  Territory,  by  simply  taking  up  his 
residence  within  it,  and  remaining  the  length  of  time  required  by  its  law; 
though  he  cannot  be  a  citizen  of  more  than  one  State  or  Territory  at  the 
same  time. 

In  every  State  also,  the  legislative  Acts,  the  judicial  proceedings,  and  the 
records  of  other  States  are  recognized,  when  proved  in  the  manner  required 
by  the  Act  of  Congress,  and  their  correctness  and  validity  are  presumed, 
Whi!e  neither  the  statutes  nor  the  judgments  of  a  State  have  any  effect 
except  upon  those  subject  to  its  jurisdiction,  as  between  or  against  those 
who  are  so  affected,  they  will  be  enforced  by  the  tribunals  of  any  other 
State.  Execution  cannot  be  issued  in  one  State  upon  a  judgment  rendered 
in  another,  nor  can  a  judicial  order  extend  beyond  the  limits  of  the  jurisdic- 
tion in  which  it  is  made ;  but  a  judgment  legally  rendered  can  be  enforced 
by  action  upon  it  in  any  other  State  where  the  defendant  or  his  property 
may  be  found ;  and  in  such  action  the  correctness  of  the  judgment  will  not 
be  allowed  to  be  controverted,  except  on  the  single  question  whether  the 
court  in  which  it  was  recover^  had  jurisdiction  of  the  subject-matter  and 
of  the  parties. 

The  Constitution  also  requires  that  any  person  charged  with  crime  in  one 
State,  and  escaping  into  another,  shall  be  delivered  up  by  the  government 
of  the  latter  upon  demand  of  the  executive  of  the  State  in  which  the  offence 
was  committea,  to  be  I'eturned  there  for  trial. 

5.  The  Constitution  makes  provision  for  its  own  amendment.  Two- 
thirds  of  both  Houses  of  Congress  maj^  propose  amendments,  or  on  the 
application  of  the  legislatures  of  two-thiras  of  the  States,  may  call  a  con- 
vention for  that  purpose.  Any  amendment  proposed  by  Congress,  or  by  a 
convention  so  called,  is  submitted  to  the  States  for  ratification.  If  ratified 
by  votes  of  the  legislatures  of  three-fourths  of  the  States,  or  by  conventions 
assembled  in  three- fourths  of  the  States  (according  as  Congress  may  direct), 
it  becomes  apart  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States.  But  no  amend- 
ment can  be  proposed  which  deprives  a  State,  without  its  consent,  of  its 
equal  representation  in  the  Senate. 

It  will  be  observed  that  an  amendment  of  the  Constitution  cannot  be 
easily  or  hastily  obtained.  Two-thirds  of  both  Houses  of  Congress  and 
three-fourths  of  the  States  must  concur  in  demanding  it,  and  perhaps  also 
an  intermediate  convention  called  by  two-thirds  of  Congress. 

While  fifteen  amendments  of  the  Constitution  have  taken  place  within 
he  first  century  of  its  history,  these  can  only  be  justly  reckoned  as  four, 
^he  first  ten  were  adopted  at  one  time,  and  soon  after  the  ratification  of  the 


370  TEE    UBBABY   MAGAZINE. 

'  Constitution  itself,  and  really  constitute  but  one.  They  embrace  wbat  is 
known  as  the  Bill  of  Eights,  the  various  provisions  or  which  have  been 
noticed  in  the  foregoing  pages,  in  their  proper  connection.  They  declare  in 
substance,  that  certain  enumerated  liberties  of  the  people  and  certain 
ancient  muniments  of  liberty  shall  not  be  taken  away;  that  the  enumera- 
tion in  the  Constitution  of  certain  rights  shall  not  be  construed  to  deny  or 
disparage  others  retained  by  the  people ;  and  that  the  powers  not  delegated 
to  the  United  States  by  the  Constitution,  or  prohibited  by  it  to  the  States, 
are  reserved  to  the  States  respectively,  or  to  the  people.  The  provisions 
touching  personal  rights  were  omitted  from  the  original  Constitution, 
because  they  were  not  thought  necessary  to  be  inserted,  though  strongly 
urged.  It  was  deemed  that  they  were  sufficiently  implied  and  understood 
in  any  system  of  free  government,  to  be  recognized  by  all  courts  sitting 
under  it.  And  that  a  re-enactment  of  them  might  appear  to  imply  that 
they  were  derived  from  the  Constitution,  or  from  the  authority  of  the  Gov- 
ernment, instead  of  being  natural  rights  antecedent  to  it,  and  safeguards 
that  had  become  an  indeieasible  part  of  the  inherited  common  law.  While 
this  was  undoubtedly  true  in  theory,  experience  has  shown  the  wisdom  of 
the  amendments,  by  which  the  protection  of  these  cardinal  rights  was 
expressly  provided  for,  and  placed  beyond  cavil.  The  other  clauses  of  th^e 
amendments,  concerning  rights  not  especially  referred  to,  and  powers  not 
delegated  to  the  Federal  Government  nor  prohibited  to  the  States,  while 
quite  unobjectionable,  do  not  seem  to  be  necessary.  They  only  mar  the 
symmetry  of  a  document  which  contains  no  other  superfluous  words.  It 
needs  no  assertion  to  show  that  the  Constitution  confers  no  powers  not 
expressed  or  by  necessity  implied,  and  that  neither  States  nor  people  had 
parted,  in  adopting  it,  with  any  rights  which  are  not  therein  surrendered. 

The  eleventh  amendment  simply  provides  that  a  State  shall  not  be  sued 
in  the  Federal  courts  by  the  citizen  of  another  State,  or  of  a  foreign  coun- 
try. It  was  adopted  in  1794  and  is  in  conformity  with  the  general  princi- 
ples of  sovereignty.  The  twelfth  amendment  changes  the  method  of  elect- 
ing President  and  Vice-President,  mainly  in  one  particular,  unnecessary  to 
be  here  referred  to. 

The  last  three  amendments,  very  important  in  their  nature,  were  pro- 
posed at  the  same  time,  at  the  close  of  the  civil  war  in  1865,  and  were 
declared  adopted  by  the  requisite  number  of  States — the  thirteenth  in  1865 
the  fourteenth  in  1868,  and  the  fifteenth  in  1870.     They  embody  certai 
important  results  of  the  war.     They  prohibit  slavery  or  involuntary  serv 
tude  except  for  crime,  in  the  United  States;  provide  that  all  persons  box 
or  naturalized  in  the  United  States  shall  be  citizens ;  and  contain  other  prr 
visions  for  the  protection  of  personal,  civil,  and  political  rights,  and  havit 
reference  to  debts  incurred  in  the  prosecution  or  the  war,  which  have  bee 
already  mentioned. 


TBE  UAMMOm  AND  THE  FLOOD.  371 

The  outline  thus  attempted  to  be  given  of  tlie  Constitution  of  the  United 
States,  has  occupied  so  much  space,  as  to  exclude  some  observations  upon 
its  character,  its  history,  and  its  leading  features,  that  may  perhaps  form 
tlie  subject  of  another  paper. — ^E.  J.  Phblps,  XJ.  S.  Minister  to  Great 
Britain,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century. 


THE  MAMMOTH  AND  THE  FLOOD  * 

Op  this  goodly  volume,*crammed  to  repletion  with  facts,  quotations,  and 
references  gathered  from  a  wide  field  of  reading  and  observation,  the 
author  says,  and  with  ample  justification,  that  its  title  reads  like  a  challenge 
and  is  meant  to  be  a  challenge.  "Here  is  my  glove,"  he  exclaims  like  a 
knight  of  the  age  of  chivalry,  as  he  throws  down  his  gage  de  combat  before 
the  public,  "I  am  ready  to  fight  for  it."  We  will  say  at  once,  that  to  take 
up  the  defiance,  and  enter  the  lists  as  an  antagonist  d  outrance  is  not  our 
intention.  Our  chief  endeavor  will  be  limited  to  making  clear  to  the  gen- 
eral reader,  what  the  challenge  is  about,  and  by  what  an  array  of  facts  and 
inferences  it  is  sustained;  it  being  understood  that  the  author  in  the  present 
volume,  comprehensive  as  it  is,  does  not  profess  to  have  exhausted  his  sub- 
ject, and  explicitly  reserves  a  large  amount  of  corroborative  evidence  and 
collateral  discussion  for  a  subsequent  work. 

To  plunge,  then,  into  the  midst  of  the  matter,  the  object  against  which 
the  attack  is  directed  is  the  theory  of  Uniformity,  as  now  generally  held, 
and  treated  as  an  incontrovertible  axiom,  by  the  modem  British  school  of 
geologists;  the  devoted  adherents  of  that  theory  are  the  persons  challenged 
to  stand  forth  in  its  defence.  No  one  who  has  any  acquaintance  with  the 
fascinating  science  by  which  the  hieroglyphics  incised  in  Nature's  stone- 
book  are  deciphered,  needs  to  be  reminded  that  the  theory  owed  its  exist- 
ence to  that  very  distinguished  and  admirable  man  of  science,  Sir  Charles 
L yell  and  was  the  out-growth  of  a  healthy  reaction  from  the  extravagances 
of  the  earlier  view,  which,  in  order  to  acipount  for  the  shaping  of  the  earth's 
surface,  and  the  changes  to  which  its  strata  bear  witness,  called  in  the  aid 
of  many  vast  and  sudden  catastrophes,  whether  natural  or  supernatural, 
enormously  surpassing  in  their  intensity  and  devastating  power  any  move- 
fnents  or  convulsions  of  nature  which  have  occurred  in  historical  times.  In 
opposition  to  that  earlier  view  Lyell  enunciated  the  dogma,  that  "the  forces 
low  operating  upon  the  earth  are  the  same  in  kind  and  degree  as  those 
vhich,  in  the  remotest  times,  produced  geological  changes;"  meaning  to 

*  The  Mammoth  and  the  Flood  ;  an  attempt  to  confront  the  Theory  of  Uniformity  -with 
he  facts  of  reoept  Geology.    By  Henry  H.  poworth,  M.  P.,  F.  S.  A.,  M.  R,  A*  B.    London, 


I ' 


372  THE   LIBBABY  MAQAZINB: 

assert  generally,  that  the  revolutioos  through  nrhich  the  surface  of  the 
globe  has  successively  passed — ^whether  by  the  elevation  or  submersion  of 
continents,  the  formation  of  mountains  and  valleys,  the  hollowing  out  of 
water-courses  and  lake-beds,  or  the  emergence  and  disappearance  of  races 
and  tribes  in  both  the  animal  and  vegetable  kingdoms — were  brought  about 
gradually  and  slowlv,  during  incalculable  lapses  of  time,  by  such  natural 
processes  as  those  wnich  we  see  going  on  around  us  in  the  present  age.  In 
accordance  with  the  usual  course  of  controversies  between  theories  new  and 
old,  the  disciples  of  the  rising  school  outwent  their  more  cautious  master, 
and  strained  the  doctrine  of  Uniformity  somewhat  beyond  the  limits  within 
which  he  appears  himself  to  have  confined  it.  It  is  by  oscillations  of  this 
kind,  rather  than  by  an  undeviating  progress,  that  the  sciences  are  wont  to 
make  their  way.  From  one  extreme  the  pendulum  has  a  tendency  to 
cwing  into  the  opposite;  but  as  it  has  been  well  remarked,  by  means  of 
these  alternate  antagonismsadvance  is  gradually  achieved.  At  present  the 
geological  field  at  home  is  strongly  hela  by  the  Uniformitarians,  who  have 
pretty  well  silenced  the  Convulsionists,  as  those  of  the  older  school  have 
been  nick-named ;  but  there  are  again  signs  of  a  change  in  the  air,  and  we 
shall  not  be  surprised  to  see,  ere  long,  an  appreciable  modification  of  the 
theory  of  Uniformity,  or  rather  of  its  practical  applications,  in  the  scientific 
creed  of  the  future. 

Of  such  a  change  the  work  before  us  is,  perhaps,  the  most  impressive 
sign  that  has  yet  been  manifested  in  this  country,  but  it  is  by  no  means  the 
first.  About  ten  years  ago,  a  protest  to  the  same  effect  was  anonymously 
made  in  a  small  and  unpretending,  but  important  publication,  under  the  title 
of  Scepticism  in  Oeohgy.  It  differed  in  the  moae  of  handling  the  subject 
from  Mr.  Ho  worth's  volume,  in  that  it  dealt  with  a  much  wider  range  of 
phenomena.  Its  contention  was,  that  the  processes  of  change  which  we  are 
able  to  watch  going  forward  on  the  earth's  surface — such  as  the  movement 
of  the  soil  by  earthquakes,  the  emission  of  lava  and  ashes  by  volcanoes,  the 
denudation  of  the  surface  by  atmospheric  influences,  the  grinding  of  rocks 
by  ice,  the  erosion  of  water  courses  by  running  streams,  and  so  on — that 
these  familiar  processes,  even  when  every  possible  allowance  of  time  has 
been  granted  them,  cannot  rationally  be  credited  with  having  upheaved  or 
carved  out  the  great  mountain  ranges,  washed  continents  down  into  the 
oceans,  or  raised  them  out  of  the  deep,  scooped  out  the  long  valleys  and 

Erofound  rock-girdled  lakes,  determined  the  now  of  torrents  and  rivers  c 
ewed'  out  into  their  existing  forms  the  towering  precipices  and  tremendou 
clefts  and  fissures  which  face  or  divide  the  gigantic  masses  of  rock.  Ii 
contrast  with  the  method  of  thatprior  protest  against  the  extreme  form  o 
the  doctrine  of  Uniformity,  Mr.  Howorth  limits  himself  to  the  examinatio 
of  a  single  geological  phenomenon,  one  that  is  not  mentioned  in  the  earlic 
work,  and  accumulates  for  its  elucidation  an  extraordinary  amount  o 


}!&£  kAMkOTM  Alfb  ftik  PLOOb.  31^ 

material  of  a  very  interesting  character.  What  lie  concentrates  bis  atten- 
tion upon  is  the  Mammoth ;  and  after  discussing  from  every  point  of  view 
the  appearances  presented  by  the  remains  of  that  gigantic  denizen  of  pre- 
histonc  times,  he  draws  the  inference,  that  they  could  not  have  been  pro- 
duced by  anv  ima^nable  cause  except  some  sudden,  far-reaching  catastro- 
phe, of  a  kina  which  the  Uniformitanan  theory,  as  applied  by  its  thorough- 
going advocates,  refuses  to  admit  within  the  category  of  probable  causes. 
The  main  line  of  the  induction  by  which  this  conclusion  is  reached,  we  shall 
now  ask  the  reader  to  follow. 

What  was  the  Mammoth?  When  did  the  plains  tremble  beneath  the 
tread  of  its  mighty  herds?  Where  do  its  remains  abound?  in  what  state 
or  position  do  they  present  themselves?  to  what  cause  or  manner  of  extinc- 
tion do  they  seem  to  point?  Such  are  the  questions  which  have  to  be 
answered,  before  the  argument  can  be  brought  to  its  final  point,, and  Mr. 
Howorth's  volume  supplies  ample,  and  often  very  curious,  details  for  the 
purpose.  We  quote  the  opening  sentences  of  his  first  chapter,  as  putting 
the  subject  clearly,  and  in  an  interesting  -manner,  before  us.    He  writes: — 

*'  There  is  perhaps  no  inquiry  in  the  whole  range  of  Natural  History  more  flMsinating  and 
romantic  than  that  which  deals  with  the  Mammoth  and  its  snrronndings.  ETen  children 
and  unsophisticated  people  have  their  ima^nation  stirred  when  they  read  how  in  the 
dreary  and  inhospitable  wastes  of  Northern  Siberia,  where  neither  tree  nor  shrub  wiU  grow, 
where  the  land  for  hundreds  of  miles  is  covered  with  damp  moss  barely  sprinkled  for  two 
months  with  a  few  gay  flowers,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  year  is  locked  in  ice  and  snow, 
and  where  only  the  hardiest  of  polar  animals,  the  white  fox  and  the  polar  hare,  the  raven 
and  the  snowy  owl,  can  live,  there  are  found  below  the  ground  huge  hoards  of  bones  of  ele- 
phants and  other  great  beasts  whose  appetites  needed  corresponding  supplies  of  food.  But 
our  interest  rises  to  the  highest  pitch  when  we  are  told  that  this  vast  cemetery  not  only 
teems  with  fresh  bones  and  iMantiful  tusks  of  ivory,  but  with  the  carcases  and  mummies  of 
the^  great  animals  so  well  preserved  in  the  perpetually  frozen  soil,  that  the  bears  and 
wolves  can  feed  upon  them.  Such  stories  almost  invite  credulity,  and  when  credulity  is 
dissipated,  they  as  naturally  arouse  the  elementary  philosophical  instincts  of  our  nature  : 
and  whether  we  be  trained  in  the  wi^  of  science  or  no,  we  are  constrained  to  ask,  How 
and  why  are  these  things  so?  The  diJBcnssion,  if  not  the  solution,  of  this  problem  is  the 
object  of  the  following  pages.'' 

To  begin  from  the  beginning — ^the  Mammoth  is  an  elephant  of  an  extinct 
species,  known  in  palaeontology  as  Elephas  primigenius,  heavier-boned  tliau 
its  modem  congeners,  and  with  tusks  of  much  greater  length  and  curva- 
ture, which  lived  in  the  last  of  the  so-called  geological  eras,  when  the  sur- 
face of  our  globe  was  settling  down,  so  to  speak,  into  its  present  condition. 
The  primary  or  palaeozoic  ages,  with  their  long  successions  of  rudimentary 
marine  life,  and  the  secondary  or  mesozoic,  with  their  throngs  of  uncouth 
reptilian  monsters,  had  long  vanished  in  the  gulf  of  the  dateless  Past;  the 
tertiary  or  kainozoic  period,  gradually  introducing  the  Mammalian  tribes, 
which  culminated  in  a  crowd  of  huge  elephantoid  and  ursine  pachyderms, 
ad  rim  through  its  early,  middle,  and  later  stages,  the  Eocene,  Miocene, 


-1 


874  THE    LlBSA^r   MAGAZINE 

land  Pleiocene;  when  latest  born  amoug  its  kindred,  a&d  nearest  in  type  to 
the  corresponding  forms  of  the  modem  world,  the  Mammoth  appeared  ou 
the  scene.  How  it  acquired  its  fiamiliar  name,  which  was  first  heard  in 
Europe  about  two  centuries  ago,  is  a  curious  story,  leading  us  back  unex- 
pectedly to  the  Hebrew  Scriptures.  The  "Behemoth"  of  the  Book  of  Job, 
pronounced  by  the  Arabs  Mehemot,  supplied  an  epithet  which  was  famil- 
iarly used  to  designate  anything  monstrous;  and  when  mediaeval  traders  of 
that  race,  penetrating  into  Tartar^,  came  across  the  huge  bones,  teeth,  and 
tusks  of  the  fossil  Elephantoid,  it  was  no  wonder  that  they  applied  the 
name  to  these  strange  objects,  and  to  the  beast  of  which  they  were  the 
relics.  From  them  the  native  Bussians  caught  it,  and  adopting  it  into  their 
language  modified  the  pronunciation  to  its  present  sound. 

LDng,  however,  before  this,  and  even  before  the  Christian  era,  occasional 
"finds"  of  the  larger  bones  of  the  Mammoth,  and  other  kindred  Probosci- 
dians, in  various  parts  of  Europe  had  excited  the  wonder  of  the  common 
people  and  the  curiosity  of  the  enquiring,  and  given  birth  to  many  a  strange 
legend.    As  our  author  remarks:  • 

"  It  was  natural  that  unsophisticated  men  should  not  only  treat  these 
immense  bones  as  proofs  of  the  former  existence  of  giants,  but  should  also 
found  upon  them  mythological  tales.  The  enormous  bones  found  in  caves 
and  buried  under  great  rocks  gave  rise  most  probably  to  the  stories  of  the 
Gigantes  and  the  Titans  who  fought  with  the  Oods,  and  whom  the  Gods 
overwhelmed  and  buried  under  great  rocks." 

Nothing,  of  course,  would  be  lost  in  telling  the  story  of  these  strange  dis- 
coveries.   The  portions  of  the  skeleton  most  enduring  and  most  easily 
recognized,  the  huge  skull,  teeth,  vertebrse,  and  leg-bones,  became  larger 
still  in  fiying  rumor,  and  the  imaginary  giants  constructed  out  of  them 
might  be  anything  from  a  dozen  to  a  hundred  feet  in  statnre.    To  fasten  on 
these  the  names  of  many  a  mythical  hero  or  famous  warrior  was  easy,  and 
doubtless  a  pleasant  thrill  of  awe  and  mystery  was  engendered  by  the  feel- 
ing of  being  thus  brought  into  communion  with  the  mighty  dead.    Among 
persons  of  less  reverent  temper,  familiarity,  it  seems,  went  on  to  breed  con- 
tempt, or  at  least  to  give  predominance  to  a  more  utilitarian  sentiment. 
We  hear  of  a  giant's  le^  being  turned  to  account  for  the  purpose  of  bridg- 
ing over  a  deep  ravine  in  Arabia,  where  it  was  kept  in  working  order  by 
being  rubbed  with  oil  purchased  out  of  the  tolls  charged  for  the  privilege 
of  crossing  upon  it.     Even  the  Nile  itself  was  rumored  to  have  been  for 
time  spanned  by  the  body  of  the  giant  Auj,  who  fell  by  the  hand  of  Mose 
And  to  come  down  to  modern  times,  not  a  hundred  years  ago  the  thig? 
bone  of  a  fossil  Proboscidian  did  duty  in  St.  Vincent  for  the  relic  of  son 
gigantic  saint — iSt.  Christopher  we  may  suppose — where  it  was  solemn 
carried  in  an  intercessory  procession  to  procure  rain  during  a  season 
drought.  > 

The  giant- theory,  after  long  tenxire  of  the  public  mind|  was  at  last  rout 


THE  MAMMOTH  AND  THE  FLOOD.  3V5 

by  the  recognition  of  the  not  very  recondite  fact  that  the  forms  of  the  dis- 
interred relics  were  bestial  rather  than  human.    But  gigantic  beasts  proved 
a  severer  trial  to  faith  than  gigantic  men,  and  ingenuity  stepped  in  with 
less  incredible   explanations.    The  handiest  solution  was  to  the  effect,  that 
Nature  produced   these  things  in  sport,  fashioning  them  at  random  out  of 
her  raw  material  by  way  of  working  off  her  superabundant  energy.    How 
prone  the  minds  of  men  were  to  accept  this  curious  idea  may  be  inferred 
from  the  case  of  the  celebrated  Italian  surgeon  and  savant  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  Gabriel  Falloppio,  of  whose  researches  in  anatomy  and  botany  the 
scientific  nomenclature  of  those  sciences  has  preserved  an  enduring  memor- 
ial.   Assiduous  and  intelligent  as  was  his  study  of  the  physical  world,  he 
yet  found  no  difficulty  in  holding  that  the  fragments  of  pottery  accumulated 
in  that  great  rubbish-heap  in  Bome,  the  Monte  Testaccio,  were  works  of 
nature,  not  of  human  art.    On  this  crude  notion  philosophy  did  not  disdain 
to  bestow  its  constructive  skill,  and  dressed  it  up  in  what,  to  the  eyes  of 
ignorance,  seemed  a  more  than  plausible  shape.    The  process  of  fermenta- 
tion was  invoked  to  supply  the  generative  power;  this  was  supposed  to  stir 
into  action  a  certain  seminal  virtue  pervading  the  universe,  wnich,  when  it 
failed  to  meet  with  a  congenial  matrix  wherein  to  originate  living  creatures, 
stopped    half-way,   and   produced   mere    bones   and  shells  and    abortive 
organisms.    A  further  refinement  was  attained  when  the  hypothesis  was 
started,  that  the  fossils  were  really  in  their  origin  animal  relics,  left  behind 
by  beasts  of  an  ordinary  size,  and    owed   their  gigantic  dimensions  to  a 
posthumous  growth,  due  to  the  fostering  action  or  the  soil  in  which  they 
had  lain.    To  the  present  generation   such  theories  will  certainly  seem 
deserving  of  no  milder  treatment  than  to  be  summarily  dismissed  with  a 
contemptuous  smile;  yet  some  of  us,  whose  youth  was  cast  in  the  days 
when  Buckland  and  Sedgwick  were  strenuously  fighting  on  behalf  of  the 
infant  science  of  geology,  and  "Moses  versus  Lyell"  became  a  theological 
war-cry,  can  remember  that  even  respectable  divines  avowed  their  readiness 
to  fall  back  on  the  IxistJtS'naturse  tneory,  as  a  preferable  alternative  to  the 
admission  of  any  pre-Adamite  eras  in  the  story  of  the  earth. 

Starting  now  from  the  assured  relation  between  the  fossil  relics  and  the 
once  living  animal,  we  have  to  take  account  of  the  consequences  which  fol- 
low from  it.  And  first,  as  to  the  habitat  of  our  great  Elephantoid.  If  from 
Europe  the  northwestern  comer,  including  North  Britain  and  Wales,  be 
cut  off,  and  also  a  central  and  southern  portion  of  which  the  Alpine  chains 
are  the  focus,  it  may  be  broadly  said  that  throughout  all  the  rest  of  the 
Continent  the  remains  of  the  Mammoth  are  more  or  less  plentiful.  In 
some  parts  the  frequency  of  them  is  astonishing.  Beneath  the  shallow  sea, 
for  instance,  between  Norfolk  and  the  opposite  coast,  they  are  so  abundant 
that,  in  sailor's  talk,  the  locality  goes  by  the  name  of  the  burial-ground. 
In  Lower  Suabia,  we  are  told,  scarcely  a  railway  cutting,  a  cellar,  or  a  well 
can  be  dug,  without  some  bone  or  tooth  being  unearthed,    Belgium  id 


376  THE    LIBEAnY    MAOAitKE, 

■ 

particularly  ricli  in  this  fossil  wealth,  and  almost  eaually  so  al?e  tHe  broad 
plains  of  Russia  from  the  White  Sea  to  the  BlacK.  rassing  eastwards 
from  northern  Europe,  we  meet  the  remains  of  the  Mammoth  profiisely 
scattered  over  the  wnole  vast  range  of  Asiatic  Siberia.  From  this  region 
its  tusks  have  long  been,  and  still  continue  to  be,  exported  in  large 
quantities  as  fossil  ivory ;  and  of  some  spots  which  happen  to  have  been 
better  explored  than  others,  we  are  told  that  the  soil  seems  to  be  almost 
entirely  composed  of  the  bones  of  the  great  Mammal.  What  is  still  more 
curious  is  the  fact  already  noticed,  that  from  time  to  time,  as  the  frozen 
cliffs,  which  in  many  places  hem  in  the  rivers,  are  undermined  and  break 
away,  there  starts  out  from  its  icy  grave  the  gigantic  beast  itself,  still 
clothed  in  its  hairy  hide  as  it  roamed  the  wilds  nntold  nailleniums  ago,  and 
with  its  flesh  so  well  preserved  in  Nature's  own  refrigerator  as  to  furnish  a 
succulent  banquet  to  the  prowling  carnivora  of  this  degenerate  age. 

Now  just  as  the  presence  of  the  Mammoth's  remains  throughout  the 
greater  part  of  Europe  constrains  us  to  believe  that  in  the  pleistocene  era 
those  temperate  regions  were  the  home  of  this  great  Proboscidian;  so  the 
equal  abundance  of  its  remains   all   along   the   northern  side  of  Asiatic 
Siberia  compels  us  to  accept  the  conclusion  that  in  the  same  era  its  hei-ds 
not  only  visited,  but  permanently  inhabited,  the  vast,  steppes  of  that  now 
perpetually  frozen  region.    It  is  indubitable  that  broadly,  speaking,  where 
the  bones  and  carcases  lie,  there  the  animals  died.     No  theory  of  subse- 
quent water-carriage  can  adequately  account  for  the  presence  of  the  relics 
where  they  are  found.    Their  site,  their  condition,  their  enormous  quantity, 
alike  repudiate  such  a  solution  of  the  problem.     The  bones  and  tusks  bear 
no  marks  of  detrition,  such  as  would  necessarily  have  been  produced,  had 
they  been  swept  and  rolled  along  by  rivers  or  floods  from  more  southern 
lands.    They  abound  in  localities  to  which  no  streams  could  have  floated 
them,  and  are  even  more  plentiful  in  the  elevated  clays  than  along  the 
coast  or  in  the  plains  bordering  on  the  rivers.     Besides,  in  not  a  few  cases, 
both  the  skeletons  and  carcases  have  been  found  standing  upright  in  their 
clayey  or  gravelly  sepulchres,  showing  that  the  animals  had  either  sunk  in 
the  soft  sediment,  or  been  engulphed  as  they  stood  by  the  turbid  waters, 
and  been  frozen  in  before  they  could  fall  over.     Some  of  the  remains  even 
exhibit  marks  of  death  by  suffocation ;    and  what  is  perhaps  still  more 
remarkable,  the  upright  carcases  have  been  observed  to  face  in  a  particular 
direction,  as  if  the  animals  were  overtaken  while  fleeing  from  the  pursuin 
flood.    Nor  can  it  be  maintained  that  the  real  home  of  the  great  herds  wa 
far  to  the  south,  and  that  it  was  during  short  annual  excursions  northward 
to  summer  feeding  grounds  that  they  met  their  fate,  and  were  entombed  i 
the  soil.    For  what  imaginable  purpose  should  they  have  migrated  to  su( 
a  region,  or  how  could  they  have  lived  when  they  arrived  there  with  the 
young?     The  Mammoth  is  a  tree-feeder,  and  could  not  at  any  season  of  tl 
year  have  found  nourishment  in  that  terrible  Arctic  climate.    The  cas 


J 


!tff£  MAMMOTH  Ai^b  TH£  FLOOD.  377 

agalnfit  tlie  hazzarded  explaDation  of  the  Uniformitarians,  that  these  huge 
pachyderms  merely  passed  their  summers  in  the  extreme  north,  cannot  be 
more  forcibly  stated  than  in  Mr.  Howorth's  words: — 

**  If  the  Mammoth  migrated  in  laige  herdn  with  his  young  ooeB  for  a  rammer  Jaont  to 
the  Arctic  sea,  it  is  hardly  credible  that  he  shonld  take  with  him,  stored  np  in  his  paunch, 
a  sofficient  store  of  food  to  last  him  while  there.  We  know  tiie  kind  of  food  he  and  ^e 
Rhinoceros  fed  npon,  and  we  hare  the  actual  dSM9  of  their  food  forthcoming  ftorn  the 
recesses  of  their  teeth,  and  this  food  is  not  now  found  sJong  the  Arctic  sea,  or  in  Chukchi- 
land  or  in  New  Siberia.  This  is  a  crucial  test  While  this  kind  of  v^etation  is  not  now 
found  growing  there,  dSbria  of  a  similar  kind  is  largely  found  in  the  same  beds  as  the  Mam- 
moth remains,  and  with  it  also  a  laige  assemblage  of  helices  and  other  land  shells  now  liv- 
ing much  further  south.  Now  even  if  we  could  credit  a  Mammoth  migrating  with  its 
young  and  its  fellows  out  of  mere  wanton- love  of  pleasure  to  the  dreary  outlet  of  the  Lena 
and  the  Tana  and  back  again,  and  making  elaborate  commissariat  arrangements  for  the 
ji>urney,  we  cannot  conceive  trees  doing  so,  nor  would  the  proverbial  snail  make  a  very  long 
journey  in  the  six  weeks  of  ambiguous  summer  prevailing  in  those  latitudes.  Plants  and 
snails  cannot  migrate.    They  must  stay  the  vi^nter  through." 

The  conclasion  thus  reached,  that  the  whole  range  of  northern  Asiatic 
Siberia  in  the  pleistocene  era  was  the  habitat  of  enormous  troops  of  Mam- 
moths, carries  with  it  as  an  inevitable  corollary  that 'the  climate  of  this 
now  ice-bound  region  was  at  that  time  a  temperate  one.  Here  we  arrive  at 
the  most  critical  point  of  the  argument  witti  which  our  author  assails  the 
theory  of  Uniformity.  The  question  that  presents  itself  is  this: — Did  the 
climate  change  by  slow  degrees,  little  by  little  dwarfing  the  vegetation, 
stunting  and  curtailing  the  forests,  and  exerting  an  adverse  and  repressing 
influence  upon  animal  life,  until  the  increasing  scarcity  of  food  and  severity 
of  the  conditions  of  existence  depopulated  the  country  of  its  gigantic 
pachyderms,  and  finally  extirpated  the  race?  Or  was  the  change  from 
genial  warmth  to  perpetual  frost  a  sudden  and  overwhelming  one,  bearing 
witness  to  some  vast  pnysical  convulsion  which  at  one  fell  swoop  destroyea 
both  the  animal  races  that  peopled  the  land,  and  the  forests  that  sheltered 
and  fed  them  ? 

To  answer  this  question,  Mr.  Howorth  brings  together  a  great  variety  of 
considerations,  upon  which  we  can  but  touch  briefly.  That  the  Mammoth 
and  its  kindred,  together  with  many  other  tribes  of  animals,  disappeared 
from  Europe  and  Asiatic  Siberia  about  the  same  epoch  is  indisputable. 
What  was  the  cause  of  this  wholesale  extirpation?  That  the  cave-men  of 
the  period,  supposing  them  to  have  then  existed,  destroyed  these  mighty 
creatarea  with  their  puny  flint  weapons  i3  incredible.  Savage  races,  even 
better  armed,  have  never  been  known  to  exterminate  the  wild  beasts  of 
their  neighborhood ;  nor  is  there  the  faintest  extant  sign  to  indicate  that 
any  of  the  great  pachyderms  of  the  pleistocene  perished  by  human  nands. 
Again,  the  hypotnesis  of  the  mutual  destruction  of  the  animals  by  each 
other  is  not  a  whit  more  probable.  The  camivora  do  not  prey  upon  one 
another,  at  any  rate  not  to  the  point  of  extermination;  neither  are  they 
accustomed  to  pile  up  in  heaps,  ungnawed  and  unmutilated,  the  skeletons 


27S  TBE    LiMAnr  -MAGAZINE, 

m 

of  the  animals  on  which  they  feed.  Of  animals,  whether  large  or  small, 
which  die  in  the  ordinary  course  of  nature,  the  remains  are  generally  of 
extremely  rare  occurrence ;  they  for  the  most  part  vanish  amidst  the  wear 
and  «tear  of  the  elements,  and  leave  no  trace.  Even  such  wholesale  causes 
of  mortality  as  murrains,  famines,  or  unusually  severe  seasons,  fail  to  solve 
the  problem.  Whole  continents  are  never  swept  bare  of  life  by  such  visi- 
tations; the  victims  do  not  fall  in  their  normal  vigor,  full  of  food;  nor  are 
their  remains  at  once  buried  in  compact  clays  and  gravels,  where  they  may 
be  preserved  from  injury  for  long  ages  to  come. 

All  these  considerations  point  to  the  extinction  of  the  Mammoth  and  its 
contemporaries  in  the  Old  World  by  some  abnormal  cause — some  sudden, 
very  extensive  catastrophe  which  overwhelmed  them  in  the  fulness  of  their 
vigor,  and  covered  in  their  remains  before  the  weather  could  disintegrate 
and  destroy  them.  Having  got  this  general  idea,  we  carrj  it  up  to  the 
Mammoth  cemeteries  of  Siberia,  and  -find  a  peculiar  and  striking  corrobora- 
tion of  it  in  the  huge  carcases  entombed  in  tne  frozen  gravels  and  sediments. 
These  tell  us  that  one  moment  those  ponderous  Elephantoids  were  standing 
in  the  plenitude  of  their  rugged  strength  amidst  the  verdant  forests  of  a 
temperate  clime;  while  the  next  moment  found  them  struggling  for  life 
amidst  the  pebbly,  muddy  deposits  heaped  around  and  upon  tnem  bv  some 
immense  irruption  of  waters,  where  thev  wei'e  solidly  frozen  in  while  their 
flesh  was  still  uncorrupted,  and  where  tney  have  remained  unthawed  down 
to  the  present  time.  Here,  then,  is  the  answer  to  our  question.  From  the 
temperate  era  in  Asiatic  Siberia  to  the  era  of  unbroken  Arctic  rigor,  the 
transition  was  instantaneous,  and  was  contemporary  with  the  sudden  extinc- 
tion of  almost  the  whole  fauna  and  flora  of  the  land. 

So  much  for  the  witness  borne  by  the  Siberian  Mammoth  in  particular, 
and  its  European  congeners  generally,  to  the  occurrence  of  some  tremendous 
catastrophe  of  waters,  which  swept  the  great  pachyderms  out  of  existence, 
and  simultaneously  changed  the  climate  of  Northern  Europe  and  Asia  into 
one  of  Arctic  severity.     Had  we   space  sufficient,  we  might  follow  Mr. 
Howorth  into  the  New  World,  and  accompany  him  as  he  collects  evidence 
to  the  same  effect  from  the  remains  of  the  Mammoth's  near  trans-Atlantic 
relative,  the  Mastodon.     We  must,  however,  be  content  with  summing  up 
this  testimony  in  the  remark,  that  although  no  buried  carcases  of  that  mas- 
sive Proboscidian  are  to  be  found  there,  owing  to  there  being  no  frozen 
ground  to  preserve  them,  or  at  least  none  that  has  been  explored ;  yet  i 
remains,  which  are   abundant  both  in  North  and  South  America,  are  chf 
acterized   bv  such   freshness  and   completeness,  such  an  intermixture  < 
matur*  and    young  individuals,  and  such   postures  and  environments, ; 
apparently  to  preclude  any  explanation  by  the  ordinary  causes  of  decay,  ai 
to  force  us  back  on  some  devastating  convulsion  which  let  loose  over  tl 
continent  an  overwhelming  deluge  of  waters,  and  entombed  in  their  deposi 
these  monsters  of  a  vanished  age. 


TEJS  MAMMOTH  AKD  THE  FLOOD.  379 

There  is  corroborative  evidence,  however,  of  a  difTetent  kind  to  which 
we  must  call  attention,  because  of  its  unexpected  nature  and  very  great 
interest.  It  is  the  witness  furnished  by  the  relics  of  primitive  man.  That 
an  early  race  of  mankind  existed  in  the  pleistocene  period,  alongside  of  the 
Mammoth  in  the  Old  World,  and  the  Mastodon  in  the  New,  seems  now  to 
be  established  beyond  reasonable  doubt  by  the  immense  abundance  of  stone 
weapons  and  implements,  by  the  incised  bones  of  animals,  and  even  by  por- 
tions of  the  human  skeleton,  which  have  been  found  so  intimately  associated 
with  the  fossil  relics  of  those  great  pachyderms  as  to  demonstrate  the  con- 
temporaneity of  the  deposits.  Since  the  publication  of  Lyell's  work  on  the 
Antiquity  of  Man,  which  first  gave  this  new  and  startling  discovery,  a  firm 
hold  on  the  English  mind,  the  evidence  in  support  of  it  drawn  from  the 
bone-caves  of  Europe,  and  from  the  gravel  and  clay-beds  were  the  remains 
of  the  Mammoth  and  its  associates  lie,  has  been  immensely  increased :  and 
while  we  are  writing  we  observe  that,  in  an  interesting  article,  "  American 
Museum  of  Pre-historic  Archaeology,"  in  the  Nineteenm  Century  Keview  of 
November,  1887,*  Mr.  A.  R.  Wallace  has  forciblv  summed  up  the  very 
extensive  mass  of  evidence  which  has  recently  been  accumulated  for  the 
"  Antiquity  of  man  in  North  America."  If  then  any  reliance  can  be  placed 
on  the  best  supported  inductions  of  Geology,  the  fact  must  be  accepted  that 
the  "stone-men,"  as  they  have  been  conveniently  designated,  lived  face  to 
face  with  the  huge  Proboscidians  of  the  pleistocene  age,  over  a  large  portion 
of  the  globe.  We  say,  the  stone-men;  but  here  a  distinction  must  be  made, 
and  it  is  a  distinction  upon  which  the  pertinency  of  the  fact  to  our  general 
argument  depends.  Accurate  examination  of  the  stone  implements  and 
other  relics  of  this  primitive  race,  together  with  careful  exploration  of  the 
deposits  in  which  they  are  discovered,  has  led  to  a  division  of  them  into 
two  well-defined  classes,  not  contemporaneous  in  origin,  but  divided  by  a 
clearly  marked  interval  of  time,  which  must  have  been  of  considerable 
duration.  This  discrimination  of  the  implements  carries  with  it  a  like  dis- 
crimination of  the  races  which  fashioned  and  used  them.  The  later,  or 
neolithic,  race  of  the  stone-men  are  proved  by  their  remains  to  have  difl'ered 
greatly  in  habits,  tastes,  degree  of  culti  vation,  and  manner  of  life  in  general, 
from  the  earlier  or  palaeolithic  race ;  differed  in  fact  so  radically  as  to  render 
it  highly  improbable  that  the  difference  was  merely  due  to  development. 
The  facts  lead  to  the  conclusion,  that  the  older  race  disappeared,  or  became 
extinct,  without  leaving  posterity;  and  that  after  a  while,  long  in  actual 
years,  although  short  in  geological  time,  another  race,  less  savage  if  less 
artistic  in  perception,  came  in  and  occupied  the  vacant  lands.  There  is 
perhaps  no  better  authority  on  this  point  than  Mr.  J.  Geikie,  and,  in  his 
Pre-htstoric  Europe^  he  writes  as  follows: — 

"  Between  Palaeolithic  and  Neolithic  man  there  is  thus  a  wide  golf  of  separation.    From 
a  state  of  utter  savagery  we  pass  into  one  of  comparative  dviligation.    Was  this  NeoUthic 

*  Beprinted  in  the  Libbabt  Maoazins,  January,  1888. 


380  !rB£   LlbEABt   MAQAZINS. 

phase  of  Earopeaa  archttological  hifitory  merely  developed  ont  of  that  which  cliaracteriz(c) 
Palnolithic  times?  Was  the  Eturopean  Neolithic  man  the  lineal  descendant  ot  his  Paleo- 
lithic predecessor  ?  There  is  no  proof,  either  direct  or  indirect,  that  this  was  the  case.  On 
t^e  contrary,  all  the  evidence  points  in  qnite  an  opposite  direction.  When  Neolithic  man 
entered  Eorope,  he  came  as  an  aflpricalturist  and  a  herdsman,  and  his  relics  and  remains 
occnr  again  and  again  immediateTy  ahove  pleistocene  deposits,  in  which  we  meet  with  no 
trace  of  any  higher  or  better  state  of  human  existence  than  that  which  ia  represented  by 
the  savages  who  contended  with  tibe  extinct  mammalia." 

We  arrive  now  at  Mr.  Howorth's  use  of  this  distinction  between  the  older 
and  newer  races  of  the  stone-men.  It  was  the  former  alone  which  was 
contemporary  with  the  Mammoth,  Mastodon,  Megatherium,  Dinothe- 
rium,  and  other  gigantic  mammals  of  the  pleistocene,  and  it  did  not  sur- 
vive them.  When  these  huge  tenants  of  the  forests  and  fields  of  the  first 
stone  age  passed  away,  the  early  stone-men  passed  out  of  existence  also, 
and  the  world  knew  them  no  more.  The  same  cause,  apparently,  which 
swept  away  the  one  swept  awaj^  also  the  other,  involving  both  in  a  common 
ruin.  A  synchronous  destruction  of  such  a  wholesale  kind  seems  clearly 
to  bespeak  the  same  identical  extirpating  cause.  But,  asks  Mr.  Howorth, 
how  is  it  possible  to  imagine  the  entire  numan  population  of  a  large  part 
of  the  globe  undergoing  a  clearly  defined  and  complete  extinction,  at  a 

Particular  epoch,  by  the  action  of  any  of  the  ordinary  causes  of  wasting  and 
ecay,  or  by  any  other  instrumentality  than  that  of  some  vast  continental 
catastrophe?  And  how  could  it  leave  behind  its  bones  and  relics,  unweath- 
ered  and  neatly  grouped,  deep-buried  in  protecting  gravels  and  alluvial 
sediments,  unless  the  catastrophic  cause  was  some  engulpbing  fiood  of 
waters,  bearing  along  vast  masses  of  clay  and  pebbles,  and  depositing  them 
in  extensive  beds  to  cover  up  the  ruin  which  it  had  wrought?  It  is  thus 
that  fi'om  the  disappearance  of  the  early  stone-men  of  the  pleistocene  a  tes- 
timony is  extorted,  similar  to  that  which  was  yielded  by  the  disappearance 
of  the  great  Elephantoids  of  the  same  epoch,  and  our  author  feels  himself 
j  ustified  in  saying : — 

'*  I  helieve  that  the  same  potent  cause  which  swept  away  the  Mammoth  and  the  Rhin- 
oceros, the  Cave-hear  and  the  Hyeena  firom  Europe,  also  swept  away  Palceolithic  man,  and 
that  this  cause  was  as  sudden  as  it  was  widespread  ....  I  submit  with  every  confidence 
that  I  have  proved  the  position  that  the  extinction  of  the  Mammoth  in  the  Old  World  was 
sudden,  and  operated  over  a  wide  continental  area,  involving  a  widespread  hecatomb  in 
which  man,  as  weU  as  other  creatures,  perished;  that  this  destruction  was  caused  by  a  flood 
of  waters  which  passed  over  the  land,  drowning  the  animals  and  then  burying  their 
remains ;  and  that  this  catastrophe  forms  a  great  break  in  human  continuity  no  less  wan  i 
the  biological  records  of  animal  life,  and  is  the  great  Divide  when  history  rear 
begins." 

Hitherto  Mr.  Howorth  has  conducted  the  argument,  of  which  an  outlii 
has  now  been  exhibited,  upon  purely  scientific  lines.     He  has  appeal 
exclusively  to  natural  phenomena;  out  of  these  alone  he  has  construct 
his  induction,  by  means  of  these  alone  he  has  arrived  at  his  result.     No  o. 
can  question  the  legitimacy  of  this  process,  and  as  to  the  validity  of  t 


..J 


THE  MAMMOTH  AND  THE  FLOOD.  381 

conclosion  we  are  disposed  to  think  that  it  is  fairly  made  good.  Of  course 
oar  space  has  not  permitted  ns  to  notice  the  many  minor  supports  by  which 
the  main  structure  of  the  ratiocination  is  buttressed-  to  the  Australian 
evidence  we  have  not  so  much  as  alluded.  But  enougn  has  probably  been 
adduced  to  make  the  fact  clear,  that  there  is  a  great  deal  to  be  urged  in 
favor  of  a  catastrophic  ending  of  the  pleistocene  age,  with  its  characteris- 
tic fauna  and  flora,  over  a  very  considerable  portion  of  the  globe  by  the 
action  of  a  flood  of  waters.  The  cause  of  that  flood  Mr.  Howorth  reserves 
for  future  discussion,  only  hinting  in  the  present  volume  that  it  may  have 
been  due  to  the  upheaval  of  the  Cordilleras  in  the  South  American  Conti- 
nent. But  whatever  it  was,  he  does  not  pretend  to  call  in  for  the  purpose 
the  agency  of  any  other  than  natural  forces,  and  so  far  he  is  in  agreement 
with  the  Uniformitariaa  theory.  His  only  real  quarrel,  in  fact,  is  with 
those  among  the  upholders  of  that  theory,  who  ride  their  hobby  so  hard  as 
to  deny  altogether  the  occurrence  of  critical  circumstances,  under  which 
the  very  same  natural  forces  that  produce  gradual  and  slowly  accumulat- 
ing  changes  are  enabled  to  give  rise  to  sudden  and  tremendous  cataclysms, 
and  their  attendant  devastation  and  ruin.  And  this,  from  a  scientific  point 
of  view,  is  not  an  antagonism  of  principles,  but  onlv  of  applications  and 
details.  What  we  mean  may  be  made  evident  by  the  following  supposi- 
tion. 

Let  us  imagine  that  the  earth,  once  intensely  heated,  had  slowly  cooled 
down  and  shrunk  in  cooling  through  the  operation  of  ordinary  physical 
causes,  and  that  a  portion  of  its  superficial  crust,  arched  over  a  million  or 
two  of  square  miles,  being  left  less  and  less  supported  over  the  increasing 
vacuum  beneath  it,  had  at  last  fallen  in  with  a  crash,  upheaving  its  fractured 
edges  into  rugged  mountain  ranges^  creating  deep  ravines  and  valleys  bv  its 
rents  and  fissures,  and  starting  some  mighty  oceanic  wave  to  roll  with  deso- 
lating fury  over  neighboring  land»:  it  would  be  undeniable  that  the  catas- 
trophic climax  of  this  series  of  events  would  lie  just  as  much  within  the 
Uniformity  of  nature,  as  the  previous  gradual  cooling  and  shrinking.  We 
have  been  recentlv  warned  that  even  in  our  own  times  some  convulsion  of 
this  startling  kind  is  far  from  being  impossible.  The  bottom  of  the  West- 
em  Atlantic,  we  are  told,  is  becoming  more  and  more  heavily  weighted  by 
the  immense  quantities  of  sediment  washed  down  by  the  great  rivers  of  the 
New  World;  and  should  this  process  continue  till  the  pressure  of  the  accu- 
mulated masses  exceeds  the  strength  of  the  sustaining  crust,  the  falling  in 
of  the  whole  American  sea-board  might  be  the  result.  Yet  such  an  event, 
although  in  the  intensest  degree  castastrophic,  would  obviously  be  no  breach 
of  Uniformity  in  the  scientific  sense,  rrecisely  the  same  natural  forces 
would  have  produced  it,  as  those  which  gently  and  almost  imperceptibly 
carry  on  the  mildest  processes  of  physical  change.  In  confirmation  of  this 
iriew  we  are  glad  to  be  able  to  appeal  to  the  high  authority  of  Professor 
Quxley,  who  in  a  striking  passage,  c^uoted  by  Mr.  Howorth,  from  bis 


3da  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

Address  to  the  Geological  Socriety,  1869,  after  olwerving  that  he  is  unable 
to  discern  any  "sort  of  theoretical  antagonism  between  Catastrophism  and 
Uniformitarianism,"  goes  on  as  follows: — 

'^  Let  me  iUiutrate  my  caae  Xxj  analogy.  The  working  of  a  dock  is  a  model  of  anifona 
actioo.  Good  time-keeping  means  onifonnitj  of  aetion.  But  the  striking  of  the  dock  is 
essentially  a  catastrophe.  The  hammer  might  be  made  to  blow  up  a  barrel  of  gunpowder, 
or  tarn  on  a  ddnge  ot  water,  and,  by  proper  arrangement,  the  dock,  instead  of  striking 
the  hoars,  might  strike  at  all  sorts  of  irregnlar  intervals,  neyei  twioe  alike  in  the  intervals, 
force,  or  namber  of  its  blows.  Neverthdess,  all  these  irregalar  and  apparently  lawless  catas- 
trophes would  be  the  result  of  an  absolutely  Uniformitarian  action,  and  we  might  have 
two  schools  of  clock  theorists,  one  studying  tibe  hammer  and  the  other  the  pendulum." 

While  therefore  we  are  inclined  to  accept  Mr.  Howorth's  conclusion  as 
to  the  catastrophic  character  of  the  close  of  the  pleistocene  era,  we  hold 
that  it  is  not  against  the  theory  of  Uniformity  itseli,  as  scientifically  under- 
stood, that  he  is  really  contending ;  but  only  about  the  interpretation  of 
certain  subordinate  phenomena,  which,  whether  they  indicate  catastrophism 
or  are  consistent  with  a  long-continued  and  moderate  action  of  natural 
forces,  equally  lie  within  the  TJniformitarian  hypothesis. 

When,  however,  we  reach  Mr.  Howorth's  last  chapter,  we  find  ourselves 
taken  out  of  the  region  of  physical  science,  and  introduced  into  one  of  a  very 
different  character,  where  the  ground    requires    carefiil  treading,  and  our 
footing  feels  much  less  secure.     Having  inferred  his  catastrophic  fiood  from 
the  silent  witness  of  the  clays  and  gravels,  he  seeks  direct  historical  attesta- 
tion to  it  from  the  early  myths  and  traditions  of  our  race.     His  first  appeal 
is  naturally  made  to  the  Biblical  record  of  Noah's  Deluge,  or  rather  the  two 
independent  narratives  of  it,  which  modern    criticism  has  perceived  to  be 
fusecl  together  in  the  sacred  text  by  the  compiler  or  editor  of  the  canonical 
Book  of  Genesis.    As  closely  connected  with   these  he  cites  the  version, 
probably  of  earlier  date,  found  in  the  famous  Chaldd6an  tablets,  and  the  more 
abbreviated  one  preserved   by   Berosus.     These    several  variants  of  the 
Semitic  tradition  m  his  view  point  to  a  more  remote  origin,  whence  came 
also  the  classical  legend  of  Deucalion,  and  the  Phrygian  story  of  the  Ark. 
Banning  more  or  less  parallel  with  these  he  finds  various  shorter  versions 
of  the  story  among  the  races  of  Aryan  blood,  some  inscribed  in  the  sacred 
books  of  the  Hindoos,  others  current  among  the  Northmen  of  Europe.    In 
fact,  there  are  few  tribes  of  mankind,  whether  in  the  Old  World,  the  New, 
or  in  Australia  and  New  Zealand,  which  do  not  yield  him  in  their  folk-Ion 
some  legend  of  a  great  fiood,  although  it  is  not  always  easy  to  distin^isl 
what  is  genuinely  native  from  what  has  been  at  a  late  period  imported  an< 
worked  in   with  the  older  myths.     But  after  allowing  for  questionaW 
instances,  such  as  that  which  is  presented  by  the  remarkable  currenc 
among  the  Burmese  Karens  of  traditions  closely  resembling  the  early  Bil 
lical  stories,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  wide  prevalence  of  the  Flood-legen<3 
the  difficulty  arises  when  we  endeavor  to  estimate  its  historical  value* 


THE  MAMMOTH  AND  THE  FLOOD.  383 

Mr.  Ho  worth  expresses  his  opinion  somewhat  dogmatically  that  "the 
jSrat  chapter  of  Genesis  is  absolutely  valueless  in  geological  discussion,  and 
has  no  authority  whatever,  save  as  representing  what  the  Jews  borrowed 
from  the  Babylonians ; "  but  at  the  same  time  he  urges  that  "there  is  no 
reason  whatever  why  subsequent  chapters  which  profess  to  report,  not  how 
things  arose  before  man  appeared,  but  the  traditions  of  man  himself,  should 
be  discarded."  To  refuse  credence  to  a  story  merely  because  it  is  contained 
in  the  Bible,  is  obviously  irrational;  and  it  is  equally  irrational  to  dismiss 
ancient  records  with  an  incredulous  sneer,  because  the  narratives  contained 
in  them  happen  to  betray  to  a  critical  eye  admixtures  or  accretions  of  a 
legendary  character.  Against  such  extravagances  of  skepticism  it  behoves 
the  sober  seeker  after  truth  to  enter  a  protest,  just  as  strenuously  as  against 
the  unenlightened  credulity  of  the  dark  ages.  To  use  the  pregnant  words 
of  Dr.  Arnold  in  his  edition  of  Thucydides,  when  he  was  testifying  against 
the  excesses  of  a  destructive  criticism — "It  is  not  to  be  endured  that 
skepticism  should  run  at  once  into  dogmatism,  and  that  we  should  be 
required  to  doubt  with  as  little  discrimination  as  we  were  formerly  called 
upon  to  believe."  Between  that  d  priori  acceptance  of  the  primitive  Bibli- 
cal narratives  as  literal  and  infallible  scientific  history,  which  half  a  century 
ago  was  made  a  test  of  orthodoxy,  and  the  scornful  denial  of  any  historical 
element  whatever  in  them,  there  is  surely  a  reasonable  medium. 

But  supposing  this  is  granted,  Mr.  Howorth's  contention  demands  a  good 

deal  more.    It  is  not  enough  for  his  purpose  that  these  flood  traditions, 

Semitic,  Aryan,  Indian,  Australasian,  and  what  not, should  have  a  nucleus 

of  genuine  history  embedded  amidst  their  accretions ;  he  requires  them  all 

to  point  to  one  and  the  same  flood,  and  that  the  particular  flood  which  on 

other  grounds  he  believes  to  have  swept  away  the  first  race  of  stone-men  at 

the  close  of  the  pleistocene  age.     This  is  a  large  draft  on  our  belief,  and  we 

confess  to  being  somewhat  staggered  by  it.     To  prove  the  opposite  is 

necessarily  as  impossible  as  to  establish  the  assumption.    The  question  is 

one  of  probabilities,  and  these  may  be  differently  estimated   by  different 

minds.    The  extreme  remoteness  in  historial  time,  on  the  one  hand,  of  the 

catastrophe  which  is  supposed  to  have  extirpated  the  Mammoth  and  that 

portion  of  its  primeval  human  contemporaries  which  inhabited  the  same 

regions;  and  on  the  other,  the  fact  that  not  a  few  desolating  deluges  must  in 

Ml  likelihood  have  occured  in  different  parts  of  the  world,  in  the  course  of 

he  many  millenniums  which  must  have  elapsed  during  the  slow  develop- 

nent  of  the  various  succeeding  races  of  mankind  ;  conspire,  we  think,  to 

ender  a  single  origin  of  the  several  widely  separated  traditions,  and  that 

in  origin  coincident  with  the  pleistocene  catastrophe,  in  a  serious  degree 

Uflicult  of  acceptance.     At  any  rate,  we  cannot  help  attaching  far  greater 

-ilue  to  Mr.  Howorth's  argument  from  the  phenomena  brought  to  light  by 

)ological    research,  than  to  any  direct  corroboration  of  it  which  can  be 

traoted  from  the  primitive  traditions  of  mankind.    At  the  same  time,  we 


384  THE    LIBRARY    MAGAZINE, 

readily  aokDOwledge  that  these  plentiful  flood-traditions  do  indirectly  afford 
important  aid  ;  inasmuch  as,  altnough  the  deluges  in  which  they  originated 
may  not  have  been  his  special  deluge,  they  at  least  familiarize  us  with 
catastrophes  brought  about  by  the  desolating  agency  of  water. 

In  regard  to  the  Biblical  version  of  the  tradition  in  particular  we  feel  it 
incumbent  upon  us  to  say  something  more,  to  obviate  a  possible  misunder- 
standing of  our  view,  ana  prevent  grave  offence  being  taken  at  our  apparent 
classification  of  the  sacred  story  with  the  various  ethnic  flood-legends,  for 
the  purpose  of  this  discussion.  It  would  be  idle,  after  the  discoveries  and 
conflicts  of  the  last  fifty  years,  seriously  to  contest  Mr.  Howorth's  position, 
when  he  denies  to  the  opening  chapters  of  Genesis  any  absolute  determining 
authority  in  the  problems  of  physical  science  ana  historical  research. 
Whether  this  position  represents  tne  whole  of  his  conception  of  the  worth 
of  that  portion  of  the  sacred  records,  or  only  one  side  or  aspect  of  it,  we 
know  not,  inasmuch  as  the  tenor  of  his  argument  does  not  require  bim  to 
consider  what  value  the  venerable  document  may  possibly  have  for  other 
and  higher  purjyoses.*  But  for  ourselves  w©  say  emphatically,  that  in  our 
view  the  question  of  its  significance  in  regard  to  secular  knowledge, 
whether  physical  or  historical,  touches  only  one  side  of  the  subject,  and 
comparatively  one  of  very  minor  importance.  In  form  and  in  the  letter,  or 
regarded  merely  as  a  piece  of  primitive  literature,  the  document  may  be 
ideal  or  legendary  poetry  or  myth  ;  but  not  the  less  are  we  convinced  that, 
in  substance,  it  is  of  the  highest  ethical  and  religious  value,  and  as  part  of 
an  inspired  Bible  contains  an  early  message  of  revelation  from  above, 
adaptea  to  the  needs  of  the  world's  childhood.  We  cannot  allow  that  its 
inner  teaching  is  the  less  divine,  on  account  of  its  employing  early  and 
possibly  unhistorical  traditions  as  its  vehicle,  or  because  it  clothes  its 
spiritual  element  in  the  vesture  of  allegory  and  poetical  idealism.  To  our 
mind  the  outward  form  and  fashion  of  the  teaching  is  one  thing,  the  inward 
^asson  another ;  and  although  in  the  former  we  may  discern  the  working 
and  the  limitations  of  the  human  mind,  when  knowledge  and  culture  were 
still  in  their  infancy,  in  the  latter  we  are  profoundly  conscious  of  that  living 
breath  of  God  which,  inbreathed  into  the  soul  of  the  prophet,  makes  him 
an  organ  of  divine  revelation. 

To  make  our  meaning  clear,  and  show  how  separable  is  the  substance 
of  the  divine  teaching  from  its  literary  vehicle,  we  will  ask  the  reader's 
attention  to  the  manner  in  which  the  cosmogony  of  the  Book  of  Genes 'i 
may  reasonably  be  supposed  to  have  been  constructed.  Three  characte  • 
istics  of  it  are  obvious.  Firsts  it  has  the  style  of  a  poem  or  psalm  of  i 
primordial  type;  the  rhythmical  cadences,  the  measured  intervals,  tl  \ 
recurring  refrain,  suggest,  not  bald  narrative  or  prosaic  description,  b  t 
artistic,  ideal  composition  — the  result  of  the  inventive  faculty  operating     i 

^See  article    by  Prof.   W.  Gray  Elmslie,  "The  first  chapter  of  Geneais/^  in  LlBftA     : 
Maqazinic,  Fdfruarfff  188S. 


THE  MAMMOTH  AND  TffE  FLOOD.  386 

certain  ideas,  and  draping  them  in  poetical  fonns.  Secondly ,  compared  with 
other  early  cosmogomes,  in  some  degree  akin  to  it,  it  is  singularly  pure  and 
noble  in  its  conceptions.  Although  not  entirely  free  from  the  anthropomor- 
phism of  a  primitivei  age,  it  has  entirely  escaped  the  taint  of  polytheism, 
and  none  of  the  puerilities  which  b6  often  disfigure  the  corresponding 
ethnic  legends  can  be  laid  to  its  charge.  Lastly^  it  is  the  vehicle  of  sublime 
religious  ideas,  which  find  an  echo  in  the  depths  of  the  human  heart.  As 
it  begins  with  God  and  His  creative  work,  so  it  ends  in  man  and  his  peculiar 
prerogatives,  teaching  him  that  he  stands  to  his  Creator  in  a  relation  which 
13  shared  by  no  other  terrestrial  creature,  being  framed  in  the  very  image 
of  God,  and  living  by  the  divine  breath  in  his  inward  being,  and  having 
entrusted  to  him  undivided  sovereignty  over  the  earth  and  all  its  contents. 
On  the  face  of  this  grand  creation-hymn  these  three  features  are  immistake- 
ably  stamped,  so  that  he  who  runs  may  read  them  there. 

Now  what  we  ^esire  especially  to  point  out  is  this:  that  if  it  was  in  a 
free  and  genuine  cooperation  of  the  composer's  mind  with  the  revealing 
Spirit,  as  these  characteristic  features  seem  clearly  to  indicate,  that  the 
Hoble  creation-hymn  which  heads  the  Hebrew  Scriptures  took  its  origin  ;  a 
real  and  most  important  distinction  not  only  may,  but  must  be  drawn 
between  its  religious  substance  and  its  literary  form — between  its  teaching 
for  the  soul  of  man,  and  the  poetic  conception  or  narrative  through  which 
that  teaching  is  conveyed.  The  former,  which  is  the  essence  of  the  docu- 
ment, would  not  be  the  ofi&pring  of  the  composer's  own  conceit,  but  truth 
mysteriously  imparted  to  him  from  above,  by  that  supernatural  influence 
which  is  commonly  characterized  as  inspiration,  for  the  instruction  of  his 
contemporaries  in  their  true  relations  to  God  and  to  the  world ;  while  the 
literary  robing  of  that  truth,  the  order  of  the  narration,  the  imagery,  and 
the  modes  of  expression  employed,  would  be  a  product  of  his  own  imagina- 
tion, his  own  mental  action,  and  therefore  purely  ideal,  and  standing  in  no 
relation  whatever  to  science  or  history.  In  otner  words,  the  sacred  pen- 
man would  be  an  inspired  writer,  a  true  prophet  of  Jehovah,  through  wnom 
came  a  message  of  revelation  to  his  people ;  and  yet  he  would  be  employing 
as  the  vehicle  of  that  message  conceptions  of  nature  and  its  laws  and 
sequences  which  have  no  scientific  validity,  no  authority  to  control  our 
interpretations  of  the  phenomena  of  the  physical  world. 

The  same  principle  of  discrimination  may  be  applied  to  the  interpreta- 
tion of  the  succeeding  chapters,  which  present  in  an  appreciably  greater 
degree  signs  of  relationship  to  the  earlier  myths  and  traditions.  However 
rudimentary  the  ethical  and  religious  instruction  conveyed  by  them  may  be 
— and  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  is  of  the  lower  grade  which  suits  a  rude 
and  uncultured  stage  of  the  human  intellect — ^yet  it  is  revelation  in  the 
germ,  the  primitive  utterance  of  that  divine  teaching  of  our  race,  which 
has  since  unfolded  and  broadened  down  the  ages,  till  it  attained  its  mature 
development   in  the  Gospel  of  the  Son  of  man.    Here,  in  these  earliest 


386  TSE    LZBSABT   MAGAZINE. 

essays  of  inspiration,  we  have  the  fbondaiioiui  laid  of  aooial  life,  by  the 
setting  forth  of  the  divinely  ordained  relation  between  the  sexes,  ana  con- 
stitution of  the  family ;  of  spiritual  life  also,  in  the  disclosures  concerning 
the  relation  of  mankind  to  the  eternal  law  of  morality,  the  introduction  of 
the  consciousness  of  guilt,  and  the  righteous  judgments  of  God  upon  dis- 
obedience. Veiled  more  or  less  in  allegory,  these  fundamental  verities 
may  be ;  but  all  the  same  they  folfflled  their  function  in  laying  a  basis  for 
higher  doctrines  to  rest  upon,  and  it  is  the  infosed  presence  of  them  that 
lifts  those  archaic  Biblical  records  immeasuraUy  above  the  ethnic  legends, 
and  constitutes  their  unique  sacredness  and  priceless  worth.  So  at  least  we 
firmly  believe ;  and  it  is  to  guard  ourselves  against  the  suspicioa  of  having 
unduly  depreciated  their  value  and  importance,  when  spjeaking  of  them  in 
relation  to  merely  secular  knowledge,  uiat  we  have  felt  it  a  duty  to  develop 
the  other  side  of  the  subject  in  these  supplementary  remarks^  isA  emphat- 
ically to  express  our  loyal  homage  to  the  insinration  of  Bp\j  Writ. — Quor- 
terly  Review. 


POST-TALMTJDIC  HEBREW  LITERA.TURB. 

II.— Fbom  ths   Comflbtion  of  the  Talmud  to  thb  BsQiKKiNe  of 
Jewish  Litbbatubb  in  Ettbopx: — aj>.  950-1070. 

In  a  former  article  we  noticed  how  after  the  death  of  Saadia,  four  young 
men  were  sent  abroad,  in  order  to  interest  the  richer  Jewish  congreffations 
in  the  continuation  of  the  Suranic  academy.  One  of  them,  Moses  ben  Hanoch, 
redeemed  by  the  Jews  of  Cordova,  affcerwards  became  head  of  the  Cordovan 
synagogue  and  college,  and  thus  with  Moses  the  study  of  the  Talmud  was 
introduced  into  Spain,  which  was  to  became  the  seat  of  learning  for  coining 
generations,  in  place  of  Judea,  Babylonia,  and  North- Africa.  Tne  times  for 
such  a  movement  were  especially  lavorable,  and  the  Jewish  community  was 
represented  by  a  man,  who,  by  his  generosity  and  position  gave  Jewish  learn* 
ing  that  impetus  which  produced  such  great  men,  as  we  shall  have  to  speak 
X>t     This  man  was — 

Hasdai  BEN  Isaac  ibn  Shaprut,  bom  about  915 ;  died  in  970,  a.  d. 
He  was  a  physician  and  astronomer,  and  through  his  abilities,  became  the 
prime  minister  of  the  Caliph  Abderraham  III.  of  Cordova.  That  he  was 
very  much  esteemed  and  his  talents  appreciated,  may  be  seen  from  the  fact, 
that,  when  German  ambassadors  arrivea,  &e  CaJiph  desired  Hasdai  to  receive 
them,  and  give  them  the  requisite  information  before  their  {presentation  at 
court.  He  is  also  said  to  have  written  an  Epistle  to  Joseph,  king  of  Cozar — 
a  nation  bordering  on  the  Caspian  Sea — ^whidi  letter  is  extant,  and  an 
aiuiwer  of  the  king  which  does  not  possess  equal  daims  to  authoDtiGity. 


POST-TALMUDIC  EEBBEW  LITERATURE.  367 

The  whole  history  has  been  wrought  out  into  a  religious  romance  called 
Oozri  by  Rabbi  Jehuda  ha^Levi,  which  has  involved  the  question  in  great 
obscurity.  The  French  historian,  Basnage,  rejected  the  whole  as  a  fiction 
of  the  rabbins ;  the  Jewish  historian,  Joet,  inclines  to  the  opinion  that  there 
is  a  groundwork  of  truth  under  tiie  veil  of  poetic  embellishment.  More 
modern  writers  admit  without  hesitation,  and  almost  boast  of  the  Kingdom 
ofKhasar,  (See  Qratz,  fl^McAwAfe  V.,  p.  186-191.)  Hasdai  being  very  rich, 
caused  many  copies  of  the  Talmud  to  be  brought  from  8ura.  His  house  was 
the  rallying-pomt  for  the  literati  and  poets,  and  many  a  talent  found  in  him 
the  means  for  further  development.  It  was  in  his  time,  that  Moses  ben 
Hanoch,  one  of  the  four  captives  whom  we  have  mentioned  already,  came 
to  Cordova,  where  he  became  the  head  of  the  Talmudic  school.  In  order . 
to  diffuse  the  study  of  Hebrew,  Hasdai  called  to  his  seat  at  Cordova,  the 
Hebrew  linguist — 

MENAHEBf  BEN"  Saruk  OH  Sbruk,  bom  about  910  at  Tortosa  in  Spain ;  died 
about  970.  Having  been  called  with  a  view  of  cultivating  and  advancing 
Hebrew  literature  and  language,  Menahem  betook  himself  to  write  his  Biblical 
Dictionary,  called  Sefer  Igaron,  or  Se/er  Hapithron,  also  Mahabereth  Menahem ^ 
including  the  Aramean  of  Daniel  and  Ezra,  by  the  help  of  the  scientific 
works  ot  Ibn  Koreish  and  Saadia,  of  earlier  interpreters  and  poets,  which 
has  not  been  without  influence  upon  later  grammarians.  Besides  philology, 
Menahem  exercised  his  poetical  talents,  especially  in  his  Epistles  which  he 
addressed  to  his  former  friend  Hasdai  ben  Isaac,  before  whom  he  had  been 
caluminated,  and  before  time  was  given  to  Menahem  for  his  defense,  a  ver- 
dict of  guilty  was  pronounced  against  him,  and  even  executed  without  delay. 
Menahem  addressed  a  letter  to  his  former  friend,  but  in  vain.  The  brief 
answer  which  he  received  was:  "If  thou  wert  wrong,  I  have  chastised  thee; 
and  if  thou  wert  wronged,  verily  I  have  caused  thee  to  share  the  fature 
world."  Menahem  addressed  a  second  letter  which  finally  convinced  Hasdai 
of  Menahem's  innocence.  Menahem's  Hebrew  Lexicon  found  a  severe,  if  not 
a  bitter  and  envious  critic  in  his  contemporary — 

DcTNASH  IBN  Labrat  ha-Levi,  deuomiuatea  Rabbi  Adonim.  He  was  born 
in  Bagdad  about  A.D.  920,  and  died  about  980  a.d.  Like  Menahem  he  had 
been  called  to  Cordova.  Being  independent  in  circumstances,  he  prosecuted 
his  lingual  and  biblical  researches,  and  published  the  results  without  fearing 
or  caring  how  they  would  be  regarded  by  his  co-religionists.  All  his  writ- 
ings were  mostly  polemical,  especially  against  Saadia  and  Menahem  ibn  Saruk. 
Against  the  former  he  wrote  The  Book  of  Animadversions,  against  the  lat- 
ter a  critique  which,  as  Fiirst  says,  is  "a  work  of  great  interest  in  relation 
to  a  knowledge  of  Hebrew  philology,  of  the  new  Hebrew  poetry,  and  of  the 
state  of  Jewish  culture  in  Spain  in  the  tenth  century."  Dunasn's  influence 
Tiay  be  seen  from  the  frequent  quotations  made  from  nis  works  by  the  princi- 
n\l  later  lexicographers  and  commentators.  One  of  the  most  famous  of  '^ 
lenahem'a  pupils 


388  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE. 

Jehuda  ben  David  ibk  Hayug,  sometimes  also  called  Jehuda  Fasi  from 
his  native  place  Fez,  in  Africa,  where  he  was  bom  about  1020.  The  greater 
part  of  his  life  he  spent  at  Cordova,  where  he  became  the  teacher  of  Samuel 
ibn  Naghdila  (ha-Kagid).  He  brought  his  thorough  acquaintance  with  the 
Hebrew  and  ^abic  languages  to  bear  upon  the  scientific  study  of  grammar, 
and  won  the  appellation  of  "  the  Chief  of  Hebrew  Grammarians,"  He  was 
the  first  who,  after  the  Arabic  model,  established  the  triliteralness  of  Hebrew 
stems,  and  arranged  the  verbs  according  to  their  conjugations — an  arrange- 
ment which  has  been  substantially  adopted  by  all  modern  grammarians. 
On  account  of  his  svstem,  with  its  consequences,  he  is  considered  the  first 
and  head  founder  of  Hebrew  philology,  besides  grammatical  works,  he 
also  wrote  commentaries  on  several  books  of  the  Old  Testament.  A  pupil 
of  Hayug  was — 

Samuel  ha-Nagid,  born  at  Cordova  about  993 ;  died  about  1055,  A.D. 
Owing  to  the  intestine  wars  between  the  two  rival  Moorish  chiefis  for  suprem- 
acy, Samuel,  when  twenty  years  of  age,  had  to  quit  Cordova,  and  went  to 
Malaga,  where  he  kept  a  druggist^s  shop.  His  profound  knowledge  of 
Arabian  literature,  ana  his  beautiful  writing,  brought  him  to  the  notice  of 
Alkas  ben  Alarif,  prime  minister  of  Habush  ibn  Moksan  of  Granada,  who 
made  him  his  secretary,  and  on  his  death-bed  recommended  his  sovereign  to 
be  guided  by  Samuel.  In  1027  he  was  raised  to  that  high  post  by  Badis, 
and  maintained  his  powerful  influence  in  spite  of  envious  intrigues. 
Samuel  conferred  great  benefits  on  the  Hebrew  nation;  his  charity  was  not 
confined  to  Spain,  but  extended  to  his  brethren  in  Africa,  Egypt,  and  the  Holy 
Land.  Being  exceedingly  wealthy,  he  purchased  many  copies  of  the  Talmud, 
Mishna,  and  other  religious  works,  which,  to  disseminate  learning,  he  dis- 
tributed gratuitously.  His  fame  and  renown  attracted  many  Jews  to  Oranada 
from  all  parts  of  Spain,  for  Samuel  was  not  only  prime-minister,  but  also  the 
head  ana  "Prince  (Mj^'ic?)  of  the  Jews.  And  his  means  enabled  him  to 
b3  the  indefatigable  patron  both  of  Spanish  and  foreign  authors.  Samuel 
zealously  cultivated  poetry  and  science,  in  which  he  himself  excelled,  and 
beside  a  treatise  which  he  wrote  against  Ibn  Ganach,  in  defence  of  his  teacher, 
Hayug,  he  is  best  known  as  the  author  of  a  good  treatise  on  the  methodology 
of  the  Talmud.  He  also  wrote  poems  under  the  title  of  Son  of  Provens^ 
which  are  represented  as  profound  and  magnificent. 

Jonah  ibn  Ganach,  born  at  Cordova  about  995 ;  died  about  1060,  A.D.. 
Wcis  the  most  distinguished  inquirer  in  the  department  of  the  study  of  th< 
Hebrew  language,  against  whom  Samuel  wrote.  When  his  native  place  wa 
taken  in  1013  by  Al-Moslaim  Suleiman,  he  went  to  Saragossa,  where  beset 
tied  down,  when  about  20  years  of  age,  and  practised  m^icine  for  his  maic 
tenance,  while  he  devotea  all  his  spare  time  to  the  prosecution  of  hi 
researches  in  sacred  philology  and  bermeneutics.  His  ^eat  work  ia  h 
great  linguistic  book,  called  in  Arabic  Kitdb  el  Tavkish^  or  ''Book  of  Inquiry, 
/.  iu  the  Hebrew,  Sefer  dikduh^  which  is  divided  into  two  main  parts,  of  whic'. 


P08T-TALMUD1C  BEMEW  UTEBA  WEE  38^ 

the  first  Kitdbel'Luma  or  "Book  of  Variegated  Fields,"  in  Hebrew,  Seferha- 
rikmah,  treats  at  length  of  Hebrew  grammar  in  46  sections;  the  second, 
Kitdb  el'Azul  or  a  "Book  of  Roots,  in  Hebrew,  S^er  ha-shordshim,  is  a 
Hebrew  Dictionary,  which  was  edited  and  published  for  the  first  time  by  A. 
Neubauer,  Oxford,  1873.  The  Kttdb  el  Tankisk  is  the  most  important  phil- 
ological production  in  the  Jewish  literature  of  the  Middle  Ages.  Ibn  Gan- 
ach  had  also  some  knowledge  of  metaphysics,  for  he  speaks  of  Plato  acd 
Aristotle  like  one  who  had  studied  them  diligently.  He  wrote  also  a  work 
on  logic,  Aristotelian  in  principle,  and  strenuously  opposed  the  efforts  of 
his  contemporaries,  especially  Ibn  Gebirol,  in  their  metaphysical  investiga- 
tions unto  the  relation  of  God  to  the  world,  holding  that  these  inquiries  only 
endangered  the  belief  in  the  Scriptures.  "If  we  survey,"  says  Fiirst  "the 
writings  of  Ibn  Granach,  the  great  linguistic  work  as  well  as  his  other  small 
treatises,  we  are  involuntarily  impressed  with  the  vieV,  that  a  profounder 
knowledge  of  the  vowel  and  accent-system  was  already  lost  in  part  in  the 
eleventh  century;  more  than  600  years  having  passed  since  its  invention. 

Ibn  Ganach  himself  complains .  m  the  preface  to  his  grammar,  that  a 
knowledge  of  the  Hebrew  language  was  only  looked  upon  in  his  time  as  a 
secondary  thing.  But  notwithstanding  our  scantier  knowledge  of  this  part 
of  Hebrew  philology,  history  cannot  refuse  him  the  testimony,  that  by  means 
of  his  fflowing  zeal  and  comprehensive  studies,  he  became  the  restorer,  and 
for  us  tne  new  founder  of  Heorew  grammar  and  lexicography." 

Solomon  ibn  Gabirol  or  Gebirol,  bom  at  Malaga,  in  Spain,  about  1021 ; 
died  about  1070,  a.d.,  is  also  known  as  Solomon  the  Spaniard,  surnamed  "the 
Hymnologist,"  called  also  by  the  Arabians  Abu  Ayub  Suleiman  ibn  Jahya  ibn 
Djebirul,  and  by  the  Christian  schoolmen  Avicebrol,  or  Avicebron,  famous 
alike  as  philosopher,  commentator,  and  grammarian.  His  life  was  as  short  as 
his  talents  were  brilliant,  and  his  end  tragical.  His  death  is  said  to  have 
been  caused  by  the  sanguinary  envy  of  an  Arabian  rival  in  song,  and  the 
legend  tells,  that  the  young  poet  was  buried  by  his  murderer  under  a  fig- 
tree,  which  produced  in  consequence  so  great  an  abundance  of  finiit,  of  such 
exquisite  flavor  as  to  attract  the  attention  of  the  Caliph,  and  lead  to  the  dis- 
covery of  the  body,  and  a  detection  of  the  crime  which  had  been  com- 
mitted. 

When  only  19  years  of  age  he  evinced  his  great  skill  as  a  poet,  and  his 
thorough  acquaintance  with  Hebrew  grammar,  by  writing  a  Grammar  of  the 
Hebrew  language  in  verse.  In  the  introduction  the  author  complains  "  that 
the  study  of  the  sacred  tongue,  honorable  above  all  others,  had  been  too  long 
rieglected,  so  that  by  a  great  multitude  of  his  brethren  the  words  of  the 
prophets  were  no  longer  understood.  At  this  thought,  the  consdousness  of 
nis  own  youth  neither  could  nor  should  restrain  him.  A  voice  came  within 
him,  "Gird  thyself  for  the  work,  for  Gted  will  help  tiieel  Say  not,  I  am  too 
young;  the  crown  is  not  exclusively  reserved  for  old  age.  He  wiU  make  use 
of  poetry  to  render  his  labor  attractive  to  the  eyes,  like  a  garden  of  flowers; 


for  his  hope  was  great  that  that  language  inay  again  ho  atadied  in  which 
the  inhabitants  of  neaven  sing  the  praises  of  Him  who  clothes  himself  with 
light  as  with  a  garment;  this  language  formerly  spoken  upon  earth  by  all 
men,  before  the  foolish  ones  were  scattered,  and  their  speecn  confounded; — 
this  language  became  the  inheritance  of  God^s  people  under  the  tyranny  of 
Egypt; — in  this  language  the  law  of  Grod  was  promulgated,  and  the  prophets 
wrought  healing  to  the  afflicted  nation.  He  would,  they  were  jealous,  like 
Nehemiah  (xiii.  23-251,)  for  the  purity  of  the  lanffuage  of  Israel."  He  then 
expressed  his  indignation  that  the  mistress  should  have  been  reduced  to  the 
state  of  a  servant,  and  the  lawful  wi&  to  that  of  a  concubine. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-four,  Ibn  Gebirol  nublished  his  ethico-philosophical 
work  entitled  Tikhun  Middoth  ha-Nephesk  (published  in  1650,  and  often 
since.)  In  this  work,  he  propounds  "  a  peculiar  theory  of  the  human  tem- 
perament and  purpose,  enumerates  twenty  propensities  corresponding  to  the 
four  dispositions  multiplied  by  the  five  senses,  and  shows  how  the  leaning 
of  the  soul  to  the  one  side  may  be  brought  to  the  moral  equipoise  by  observ- 
ing the  declarations  of  Scripture,  and  ethical  sayings  of  the  Talmud,  which 
he  largely  quotes,  and  which  he  intersperses  with  the  chief  sayings  of  the 
"divine  Socrates,"  his  pupil  Plato,  Aristotle,  the  Arabian  philosophers,  and 
especially  with  the  maxima  of  a  Jewish  moral  philosopher,  called  ffe/cz 
el  Kvbiy  But  as  this  work  contained  also  personal  allusions  to  some  leading 
aen  of  Saragossa,  he  was  expatriated  in  1046*    After  travelling  from  one 

Slace  to  another,  he  finally  found  a  protector  in  the  celebrated  Samuel  ha- 
Tagid,  and  he  was  thus  enabled  to  continue  his  philosophical  studies;  as  the 
ra^ult  of  which  he  produced  his  greatest  work,  called  in  Hebrew  Meqar  ha- 
IJayim  or  "  the  Fountain  of  Life,  and  in  Latin  Fons  Vit«,  The  influence 
which  Ibn  Qebirol  exerted  on  Jewish  philosophy  cannot  be  too  highly  estimated. 
His  influence  on  Arabian  philosophy  is  douotful ;  for,  says  Ueberweg  {History 
of  Philosophy  vol.  I.  p.  426,  in  Morris'  translation),  the  "Arabian  philoso- 
pliers  of  the  twelfth  century  seem  pot  to  have  known  him  at  all.  He  cer- 
tainly deserves  to  be  called  "  the  Jewish  Plato,  as  Gratz  chooses  to  name  him." 
But  the  assertion  that  he  was  the  first  philosopher  of  the  Middle  Ages,  and 
that  his  philoisophical  treatises  were  used  bv  the  scholastic  philoso^ers,  is 
an  error,  as  Lewis's  History  cf  Philosophy  fully  proves,  although  Hunk,  and 
after  him  Gratz  and  and  oUiers  fell  into  the  same  mistake. 

Ueberweg  (vol.  I,  424)  is  probably  correct  in  calling  Ibn  Gebirol  "  the 
earliest  representative  of  philosophy  among  the  Jews.  The  same  writer 
gives  the  following  short  synopsis  of  the  Fons  Yitm :  Bhem  Tob,  who  trans- 
lated the  most  important  parts  of  it  into  Hebrew,  defines  the  general  idea 
which  underlies  the  whole  work  as  being  contained  in  the  doctrine  that  even 
spiritual  substances  are  in  some  sense  material,  the  matter  of  which  they  are 
formed  being  spiritual  matter,  the  substratum  of  their  forms  a  sort  of  basis 
into  which  the  form  descends  from  above.  Albertus  Ma^us  says  (Summa 
Toiius  Theologiw,  1. 4, 22),  that  the  work  ascribed  to  Avicebron  restea  on  die 


POSTrTALMVDIC  HEBREW  LTTBEATUBE.  d91 

hypothefiis  that  things  corporeal  and  incorporeal  were  of  one  matter,  and  Thomas 
Aquinas  (Qitmst  de  Ammm)  namps  him  as  the  author  of  the  doctrine  that 
the  soul  and  all  substances,  except  Grod,  are  compounded  of  matter  and  form. 
From  the  extracts  published  by  Hunk  it  c^pears  how  this  hypothesis  squares 
with  the  whole  or  his  philosophy,  which  arose  from  the  blending  of  Jewish 
religious  doctrines  with  Aristotelian,  and,  in  particular,  with  Neo-Platonic 
philoBophemes.  The  first  book  treats  of  matter  and  form  in  general,  and  of 
their  mfferent  kinds;  the  second,  of  matter  as  that  which  gives  body  to  the 
universe  (to  which  the  categories  apply) ;  the  third,  of  the  existence  of  the 
(relatively)  simple  substance,  the  midale  essences  which  are  said  to  be  con- 
tained in  the  created  Intellect,  and  are  intermediate  between  God,  the  first 
Cause,  and  t^e  material  world ;  the  fourth,  of  these  intermediate  essences  as 
consisting  of  matter  and  form ;  the  fifth,  of  matter  and  form  in  the  most  gen- 
eral sense  of  the  terms,  or  of  universal  matter,  and  universal  form,  followed 
by  considerations  relative  to  the  divine  will,  as  the  outcome  of  the  divine 
wisdom,  through  which  being  is  educed  from  nothing,  or  as  the  middle  term 
between  God,  the  first  substance,  and  all  that  consii^  of  matter  and  form;  or, 
again,  as  that  source  of  life  whence  all  forms  emanate.  All  the  arguments  of 
the  author  postulate  the  Platonic  theory  of  the  real  existence  of  all  which  is 
thought  by  means  of  universal  concepts.  Everything,  argues  Avicebron, 
that  subsists  MIb  under  the  concept  of  subsistence,  therefore  all  things  which 
subsist  possesses  real  subsistence  in  common  with  each  other ;  but  this  com- 
mon element  cannot  be  a  form,  since  it  is  in  the  form  of  an  object  that  its 
peculiarity  and  difference  from  other  objects  consists;  it  must  therefore  be 
matter — matter  in  the  most  general  sense,  of  which  corporeal  and  spiritual 
matter  are  the  two  species.  Since  form  can  only  have  its  existence  m  mat- 
ter, the '  forms  of  intelligible  things  must  possess  some  sort  of  material  sub- 
strate peculiar  to  themselves.  God,  who  is  immaterial,  is  called  form  only  in 
an  unnatural  sense. 

But  what  gave  Ibn-Gebirol  a  lasting  fame,  were  his  poetical  talents,  which 
were  exercisM  on  many  different  subjects :  hymns,  elegies,  confessions  of 
sin,  descriptions  of  the  future.  In  all  these,  we  find  a  noble  and  affecting 
echo  of  the  poetry  of  his  ancestors.  The  Kether  Afalkuth,  or  "  The  Roysd 
Diadem,"  a  grand  devotional  and  didactic  hymn  in  845  verses,  giving  a  poet- 
ical resuiki^  of  the  Aristotelian  cosmology,  is  looked  upon  as  his  masterpiece. 
This  "beautiful  and  pathetic  composition  of  profound  philosophical  sentiment 
and  great  devotion,^  the  pious  Israelite  recites  durmg  the  night  passed  in 
watching  and  prayer  before  the  great  Day  of  Atonement.  After  a  brilliant 
introduction,  tms  poem,  in  honor  of  the  floodness  and  power  of  God,  contains 
first,  a  description  of  the  universe,  rich  in  details,  which  gives  us  much 
interesting  information  on  the  ideas  held  by  the  Talmudists  concerning  the 
laws  of  creation;  then  follow  praises  of  the  greatness  and  wisdom  of  God,  as 
manifested  in  the  construction  of  the  human  body.  He  then  dwells,  with 
equal  richness  of  language  and  poetry,  on  the  nothingness  and  miserj  of 


39^  TffB   LiBSAMT  MAQAZWE. 

bumaQ  nature^  and  the  necessity  for  humiliation  before  God  on  account  of 
sin.  The  whole  closes  with  a  prayer  for  the  temporal  and  eternal  preserva- 
tion of  Israel,  their  restoration  to  their  country,  and  the  rebuilding  of  their 
sanctuary,  and  this  is  followed  by  a  magnificent  doxology. 

The  following  lines,  which  speak  of  tne  nothingness  and  misery  of  human 
nature,  we  subjoin  as  a  specimen  of  this  crana  hymn:  ''Man,  firom  his 
existence  is  distressed,  needy,  mortified,  and  afflicted.  From  his  beginning 
he  is  chaff  that  the  wind  blows  away.  From  the  time  he  came  from  his 
mother's  womb,  his  night  is  sorrow,  his  day  sadness.  To-day  he  is  elevated, 
to-morrow  he  breeds  worms;  a  straw  makes  him  draw  back,  a  thorn  wounds 
him.  If  in  abundance,  he  becomes  wicked;  if  hungry,  a  loaf  of  bread  ren- 
ders him  criminal.  He  comes  into  the  world,  but  £nows  not  whence;  he 
rejoices,  but  knows  not  why;  he  lives,  but  knows  not  how  long.  In  his 
youth  he  walks  in  his  depravity.  When  reason  begins  to  give  strencth  to 
nis  mind,  he  diligently  seeks  to  accumulate  wealth.  He  is  constantly  liable 
to  troubles  and  tne  endless  changes  of  events,  subject  to  evil  occurences  that 
happen  every  moment,  u^til  his  life  becomes  a  burden  to  him;  in  his  honey 
he  finds  the  venom  of  vipers.  As  the  infirmities  of  age  increase,  the  intel- 
lectual powers  diminish;  youth  mock  him,  they  rule  him;  he  becomes  a  bur- 
den to  those  who  sprung  from  his  loins  and  all  his  acquaintance  are  estranged 
from  him." 

Gabirol  is  also  the  author  of  another  work  on  ethics,  entitled  Mibchar 
Happeninim:  a  collection  of  ethical  sentences  from  the  Greek  and  Arabian 
philosophers,  which  has  been  translated  into  English  by  B.  H.  Asher,  under 
the  title  "A  Choice  of  Pearls,"  (London  1859!} — Contemporary  with  Ibn 
Gabirol  was — 

Bachja  ibn  Pakuda,  (1050-1100,  a.d.),  sumamed  "the  Moralist."  Little 
is  known  beyond  the  fact  that  he  is  the  author  of  Hhobot  ha-Leiabot  or  "  The 
Duties  of  the  Heart,"  an  ethical  work,  written  in  a  kind  of  poetical  Drose, 
but  considered  as  a  poem  more  on  account  of  its  sublimity  of  style  ana  lan- 
guage, than  for  its  actual  versification.  This  work,  in  which  more  stress  was 
laid  on  internal  morality  than  on  mere  legality,  was  twice  translated  from 
the  Arabic  into  Hebrew,  and  afterwards  into  several  other  languages.  Whether 
Bachja  lived  before,  after,  or  at  the  same  time  with  Gabirol,  is  not  fully  aacer- 
tained ;  but  he  never  mentions  G-abirol  in  any  of  his  books,  which  some  take 
as  a  proof  that  he  lived  before  Gabirol.  "  In  feachja's,  system,"  says  a  modem 
Jewish  writer,  "there  is  no  poetry,  no  idealism,  no  theosophy.  He  is  the  law- 
yer and  judge,  the  practical  jurist,  to  whom  man  and  his  happiness,  here  and 
hereafter,  is  the  object  of  his  philosophical  speculation.  He  is  orthodox  with- 
out an  exception,  in  theology  as  well  as  in  the  acknowledgment  of  the  Jew- 
ish sources,  viz.,  the  Bible  and  the  tradition,  neither  of  which  he  subjects  to 
any  criticism.  But  he  adds  to  these  two  sources  of  information  a  third,  viz., 
Beason,  which  he  places  at  the  head,  and  thus  by  means  of  Beason,  Seriptore, 
and  Tradition,  he  seeks  to  demonatrate  that  the  performance  of  apiritaal 


POST'TALMtJDIC  BEBBEW  LITEMATUS£. 


303 


duties  is  not  a  mere  supererogatory  addition  to  that  piety  which  is  manifested 
in  obedience  to  law,  liut  is  the  foundation  of  all  laws.  vAs  a  poet  Bachja  is 
especially  famed  for  a  poem  on  "  Self-examination,"  which  is  appended  to  the 
Hhobot  na-Lebabot^  wntten  in  the  style  of  the  Arabic  7nakam%m^  or  rhymes 
without  metre,  and  of  which  the  following  is  a  translation  by  Rev.  M. 
Jastrow  {Jewish  IndeXj  1872) : — 


*  Bless,  the  Lord,  my  eoal  and  all  that  is 
within  me,  bless  his  holy  name!'' 

Mj  aonl,  step  forth  with  yictoiioas 
stren^h 

And  thy  Creator  pratae 

With  thy  sweetest  lays. 

Ponr  ont  before  Him  thj  cares  and  vows; 

From  thy  slnmber  roose  I 
Think  of  thy  home, 
Keep  in  view  the  track, 
Remember  whence  thou  art  come- 
Whither  thou  goest  back. 

My  soul,   be   not  senseless,  like  a  beast, 

deeply  sunk, 
Be  not  drow^,  with  passion  drunk. 
Hewn  from  reason's  mine  thou  art — 
From  wisdom's  well  thy  waters  start— 
From  a  holy  place  thou  went'st  forth — 
From  the  city  of  strength  thou  wast  sent  to 

earth — 
From  the  Lord's  heavenly  realm. 

My  soul,  gird  thyself  with  intellect, 

Be  with  wisdom's  garment  decked. 

Rend  asunder  the  rope, 

From  the  body's  prison  elope ; 

Let  its  wanton  pleasures  not  capture  thee — 

Its  showy  treasures  not  enrapture  ^ee ; 

They  melt  away, 

Like  the  dew  before  the  day. 

They  avail  naught  when  they  begin, 

And  their  end  is  shame  and  sin. 

My  soul,  look  carefully  back 
On  thy  pilgrim's  track] 
All  cometh  forth  ftom  dust. 
And  to  the  dast  return  it  must  1 
Whatever  has  been  moulded  and  built, 
When  the  time  is  fulfilled. 
Must  go  to  the  ground, 
Where  its  material  was  found  I 

Death  is  Lif^s  brother— 
They  keep  fast  to  one  another, 
Bjbch  taking  hold  of  one  end  of  their  plun- 
der, 
ind  none  can  tear  them  asnnderl 


Over  that  bridge,  fragile,  as  glass, 

All  living  on  earth  must  pass  1 

Life  is  the  ingress, 

Death  the  egress ; 

Life  builds  up. 

Death  tears  down. 

Life  sows, 

Death  mows ; 

Life  sets  the  shoots. 

Which  death  uproots 

Life  combines. 

Death  untwines; 

Life  together  strings, 

Death  asunder  flings ! 

Behold  this,  and  keep  well  in  mind. 

The  chalice  is  for  thee,  too,  designed. 

And  thou  must  leave  at  once 

Thy  lodging  room, 

When  thy  time  has  come 

For  the  silent  tomb. 

Then  thou  wilt  come 

To  thy  eternal  home. 

Where  ,thou   shall   show   thy   wwk   and 

receive  thy  wages, 
On  rightful  scales  and  gauges. 
Or  good  or  bad,  according  to  the  worth 
Of  thy  deeds  on  earth. 

Therefore,  incline  thine  ear 

To  my  lessons,  and  hear; 

Forget  what  on  earth  thou  hast  dear. 

Get  thee  up,  and  to  thy  Maiter  pray, 

By  night  and  by  day ; 

Bow  down  before  Him—- be  meek. 

And  let  thy  tears  bedew  thy  cheek. 

Beg  on  thy  bended  knees. 

Perhaps  thy  King  will  please 

To  lift  up  to  thee  His  face. 

And  grant  thee  peace  and  grace; 

That  His  menT*  shine  forth 

On  thee  while  on  earth. 

And  when  returning  to  thy  rest — 

As  He  hath  ever  blest 

Thee  from  the  day  of  thy  birth. 

My  soul,  provision  for  thy  Joum^  piepaie. 

Gather  plenl^— do  not  spare; 

For  long  is  the  way. 

Nor  portpone  in  slow  delaj. 


3d4 


HUE   LiBtLABt   MAQAZISB. 


Say  not  to-morrow 
I  will  borrow 
What  I  need  for  the  wa/i 
For  Bwift  paaaeo  iha  di^, 

Thore  is  noDe  to  ioracaat. 

The  day  that  is  gone 

Is  lost  like  a  shade, 

Bat  what  thereon  tiiou  hast  done 

Is  counted  and  paid. 

Say  not, "  To-morrow  I  wUl  do  my  tttk." 

When  comes  the  dying  day  ? 

None  can  say 

or  all  then  mayest  ask. 

Therefore  hasten  to  do  each  day  its  woffk, 

Far  the  deadly  arrows  lurk; 

The  bow  is  b^t, 

Let  thy  mind  be  intent 

On  doing  thy  dnty  each  day. 

Care  for  no  rest— be  prepared ; 

For  man  most  fly  away, 

Like  a  bird  from  his  nest, 

When  scared. 

Nor  think,  **  When  I  am  released  ih»n 

prison, 
And  I  am  arisen, 
I  will  return  and  repent 
For  a  livelong  day  mispenl'* 
For  doing  go^  no  time  can  then  be  won, 
For  evil  pursuit  the  temptation  is  gone. 
Return  cannot  avail. 
Repentance  must  fidl. 
Remorse  cannot  tee 
From  iniquity. 
To  render  account, 
And  pay  in  full  amount, 
Is  thy  destiny  in  yonder  world; 
There  the  scroll  lies  unfhrled. 
Where,  with  man's  own  hand. 
His  acts  are  sealed, 
Though  here  carefully  concealed. 
There,  every  good  deed 
Shall  find  its  meed. 


Who  fean  the  Loid  hsn^ 

To  him  shall  be  nair. 

And  jB^tfBMBBt  dnil  be  shown 

Ts  those  who  disown    ^ 

The  Lord  and  His  throne  I 

Who  say  to  their  Ood, 

^  Go  out  of  our  road; 

Who  is  the  Almigh^,  that  we  ahoQld  Mrre 

Him, 
And  what  boots  it  that  we  entreat Hiai?" 

My  aool,  If  thon  art  wis^  it  iatiilMOwn 

gain; 
If  Ibolish,  it  is  to  thine  ewn  pain. 
Therefore  accept  comMst-he  wise ; 
Do  not  deq^ae, 
But  in  thy  neart  deep  hold 
What  David's  scm  hath  told, 
"  Hear  my  concluding  word. 
Fear  the  Lord," 

And  observe  His  eonimandnMnti  holy. 
For  this  is  the  man  solely. 
Every  deed  in  God's  court  will  be  aned, 
Whether  bad  or  good. 
And  what  here  is  concealed 
Will  there  be  revealed.'' 
Forget  not, ''man  with  hia  hand  slgnahis 

name. 
And  his  acta  he  cannot  disclaim.** 
Bemember,  **no  darkness,  no  shade  of  death 
Can  hide  those  who  tread  the  wicked  path.' 
Seek  the  Lord,  thy  Uc^t, 
With  all  thy  might 
Walk  in  meekness— parsne  zi|^t^ 
That  thou  be  bidden  with  thy  ICaster 
On  the  day  of  disaster. 
Then    shalt   thon  ahina  lika  the  heavcna 

bright, 
And  like  the  son  when  going  teth  in 

might. 
And  o'er  thy  head 
Shall  bespnad. 

The  rays  of  the  son  of  grace  that  hrlngi^ 
Health  and  joy  on  his  wings." 


To  this  period  also  belongs  Itacha,  also  called  Bkn-Jasus,  and  by  hia 
Arabic  name,  Abu  Ibrahim  Isaac  ibn  Kastar  {or  Saktar)  hen  Jasus  of  Toledo, 
(bom  A.  D.  982,  and  died  in  1057).  He  was  iamons  as  a  physician 
philosopher,  grammarian,  and  commentator.  He  wrote  a  Hebrew  grammar, 
called  "  The  Book  of  Syntax,^^  and  Sepher  Itzohaki^  on  bibioal  oritioism,  in 
which  he  boldly  criticises  that  portion  of  Genesis  which  describes  ibt 
Kings  of  Idumeai  (Gen.  xxxvi,  80  8eq.\  maintaining  that  it  was  written 
many  centuries  after  Moses. 

Looking  bej^ond  the  Pyrenees  we  find  about  this  time  the  beginniiig  cf 


t^E  MlQHEk  EbucATiolr  oP  WokElt.  S&5 

Bible  exegesis  with  Itoucanuc  ben-chslbo,  the  author  of  a  commeotary 
OD  the  whole  bible,  of  whioh  a  fi»w  fri^gmeiite  are  only  preserved.  His 
brother  was  Siiceon  ben-ghslbo  Caba  also  Smscnr  iU-DAB0HAV,  the  author 
of  a  famous  collection  of  Midrashim,  on  almost  every  verse  of  the  Odd 
Testament  which  he  published  under  the  name  of  Talkut.  This  vast 
thesaurus  contains  a  condensed  commentary  on  the  entire  Old  Testament, 
and  gives  the  substance  of  more  than  fifty  books,  many  of  which  are  lost. 
The  lalkut  has  often  been  printed  since  its  first  publication  in  1521. 

We  cannot  omit  to  mention  Babbi  Moses  of  IT arbonne,  a  pupil  of  Babbi 
Gershon,  and  teacher  of  Nathan,  the  author  of  the  Artu^.  Moses  com- 
posed a  commentary  on  the  Pentateuch  and  on  other  parts  of  the  Old 
Testament.  These  expositions  are  only  known  from  the  copious  and  numer- 
ous fragments  which  we  find  bv  Baymond  Martin  in  his  Pugio  Fidei  fParis, 
1651;  Leipsic,  1687,)  both  in  the  onginal  Hebrew  and  in  a  Latin  translation, 
and  others.  On  account  of  his  pulpit  eloquence  Babbi  Moses  received  the 
honorary  surname  of  ha-Drashan  or  "The  Preacher." 

To  this  time,  probably,  belongs  The  Book  Zerubabel,  the  work  of  an 
Italian  mystic,  according  to  Gratz,  between  1050-1060.  It  is  an  apocalyptic 
book,  written  in  the  form  of  a  dialogue  between  Zerubabel  and  the  angel 
Metatron,  about  the  birth,  education,  life,  war  and  death  of  Armillu,  who 
is  about  to  appear  after  the  war  between  Gog  and  Magog,  etc.  The  won- 
ders of  the  Messiah  are  to  be  seen,  between  1068  and  1068.  It  was  first 
printed  in  Constantinople  in  1579  and  of  late  it  was  published  by  Jellinek 
in  his  Beth  ha-midash  (vol.  II.  p.  54  seq,,  Leipsic  1858^. 

Among  the  Karaites,  the  literature  of  this  time  is  hardly  worth  men- 
tioning. The  only  representative  was  Jacob  ben  Bsuben,  the  author  of  a 
biblical  commentary,  entitled  Se/er  ha-  Oshir,  written  about  1050,  and  who 
probably  lived  in  the  Byzantine  Empire.  The  study  of  Hebrew  grammar, 
which  they  cultivated  so  much  at  their  first  start,  was  now  so  neglected, 
that  Ali  Ibn  Sulaiman,  the  author  of  a  Hebrew  Lexicon  in  the  Arabic  lan- 
guage was  obliged  to  accept  Ibn  Hayug's  grammatical  rules  and  notes. — 
Bernhabd  Pice. 


THE  HIGHEB  EDUCATION  OF  WOMEN. 

It  has  often  been  remarked  that  men  and  women  after  middle  age,  and 
sometimes  before  that  period,  are  much  averse  to  change  of  any  sort. 
They  share  Montaigne's  aversion  to  novelty.  *^Je  suis  deagouU  de  nouvellete 
quetque  visage  qu'eUe  porte,**  remarks  that  genial  old  philosopher.  Without 
perhaps  actually  stating  the  opinion  that "  Whatever  is,  is  right/',  we  may 
yet  say  that  deep  down  in  the  nearts  of  men  and  women  who  have  passed 


396  Jtefi    ttBBABt   MAQA^INB, 

'  their  first  youth  is  the  firm  conviction  that  whatever  was  good  ienotigh  for 
them  and  their  fathers  is  good  enough  for  the  growing  generation.  But  as 
an  able  woman,  one  who  herself  felt  acutely  tne  cramping  and  narrowing 
influences  that  so  fetter  the  lives  of  women,  has  said,  '^  To  delight  in  doing 
things  because  our  fathers  did  them  is  good  if  it  shuts  out  nothing  better ; 
it  enlarges  the  range  of  affection — and  affection  is  the  broadest  basis  of 
good  in  life."  And  it  is  because  one  believes  that  by  the  opposition  to  the 
movement  for  the  Higher  Education  of  Women  much  good  will  be  shut 
out,  that  one  is  much  dismayed  by  the  antagonism  displayed  towards  it. 
Many  and  various  have  been  the  opinions  expressed  on  this  subject,  and  so 
general  has  been  the  bulk  of  publiclv  expressed  opinion  against  this  higher 
education^  as  almost  to  justinr  the  head  of  one  of  the  best  of  our  colleges 
for  women  in  her  complaint  that  "  public  opinion  is  ver^  much  against  our 
work."  But  to  those  who  believe  in  the  truth  of  their  cause,  opposition, 
however  general,  can  never  damp  their  ardor;  and  they  are  further  com- 
forted by  the  reflection  that  '4n  human  affairs  no  extension  of  belief, 
however  widespread,  is  per  ae  evidence  of  truth." 

The  objections  that  have  been  urged  against  this  movement  may  be 
shortly  summarized  as  follows : — The  opponents  of  higher  education  for 
women  tell  us  that  it  will  so  tax  and  enfeeble  the  energies  of  women  that 
their  constitutions  will  prove  unequal  to  the  strain.  Nay,  with  a  cool 
assumption  of  the  point  at  issue,  characteristic,  one  regrets  to  say,  of  the 
opponents  of  this  movement,  they  tell  us  that  "  women,  though  they  may 
give  up  every  thought  of  matrimony,  are  unequal  to  the  strain,  and  bad 
better  remain  unequal."  Further,  however,  probably  with  an  uncomfortable 
conviction  that  women,  by  virtue  of  this  fatal  higher  education,  have  already 
accomplished  a  good  deal,  it  is  argued  that,  even  should  they  succeed  in 
rivalling  men  in  work  hitherto  confined  to  men,  the  women's  strength  will 
be  so  exhausted  that  they  will  prove  unequal  to  the  further  strain  entailed 
by  the  duties  of  matrimony  with  its  consequent  motherhood.  The  result 
of  this  enfeeblement  will  be  that  the  children  of  such  highly  educated 
women  will  be  weak  and  immature,  and  so  there  will  be  perpetuated,  not 
only  fewer  children — not  certainly  an  unmixed  evil — but  that  these  children 
will,  in  the  natural  course  of  events,  bring  forth  descendants  unable  to 
survive  in  the  battle  of  life.  And  we  learn  from  a  woman,  herself  of  con- 
siderable ability,  that  this  evil  result  and  more  has  already  ensued,  short  as 
is  the  time  during  which  this  higher  education  has  been  in  operation.  Mrs. 
Lynn  Linton  asserts  that  "  the  number  of  women  who  cannot  nurse  thei 
own  children  is  yearly  increasing  in  the  educated  and  well-conditionec 
classes,  and  coincident  with  this  special  failure  is  the  increase  of  uterine 
disease.  This  I  have,"  adds  Mrs.  Linton,  "from  one  of  our  most  famous 
specialists."  One  may  remark  on  this,  in  passing,  that  the  above  assertion 
is  an  interesting  example  of  non  sequttur.    There  are  many  features  ol 


THE  HIGHEB  EDUCATION  OF  WOMEN.  397 

social  life  also  coincident  with  this  higher  education,  but  they  are  not  bj 
any  means  necessarily  due  to  this  education.  Further,  Miss  F.  P.  Cobbe, 
in  an  extremely  interesting  paper  on  the  ''  Little  Health  of  Ladies,"  in  the 
Contemporary  lieview,  1878,  holds  a  view  that  differs  widely  from  that  of 
Mrs.  Linton.  Miss  Cobbe  points  out  that  it  is  especially  among  the  wealthy 
and  well-conditioned  classes  that  there  is  so  much  illness,  but  she  ascribes 
its  prevalence  to  causes  none  of  which  can  be  described  as  in  the  remotest 
dfegree  connected  with  excessive  exercise  of  the  brain. 

It  is  further  argued  that  to  be  successful  in  the  race  some  women  wish 
to  run — i.  e.,  to  reach  a  slightly  higher  intellectual  level  than  they  at  pres- 
ent occupy — they  must  remain  a  class  apart;  they  must,  in  fact,  be  cell- 
bates.  As  it  has  been  very  frankly,  if  not  very  intelligently,  asserted: 
^^To  justify  the  cost  oi  her  education  a  woman  ought  to  aevote  herself  to 
its  use,  else  does  it  come  under  the  head  of  waste;  and  to  devote  herself  to 
its  use,  she  ought  to  make  herself  celibate  by  philosophy  and  for  the  utili- 
zation of  her  material."  She  must,  in  short,  give  up  all  thoughts  of 
domestic  pleasures  save  and  except  those  that  are  enjoyed  by  bachelora. 
And,  it  being  assumed  that  higher  education  is  only  compatible  with 
celibacy,  and  that  only  the  better  class  of  women  will  go -in  tor  it,  we  are 
told  that  only  infbrior  women  would  be  left  to  perpetuate  the  race,  to  the 
great  detriment  of  society.  Among  other  disabilities  that  are  prophesied 
for  tho.^e  women  who  are  rash  enough  to  wish  to  cultivate  their  orams,  one 
finds  that  they  must  discard  petticoats,  which  hamper  their  movements, 
and  so  liinder  them  from  competing  efi'ectually  with  men  in  men^s  occupa- 
tions. **  Whatever,"  says  Dr.  Eichardson,  "therefore,  there  is  of  elegance 
in  the  present  form  of  female  attire,  that  must  be  sacrificed  to  the  neces- 
sities of  com  petition  with  men  in  the  work  common  to  men;"  and  then  he 
adds  this  highly  instructive,  and,  one  ventures  to  think,  highly  original, 
view  of  the  importance  of  woman^s  dress,  and  which  may  possibly  cause 
soma  women  to  reconsider  their  determination: — "The  dress  she  wears 
und^r  the  regime  of  woman,  the  mother  of  men  and  women,  is  the  sign  of 
the  destiny  which  hol<js  her  fi'om  the  active  work  of  men,  and  which 
affords  her  the  opportunit^r  for  bedecking  herself  so  as  to  fulfil  hei  destiny 
with  elegance  and  fascination."  Surely  the  gospel  of  clothes  could  no  fur- 
ther go.  It  is  also  maintained  that  tnis  fumllmg  of  her  destiny  with  ele- 
gance and  fascination,  or  otherwise,  will  be  seriously  interfered  with  by 
leading  to  a  modification  of  the  present  mode  of  dress,  concerning  the 
beauty  of  which  opinions  differ.  But  should  woman  be  so  ill-advised  as  to 
enter  the  ranks  with  men  she  will  find  that,  just  as  men's  occupations  stamp 
tliemielves  in  repression  of  visage,  in  tone  of  voice,  in  carriage  of  body, 
and  in  size  and  shape  of  hands,  so  must  she  not  hope  to  escape  this  sup- 
posed degradation  of  elegance  and  beauty  entailed  by  these  modifications. 
Finally — this  time  also  an  aesthetic  argument,  and  therefore  supposed  to  be 


398  TEE    LIBBABY    MAGAZINE. 

peculiarly  adapted  to  oonyince  female  intellects,  and  those  who  believe  that 
there  is,  after  all,  something  higher  for  woman  to  do  than  simplj  to  1)edeck 
herself  for  the  fulfilling  of  her  destiny  with  elegance  and  faiscination — 
woman  is  warned  that,  should  she  persist  in  her  ill-advised  course,  the 
awful  result  will  ensue  that  her  forenead  will  become  slightly  larger,  as  a 
necessary  consequence  of  the  increase  of  brain  power;  and  it  seems  that 
some  sdsthetio  genius  has  laid  it  down,  apparently  for  all  time,  that  in 
woman  "a  large  forehead  is  felt  to  derogate  from  beauty." 

The  value  of  this  aesthetic  peculiarity  of  woman's  forehead  can  be  prop- 
erly appreciated  only  when  we  learn  that  "the  frontal  regions,  which  cor- 
respond to  the  non-excitable  region  of  the  brain  of  the  monkey,  are  small 
or  rudimentary  in  the  lower  animals,  anJ  their  intelligence  and  powers  of 
reflective  thought  eorreapond."  ♦  And  from  his  researches,  Professor  Ferrier 
sees  reason  to  believe  that  "development  of  the  frontal  lobes  is  greatest  in 
men  with  the  highest  intellectual  powers,  and,  taking  one  man  with 
another,  the  greatest  intellectual  power  is  characteristic  of  the  one  with  the 
greatest  frontal  development."  When  we  thus  turn  to  science,  we  get 
small  encouragement  for  our  admiration  of  small  foreheads — an  admiration 
that  is  very  analogous  to  the  complacency  with  which  the  Chinese  regard  the 
distorted  and  unnatural  feet  of  their  women.  The  foregoing  objections 
form  a  list  of  disabilities,  social,  physical,  and  moral,  that  is  sufficiently 
appalling  to  minds  accustomed  to  accept  all  ex  eathedrd  statements  as  gos- 
pel, and  to  receive  assertions,  as  established  facts,  and  we  know  that 
women's  minds  are  peculiarly  susceptible  to  such  influences. 

But  through  all  the  objections  there  run  two  assumptions,  neither  of 
which  is  warranted  by  anything  much  beyond  the  dictum  of  some  more  or 
less  trustworthy  authority,  and  a  few  cases  of  injury  produced  by  injudi- 
cious and  excessive  studv,  probably  conioined  with  a  delicate  constitution. 
These  assumptions  are — (l)  that  this  higher  education  of  women,  as  carried 
out,  say,  at  Qirton  and  Newnham,  is  inconsistent  with  physical  health;  and 
(2)  it  is  implied  and  assumed  that  the  physical  health  of  the  women  of  the 
present  day  is  of  an  extremely  satisfactory  character.  Before  proceeding 
to  examine  these  points,  we  may  remark  as  rather  a  melancholy  fact  that 
most  of  the  opposition  to  this  movement  comes,  not  from  the  uneducated 
and  illiterate,  out  from  the  learned  and  from  those  who,  with  more  knowl- 
edge, ought  to  know  better;  particularly  is  it  in  the  medical  profession  that 
the  most  bitter  opposition  is  met  with.  The  attitude  of  this  profession 
towards  women  wno  have  endeavored  to  enter  medicine,  in  whicn  there  is 
a  great  sphere  for  them,  has  been,  one  regrets  to  say  it,  one  of  uncompro- 
mising hostility;  so  much  so  as  to  pretty  nearly  justify  Miss  F.  P.  Cobbe 
when  she  says  that  the  wisdom  of  the  medical  profession  on  this  subject 
may  be  thus  summed  up: — 

^ ^ ^ 

*  Fenier,  FmuikmB  of  the  Bnm. 


THE  EIQEEB  EDUCATION  OF  WOMEN.  3»9 

'' WoBMa,  beware  I"  it  cries;  "bewmret  Toa  are  mi  the  brink  of  deetmction.  Yon  ba^e 
bitberto  been  en^Med  onlj  in  cmebiiig  your  waietB;  now  jon  are  attempting  to  coltlTate 
joar  mindal  Ton  naTe  been  merely  dancing  all  nigbt  in  the  fonl  air  of  ball-rooms ;  now 
joa  are  begimiog  to  qMQd  yoor  mornings  in  study.  Ton  have  been  incessantly  stimnlat- 
ing  year  emotions  with  eoneerte  and  operas,  with  French  plays  and  French  noTels;  now  yon 
are  exerting  yonr  nnderstanding  to  learn  Qreek  and  soItc  propoeitions  in  Enclid !  Beware, 
oh  beware!    Science  pronounces  that  the  woman  who  ttudiM^VA  lost  I " 

To  thofio  who  kiK>v  anything  of  the  oppoeition  manifested  by  the  medical 
profession  towards  this  movement,  saon  a  description  as  tne  foregoing, 
though  severe,  must  appear  accurate.  But,  as  was  remarked,  it  has  been 
too  readily  implied  that  the  health  of  those  women  who  are  most  likely  to 
go  in  ion  this  higher  education  is  at  present  good — an  assumption  which 
any  one  on  very  short  consideration  can  contradict  from  his  own  experience. 

W  here  do  we  find  grown  girls  whose  physical  health  and  nervous  energy 
aie  such  that  they  would  go  a  long  walk  for  the  sake  of  the  physical  exer- 
oise  it  ^ves  them  ?  But  we  do  find  too  many  girls  who,  at  the  age  when 
the  bodily  condition  should  be  most  vigorous,  and  their  nervous  energy 
most  active,  find  their  strength  and  nervous  energy  quite  exhausted  by  the 
labor  required  for  dressing  and  going  for  a  solemn  walk  into  town,  wnence 
they  return  exhausted  and  fasged  out,  instead  of  benefited.  And  can  we 
wonder  at  this,  when  we  see  tne  methods  invented  by  fashion  to  so  attire 
our  women  that  their  arms  and  legs  are  so  hampereo,  and  their  bodies  so 
compressed,  that  free  active  exercise  is  impossible?  No  wonder  then  that 
woman  should  find  it  such  a  trouble  to  dress,  and  that,  being  such  a  trouble, 
it  is  as  often  as  possible  avoided,  until  her  exercise  is  pretty  much  as  lim- 
ited as  that  of  the  model  woman  in  Socrates,  where  the  good  husband 
"advises  his  wife  to  take  exercise  by  folding  up  and  putting  by  clothes,  so 
obtaining  what  she  ought  to  have  obtained  by  walking  out." 

Such  meagre  exercise  as  our  women  take  is  quite  inconsistent,  not  only 
with  health,  but  with  beauty.  Any  one  who  knows  anything  of  gynaecol- 
ogy is  aware  that  many  feminine  troubles  are  due  solely  to  want  of  exer- 
cise, with  consequent  weak  and  defective  health;  and  more  cases  come 
under  the  notice  of  specialists,  famous  or  otherwise,  from  this  defective  and 
weak  state  of  health  of  our  women,  than  have  ever  come,  or  are  ever  likely 
to  come,  from  the  injurious  effects  of  this  higher  education.  So  prevalent 
is  the  general  weak  physical  condition  of  women  that  one  cannot  but  agree 
with  Miss  Cobbers  reflection — "that  the  Creator  should  have  planned  a 
vhole  sex  of  patients,  that  the  normal  condition  of  the  female  of  the  human 
peeies  shoula  be  to  have  legs  which  walk  not,  and  brains  which  can  only 
irork  on  pain  of  disturbing  the  rest  of  the  ill-adjusted  machine — this  is  to 
ne  simply  incredible." 

With  a  higher  intellectual  training,  and  the  mind  consequently  more 
M^tively  employed,  one  can  safely  say  that  specialists  in  women's  dfiseases 
Tould  lose  many  of  their  most  profitable  patientSi  many  of  whom  come 


400  TEE    LIBBABY   MAGAZINE. 

under  their  care  from  that  fruitfnl  source  of  feminine  ills — an  unoccupied 
mind  and  the  consequent  ennui.  Were  a  doctor  to  lose  his  female  patients 
he  would  lose  a  considerable  part  of  his  practice,  depending,  as  it  does  lo 
so  great  an  extent,  on  the  many  ailments  so  certain  to  a&ct  any  creature 
so  "cribbed,  cabined,  and  confined"  as  are  most  of  our  women.  For  one 
case  of  woman's  disease  that  comes  under  the  care  of  a  medical  man,  due  to 
the  injurious  effects  of  this  higher  education,  there  are  a  score  of  women 
that  come  under  his  care  for  similar  diseases  that  have  no  such  explanation 
as  over-exercise  of  brain  to  offer  as  the  cause  of  their  ailment.  To  assume, 
therefore,  that  the  present  or  past  health  of  our  women  is  anything 
approaching  the  standard  of  physical  excellence  is  an  assumption  indeed. 
What  women  have  already  done  in  mechanical  work  Dr.  Eichardson  has 
told  us.  As  editors  of  papers,  and  as  managers  of  business  houses,  women 
have  proved  their  capacity.  As  clerks  in  the  Post-Office,  which  can  only 
be  entered  by  competitive  examination,  the  Postmaster-General  has 
announced  that  they  have  proved  their  competency.  And  it  is  a  sign  of 
good  omen  that,  at  a  meeting  of  compositors  and  printers  in  London  a  short 
time  ago,  there  was  passed  a  resolution  on  this  subject,  in  which,  while 
expressing  a  strong  opinion  that  "women  are  not  physically  capable  of  per- 
forming the  duties  of  a  compositor,"  the  conference  recommended  the 
admission  of  female  compositors  into  the  Union,  "upon  the  same  conditions 
as  journeymen,  provided  always  the  females  are  paid  strictly  in  accordance 
with  the  scale." 

When  one  proceeds  to  more  purely  intellectual  work,  one  finds  that  in 
the  examinations  for  the  Triposes  held  at  Girton  and  Kewnham,  as  well  as 
in  the  ordinary  B.  A.  Degree  Examination,  and  at  London  University, 
women  have  proved  themselves  the  equals  of  men;  while  the  list  of 
appointments  subsequently  held  by  those  who  have  so  succesBfully  passed 
their  examinations — appointments  as  medical  officers  at  home  and  a oroad, 
as  well  as  to  educational  positions  entailing  onerous  and  fatiguing  duties — 
sufficiently  demonstrates,  one  would  imagine,  that  there  are,  at  any  rate, 
very  many  women  who,  besides  having  been  capable  of  the  physical  and 
mental  strain,  necessary  to  pass  such  examinations,  are  yet  further  able  to 
undertake  and  fulfil  the  duties  of  posts  that  necessarily  involve  much  men- 
tal and  physical  work.  But  though  this  is  so,  one  cannot,  and  one  need 
not,  ignore  the  fact  that  occasionally  cases  do  undoubtedly  occur  of  serious 
injury  to  the  health  of  women  from  over-exercise  of  brain ;  nor  is  this 
result  to  be  wondered  at.  We  know  4hat  when  a  low  t^^pe  of  civilization 
corn3.s  into  contact  and  competition  with  one  of  a  higher  grade,  an  evil 
re.sfilt  to  the  lower  type  will  ensue.  The  law  of  survival  of  the  fittest  will 
come  into  operation,  the  weaker  will  suffer,  and  those  that  survive  will  be 
those  m.).4t  suitable  for  the  stages  of  evolution  necessary  in  the  progress  of 
a  lower  to  a  higher  type.    So,  though  to  a  much  more  limited  extent^  will 


TEE  HIGSEE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMEN.  401 

mifeoMef  ensue  wh^n  a  lower  type  of,  or  a  less  highly  developed,  brain 
endeavors,  without  previous  careful  training,  to  undertake  tasks  easy  to  the 
more  highly  trained  intellect  of  man. 

Through  many  generations,  women  have  been  kept  intellectually  in 
swaddling  clothes.  Just  as  the  Chinese  cramp  up  the  feet  of  their  girls 
and  get  ridiculed  for  their  pains,  so  do  we,  with  more  enlightenment,  and 
therefore  with  more  sin,  circumscribe  the  mental  growth  of  our  girls, 
thereby  earning,  if  not  receiving,  the  ridicule  that  is  properly  our  due. 
From  the  earliest  years  this  cramping  and  paralyzing  influence  begins.  At 
an  age  when  physiologically  there  is  little  difference  between  the  sexes,  the 
boy  expends  his  surplus  nervous  energy  on  his  rough  but  healthy  games, 
untrammelled  by  clinging  garments ;  while  the  girl  is  taught,  even  thus 
early,,  that  it  is  improper  and  unbecoming  to  romp  about  as  her  nervous 
energy  would  dictate;  and,  as  if  still  further  to  hamper  the  natural,  healthy 
movements  of  the  body,  we  dress  our  girls  in  materials  readily  soiled,  witn. 
pinafores  and  ribbons,  which  they  are  carefully  enjoined— dear  little  souls! 
— to  keep  scrupulously  clean.  Later  on,  this  difference  in  training,  while 
stiU  continuing  and  increasing  as  regards  the  physical  education,  is  extended 
to  the  mental  culture,  and  various  subjects — ^for  example,  Euclid  and  alge- 
bra— are  excluded,  for  some  occult  reason,  from  the  curriculum  for  girls, 
the  male  brain  alone  being  evidently  considered  capable  of  tackling  such 
studies.  So  that  by  the  time  girls  are  fully  grown  we  find  that,  from  want 
of  proper  exercise  m  their  earlier  days,  their  bodies  are  weaker  than  those 
of  Doys,  and,  from  the  starving  system  adopted  in  the  mental  training,  the 
woman's  brain  is  necessarily  very  imperfectly  developed.  And  thus,  as  a 
consequence,  woman  is  incapable  of  much  healthy  exercise,  as  walking, 
and  quite  incapable  of  runmng — whoever  saw  a  young  lady  run? — while 
her  highest  intellectual  aspirations  are  usually  fully  satisfied  by  a  perusal 
of  the  fashion-column  of  the  newspaper,  supplemented  by  social  studies, 
gathered  from  novels,  sav,  by  the  late  Mrs.  Henrv  Wood. 

Even  now,  when  much  progress  has  been  made,  when  Oxford  and  Cam- 
bridge teachers  accept  fees  from  the  students  of  Girton  and  Newnham,  and 
examine  them  as  they  do  the  students  at  the  Universities,  we  find  a  curious 
survival  of  this  circumscribing  process,  because,  while  the  girls  undergo 
examinations  for  the  degree  of  B.  A.,  this  degree  is  withheld  from  them. 
It  is  laid  down  thus :  "  To  all  women  who  pass  any  one  or  more  of  the 
Triposes,  certificates  are  now  fomaally  granted  by  the  University,  declaring 
that  they  have  attained  to  the  standard  of  the  first,  second,  or  third  class 
in  an  honors  examination  for  the  B.  A.  degree ;  hut  this  degree,  for  various 
reckons,  is  not  con/erred  upon  themP  For  the  same  curious  but  unaccount- 
able reason  one  may  suppose  it  is  that  we  are  familiar  now  with  the  spec- 
tacle of  a  girl  bein^  allowed  to  compete  for  a  scholarship,  but,  on  gaining 


402  THE    LIBRARY   MAGAZINE, 

the  first  pUce,  the  prize  is  denied  to  the  suooessfdl  student  because  she  hap- 
pens to  be  a  girl. 

The  intellectual  features  that  characterize  women  correspond  to  what  one 
would  expect  from  human  beings  confined  and  hampered,  bodily  and  men- 
tally, as  women  are.  The  development  of  a  girl  into  a  woman  is  much 
more  rapid  than  that  of  a  boy  to  a  fiilly  grown  man.  This  early  develop- 
ment is  one  of  the  most  characteristic  features  of  all  simple  and  lowly 
developed  organisms,  which  are  developed  slower  the  more  complex  and 
highly  organized  they  are.  Further,  women  are  very  impulsive  and  prone 
to  act  on  and  trust  to  what  they  call  their  instincts,  which  are  only  their 
imperfectly  trained  powers.  They  are  extremely  credulous — a  feature  that 
renders  them  peculiarly  open  to  anything  that  assumes  the  appearance  of 
authority.  Finally,  they  are  characterized  by  great  emotional  excitability, 
partly  due,  of  course,  to  physiological  peculiarities,  but  more  due  to  the 
want  of  development  of  any  controlling  power,  which  is  only  to  be  attained 
by  education  of  the  higher  brain-centres. 

"  In  proportion,"  says  Professor  Ferrier,  "  to  the  development  and  degree  of  education  oi 
the  centres  of  inhibition  do  acts  of  volition  lose  their  impalsive  character  and  acquire  the 
aspect  of  deliberation.  ....  If  the  centres  of  inhibition,  and  thereby  the  faculty  of  atten- 
tion, are  weak,  or  present  impulses  unusually  strong,  Tolition  is  impulsiTe  rather  than 
deliberate." 

And  Professor  Ferrier  comes  to  the  conclusion  that  Vthe  centres  of 
inhibition  being  thus  the  essential  factors  of  attention,  constitute  the  organic 
basis  of  all  the  higher  intellectual  faculties,  and  in  proportion  to  their 
development  we  should  expect  a  corresponding  intellectual  power."  In 
fact,  in  woman  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that,  owing  to  the  want  of  any  coun- 
teracting influence,  'Hhe  emotional  is  at  its  maximum,  and  the  intellectual  or 
discrimination  is  at  its  minimum."  This  being  so,  is  it  at  all  wonderful  if, 
when  these  women  or  their  children  are  set  to  unwonted  intellectual  tasks, 
there  should  ensue  some  evil  results  ?  But  let  us  attribute  the  evil  resolta 
to  their  true  cause,  which  is  found  in  our  old  vicious  social  customs,  which, 
by  hindering  the  full  physical  development  of  our  girls,  render  them  weak 
and  delicate  in  body,  and,  by  limiting  their  studies  in  school,  necessarily 
unfit  them  for  undertaking  higher  intellectual  work.  The  reports  by  some 
inspectors  of  schools,  which  are  so  often  brought  forward  for  the  discomfit- 
ure of  those  who  believe  implicitly  in  statistics,  are  anything  but  conclu- 
sive against  the  higher  education  of  woman.  The  reports,  at  least  ( 
quoted,  are  devoted  mainly  to  pointing  out  that  there  exists  much  faea 
ache  among  the  children,  wnich  may  easily  be.  But  to  attribute  this  hes 
ache  to  higher  education  alone  is  surely  a  very  unscientific  proceedin  ; 
more  especially  when  we  hear  nothing  al)out  the  state  of  ventilation  of  ti  • 
schools,  the  amount  of  time  devoted  to  exercise,  and  whether  there  is  an 
irregular  and  improper  feeding,  all  of  which  factors  have  been  proved  ' 


TEE  maRJSB  EDUCATION  OF  W^MEN,  40S 

prodace  headaolies  and  other  evils.  In  dxildren^s  sohools,  too,  there  is 
often  too  much  expected  from  the  pupils,  and  they  are  crammed  instead  of 
being  instructed  for  the  examinations,  on  their  passing  of  which  depends 
unfortunately  the  teacher's  result-fees.  With  less  cram^  more  outdoor 
exercise,  and  good  and  regular  feeding,  little  headache  is  to  be  found. 

In  the  Lancet  the  other  day  was  a  note  of  a  report  on  myopia  by  Dr. 
Widmaoh,  who  carried  out  an  investigation  on  the  effect  produced  by  study 
on  the  eyesight  among  the  young  people  of  the  more  important  schools  of 
Stockholm;  and  he  found  that  in  more  advanced  pupils  myopia  was  much 
more  common  and  more  marked  amongst  girls,  which  circumstance  Dr. 
Widmach  very  properly  considers  is  accounted  for  mainly  by  "the  great 
inferiority  of  physical  education  and  opportunities  for  outdoor  games  in 
girls'  schools,  and  by  the  needlework  and  music,  which  are  there  so  fre- 
quently the  employment  of  out  of  school  hours."     Were  all  our  school 
reports  written  out  with  the  scientific  discrimination  that  characterizes  that 
of  Dr.  Widmach,  we  should  hear  less  <rf  the  direful  results  of  the  higher 
education  of  women.     But,  to  listen   to  the    fearful  indictment  brought 
against  this  movement,  one  would  imagine  that  both  the  hours  of  study 
and  the  curriculum  were  very  exacting.     What  are  the  facts  ?     In  Girton 
and  Kewnham,  which  may  fairly  be  taken  as  representative  of  the  best  fea- 
tures of  this  movement,  it  is  found,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  average  age 
of  the  students  is  twenty  years,  so  that  they  are  not  raw  girls,  but  have 
reached  their  full  physical  growth,  except  perhaps  in  bulk.    Further,  the 
intending  student  must  pass  an  entrance  examination,  which  is  a  guarantee 
that  they  must  have  at  least  some  capacity  for  profiting  by  the  course  of 
study.    The  number  of  hours  of  study  averages  768,  including  time  spent 
in  hearing  lectures,  which  "would  make  the  actual  hours  spent  in  hard  read- 
ing four  to  six,  not  surely  a  very  trying  day's  work.     The  time  for  meals  is 
from  two  to  three  hours.     All  studying  soon  after  meals  is  rigidly  discour- 
aged.   And  yet,  in  spite  of  the  severe  mental  training  that  the  passing  of 
such  examinations  entails,  and  which  should,  if  the  objections  have  any 
value,  produce  such  physical  exhaustion  that  there  would  be  small  inclina- 
tion for  exercise  beyond  a  gentle  stroll,  we  find,  on  the  contrary,  that  there 
is  manifested  by  the  students  an  extremely  healthy  aptitude  for  such  ath- 
letic games  as  lawn  tennis  and  racquets ;  while  the  course  of  training  is  so 
carefully  regulated  by  the  able  women  at  the  head  of  these  colleges,  that 
the  general  health  of  the  students  is  extremely  good,  cases  of  break-down 
from  overwork  being  very  rare.    Such  testimony  is,  one  would  imagine, 
worth  bushels  of  reports  about  headaches  found  among  pupils  of  lower 
schools  where  cram  ^vails,  and  where  there  is  little  attention  paid  to 
physical  education.    The  ailment  that,  in  order  to  make  proper  use  of 
ner  education,  a  womaii  should  remain  unmarried,  has  no  value  when  we 
Jud  that  the  outcry  about  the  injury  done  by  the  higher  education  i^ 


404  TMS    IIMUMF  MA^AZnm. 

foooded  on  yenr  insoifioks&t  fMnSses*  Were  ^  iKHre^^er,  tiooubflarj  tbat 
some  highly  eduoated  women,  liloe  iBAiiy  oliieffB  not  so  cc^tmed,  should 
remain  celibate,  thej  would  be  m  eood'Maafwi^fiweimlft^stfiAiidel,  Beeth- 
oven, Beynolda,  Turner,  Michflel  Angelo,  md  xtofihad  all  belonged  to  the 
honorable  order  of  bachelors. 

It  is  always  assumed  that  the  dpdtkgr  of  every  woman,  which  she  is  to 
falfil  with  elegance  and  fasciaatioa,  if  possible,  is  mamifge.  But,  consider- 
ing that  the  number  of  women  in  excess  of  men  in  these  idands  has  been 
estimated  at  about  1,000,000,  it  is  obWous  that  many  must  lead  solitarv 
lives,  and  must,  therefore,  make  homes  for  themselyes.  But  as  none  can 
tell  beforehand  which  girls  are  to  be  married  «nd  which  to  be  celibate — 
such  things,  like  kissing,  going  by  favor — it  is  essential  that  tiie  education 
should  be  such  as  will  qualify  all  women  for  makisg  tiieir  own  way  in  the 
world.  Even  should  a  woman  marry,  it  is  surely  a  most  extraordinary 
thing  to  say  that  her  edacatio^i  is  lost  and  of  no  vame,  or  that  the  expendi- 
ture on  her  education  is  thereby  thrown  away.  A  man  now  a-days  wants 
something  more  than  a  good  housewife  and  mother  of  his  children.  Time 
was  when  the  edupation  of  men  generally  being  very  indiffirent,  they  were 
not  particularly  sensible  of  any  great  deficiency  of  education  in  their 
spouses,  and  were  content  when  her  erudition  extended  no  deeper  than  her 
prayer-book  and  a  receipt-book — which  seems  to  have  been  its  extent,  accord- 
ing to  Macaulay,  in  the  latter  half  of  the  seventeenth  century.  But  with 
the  progress  of  education  and  learning  comes  a  Icmging  for  a  companion, 
and  for  one  whose  face  does  not  assume  a  blank  appearance  when  anything 
more  subtle  than  baby -clothes  forms  the  subject  of  conversation.  A  man 
now  is  not  likely  to  be  so  easily  satisfied  as  was  thai  Prince  of  whom  Mon- 
taigne tells  us,  who,  on  being  told  that  the  lady  he  was  about  to  marry  was 
not  very  learned,  replied :  "  ^'t7  Ten  oymoit  mieuh^  et  qu^nnefemme  esioii 
assez  sgavante  quand  elk  sgcwait  mettra  difference  enire  la  chemise  et  le  pour- 
poinet  de  son  maryj"  Now  such  knowle^e,  tliough  desirable,  not  to  say 
necessary,  in  the  wife  of  one's  bosom,  wonld  hardly  suffice  to  make  a  very 
intelligent  companion. 

One  of  the  most  important  results,  however,  that  will  accrue  to  society 
from  the  further  extension  of  higher  education  of  women,  will  be  the  bene- 
ficial effect  it  will  have  over  the  character  of  the  children  borne  by  such 
cultured  women.      If  there  is  one  law  in  Nature  more  certain  than  anoth-^'- 
it  is  that  the  mental,  no  less  than  the  bodily,  characteristics  are  transmitt 
to  the  offspring.      This  being  so,  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  advisable  that  o 
future  mothers^  as  well  as  the  fs^tbers,  -should  hove  as  much  culture  a: 
education  as  is  attainable  without  injury  to  health.    Had  the  higher  educ 
tion  been  in  vogue  when  Goelbe  Kved,  perhans  he  had  married  some  otb 
woman  than  his  servant,  and  his  son  might  nave  been  another,  possibly 
bettor^  Goethe,  instead  of  beSng  so  deficient  in  intellectual  capacity  that  h 


TttE  maSEtt  EDVCAftOH  OF  WOMM.  4o5 

father  al wajft  spoke  of  huo,  with  gnmly  sarcastie  troth,  as  '^  der  Sohn  der 
Magdy 

It  is  quite  probable,  as  Mr.  Spencer  verj  Dsomrlj  points  out,  that  Edwin 
is  not,  as  a  rule,  brou^t  to  Angelina's  ieet  by  her  German.  But  surely  it 
is  as  equally  true  that,  unlesA  £!dwm  10  aa  absolute  idiot,  the  knowledge 
that  Angelina  can  whisper  soft  nothings  in  his  ear  in  that  learned  but 
slightly  guttural  language  will  not  be  a.  Yery  fotal  ob^acle  to  his  declaration. 
Bosy  cheeks,  laughing  eyes,  and  &  finely  rounded  form  are  no  doubt  great 
attractions,  and  very  desirable*  But  if  (xie'fr  wife  has  only  these  physical 
attractions,  without  a  oorrespooding  menial  development,  she  may  prove  a 
very  good  nursemaid,  but  not  a  very  intelligent  helpmeet.  It  is  also  worth 
remem,bering,  as  Professor  Mahaffy  vecv  properly  says,  that  "  it  is  only 
when  ment^  r^aement  is  added  to  physical  beauty,  that  love  rises  from 
an  appetite  to  a  sentiment."  And  when  those  laughing  eyes  grow  dim,  and 
the  rosy  cheeks  assame  the  contocff  of  the  full  moon,  while  the  finely  rounded 
form  has  reached  those  proportions  that  roused  so  much  the  susceptibilities 
of  Nathaniel  Hawthorne,  then  will  one  find  out,  if  not  belbre,  &e  aa  vantages 
of  having  some  mental  as  well  as  physical  health  and  beauty.  And  such 
education  will  not  render  women.  Ad  less,  capable  of  undertaking  one  of  the 
most  important  tasks  that  &11  to  Uie  k>t  of  any,  viz.,  the  care  and  training 
of  the  growth  and  development,  of  a  child^s  mubd. 

Finally,  we  should  recognize  a  &ct,  too  often  ignored,  that,  after  all, 
woman  has  a  life  of  her  own  to  lead*  There  are  many  problems  in  life  that 
I  a  woman  has  to  solve  for  herself  with  such  light  as  sne  may  derive  from 

her  education,  and  on  ther  proper  scdution  of  some  of  these  problems  will 
depend  much  for  good  or  for  evil^  both  to  heraelf  and  to  those  with  whom 
she  may  be  connected.  It  is,  therefore,  very  desirable  that  she  should  have 
as  much  help  as  may  be  given  by  a  highly  trained  intellect,  and,  in  propor- 
tion to  her  previous  mental  traming,  wiu  be  her  capacity  for  judgmg  and 
living  rightly. 

In  conclusion,  one  cannot  but  feel  that  this  movement  will  not  only  be 
of  advantage  to  women  themeelves,  whom  it  will  raise  socially  and  mentally, 
but  that  it  will  also  be  of  service  to  the  raoe,  bv  giving  us  mothers  whose 
cerebral  development  will  be  such,  that  thmr  children  will  be  more  easily 
taught,  and  capable  of  much  more  than  the  children  of  less  able  mothers. 
Further,  by  giving  otherwise  inadequately  occupied  women  healthy  occupa- 
tion for  tiieir  minds,  it  will  get  rid  of  that  ewnui  which  is  so  fruitful  of 
much  evil,  and  so  {prolific  of  patients  that,  fill  the  consulting  rooms  of  medi- 
cal men.    Tennyson's  ideal— 

^She  with  ^  the  ahann  of  woawn, 
She  with,  all  the  breadth  of  man ''-^ 

nwy  b^  onl  J  an.  ideal,  but  it  is  one.  at  leasts  that  is  worth  striving  for.     And 


406  Tȣ   llhkAttY  MAQAilNE. 

if,  with  our  narrow  and  limited  methods  of  education,  we  do  tndet  with  some 
women  who  come  up  to  this  ideal,  what  maj  we  not  expect  when  a  fuller 
and  more  gracious  li^  is  opened  out  to  woman  ? 

The  movement  may  be  marked  bj  extravagances,  and  the  methods 
adopted  for  the  attainment  of  the  end  may  not  be  the  best  possible,  but  this 
is,  after  all,  only  another  mode  of  saying  that  the  movement  is  directed  by 
human  beings.  George  Macdonald  says  truly:  "The  tide  of  action  in  these 
later  years  lows  more  swiftly  in  the  hearts  of  women,  whence  has  resulted 
so  much  that  is  nobler,  so  much  that  is  paltry,  according  to  the  nature  of 
the  heart  in  which  it  swells."  Let  us  then  recognize  generously  that  there 
is  such  a  tide,  and  that  although  we  may,  by  our  opposition,  delay  the  prog- 
ress of  the  current,  yet  we  can  no  more  arrest  it  than  could  Dame  Parting- 
ton with  her  mop  stop  the  progress  of  the  Atlantic. — Westminster  Review. 


ISLAM  AND  CHBISTDSlNITY  IN  INDIA. 

One-fifth  of  the  human  race  dwells  in  India,  and  every  fifth  Indian  at 
least  is  a  Mahommedan,  yet  many  people  contend  that  Islam  is  not  a  creed 
which  propagates  itself  vifforously  in  tne  great  Peninsula.    Where  do  they 
imagine  that  the  fifty  odd  milHons  of  Mussulmans  in  India  came  from? 
Not  ten  per  cent,  of  them  ever  claim  to  be  descendants  of  immigrants, 
whether  Arab,  Persian,  or  Paliian,  and  of  that  ten  per  cent,  probably  half 
are  descendants  only  by  adoption,  the  warrior  chie&  who  followed  success- 
ful invaders  allowing  their  bravest  adherents,  if  Mussulmans,  to  enroll  them- 
selves in  their  own  clans.     Almost  all,  moreover,  are  half-breeds,  the  pro- 
portion of  women  who  entered  India  with  the  invaders  having  been  exceed- 
ingly small.    The  remainder — that  is,  at  least  ninety  per  cent,  of  the  whole 
body — are  Indians  by  blood,  as  much  children  of  the  soil  as  the  Hindoos, 
retaining  many  of  the  old  pagan  superstitions,  and  only  Mussulmans  because 
their  ancestors  embraced  the  faith  of  the  great  Arabian.     They  embraced 
it  too  for  the  most  part  from  conviction.     There  is  a  popular  idea  in  this 
country  that  India  was  at  some  time  or  other  invaded  from  the  North  by  a 
mighty  conqueror,  who  set  up  the  throne  of  the  Great  Mogul,  and  compelled 
multitudes  to  accept  Islam  at  the  point  of  the  sword;  but  this  is  an  illusion. 
Mahommed   authorized   conversion  bv  force,  and  Islam  owes  its  politicf 
importance  to  the  sword,  but  its  spread  as  a  faith  is  not  due  mainly  to  oom 
pulsion.     Mankind  is  not  so  debased  as  that  theory  would  assume,  and  tfa 
Arab  conquerors  were  in  many  countries  resisted  to  the  death.     The  pagai 
tribes  of  Arabia  saw  in  Mahommed's  victories  proof  that  his  creed  wa 
divine,  and  embraced  it  with  a  startling  ardor  of  conviction;    but  outsid 
Arabia  the  bulk  of  the  common  people  who  submitted  to  ti^e  Khalib  eithe 


ISLAM  AND  CHBISTIANITT  IN  INDIA.  407 

retained  their  faith,  as  in  Asia  Minor,  or  were  extirpated,  as  in  Persia  and 
on  the  southern  shore  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  Arabs  coloni2sed  on  an 
enormous  scale,  and,  being  careless  what  women  they  took,  mixed  their 
blood  freely,  so  that  in  Syria,  Egypt,  the  Soudao,  and  the  enormous  terri- 
tory stretcning  from  Barca  to  Tangier  the  population  is  essentially  Arab 
with  more  or  less  of  crossing.  The  Tartars  were  persuaded,  not  conquered, 
and  they  and  the  Arabs  are  still  the  dominant  races  of  the  Mussulman 
world  which  has  converted  no  European  race  except  a  few  Albanians — 
with  all  their  intellectual  superiority  and  their  military  successes,  the  Arabs 
never  converted  Spain — and  has  gained  its  converts  in  China  and  in  Africa 
almost  exclusively  by  preaching. 

It  was  the  same  in  India.  Here  and  there,  as  in  Sind  and  Mysore,  a 
small  population  may  be  found  whose  ancestors  were  converted  by  persecu- 
tion, and  doubtless  successful  invaders  occasionally  terrified  or  bought  with 
immunities  large  groups  of  Indians.  But  that  the  process  was  neither  gen- 
eral nor  steadily  pursued  is  proved  by  two  broad  facts— ;/ir5^,  that  India  is 
not  a  Mahommedan  countrr,  but  a  Hindoo  country  in  which  Mahommedans 
are  numerous;  and,  secondly ,  that  in  no  part  of  the  Peninsula  can  the  dis- 
tribution of  faith  be  fairly  considered  territorial.  Mussulman  villages  ar% 
everywhere  found  among  Hindoo  villages,  and  Mussulman  femilies  dwell 
among  Hindoo  families  in  a  way  which,  if  India  had  ever  been  "converted" 
systematically,  would  have  been  impossible.  The  earlv  missionaries  of 
l!slam  could  not  use  force,  and,  as  to  the  invaders  who  conquered  and 
remained,  they  seldom  or  never  wished  to  use  it,  for  the  sufficient  reason 
that  it  was  not  their  interest.  They  wanted  to  found  principalities,  or 
kingdoms,  or  an  empire,  not  to  wage  an  internecine  war  with  their  own 
tax-paying  subjects,  or  to  arouse  against  themselves  the  unconquerable  hos- 
tility of  the  warrior  races  of  the  gigantic  Peninsula,  who  were,  and  who 
remain,  Hindoo.  The  truth  is  that  Mahommedan  proselytism  by  preaching 
began  in  India,  then  held  to  be  far  the  richest  of  the  great  divisions  of  Asia, 
within  three  centuries  from  the  Hegira,  and  has  continued  ever  since;  that 
is,  for  a  period  of  probably  nine  hundred  years  at  least,  during  which  the 

frocess,  now  vigorous,  now  slackening,  has  never  been  entirely  intermitted, 
n  other  words,  Islam,  though  often  assisted  by  authority,  has  taken  three 
times  the  time  to  convert  a  fifth  of  the  people  of  India  that  Christianity, 
though  constantly  suffering  persecution,  took  to  convert  the  Boman  Empire. 
Islam  probably  never  advanced  with  the  speed  of  Christianity  when  first 
contenaing  with  paganism,  and  certainly  never  with  the  speed  with  which 
the  faith  spread  in  the  tenth  century  throughout  Bussia. 

Yet  the  missionaries  of  Islam  from  the  first  had  many  and  great  advant- 
ages. They  were,  if  judged  by  our  modem  standards,  exceedingly  numer- 
ous. The  more  fervent  Arabs,  with  their  gift  of  eloquence  and  their  habit 
Df  teaching,  after  the  long  battle  with  tiie  outside  w<^d  had  ceased,  took  to 


408  TEE   LISMAMir   MAQAiSlkit 

the  work  o*  ptoselytism  with  au  ardor  never  displayed  by  modem  Chrifl- 
tiaDs,  and  as  fast  as  they  made  converts  they  raisea  up  new  missionaries, 
often  by  villages  at  a  time.  Europeans  habitually  forget  that  everjr  Mus- 
sulman is  more  or  leas  of  a  missionary;  that  is,  he  intensely  desires  to 
secure  converts  &om  non-Mussulman  peoples.  Such  converts  not  only 
increase  his  own  chance  of  heaven,  but  they  swell  his  own  faction,  his  own 
army,  his  own  means  of  conquering,  governing,  and  taxing  tiie  remainder 
of  mankind.  All  the  emotions  which  impel  a  Christian  to  proselytize  are 
in  a  Mussulman  strengthened  by  all  the  motives  which  impel  a  politic&l 
leader  and  all  the  motives  which  sway  a  recruiting  sergeant^  until  prose- 
lytism  has  become  a  passion  which,  whenever  succesa  seems  practicable, 
and  especially  success  on  a  large  scale,  develops  in  the  quietest  Mussulman 
a  fury  of  ardor  which  induces  him  to  break  down  every  obstacle,  hi«  own 
strongest  prejudices  included,  rather  than  stand  for  an  instant  in  a  neophyte's 
way.  He  welcomes  him  as  a  son,  and  whatever  his  own  lineage,  and  whether 
the  convert  be  Negro  or  Chinaman  or  Indian  or  even  European,  he  will  with- 
out hesitation  or  scruple  ^ve  him  his  own  child  in  marriage,  and  admit 
him  fully,  frankly,  and  finally  into  the  most  exclusive  circle  in  the  world. 

The  missionaries  of  such  a  faith  are  naturally  numerous,  and  when  they 
first  assailed  India  they  found,  as  they  have  done  ever  since,  a  laige  proportion 
of  the  population  ready  at  least  to  listen  to  their  words.  India  was 
occupied  then,  as  it  is  occupied  now,  by  a  thick  population  of  many  races, 
many  tongues,  and  many  degrees  of  civilization,  out  all  differentiated  from 
the  rest  of  mankind  in  this.  Cultivated  or  uncultivated,  they  had  all  keen 
minds,  and  all  their  minds  were  occupied  by  the  old  problem  of  the  whence 
and  whither.  They  were  all  religious  in  a  way,  and  all  afraid  of  something 
not  material.  Hindooism  was  then,  as  it  is  now,  not  so  much  a  creed  as  a 
vast  coDgeries  of  creeds  of  modes  of  belief  as  to  the  right  method  of  escap- 
ing an  otherwise  evil  destiny  rendered  inevitable,  not  only  by  the  sins  of 
this  life,  but  by  the  sins  of  a  whole  series  of  past  ana  unremem- 
bered  lives.  It  is  the  belief  in  transmigration  which  Europeans  always 
forget,  and  which  governs  the  inner  souls  of  the  Hindoo  millions, 
who  believe  in  their  past  existence  as  fervently  as  orthodox  Christians 
believe  in  a  future  one.  The  efforts  to  solve  the  problem  and  res- 
cue themselves  from  destiny  were  endless,  and  included  millions.  Some 
heresies  involved  whole  peoples.  One  heresy.  Buddhism,  almost  became 
the  creed  of  the  land.  Great  heretics  made  more  converts  than  Luther. 
New  cults  rose  with  every  generation  into  partial  favor.  New  castes  sprang 
up  almost  every  year,  that  is,  new  groups  of  persons  separated  themselves 
from  the  rest  of  mankind  in  order,  through  new  rules  of  ceremonial  purity, 
to  insure  further  their  security  against  a  puiBuing  &te.  The  process  which 
now  goes  on  endlessly  then  went  on  endlessly,  till  Indi&  was  a  swelterins 
mass  of  beliefs,  ideas,  religious  ci;ato9iei.  wd.  rules  of  life  all  or  nearly  af 


ISLAM  AKD  CMBI8TIANITY  Ilf  INDIA.  4O0 

instigated  by  fear,  by  an  acate  dread  that  somehow,  after  so  much  labor,  so 
much  self-denial,  such  hourly  bondage  to  ceremonial  precaution,  the  end 
might  ultimately  be  missed.  The  essence  of  the  life  of  Hindooism,  if  not  of 
its  creeds,  is  fear — ^fear  of  the  unknown  result  which  may  follow  upon  error 
either  in  conduct  or  in  faith  or  in  ceremonial.  A  single  belief,  the  belief  in  his 
pre-existence,  which  is  firmly  accepted  by  every  Hindoo,  fills  his  mind  with 
vague  terrors  from  which,  while  tnat  convictions  lasts,  there  caimot  be  by 
possibility  any  full  relief.  He  is  responsible  for  sins  he  knows  nothing  of, 
and  who  can  say  that  any  punishment  for  them  would  be  unjust  or  exces- 
sive? If  misfortune  combes  to  him,  that  is  his  due;  and  a  Hindoo,  once 
unlucky,  often  broods  like  a  Calvinist  who  thinks  he  is  not  of  the  elect. 
The  modes  of  obtaining  safety  are  infinite,  but  are  all  burdensome,  and 
all,  by  the  confession  of  those  who  use  them,  are  more  or  less  uncertain. 

Amidst  this  chaos  the  missionaries  of  Islam  preached  the  haughtiest,  the 
most  clear-cutting,  and  the  least  elevated  form  of  monotheism  ever  taught 
in  this  world — ^a  monotheism  which  accounted  for  all  things,  ended  discus- 
sion, and  reconciled  all  perplexities  by  a£Bjrming  that  there  existed  a  Sultan 
in  the  sky,  a  God,  sovereign  in  His  right  as  Creator,  unbound  even  by  His 
own  character,  who  out  of  pure  will  sent  these  to  heaven  and  those  to  hell 
who  was  Fate  as  well  as  God.  This  Being,  lonely,  omnipotent,  and 
eternal,  had  revealed  through  Mahommed  Mis  will,  that  those  who 
believed  in  Him  should  have  eternal  bliss  in  a  heaven  which  was  earth 
over  again  with  its  delights  intensified  and  its  restrictions  removed,  and 
that  those  who  disbelieved  should  suft'er  torment  for  evermore.  Could  any- 
thing be  more  attractive  to  a  Hindoo  ?  If  he  only  accepted  the  great  tenet, 
which,  after  all,  he  suspected  to  be  true,  for  the  notion  of  a  Supreme  lurks 
in  Hindooism,  and  is  always  unconditioned,  his  doubts  were  all  resolved, 
his  fears  were  all  removed,  his  ceremonial  burdens  were  all  lifted  ofi*  him, 
and  he  stepped  forward  comparatively  a  free  man.  Year  after  year,  century 
after  century,  thousands  turned  to  this  new  faith  as  to  a  refuge,  tempted, 
not  by  its  other  and  baser  attractions,  to  be  discussed  presently,  but  by 
what  seemed  to  the  converts  the  intellectual  truth  of  this  central  tenet,  by 
which  the  complexity  of  the  world  was  ended,  for  all  things  were  attributed 
to  a  sovereign  Will,  whose  operation  explained  and  justified  the  Destiny 
which  is  to  a  Hindoo  the  ever  present  problem  of  his  life.  Nothing  goes 
as  it  should,  yet  all  things  must  be  going  as  they  should ;  what  better  or 
easier  reconciliation  of  those  facts  uian  the  existence  of  a  Creator  who, 
because  He  created,  rules  all  as  He  will?  Monotheism  explains  the 
mystery  of  the  universe,  and  to  the  Hindoo  dissatisfied  with  Hindooism 
seemed  perfectly  light. 

In  teaching  this  Faith  tiie  missionaries  of  Islam  had  some  ftirther  advan- 
tages besides  its  simplicity,  though  they  are  not  those  usually  ascribed  to 
them.    To  begin  lyitn,  whether  Arabs  or  Pathans  or  Persians  or  Indian 


410  TltE    UBBASr   MAQASSmE. 

converts,  thej  and  their  hearers  were  equally  Asiatics,  and  bad  therefore  a 
profound,  though  hardly  conscious,  sympathj.  It  may  be  hard  to  explain 
m  what  the  comity  of  Asia  consists,  but  of  its  existence  there  can  be  no 
reasonable  doubt.  Something  radical,  something  unalterable  and  indestruc- 
tible, divides  the  Asiatic  from  the  European.  Stand  in  a  great  Asiatic 
bazaar,  with  men  of  twenty  races  and  ten  colorsand  fifty  civilizations  mov- 
ing about  it,  and  every  one  is  bound  to  every  other  by  a  common  distaste 
for  the  European,  even  if  he  is  an  ally.  There  is  not  a  European  in  Europe 
or  America  who  does  not  feel  that  between  himself  and  the  Jew  there  is 
some  dividing  line  which  is  independent  of  creed  or  of  culture  or  of  per- 
sonal respect.  Of  all  Christians,  again,  the  most  determined  and,  polit- 
ically, the  most  powerless  is  the  Armenian ;  but  he  is  a  true  Asiatic,  and 
accordingly,  in  tne  deepest  recesses  of  the  Mussulman  world,  in  Arabia  or 
in  Afghanistan,  where  any  other  Christian  would  be  slain  at  sight,  he  passes 
along  as  safe,  from  all  save  contempt,  as  any  follower  of  Islam.  Those 
evidences  seem  unanswerable,  but  there  is  one  stronger  still.  The  faith  of 
the  Moslem  makes  him  accept,  and  accept  heartily,  every  convert,  be  he 
Chinese  or  Negro  or  Indian,  as  a  brother ;  out  he  regards  one  convert  with 
a  dull,  inactive,  but  unsleeping  suspicion,  and  that  is  the  European  renegade. 
The  missionaries  of  Islam  were  personally  acceptable  in  India  because  they 
were  Asiatics,  and  because,  though  the  creed  they  taught  was  universal 
the  rule  of  life  by  which  it  was  accompanied  was  Asiatic  too. 

I  do  not  mean  by  this,  as  most  wnters  do,  that  the  laxity  of  the  sexual 
ethics  taught  by  Mahommed  was  specially  attractive  to  the  Hindoo.  I 
doubt  if  such  laxity  is  attractive  to  any  men  seeking  light,  or  has  ever 
assisted  greatly  in  the  spread  of  any  creed.  The  chastity  of  Christianity 
did  not  stop  its  spread  in  the  dissolute  society  of  the  rotting  Boman  worl^. 
Of  all  the  greater  faiths  Islam  is  the  least  elevated  in  this  respect,  for  it 
allows  not  only  polygamy,  but  free  divorce  at  the  man's  will,  and  concu- 
binage limited  only  by  his  power  of  purchasing  slaves.  It,  in  fact,  conse- 
crates the  harem  system,  and!,  except  as  regards  adultery  or  unnatural  crime, 
legitimizes  the  fullest  and  most  unscrupulous  indulgence  of  lust.  Never- 
theless, it  has  never  attracted  the  more  lustful  nations  of  Europe,  such  as 
the  French ;  it  is  rejected  by  the  least  continent  of  mankind — the  Chinese 
— and  it  has  been  accepted  by  million^  of  women,  on  whose  behalf  it  relaxes 
nothing  either  in,  this  world  or  the  next.  It  is  quite  clear  that  polygamy 
is  not  the  attraction  of  Islam  for  them,  nor  are  they  promised  mide  hourir 
in  Paradise,  even  if  they  have  any  chance  of  attammg  to  Paradise  at  all 
The  truth  is,  that  men  desire  in  a  creed  an  ideal  higher  than  their  practice 
The  most  dissolute  of  European  societies  foisted  upon  Christianity  a  restric 
tion,  celibacy,  stronger  than  any  Christ  had  taught;  and  even  among  malr 
Asiatics  it  is  doubtful  if  laxity  is  so  attractive  as  is  commonly  supposed 
Asiatics  care,  it  is  true,  nothing  about  purity,  wluoh|  amon^  Cnristians,  ' 


h 


tSLAM  Ai^D  CMMJSftAmtr  IN  WDtA,  4ll 

as  mach  valued  as  chastity,  and  more  safeguarded  by  opiDion,  the  Asiatics 
holding  that  lust,  like  hunger,  is  neither  evil  nor  good,  but  a  mere  appetite, 
the  gratification  of  which  under  regulation  is  entirely  legitimate.  They 
are,  therefore,  tolerant  of  lustful  suggestions  even  in  their  religious  books, 
care  nothing  about  keeping  them  out  of  literature  or  art,  and  do  not  under- 
stand, still  less  appreciate,  the  rigid  system  of  obscurantism  by  which  the 
European  avoids  tne  intrusion  into  oroinary  life  of  anything  that  may  even 
accidentally  provoke  sexual  desire.  But  as  regards  the  actual  intercourse 
of  the  sexes  Asiatics  are  not  lax.  The  incontinence  of  the  young  is  pre- 
vented by  a  careful  system  of  betrothals  and  earlv  marriages;  even 
Mahommedanism  punishes  adultery  with  death;  Buddhism  is  in  theory 
nearly  as  clean  as  Christianity;  and  the  Hindoo,  besides  being  monog- 
amous, regards  divorce  as  at  once  monstrous  and  impossible. 

It  is  probable  that  the  laxity  of  Islam  in  its  sexual  ethics  repelled  rather 
than  attracted  Hindoo  men,  while  to  Hindoo  women  it  must  nave  been  as 
disgusting  as  to  Christians.  The  strongest  proof  of  the  grip  that  Islam 
takes,  when  it  takes  hold  at  all,  is  that  in  India  women  nave  been  con- 
verted as  numerously  as  men,  though  the  Hindoo  woman  in  accepting 
Islam  loses  her  hope  of  heaven  and  the  security  of  her  position  on  earth 
both  together.  This  repulsion,  however,  did  not  prevent  conversion.  The 
Hindoo  never  regards  the  sexual  question  as  of  nigh  spiritual  importance, 
and  his  philosophy  trains  him  to  believe  that  all  ethics  are  personal — that 
what  is  forbidden  to  one  man  may  not  only  be  allowed  to  another,  but 
enjoined  upon  him.  It  may  be,  for  instance,  imperative  on  an  ordinary 
Brahmin  to  restrict  himself  to  one  wife,  yet  it  may  be  perfectly  right  for  a 
Koolin  Brahmin  to  marry  sixty;  and  though  infanticiae  is  to  Hindoos,  as 
to  Christians,  merely  murder,  there  are  tribes,  often  of  the  strictest  purity 
of  the  faith,  in  which  the  practice  is  considered  blameless.  It  is  very 
doubtful  if  a  Hindoo  would  altogether  condemn  a  Thug,  quite  certain  that 
he  tolerates  in  certain  castes  practices  he  considers  infamous  in  certain 
others.  The  Hindoo  convert  to  Islam  therefore  accepted  polygamy  as 
allowed  by  God,  who  alone  could  allow  or  disallow  it,  and  for  the  rest  he 
found  in  the  Sacred  Law  or  Mahommedan  rule  of  life  nothing  that  was 
repellent. 

That  law,  to  begin  with,  allowed  him  to  live  the  caste  life — ^to  be,  that 
is,  a  member  of  an  exclusive  society  maintaining  equality  within  its  own 
confines,  but  shut  off  from  the  rest  of  mankind  by  an  invisible  but  impas- 
sable barrier  or  custom  rigid  as  law.  Such  a  caste  the  Indian,  always 
timid,  always  conscious  of  being  a  mere  grain  in  a  sand-heap,  and  always 
liable  to  oppression,  holds  to  be  essential  to  his  safety,  secular  and  8i)iritual 
and  he  gives  it  up  with  a  wrench  which  is  to  a  European  inconceivable. 
Once  out  of  caste  he  is  no  longer  a  member  of  a  strongly  knit,  if  limited, 
'ociety,  which  will  protect  him  against  the  external  worlOi  give  him  coun- 


412  TB£    LIBMAnr   MAGAZINE. 

teoanoe  under  all  difBcultieB,  and  assure  him  all  the  pleasant  relations  of 
life,  but  is  a  wai^  all  aloae,  with  every  man's  hand  against  him,  and  with 
every  kind  of  oppression  more  than  possible.  Where  is  he  to  seek  a 
surety,  and  where  a  wife  for  his  son  ?  The  missionaries  of  Islam  did  not^ 
and  do  not,  ask  him  to  abandon  caste,  but  only  to  exchange  his  caste  for 
theirs,  the  largest^  the  most  strictly  bound,  and  the  proudest  of  all — ^a  caste 
which  claims  not  only  a  special  relation  to  God,  but  the  right  of  ruling 
absolutely  all  the  remainder  of  mankind.  Once  in  this  caste  the  Hindoo 
convert  would  be  the  brother  of  all  within  it,  hailed  as  an  equal,  and 
treated  as  an  equal,  even  upon  that  point  on  which  European  theories  of 
equality  alwaya  break  down,  the  right  of  intermarriage.  John  Brown, 
who  died  gladly  for  the  Negro  slave,  would  have  killed  his  daughter  rather 
than  see  her  marry  a  Negro,  but  the  Mussulman  will  accept  the  Negro  as 
son-in-law,  as  friend,  or  as  king  to  whom  his  loyalty  is  due.  The  Negro 
blood  in  the  veins  of  the  present  Sultan  affects  no  Mussulman's  loyalty,  and 
"  Hubshees,"  who  looked,  though  they  were  not,  Negroes,  have  in  India 
carved  out  thrones.  The  Mussulman  caste,  as  a  caste,  attracts  the  Hindoo 
strongly,  and  so  does  the  family  life  of  Islam,  which  leaves  him  just  the 
seclusion,  just  the  household  peace,  and  just  the  sovereignty  within  his  own 
doors  which  are  dear  to  his  soul.  He  craves  for  a  place  where  he  may  be 
in  society,  and  yet  out  of  society;  not  alone,  and  yet  free  for  a  time  m>m 
the  pressure  and  even  from  the  observation  of  the  outer  world,  which 
beyoud  the  confines  of  his  own  caste  is,  if  not  directlv  hostile,  at  the  best 
impure;  and  in  Mahommedanism  he  finds  his  secludfed  home  untouched. 
Islam  le&ves  him  his  old  sacred  authority  over  his  sons,  an  authority  never 
questioned,  far  less  resisted,  and,  what  he  values  still  more,  absolute  author- 
ity to  dispose  of  his  daughters  in  marriage  at  anv  age  be  himself  deems 
fitting.  This  privilege  is  to  him  of  inestimable  value — is,  indeed,  the  very 
key-note  of  any  honorable  and  therefore  happy  condition  of  life. 

It  is  necessary  upon  this  matter  to  be  a  little  plain.    Nothing  can  be 
finer  than  the  relation  of  an  Indian  father  to  his  cnildren,  except  perhaps 
their  relation  to  him.    His  solicitude  and  their  obedience  know  no  end, 
and  there  is,  as  a  rule,  extraordinarily  little  tyranny  displayed  in  the  man- 
agement of  the  young.    The  tendency,  indeed,  is  to  spoil  them,  but  there  is 
one  grand  exception  to  this  habit  of  tenderness.     The  highest  spirited 
European  noble  is  not  more  sensitive  about  the  chastity  of  his  daughters 
than  the  Indian  of  any  clasS)  but  the  ideas  of  the  two  men  as  to  the  eflfectui* 
method  of  securing  it  ara  widely  apart     The  European  trusts  to  hi 
daughter's  principles,  to  an  invisible  bat  unbreakable  wall  of  stringen 
etiquettes,  to  an  ignorance  fostered  by  a  mother's  care,  and  to  the  compai 
ajiively  late  age  at  which^-for  physiological  reasons,  the  passions  wake  ii 
Europe.    The^  Indian  knows  that  every  girl  bom  in  his  climate  may  be  : 
mother  at  ele^9  while  she  is  still  a  hwj  in  intellect  and  in  self*contro^ 


J8LAM  AND  CHBI8TIANITY  IN  INDIA.  '414 

knows  that  ^irhile  still  a  child  her  passions  wake,  knows  that  he  dumot 
keep  her  i^orant,  and  knows  that  he  can  no  -more  at  that  age  tmst  her 
principles  than  he  could  .trust  her  not  to  play  with  toys,  or  'eat  the  sweet- 
meats before  her  lips.  The  choice  before  nim  is  early  betrothal  at  his  dis- 
cretion, not  hers,  for  she  is  incompetent  to  choose,  or  the  seclusion  in  a 
nunnery  which,  if  early  marriage  is  ever  abolished  in  India,  will  be  the 
inevitable  alternative,  as  it  is  now  among  the  better  classes  in  Fnmce.  He 
has  decided  for  the  former  course,  and  the  new  creed  which  approves  and 
ratifies  that  decision  is  to  him,  therefore,  an  acceptable  one.  His  notion  of 
honorable  life  is  not  upset  by  the  notion  of  his  teachers,  who  upon  all  such 
points  sympathize  with  him  to  the  full. 

As  to  the  ceremonial  restrictions  involved  in  Mahommedanism,  they  are 
most  of  them  his  own  restrictions,  much  liberalized  in  theory,  and  one  of 
them  receives  his  conscientious  and  most  cordial  approval.  Mere  again  it 
is  necessary  to  be  plain.  In  the  present  excited  ccmdition  of  English  and 
American  opinion  upon  the  subject  of  alcohol,  it  is  vain  to  hope  that  the 
unvarnished  truth  will  be  listened  to  without  contempt,  but  still  it  ought  to 
be  told.  There  are  temptations  which  tell  differently  on  different  men,  and 
which,  innocent  for  one  set,  are  debasing — that  is,  utt^ly  evil — ^for  another* 
There  are  two  moralities  about  drink,  just  as,  if  the  effect  of  opium  were 
different  on  different  varieties  of  mankind,  there  would  be  two  moralities 
about  opium.  The  white  races  do  not  suffer,  except  as  individuals,  fix>m 
alcohol.  They  do  not  as  races  crave  it  in  excess,  and  except  in  excess  it 
harms  them  only  by  causing  an  enormous  and  in  great  part  useless  waste 
of  their  labor.  The  white  races  which  drink  wine  do  not  appear  to  have 
suffered  at  all,  and  even  the  white  races  which  drink  spirits  nave  suffered 
very  little.  It  is  mere  nonsense  to  talk  of  either  the  French  or  the  Scotch 
as  inferior  peoples,  and  the  Teutons  in  all  their  branches  have  done  in  all 
departments  of  life  all  that  men  may  do.  Individuals  of  all  these  races 
have  suffered  from  drink  in  such  numbers,  as  to  produce  an  unnatural  aver- 
age of  crime,  but  the  races  have  neither  perished  nor  grown  weak,  nor 
shown  any  tendency  to  deterioration  in  intellectual  power  or  in  morale. 
The  Scotch  are  better  than  they  were  three  centuries  ago,  and  the  Jews, 
who  drink  everywhere,  remain  everywhere  the  same.  It  is 'different  with 
the  dark  races  and  the  red  races.  Owing  probably  to  some  hitherto  nn- 
traced  peculiarity  of  either  their  physical  or  m(»«  probably  their  mental 
constitutions,  alcohol  in  any  quantity  seems  to  set  most  Asiatics — ^the  Jews 
are  an  exception — on  fire,  to  produce  an  irresistible  craving  for  more,  and 
to  compel  them  to  go  on  drinking  {intil  they  are  sunk  in  a  stupor  of  intox- 
ication. They  appear  to  delight  but  little  m  the  exhilaration  produced  by 
partial  inehiiety,  and  to  seek  always  a  total  release  from  comflciousness  and 
Its  oppressions.  The  condition  of  "dead  dmnkness,"  which  few  even  of 
drinlang  Northerners  enjoy,  is  to  them  defightftil.    '*I  not  drinkee  for 


414  THE    LIBSABY    MAGAZINE, 

drinkee,"  said  the  Madras  man;  "I  drinkee  for  drunkee."  Alcohol  is 
therefore  to  such  races  an  intolerable  evil,  and  its  consumption  by  them  is 
in  the  eyes  of  all  strict  moralists  an  immorality.  It  is  the  doing  of  a  thing 
known  to  be,  for  that  man,  evil.  This  desire  to  drink  for  drinking's  sake 
probably  became  stronger  when  the  Aryans  descended  from  the  land  of  the 
grape  to  regions  where  it  cannot  be  obtained,  vet  where  arrack  can  be  made 
m  every  village;  and  their  early  legislators  therefore  prohibited  the  use  of 
alcohol  with  an  absolute  rigor  which  produced  in  the  course  of  ages  an 
instinctive  abhorrence.  No  respectable  Hindoo  will  touch  alcohol  in  any 
form,  and  the  Mahommedan  restriction,  which  it  is  said  cost  Islam  the 
adherence  of  the  Russian  people,  seems  to  Hindoos  a  supplementary  evi- 
dence of  the  Divine  origin  of  the  creed. 

With  their  path  thus  cleared,  with  their  great  numbers,  and  with  their 
persistent  zeal,  the  missionaries  of  Islam  ought  long  ere  this  to  have  con- 
verted the  whole  population  of  India  to  their  faith,  and  it  is  a  little  difficult 
to  account  for  the  slowness  of  their  progress.  The  best  explanation  proba- 
bly is  to  be  found  in  the  dogged  resistance  of  the  priesthood,  whose  hold 
over  the  people  is  riveted  by  the  superiority  of  their  blood  and  of  their 
natural  intelligence,  the  Brahmin  boy,  for  example,  beating  every  other  boy 
in  every  college  in  the  country ;  in  the  conservatism  of  the  masses^  which 
rejects  innovation  as  impiety ;  and  in  the  saturation  of  the  Hindoo  mind 
with  the  pantheistic  idea,  which  is  utterly  opposed  to  Mahommedanism  and 
to  the  whole  series  of  assumptions  upon  which  that  creed  rests.  It  is 
probable,  too,  that  patriotism,  or  rather  pride  has  had  its  weight,  and  that 
the  Hindoos,  vain  of  their  antiquity,  of  their  intellectual  acuteness,  and  of 
their  powers  of  resistance,  have  refused  to  break  with  the  past,  which  to 
them  is  always  present,  by  accepting  an  alien,  though  attractive,  faith. 

Whatever  the  cause,  the   fact  is    certain,  Islam  has  advanced,  and  is 
advancing,  but  slowly  towards  the  destined  end.    Even  if  there  has  been  no 
natural  increase  of  population,  the  conversions  cannot  have  exceeded  fifty 
thousand  a  year  upon  an  average  since  proselytism  first  began — a  small 
number,  when  the  original  successes  of  the  faith  in  Arabia  are  considered. 
It  is  probable,  however,  that  the  conversions  have  been  far  below  that  figure, 
and  tnat  even  npw,  when  proselytizing  energy  has  been  revived  by  a  sort 
of  Protestant  revival  in  Arabia,  they  hardly  reach  throughout  the  continent 
more  than  fifty  thousand  a  year.     Still  they  go  on.     Mahommedanism  bene- 
fits by  the  shaking  of  all  Hindoo  beliefs,  which  is  the  marked  fact  of  th 
day,  and  it  is  nearly  certain  that,  should  no  new  spiritual  agency  interver 
the  Indian  peoples,  who  are  already  betraying  a  tendency  to  fuse  them 
selves  into  one  whole,  will  at  last  liecome  Mahommedan.     None  who  pre 
fess  that  faith  ever  quit  it ;  the  tendency  towards  physical  deciy  visible  i 
so  many  Mussulman  countries  is  not  perceptible  m  India,  and  in  the  late 
stages  conversion  will  probably  be  accelerated  by  a  decided  use  of  force, 


J 


IBLAM  AND  CSBI8TUNITY  IN  INDIA.  415 

Whether  a  Mahommedan  is  a  better  man  than  a  Hindoo,  it  is  im- 
possible to  decide,  for  though  Islam  is  the  higher  creed,  it  is  far  more 
inimical  to  progress — ^is,  indeed,  a  mental  cut  de  sac,  allowing  of  no 
advance — bat  that  its  disciples  are  higher  in  the  political  scale,  and  will 
ultimately  hold  the  reins,  is  a  truth  almost  self-evident.  They  are  only, 
one-fifth  of  the  population,  thev  would  have  little  external  aid  except 
from  a  few  Pathans,  and  possibly  Soudanese,  and  they  do  not  incluae 
the  bulk  of  the  fighting  races — ^the  Sikhs,  Eajpoots,  Hindostanees, 
Beharees,  and  Marhattas — ^but,  nevertheless,  few  observers  doubt  that, 
if  the  English  army  departed,  the  Mahommedans,  after  one  desperate 
struggle  with  the  Siths,  would  remain  supreme  in  the  Penin- 
sula. They  are  all  potential  soldiers,  they  are  all  capable  of  self- 
sacrifice  for  the  faitn,  and  they  are  all  willing  to  cohere,  and  to 
acknowledge  one  common  and  central  authority.  They  know  how  to 
make  themselves  obeyed,  and,  though  cruel,  they  do  not  excite  the 
kind  of  hate  which  drives  subjects  to  despair.  They  have  impressed 
themselves  upon  India  as  the  ruling  caste.  Hindoos  superior  to  them- 
selves in  martial  qualities  will  yet  serve  under  them,  and  when,  in 
1857,  Northern  India  tried  in  one  great  heave  to  throw  oflF  the 
European  yoke,  it  was  to  Delhi  and  the  effete  house  of  Timour  that 
Hindoos  as  well  as  Mussulmans  turned  for  guidance  and  a  centre. 
Brahmin  Sepoys  murdered  Christian  officers  in  the  name  of  a  Mahom- 
medan Prince.  In  the  liffht  of  that  most  significant  of  facts  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  doubt  that,  though  the  process  may  be  slow,  India,  unless  all  is 
changed  by  the  intervention  of  some  new  force,  must  in  no  long 
pericnd  of  time,  as  time  is  counted  in  Asia,  become  a  Mahommedan 
country,  the  richest,  the  most  populous,  possibly  the  most  civilized, 
possibly  also  the  most  anarchical  of  them  all.  Mahommedanism  has 
never  made  a  nation  great,  nor  have  its  civilizations  endured  long,  and 
the  history  of  the  Mogul  Empire  is  not  of  good  omen.  It  produced 
some  striking  characters,  many  great  deeds,  and  a  few  magnificent 
buildings,  one  of  which,  the  Taj  at  Agra,  is  peerless  throughout  the 
world ;  but  it  rotted  very  early,  and  it  showed  fi^om  first  to  last  no 
tendency  to  breed  a  sreat  people.  The  corruption  was  greater  under 
Aurungzebe  than  under  Baber,  and  the  ease  with  which  the  British 
conquest  was  effected  can  only  be  explained  by  a  thorough  exhaustion 
of  Mussulman  morale.  They  were  the  ruling  class,  they  held  all  the 
springs  of  power,  they  had  every  motive  for  fighting  hard,  they  were 
certainly  twenty  millions  strong ;  yet  all  our  great  wars  were  waged, 
not  with  Mussulmans,  but  with  Hindoos,  Marhattas,  Pindarees,  Sikhs, 
and  our  own  Sepoys.  Had  they  possessed  in  1756-1800  one-half 
the  energy  of  the  Khalsa  or  fighting  section  of  the  Sikhs,  the  British 
would  have  been  driven  out  of  India,  or  out  of  all  India  except 
Bengal,  by  sheer  exhaustion  on  the  battle-field.     Still,  if  India 


416  -TBE  LIBBABY  KAQAZINE, 

becomes  Mahommedan,  it  may  develop  (as  eveiy  other  Mnssidman 
country  has  done)  an  eneigy  which,  though  temporary,  may  last  for 
centuries,  and  if  its  dynasts  are  Arabs  or  native  Mussulmans  instead 
or  Tartars,  it  may  rise  to  great  heights  of  a  certain  kind  of  Oriental 
civilization. 

The  intervening  spiritual  force  which  ought  to  prevent  this  conver- 
sion of  an  empire  to  a  false  and  entirelv  non-progressive  creed  is  of 
course  Christianity,  and,  now  that  the  facts  are  better  known,  a  cry 
of  alarm  has  risen  from  the  Beformed  Churches  at  the  slow  progress 
of  Christian  proselytism  in  India.  Surely,  it  is  argued,  there  must 
be  some  defect  in  the  system  of  bringing  our  faith  before  this  people, 
or  there  would  be  greater  results  from  efforts  in  themselves  great, 
and  supported  bv  the  entire  Christian  world  in  Europe  and  America. 
Why  are  the  Christians  so  few,  and  why  is  there  no  sign  that  any 
nation  in  India  is  embracing  Christianity,  or  that  any  indigenous 
Christian  Church  is  attracting,  as  Buddhism  once  did,  millions  of 
followers?  Many  writers,  provoked  by  this  cry,  have  endeavored  to 
show  that  it  is  ill-founded,  and  have  published  quantities  of  statistics 
intended  to  prove  that  Christianity  does  advance  more  rapidly  than  any 
creed;  but  no  one  who  knows  India  will  deny  that  the  complaint  is 
essentially  true.  The  number  of  Christians  in  all  India  is  larger  than 
is  commonly  supposed.  There  are  660,000  belonging  to  the  Ileformed 
Churches,  and  the  conversions,  if  we  include  the  aboriginal  tribes,  are 
becoming  more  numerous  in  proportion  than  those  of  Mahommedan- 
ism;  but  Christianity  has  taken  but  a  poor  grip  on  Hindoo  India. 
The  creed  has,  except  in  Tinnevelly,  no  perceptible  place  in  any  one 
province.  Its  votaries  are  nowhere  really  visible  among  the  popula- 
tion. Its  thoughts  do  not  afiect  the  life,  or  perplex  the  orthodoxy, 
of  other  creeds.  No  Indian  Christian  is  a  leader  or  even  a  quasi- 
leader  among  the  Indian  peoples,  and  a  traveller  living  in  India  for 
two  years,  and  knowing  the  country  well,  might  leave  it  without  full 
consciousness  that  any  work  of  active  proselytism  was  going  on 
at  all. 

Christianitv  has  not  failed  in  India,  as  some  allege ;  but  it  has  failed 
as  compared  with  reasonable  expectation,  and  witii  the  energy 
expended  in  diffusing  it,  and  it  is  worth  while  to  examine  quietly  and 
without  prejudice  the  probable  reasons  why.  To  do  this  more  easily, 
it  is  well  to  sweep  away  in  the  beginning  one  or  two  popular  fallacies. 
One  of  these  is,  tnat  wnite  Christians  in  India  are  the  conquering  race, 
and  that  Christianity  is  therefore  detested  as  their  creed.  That  is  not 
true.  That  the  English  in  India  are  regarded  by  large  sections  of  the 
people  as  "  unaccountable,  uncomfortable  works  of  God  "  may  be  true 
enough,  but  they  are  not  despised,  are  not  held  to  be  bad,  and  do  not, 
in  the  majority  of  oases,  in  any  way  diagiace  tiieir  creed.     To  %\x^ 


I8LAM  AND  CHRISTIANITY  IN  INDIA.  417 

bulk  of  tlie  native  population  they  are  little  known,  because  they  are 
not  visible,  their  numbers,  except  in  the  seaports  and  a  few  garrison 
towns,  being  inappreciable;  but  tliose  who  know  them  know  and 
admit  them  to  be  a  competent  people,  brave  in  war  and  capable  in 
peace,  always  just,  usually  benevolent,  though  never  agreeable,  ajid 
living  for  the  most  part  steadily  up  to  such  light  as  they  have.  Even 
if  they  were  worse  it  would  make  little  difference,  the  Hindoo  being 
quite  capable  of  distinguishing  between  a  creed  and  its  professors,  and 
seeing  that  his  own  people  also  as  well  as  the  Mahommedans  con- 
stantly fall  in  practice  oehind  the  teaching  of  their  own  faith. 

As  for  the  position  of  the  white  Christians  as  a  dominant  caste,  that 
is  in  favor  of  their  religion,  for  it  shows  either  that  a  great  God  is  on 
their  side,  or  that  they  enjoy,  in  an  unusual  degree,  the  favor  of 
Destiny.  The  fact — which  is  a  fact,  and  a  very  curious  one — that  the 
white  Christians,  for  the  most  part,  do  not  wish  the  Indians  to  be  con- 
verted,  has  no  doubt  an  influence,  of  which  we  will  speak  by-and-by, 
but  in  general  estimation  amon^  Indians  this  prejudice  is  not  counted 
to  their  discredit,  but  is  rather  held  to  be  a  reason  for  trusting  in  their 
unsympathetic  impartiality.  The  Hindoo,  too,  though  he  has  neither 
reverence  nor  liking  for  the  social  system  of  his  conquerors,  which  is 
far  too  much  based  on  individualism  for  his  taste,  has  a  great  respect 
for  their  material  successes  and  for  their  powers  of  thought,  whicn  in 
many  directions,  especially  in  governing  and  making  laws,  he  is  dis- 
posed to  prefer  greatly  to  his  own.  Taking  it  broadly,  it  may  be 
affirmed  that  the  fact  that  Christianity  is  the  conquerors'  creed  makes 
no  substantial  difference  one  way  or  the  other.  It  is  again  affirmed 
that  Christianity  is  too  difficult  and  complex  a  creed,  that  it  demands 
too  much  belief,  and  that  its  teachers  insist  too  much  upon  the  accept- 
ance by  the  neophyte  of  its  complexities  and  difficulties.  I  see  no 
foundation  whatever  for  that  statement.  The  difficulties  of  Christianity 
to  Christians  are  not  difficulties  to  the  Hindoo.  He  is  perfectly  famil- 
iar with  the  idea  that  God  can  be  triune ;  that  God  may  reveal  Him- 
self to  man  in  human  form;  that  a  being  may  be  at  once  man  and  God, 
and  both  completely;  that  the  divine  man  majjr  be  the  true  exemplar, 
though  separated  from  man  by  His  whole  divinity;  and  that  sin  may 
be  wiped  off  by  a  supreme  sacrifice.  Those  are  the  ideas  the  mission- 
aries teach,  and  the  majority  of  Hindoos  would  affirm  that  they  were 
perfectly  reasonable  and  in  accordance  with  the  general  and  divinely 
originated  scheme  of  things.  There  is  nothing  in  Christian  dogma 
which  to  the  Hindoo  seems  either  ridiculous  or  impossible,  while  no 
miracle  whatever,  however  stupendous,  in  the  least  overstrains  the 
capacity  of  his  faith.  There  never  was  a  creed  whose  dogmas  were  in 
themselves  so  little  offensive  to  a  heathen  people  as  the  greater  dogmas 
of  Christianity  are  to  the  Hindoo,  who,  moreover,  whUe  hinting  that 


418  THE  LIBSABY  MAGAZINE. 

the  Second  Commandment  involved  an  impoBsibilitj  in  terms,  a 
material  representation  of  the  universal  Spirit  being  inconceivable, 
would  allow  that  the  ten  constituted  a  verjr  fair  rule  of  life.  The  road 
is  smooth  instead  of  hard  for  the  Christian  theologian,  and  it  is  the 
perfect  comprehensibility  of  its  dogmas  which  makes  the  Hindoo's 
unwillingness  to  believe  narder  to  understand. 

The  real  difficulties  in  the  way  of  the  expansion  of  Christianity  in 
India  are,  I  conceive,  of  three  kinds:  one  due  to  the  creed  itself;  one 
to  the  social  disruption  which  its  acceptance  involves;  and  one  to  the 
imperfect,  it  may  even  be  said  the  slighUy  absurd,  method  hitherto 
adopted  of  making  proselytes. 

1.  It  is  most  oifficult  to  make  the  theological  impediments  to  the 
spread  of  Christianity  in  India  clear  to  the  English  mind  without 
being  accused  either  of  irreverence  or  of  presumption.  Every  mis- 
sionary has  his  own  ideas  of  those  difficulties — often  ideas  he  does  not 
express,  derived  from  great  experience— and  he  naturally  thinks  any 
other  explanation  either  insufficient  or  erroneous.  The  attempt,  how- 
ever, must  be  made — ^the  writer  premising  that  his  belief  is  based  on 
conversations  with  Brahmins  of  great  acuteness,  continued  through  a 
period  of  many  years,  but  with  Brahmins  exclusively.  No  man  not  a 
Christian  becomes  a  Christian  to  his  own  earthly  hurt  except  for  one 
of  two  reasons.  Either  he  is  intellectually  convinced  that  Christianity 
is  true — a  conviction  quite  compatible  with  great  distaste  for  the  faitn 
itself — or  he  is  attracted  bv  the  person  of  Christ,  feels,  as  the  theolo- 
gians put  it,  the  love  of  Cnrist  in  him.  The  former  change  happens 
in  India  as  often  as  elsewhere  whenever  the  Christian  mind  ana  the 
Hindoo  mind  fairly  meet  each  other,  but  it  does  not  produce  the  usual 
result.  The  BUndoo  mind  is  so  constituted  that  it  can  believe,  and 
does  believe,  in  mutually  destructive  facts  at  one  and  the  same  time. 
An  astronomer  who  pr^icts  eclipses  ten  years  ahead  without  a  blun- 
der believes  all  the  while — sincerely  believes — that  the  eclipse  is 
caused  by  some  supernatural  dog  swallowing  the  moon,  and  will  beat 
a  drum  to  make  the  dog  ^ve  up  the  prize.  A  Hindoo  wUl  state  with 
perfect  honestv  that  Ghnstianity  is  true,  that  Mahommedanism  is 
true,  and  that  his  own  special  variety  of  Brahminism  is  true,  and  that 
he  believes  them  all  three  implicitly.  The  relation  between  what  Dr. 
Newman  calls  "assent"  and  what  we  call  faith  is  inaperfect  with 
Hindoos,  and  conversion  may  be  intellectually  complete,  yet  be  for  all 

furposes  of  action  valueless.  Missionaries  are  constantly  ridiculed  in 
ndia  for  saying  that  they  have  hearers  who  are  converts  but  not 
Christians,  the  idea  being  that  they  are  either  deluding  themselves  or 
dishonestly  yielding  to  the  English  passion  for  tangible  results.  They 
are  in  reality  stating  a  simple  truth,  which  embarrasses  and  checks 
and,  sooth  to  say,  sometimes  irritates  them  beyond  ^1  measure.    What 


J 


ISLAM  AND  CHRISTIANITY  IN  INDIA.  419 

are  you  to  do  with  a  man  whpm  you  have  labored  with  your  whole 
soul  to  convince,  who  is  convinced,  and  who  remains  just  as  uncon- 
vinced for  any  practical  purpose  as  he  was  before?  The  Hindoo,  be  it 
understood,  is  not  skulking  or  shrinking  from  social  martyrdom,  or 
telling  lies;  he  really  is  intellectually  a  Hindoo  as  well  as  a  Christian. 
Some  of  us  have  seen,  it  may  be,  the  same  position  of  mind  in  the  case 
of  a  few  Boman  Catholic  agnostics,  but  in  Europe  it  is  rare.  In  India 
it  is  nearly  universal,  and  uie  extent  of  its  effect  as  a  resisting  force  to 
Christianity  is  almost  inconceivable  to  a  European.  The  missionary 
makes  no  headway.  He  is  baffled  at  the  moment  of  success  by  what 
seems  to  him  an  absurdity,  almost  a  lunacy,  which  he  yet  cannot 
remove. 

The  other  obstacle  is,  however,  yet  more  serious.  The  character  of 
Christ  is  not,  I  am  convinced,  as  acceptable  to  Indians  as  it  is  to  the 
Northern  races.  It  is  not  so  com  pletely  their  ideal,  because  it  is  not 
so  visibly  supernatural,  so  completely  beyond  any  point  which  they 
can,  unassisted  by  Divine  grace,  hope  to  attain.  The  qualities  which 
seemed  to  the  warriors  of  Clovis  so  magnificently  Divine,  the  self- 
sacrifice,  the  self-denial,  the  resignation,  the  sweet  humility,  are  pre« 
cisely  the  qualities  the  germs  of  which  exist  in  the  Hindoo.  He 
seeks,  like  every  other  man,  the  complement  of  himself,  and  not  him- 
self again,  and  stands  before  Christ  at  first  comparatively  unattracted. 
The  ideal  in  his  mind  is  as  separate  as  was  the  ideal  in  the  Jews' 
mind  of  their  expected  Messiah,,  and  though  the  ideals  of  Jew  and 
Hindoo  are  different,  the  effect  is  in  both  cases  the  same — a  passive 
dull -repulsion,  scarcely  to  be  overcome  save  by  the  special  grace  of 
God.  I  never  talked  frankly  with  a  Hindoo  in  whom  I  did  not  detect 
this  feeling  to  be  one  inner  cause  of  his  rejection  of  Christianity.  He 
did  not  want  that  particular  sublimity  of  character,  but  another,  some- 
thing more  of  the  sovereign  and  legislator.  It  may  be  said  that  this 
is  only  a  description  of  the  "  carnal  man,"  and  so  it  is,  but  the  carnal 
man  in  each  race  differs,  and  in  the  Hindoo  it  gives  him  a  repugnance, 
not  to  the  morality  of  Christianity,  which  he  entirely  acknowledges  to 
be  good,  though  incomplete  as  not  demanding  enough  ceremonial 
purity,  but  to  the  central  ideal  of  all.  This  is,  when  all  is  said,  and 
there  is  much  to  say,  the  master  difficulty  of  Christianity  in  India,  and 
the  one  which  will  delay  conversion  on  a  large  scale.  There  is  no 
Christ  in  Mohammedanism.  It  will  be  overcome  one  day  when  Christ 
is  preached  by  Christians  unsaturated  with  European  ideas,  but  till 
then  it  will  be  the  least  removable  of  impediments,  though  it  produces 
this  result  also,  that  when  it  is  removed  the  true  convert  will  display- 
does  even  now  in  rare  cases  display,  an  approximation  to  the  European 
ideal  of  Christ  such  as  in  Europe  is  scarcely  found,  or  found  only  in  a 
few  men  whom  all  the  sects  join  to  confess  as  saintly  Christians. 


420  THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

2.  What  may  be  called  the  social  difficulty  in  the  way  of  Chris- 
tianity is  very  great,  and  is  exasperated  by  the  medium  through  which  it 
is  propagated.  The  convert  is  practically  required  to  renounce  one 
civilization  and  to  accept  another  not  in  his  eyes  higher  than  his  own. 
He  is  compelled  first  of  all  to  '*  break  his  caste/'  that  is,  to  give  up 
irrecoverably — ^for  there  is  no  re-entiy  into  Hindooism — ^his  personal 
sanctity,  which  depends  on  caste,  ana  his  fixed  position  in  the  world, 
and  his  kinsfolk  and  his  friends,  and  to  throw  himself  all  bare  and  raw 
into  a  world  in  which  he  instinctively  believes  nine-tenths  of  mankind 
to  be,  for  him,  impure.  He  must  eat  and  drink  with  men  of  other 
castes,  must  hold  all  men  equal  in  his  sight,  must  rely  on  friendship 
and  not  on  an  association,  must  be  for  the  rest  of  his  life  an  individuaJ, 
and  not  one  of  a  mighty  company.  There  is  no  such  suffering  unless 
it  be  that  of  a  Camolic  nun  flung  into  the  world  by  a  revolutionary 
movement  to  earn  her  bread,  and  to  feel  as  if  the  very  breeze  were 
impiously  familiar.  Be  it  remembered,  a  low-caste  man  feels  the  pro- 
tection of  caste  as  strongly  ad  a  high-caste  man,  and  the  convert  to 
Christianity  does  not,  like  the  convert  to  Mahommedanism,  merely 
change  his  caste;  he  loses  it  altogether. 

There  is  in  India  no  Christian  caste,  and  there  never  will  be.  Not 
to  mention  that  the  idea  is  in  itself  opposed  to  Christianity,  there  can 
be  no  such  organization  unless  the  Europeans  will  admit  quality 
between  themselves  and  the  natives,  and  they  will  not.  Something 
stronger  than  themselves  forbids  it.  They  may  be  wrong  or  right, 
but  meir  wills  are  powerless  to  conquer  a  feeling  tliey  often  sorrow 
for,  and  the  very  missionary  who  dies  a  martyr  to  his  efforts  to  con- 
vert the  Indians  would  die  unhappy  if  his  daughter  married  the  best 
convert  among  them.  In  presence  of  that  feeling  a  Christian  caste  is 
impossible,  for  the  Hindoo,  a  true  Asiatic,  will  not  admit  that  with 
equality  in  caste  inequality  in  race  can  co-exist.  It  has  often  been 
suggested  that  this  obstacle  to  the  spread  of  Christianity  is  wilful,  and 
that  the  converts  might  keep  their  caste,  but  the  plan  nas  never  been 
worked,  and  never  can  be.  I  firmly  believe  caste  to  be  a  marvellous 
discovery,  a  form  of  socialism  which  through  ages  has  protected  Hin- 
doo society  from  anarchy  and  from  the  worst  evils  of  industrial  and 
competitive  life — it  is  an  automatic  poor-law  to  begin  with,  and  the 
strongest  form  known  of  trades-union — but  Christianity  demands  its 
sacrifices  like  every  other  creed,  and  caste  in  the  Indian  sense  and 
Christianity  cannot  co-exist.  With  caste  the  convert  gives  up  much 
of  his  domestic  law,  the  harem-like  seclusion  of  his  home,  much  of  his 
authority  over  wife  and  children,  his  right  of  compelling  his  daughter 
to  marry  early,  which,  as  explained  above,  he  holos  part  of  his  honor, 
most  of  his  daily  habits,  ana  even,  in  theory  at  all  events,  his  method 
of  eating  his  nieals.    A  Christian  cannot  condemn  his  wife  to  eat 


tSLAM  AK2)  cnklSTlAmTY  IN  INDIA.  45J1 

alone  because  of  her  inferiority.  Everything  is  changed  for  him.  and 
ohanged  for  the  unaccustomea,  in  order  that  he  may  confess  bis  faith. 
One  can  hardly  wonder  that  many,  otherwise  ready,  shrink  from  such. 
a  baptism  by  fire,  or  that  the  second  generation  of  native  Christians 
oilen  show  signs  of  missing  ancient  buttresses  of  conduct.  They  are 
the  true  anxieties  of  the  missionaries,  and  it  is  from  them  in  nine  cases 
out  of  ten  that  the  ill  repute  of  Indian  Christians  is  derived;  but 
European  opinion  about  them  is  most  unfair.  They  are  not  converts, 
but  born  Christians,  like  any  of  our  own  artisans;  they  have  not  gone 
through  a  mental  martyrdom,  and  they  have  to  be  bred  up  without 
strong  convictions,  except  that  Christianity  is  doubtless  true,  without 
the  defences  which  native  opinion  has  organized  for  ages,  and  in  the 
midst  of  a  heathen  society  in  which  the  white  Christians  declare  their 
children  shall  not  live.  One  such  man  I  knew  well,  who  showed  much 
of  the  quality  of  the  European,  a  big,  bold  man,  though  a  Bengalee  by 
birth,  utterly  intolerable  to  his  kinsfolk,  and  an  outcast  from  all  native 
society.  He  fought  his  battle  for  a  good  while  hard,  but  he  grew 
bitter  and  savage,  became,  among  other  changes,  a  deadly  enemy  of 
the  British  Government,  and  at  last  solved  all  the  questions  wnich 
pressed  on  him  so  fiercely  by  turning  Mahommedan.  A  native  Chris- 
tian village  in  Canara  some  years  since  followed  the  same  course,  and 
it  may  hereafter  be  a  frequent  one. 

S.  The  greatest  obstacle,  however,  to  the  rapid  diffiision  of  Chris- 
tianity in  India  is  the  method  adopted  to  secure  proselytes.  The 
Beformed  Churches  of  Europe  and  America  have  devoted  themselves 
to  the  old  object  with  some  zeal  and  commendable  perseverance,  but 
they  have  entirely  failed  to  secure  volunteers  for  the  work.  Owing  to 
causes  very  difficult  to  understand,  missionary  work  in  India  scarcely 
ever  attracts  Europeans  possessed  of  even  a  small  independence,  and 
the  number  of  those  who  maintain  themselves  and  work  for  the  cause, 
seeking  no  pecuniary  aid  from  the  churches,  inay  be  counted  on  the 
fingers  of  one  hand.  The  churches,  therefore,  acting  for  the  most  part 
independently,  but  still  acknowledging  a  federal  tie  of  good-will  which 
induces  them  to  avoid  interfering  with  one  another,  have  organized 
what  is  practically  a  proselytizing  "  service"  for  India,  consisting  now 
of  about  seven  hundred  men,  differing,  of  course,  greatly  among  each 
other,  but  most  of  them  as  well  educated  as  average  English  or  Scotch 
clergymen,  most  of  them  married,  and  all  of  them  honestly  devoted  to 
their  work.  The  charges  sometimes  brought  against  them  in  England, 
but  never  in  India,  are  not  only  unfounded,  but  nonsensical.  Kow  and 
again  a  missionary,  tempted  by  the  high  rewards  offered  for  his  special 
knowledge,  or  detecting  in  himself  some  want  of  true  vocation,  em- 
braces a  secular  career,  and  is  thenceforward  regarded  by  his  brethren 
as  a  backslider.    Now  and  again  a  missionary,  disencnanted  or  con- 


4ij^  m^  UMA  /?  r  MA  a  A  ^we. 

quered  by  that  disgust  of  India  which  with  some  Europeans  l)eootnes 
a  mental  disease,  returns  to  the  West  to  commence  the  ordinary  life 
of  an  Established  or  Dissenting  clergyman.  Now  and  again,  but  very 
rarely,  a  missionary  falls  a  prey  to  some  temptation  of  drink,  or  desire, 
or  gain,  and  is  cast  out,  his  comrades  "inquiring"  in  such  cases  with 
all  the  severity  and  more  than  the  care  of  any  judicial  court.  But  the 
churches  are,  for  the  most  part,  admirably  served.  The  missionaries 
lead  excellent  and  hard-working  lives,  are  implicitly  trusted  b}*^  the 
whole  community,  European  and  native,  and  rarely  resign  until  warned 
by  severe  illness  that  the  period  of  their  usefulness  is  overpast.  Many 
of  them  become  men  of  singular  learning;  many  more  show  them- 
selves administrators  of  high  merit;  and  all  display  on  occasion  thnt 
reserve  of  energy  and  devotion  which  more'  than  any  other  thing 
marks  that  the  heart  of  a  Service  is  sound.  Most  pathetic  stories 
are  told  of  their  behavior  in  the  great  Mutiny,  but  1  prefer  to  tell  a 
little  anecdote  which  is  known  to  me  to  be  true,  and  is  most  charac- 
teristic: 

The  Eev.  John  Eobinson  was,  in  1850  or  1851,  an  unpaid  mis- 
sionary, recognized  as  such  by  the  Baptist  Church,  but  maintaining 
himself  as  a  translator.  He  was  suddenly  summoned  one  day  to  the 
Leper  Asylum  to  baptize  a  dying  convert.  The  message  was 
intended  for  his  father,  but  the  father  was  sick,  and  my 
friend  went  instead,  in  fear  and  trembling,  baptized  the  dying 
man,  consoled  him,  and  then  was  seized  with  a  throe  of  mental  agony. 
It  is  the  custom  of  many  missionaries  on  receiving  a  neophyte, 
especially  if  sick,  to  give  him  the  kiss  of  peace.  Mr.  Eobinson 
thought  this  his  bounden  duty,  but  he  was  himself  a  half- 
breed,  his  mother  having  been  a  Malay  convert,  and  he  was  absolutely 
persuaded  of  the  Indian  theory  that  leprosy,  though  non-contagious 
in  the  case  of  a  white  man,  is  frightlully  contagious  in  the  case  of  one 
with  native  blood  in  his  veins.  He  hesitated,  walked  to  the  door,  and 
returned  to  kiss  the  leper  on  the  lips,  and  then  to  lie  for  days  in  liis 
own  house,  prostrated  with  an  uncontrollable  and,  as  experience  has 
often  proved,  not  unreasonable  nervous  terror.  A  superstitious  fool, 
the  doctor  thought  him,  when  he  had  wormed  the  truth  out  of  him 
during  his  fit  of  nervous  horror.  True  soldier  of  Christ,  say  I,  who, 
when  his  duty  called  him,  faced  something  far  worse  thau  shot.  The 
body  of  the  missionaries  have  that  quality  in  them,  and  those  who 
deprecate  or  deride  them  do  not  know  the  facts.  But,  excellent  as 
they  are,  it  is  not  for  the  work  of  proselytism  that  they  are  adapted. 

In  the  first  place,  they  are  too  few.  Every  missionary  has  a  wife, 
a  house,  a  conveyance,  children  who  must  be  sent  home  ;  and  must, 
being  so  situated,  live  the  usuftl  and  respectable  European  life.  That 
costs  on  the  average  £500  a  year  per  house;  and  the  churches,  which, 


ISLAM  AND  CHRISTIANITY  IN  INDIA,  423 

if  they  are  resell  j  to  reach  all  India,  need  at  least  6,000  agents^  cannot, 
or  at  all  events  will  not,  provide  for  more  than  700.  In  the  second 
place,  the  missionaries  are  Europeans,  divided  from  the  people  by  a 
oaitier  as  strong  as  that  which  separates  a  Chinaman  from  a  Londoner, 
by  race,  by  color,  by  dress,  by  incurable  diflferences  of  thought,  of 
habit^  of  taste,  and  of  language.  The  last  named  the  missionary 
sometimes,  though  by  no  means  always,  overcomes,  but  the  remain- 
ing barriers  he  cannot  overcome,  for  they  are  rooted  in  his  very  nature, 
and  he  does  not  try.  He  never  becomes  an  Indian,  or  anything  which 
an  Indian  could  mistake  for  himself:  the  influence  of  civilization  is 
too  strong  for  him.  He  cannot  help  desiring  that  his  flock  should 
become  ^'civilized"  as  well  as  Christian  ;  he  understands  no  civiliza- 
tion not  European,  and  by  unwearied  admonition,  by  governing,  by 
teaching,  by  setting  up  all  manner  of  useful  industries,  he  tries,  to 
bring  them  up  to  his  narrow  ideal.  That  is,  he  becomes  a  pastor  on 
the  best  English  model:  part  preacher,  part  schoolmaster,  part  ruler; 
always  doing  his  best,  always  more  or  less  successful,  but  always  with 
an  eye  to  a  &lse  end,  the  Europeanization  of  the  Asiatic,  and  always 
acting  through  the  false  method  of  developing  the  desire  of  imitation. 
There  is  the  curse  of  the  whole  system,  whether  of  missionary  work 
or  of  education  in  India.  The  missionary,  like  the  educationist,  can- 
not resist  the  desire  to  make  his  pupils  English,  to  teach  them  English 
literature,  English  science,  English  knowledge ;  often — as  in  the  case 
of  the  vast  Scotch  missionary  colleges,  establishments  as  large  as 
universities,  and  as  successful  in  teaching — through  the  medium  of 
English  alone.  He  wants  to  saturate  Easterns  with  the  West.  The 
result  is  that  the  missionary  becomes  xm  excellent  pastor  or  an  efficient 
schoolmaster  instead  of  a  prosely  tizer,  and  that  his  converts  or  their 
children  or  the  thousands  of  pagan  lads  he  teaches  become  in  exact 
proportion  to  his  success  a  hybrid  caste,  not  quite  European,  not 
quite  Indian,  with  the  originality  killed  out  of  them,  with  self-reliance 
weakened,  with  all  mental  aspirations  wrenched  violently  in  a  direc- 
tion which  is  not  their  own.  It  is  as  if  Englishmen  were  trained  by 
Chinamen  to  become  not  only  Buddhists,  but  Chinese.  The  first  and 
most  visible  result  is  a  multiplication  of  Indians  who  know  English, 
but  are  not  English,  either  in  intellectual  ways  or  in  morale ;  and  the 
second  is  that,  after  eighty  years  of  efifort,  no  great  native  missionary 
has  arisen,  that  no  great  Indian  Church  has  developed  itself  on  lines 
of  its  own  and  with  unmistakable  self-dependent  vitality,  and  that  the 
ablest  missionaries  say  sorrowfully  that  white  supervision  is  still 
needed,  and  that  if  they  all  retired  the  work  might  even  now  be  undone, 
as  it  was  in  Japan.  Where  SOOO  preaching  friars  are  required,  most 
or  all  of  them  Asiatics,  living  among  the  people,  thinking  like  them 
as  regards  all  but  creed,  sympathizing  wita  them  even  in  their  super- 


424  TME  LIBRARY  MAQASSINS. 

stitious,  we  have  700  excellent  but  foreign  schoolmasters  or  pastors  or 
ruling  elders. 

What  is  wanted  in  India  for  the  work  of  proselytizing  is  not  a  Free 
Church  College,  an  improved  Edinburgh  High  Sonool,  teaching  thous- 
ands of  Brahmins  English,  but  an  El  Azhar  for  training  native  mission- 
aries through  their  own  tongue,  and  in  their  own  ways  of  thought 
exclusively — a  college  which  should  produce,  not  Baboos  competent 
to  answer  examination  papers  from  Cambridge,  but  Christian  fanatics 
learned  in  the  Chri8tiani2sed  learning  of  Asia,  and  ready  to  wander 
forth  to  preach,  and  teach,  and   argue,  and  above  all  to  command  as 
the  missionaries  of  Islam  do.     Let  every  native  church  once  founded 
be  left  to  itself,  or  be  helped  only  by  letters  of  advice,  as  the  churches 
of  Asia  were,  to  seek  for  itself  the  rule  of  life  which  best  suits  Chris- 
tianity in  India,  to  press  that  part  of  Christianity  most  welcome  to 
the  people,  to  urge  those  dogmatic  truths  which  most  attract  and  hold 
them.     We  in  England  have  almost  forgotten  those  discussions  on  the 
nature  of  God  which  divided  the  Eastern  Empire  of  Home,  and  which 
among  Christian  Indians  would  probably  revive  in  their  fiiUest  force. 
It  is  the  very  test  of  Christianity  that  it  can  adapt  itself  to  all  civiliza- 
tions and  improve  all,  and  the  true  native  churches  of  India  will  no 
more  be  like  the  Beformed  Churches  of  Europe  than  the  churches  of 
Yorkshire  are  like  the  churches  of  Asia  Minor.    Strange  belie&, strange 
organizations,  many  of  them  spirital  despotisms  of  a  lofty  type,  like 
that  of  Keshub  Chunder  Sen,  the  most  original  of  all  modem  Indians, 
wild  aberrations  from  the  truth,  it  may  be  even  monstrous  heresies, 
will  appear  among  them,  but  there   will  be  life,  conflict,  energy,  and 
the  faith  will  spread,  not  as  it  does  now  like  a  fire  in  a  middle-class 
stove,  but  like  a  fire  in  the  forest.     There  is  far  too  much  fear  of 
imperfect  Christianity  in  the  whole  missionary  organization.      Chris- 
tianity is  always  imperfect  in  its  beginnings.     The  majority  of  Chris- 
tians in  Constantine^s  time  would  have  seemed  to  modem  missionaries 
mere  worldlings;   the  converted  Saxons  were  for  centuries  violent 
brutes ;  and  the  mass  of  Christians  throughout  the  world  are  even  now 
no  better  than  indifierents.     None  the  less  is  it  tme  that  the  race  which 
embraces  Christianity,  even  nominally,  rises  with  a  bound  out  of  its 
former  position,  and  contains  in  itself  thenceforward  the  seed  of  a 
nobler  and  more  lasting  life.      Christianity  in  a  new  people  must 
develop   civilization  for  itself,  not  be  smothered  by  it,  still  less  be 
exhausted  in  the  impossible  effort  to  accrete  to  itself  a  civilization 
from  the  outside.      Natives  of  India  when  they  are  Christians  will  be 
and  ought  to  be  Asiatics  still — that  is,  as  unlike  English  rectors  or 
English  Dissenting  ministers  as  it  is  possible  for  men  of  the  same  creed 
to  be,  and  the  effort  to  squeeze  them  into  those  moulds  not  only  wastes 
power,  but  destroys  the  vitality  of  the  original  material.    Mahomme- 


' 


BALPH  Waldo  emersoht.  425 

dan  proselytism  succeeds  in  India  because  it  leaves  its  converts 
Asiatics  still ;  Christian  proselytism  fails  in  India  because  it  strives  to 
make  of  its  converts  English  middle-class  men.  That  is  the  truth  in 
a  nutshell,  whether  we  choose  to  accept  it  or  not. — Contemporary 
Review. 


EALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 

To  some  Englishmen  the  name  of  Emerson  suggests  little  more  than 
a  curious  chapter  in  the  history  of  modem  mysticism.  To  a  large 
section  of  cultivated  Americans,  on  the  other  hand,  the  philosopher 
of  Concord  appears  the  most  representative  figure  in  their  republic  of 
letters,  their  most  imaginative  poet,  their  greatest  teacher,  their  most 
vigorous  and  daring  thinker,  their  most  original  writer.  And  their 
verdict  is  substantially  correct.  The  estimate  may  appear  excessive; 
but  the  exaggeration,  if  such  there  be,  is  prompted  by  true  instincts  of 
national  gratitude.  A  glance  at  the  movement  which  revolutionized 
the  intellectual  and  literary  condition  of  America  in  1830-1840,  and 
the  unrivaled  influence  which.  Emerson  exercised  in  promoting  and 
directing  that  movement,  will  explain,  if  it  does  not  justify  the  ver- 
dict of  his  fellow-countrymen. 

In  1830  the  United  States  were  a  crowded  mart,  a  busy  workshop, 
a  bustling  'CJiange.  The  general  standard  of  life  was  low.  Several 
years  later,  thoughtful,  spiritual-minded  men,  like  Sylvester  Judd,  still 
protested  against  the  political,  social,  and  religious  vices  which  had 
corrupted  the  New  England  spirit,  and  seemed  inextricably  interwoven 
with  public  institutions.  The  brains  of  the  country  were  attracted 
into  channels  of  activity  which  were  hostile  to  literature,  philosophy, 
and  art.  Practical  men,  absorbed  in  business  pursuits,  hemmed  in  by 
objects  of  sense,  regarding  only  immediate  and  obvious  utility,  had 
lost  faith,  if  not  consciousness,  in  the  higher  faculties  of  their  moral 
and  mental  natures.  Thev  were  more  eager  to  get  a  living  than  to 
live.  Those  who  had  leisure  or  capacity  for  thought  were,  like 
Irving,  swept  away  by  the  tide  of  imitatipn,  or,  like  Dana,  crippled  by 
dissatisfaction  with  their  surroundings.  Fashions,  philosopny,  liter- 
ary tone,  were  borrowed  from  the  Old  World.  Miss  Edgeworth  and 
Mrs.  Trimmer  fed  the  rising  generation  npon  English  conventionaL 
ities;  literature  displayed  the  mediocrity  of  imitation  rather  than  the 
natural  charm  of  invention;  Americans  wrote  from  their  memories; 
they  rebuilt  the  sepulchres  of  their  fathers,  not  tenements  for  living 
men.  They  had  no  native  standards.  Washington  Irving  caught  the 
graces  of  Addison,  and  national  vanity  satisfied  itself  with,  comparing 


426  TB^  LJ^BAnr  MAGAZINE. 

Cooper  to  Walter  Scott,  or  claiming  for  Bryant  a  rival  with  Words- 
worth. An  AUston  might  attempt  the  highest  range  of  pictorial  art;- 
but  both  in  painting  and  poetry  American  talent  was  attracted  towards 
inanimate  Nature,  and  in  neither  field  attained  the  most  perfect  form 
of  expression.  Neither  painters  nor  poets  penetrated  from  the  form 
to  the  substance.  A  Bryant  or  a  Doughty  might  render  into  verse  or 
upon  canvas  something  of  the  rare  fascination  which  is  exercised  by 
the  stillness  and  solitude  of  forest  life.  But,  as  a  rule,  both  landscape 
painting  and  descriptive  verse  displayed  little  more  than  accurate 
memory,  patient  observation,  sensitiveness  to  beauty,  selection  of  strik- 
ing effects.  In  neither  the  one  nor  the  other  was  there  revealed  that 
imaginative  faculty  which  expresses  ideal  truth  through  the  forms  of 
Nature,  that  high  poetic  vein  which  submits  the  shows  of  things  to 
the  desires  of  the  mind. 

Industrialism  and  imitation  were  not  more  uncompromising  in  their 
hostility  to  independent  culture  than  was  Puritanism.  In  former  gen- 
erations religion  had  raised  and  elevated  New  England  settlers,  given 
strength  to  character,  and  fibre  to  morality.  But  the  grim  austerity 
of  Calvinism  had  never  smiled  on  art ;  it  was  iron  in  its  discipline, 
stern  and  implacable  in  its  doctrine ;  it  favored  neither  freedom  nor 
variety  of  thought.  Puritans,  who  were  unclogged  by  formalism  and 
unfettered  by  logic,  might  still  soar  upwards  into  the  celestial  regions 
of  ecstatic  faith;  but  as  the  lives  of  the  emigrants  had  settled  down 
into  prose,  so  the  poetry  of  their  religion  had  fled.  Old  ideas,  pas- 
sionate piety,  and  philosophical  penetration,  met  in  (inflict.  Men 
became  sceptics  unawares ;  they  doubted  the  basis  of  the  faith  to 
whose  symbols  they  clung  with  desperate  tenacity.  Religion's  claim 
to  inspiration  was  opposed  to  the  dominant  philosophy  of  Locke; 
Puritan  asceticism  revolted  against  the  habits  of  a  wealthy  democracy. 
The  Scarlet  Letter  reveals  the  possibilities,  if  not  the  actualities,  of  the 
gloomy  despotism,  which  frowned  down  amusement,  carried  its  espion- 
age into  private  life,  and  darkened  society  with  the  grim  shadow  of 
ministerial  tyranny.  The  inevitable  reaction  came.  Formal,  hard, 
external,  it  fell  an  easy  prey  to  Unitarianism.  But  its  successful  rival 
was  too  dry  and  material  to  satisfy  the  higher  needs  of  human  nature. 
With  all  its  clearness  of  thought,  mental  activity,  and  sincerity  of 
intention,  it  had,  in  1830,  lost  its  spring.  In  ceasing  to  be  aggressive, 
it  ceased  to  be  enthusiastic.  It  rose  or  fell  to  a  dull  level  of  respecta- 
bility, on  which  a  sense  of  propriety  replaced  religious  fervor.  Thus 
the  society  of  the  country  was  industrial,  utilitarian,  fettered  by  con- 
ventionalities;  its  religion  formal  or  rationalizing;  its  art  unimagina- 
tive; its  literature  imitative  and  pusillanimous. 

To  change  these  unfavorable  conditions  was  the  object  of  Emerson^s 
teaching.    Few  men  initiated  a  new  departure  with  more  coDicious 


\ 


nALPtr  WALDO  ^MERBOJ^.  427 

purpose.  The  text  of  his  first  sermon  was  "  What  is  a  man  profited 
if  he  gain  the  whole  world  and  lose  his  own  soul?"  The  great  end  of 
every  man^s  life  is  the  preservation  of  his  individual  mind  and  char- 
acter. This  lesson  of  private  fireedom  is  the  essence  of  all  his  later 
utterances.  Nature^  his  first  published  composition,  was  a  challenge 
to  the  Old  World.  In  his  thoughts  on  modem  Literature  {Dial^  Octo- 
ber, 1840),  the  same  note  is  struck ;  even  Qoethe  fails  to  satisfy  him, 
not  only  because  of  his  artistic  indifTorentism,  but  because,^in  Emer- 
son's opinion,  he  never  rose  above  the  sphere  of  artistic  convention- 
ality. The  addresses  before  the  Phi-Beta-Kappa  Societv,  and  before 
the  Divinity  class  at  Cambridge,  produced  a  profound  impression. 
The  first  took  his  audience  by  storm.  It  was  "  an  event,"  says  Low- 
elt,  "  without  any  former  parallel  in  our  literary  annals,  a  scene  to  be 
always  treasured  in  the  memory  for  its  picturesqueness  and  its  inspira- 
tion." "  II  has,"  wrote  Theodore  Parker,  who  also  heard  it,  "  made  a 
great  noise ; "  and  he  calls  it  "  the  noblest,  most  inspiring  strain  I  ever 
listened  to."  In  after  life  he  used  "  to  thank  God  for  the  sun,  the 
moon,  and  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson."  Many  Americans  of  the  present 
(lay  have  testified  to  the  electric  shock  which  these  two  addresses 
gave  to  society.  They  were  everywhere  discussed ;  they  provoked 
numerous  replies,  created  a  species  of  panic  among  professors  like 
Andrews  Norton,  and  became  the  occasion  of  a  heated  controversy. 
Emerson  alone  took  no  part  in  this  "  storm  in  a  wash-bowl." 

In  these  early  productions  Emerson  sketched  the  teaching  which 
he  afterwards  expanded,  developed,  and  illustrated  in  all  his  subse- 
quent lectures  ana  essays.  He  is  moved  by  the  spirit  of  a  new  people. 
He  is  determined  to  see  in  the  individual  man  of  to-day  the  elements 
of  all  the  greatness,  the  germ  of  all  the  strength,  that  the  noblest  his- 
torical figures  have  displayed.  Each  individual  is  the  lord  of  circum- 
stance, the  maker  of  his  character,  the  master  of  his  fate.  What  Plato 
has  thought,  every  one  may  think ;  what  a  saint  has  felt,  every  one 
may  feel.  Names  of  power  do  not  overawe  Emerson;  he  is  not 
oppressed  by  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol.  "My  giant  goes  with  me 
wherever  I  go."  He  regards  the  world  with  a  new  vision ;  he  gives 
the  living  present  precedence  over  the  dead  past ;  the  vital  spark  within 
bis  nation  outweighs  the  most  splendid  dust  of  antiquity.  He  breathes 
the  free  air  of  the  Western  prairies.  He  eschews  all  alien  or  artificial 
inspirations,  and  studies  the  material  which  lies  to  his  right  hand  and 
his  left.  He  urges  his  countrymen  to  turn  from  the  literature  oi  salons 
to  their  own  modes  and  customs  of  life,  to  contemplate  the  nature  that 
is  before  their  eyes  directly,  and  not  through  foreign  spectacles. 
"  Here,  on  this  rugged  soil  of  Massachusetts,  I  take  my  stand,  baring 
my  brow  in  the  breeze  of  my  own  country,  and  invoke  the  genius  of 
my  own  woods."    Not  only  10  he  national  and  the  representative  of  a 


428  THE  LIBBARY  MAGAZINE. 

new  people,  he  is  also  democratic  in  his  mental  attitude.  The  Puri- 
tans nad  preached  the  natural  depravity  of  man.  Emerson  asserted 
his  inherent  worth.  He  taught  that  man  was  capable  of  self-govern- 
ment, that,  if  he  were  but  true  to  himself,  his  future  was  serene  and 
glorious.  He  insisted  that  every  individual  human  being  might  be, 
and  ought  to  be,  law,  prophet,  church,  to  himself.  He  endeavored  to 
build  up  character  by  individual  culture,  to  develop  each  man's  inter- 
nal resources  so  that  they  should  require  no  external  aid,  social  or 
religious.*  He  claimed  for  the  individual  mind  a  sovereign  freedom  of 
thought,  a  direct  communion  with  the  Infinite  mind.  "The  foregoing 
generations,''  he  writes,  "  beheld  God  face  to  face ;  we,  through  their 
eyes;  why  should  not  we  enjoy  also  an  original  relation  to  the 
universe?  Why  should  not  we  have  a  poetry  and  philosophy  of 
insight  and  not  of  tradition,  and  a  religion  oy  revelation  to  us  ana  not 
the  history  of  theirs?  "  It  is  this  doctrine  of  self-reliance," illustrated 
by  fresh  examples,  enforced  under  new  aspects,  presented  in  diflFerent 
shapes,  that  forms  the  essence  of  his  aspects,  and  was  repeated  on 
every  platform  and  reiterated  in  every  essay.  His  teaching  emphatic- 
ally protested  against  utilitarian  ethics,  against  material  philosophy, 
against  formal  religion,  against  carefully  cultured  exotics  which  choked 
plants  of  native  growth. 

Ecclesiastically  and  politically  free,  America  was  still  intellectually 
dependent.  Emerson  enlarged  and  illuminated  his  countrymen's  con- 
ception of  national  life,  and  gave  to  it  an  impulse  and  direction  which 
it  never  lost.  His  words  stirred  the  blood  of  his  contemporaries  like 
a  bugle-call ;  the  movement  he  promoted  had  its  excesses  and  extrava- 
gances, but  it  was  fresh,  indigenous,  national.  In  1880  America  was 
intellectaally  a  colony  of  England.  Emerson's  writings  and  addresses 
from  1836  to  1840  were  the  "  Declaration  of  Intellectual  Independence." 

It  would  be  absurd  to  say,  that  Emerson  created  an  intellectual 
revival  which  had  commenced  in  1820 ;  but  he  stimulated  its  pro- 
gress, and,  although  he  stood  aloof  from  some  of  its  phases,  he  guided 
and  steadied  its  course.  Other  influences  were  already  at  work 
to  produce  what  may  be  called,  without  fear  of  provoking  compari- 
sons, the  Elizabethan  Age  of  American  Literature.  It  was  the  spring- 
time of  national  independence,  and  a  stir  was  in  the  air.  The  long 
frost  of  custom  was  breaking  up ;  society  was  preparing  to  bud  and 
blossom  with  promise  of  varied  fruit;  men  were  learning  to  think  for 
themselves.  ^Bryant,  Irving,  Cooper,  the  profound  mind  of  Channing, 
the  richly  flowered  eloquence  of  Everett  had  not  created  an  American 
literature,  but  they  had  created  an  American  audience  for  the  discus- 
sion of  every  sort  of  topic  from  poetry  to  criticism.  As  broader  fields 
of  action  opened  out,  as  novel  controversies  occupied  the  press,  as 
criticism  auialysed  the  bases  of  classical  or  theological  literature,  as 


ij 


BALFK  WALDO  EMERSON.  499 

scienod  destroyed  accepted  fictions,  fresh  interests  and  theories  collided 
with  ancient  creeds  and  institutions.  The  shock  of  new  and  old  struck 
the  spark  of  literary  life.  The  revolution  began  with  a  change  in 
metaphysics.  Thinkers  have  been  for  centuries  divided  into  Idealists 
and  Sensationalists,  Transcendentalists  and  Materialists.  The  one 
insists  upon  thought,  will,  and  inspiration,  the  other  on  facts,  history, 
circumstances;  the  one  starts  from  consciousness,  the  other  from 
experience ;  the  one  treats  the  external  world  as  the  product  of  man's 
thought ;  the  other  regards  man  as  the  product  of  the  external  world ; 
the  one  exalts,  the  other  decries  mental  abstractions ;  the  one  depre- 
ciates, the  other  exaggerates  matter ;  the  one  emphasizes  the  unity  of 
reason,  the  other  the  variety  of  sense.  From  wnat  has  been  already 
said  of  Emerson,  it  is  obvious  that  he  would  throw  all  the  weight  of 
his  genius  into  the  scale  of  Idealism.  Stripped  of  its  metaphysics, 
Transcendentalism  represents  the  value  of  ideals  in  thought,  morals, 
politics,  and  reform.  Emerson  traced  the  decadence  of  the  human 
mind  to  the  supremacy  of  the  system  of  Locke.  He  deplored  the  loss 
or  native  force,  of  width  of  grasp,  of  depth  of  feeling,  which  had 
achieved  great  things  in  literature,  art,  and  statesmanship.  Men  could 
not  think  grandly  so  long  as  they  consumed  their  energies  in  thinking 
clearly. 

Home  and  foreign  influences  encouraged  the  spread  of  Transcenden- 
talism. .  The  Old  World,  with  its  leisured,  cultured  classes,  scarcely 
appreciates  the  difficulty  of  reconciling  social  conditions  with  high 
aspirations  that  is  experienced  in  New  Worlds,  where  no  shades  soften 
the  hard  line  which  severs  thought  from  action.  Men  are  compelled 
to  be  either  in  the  world  or  out  of  it ;  their  sole  claim  to  honor  is  their 
power  to  do  the  tangible  work  before  them.  Hence  refined  and  culti- 
vated Americans  were  predisposed  in  favor  of  a  theory  which  made 
thinkers  kings,  and  reduced  the  tumult  of  a  life,  which  the  nation 
accepted  as  the  sole  reality,  into  the  unreal,  shifting  product  of  thought. 
Nor  is  it  perhaps  wholly  fanciful  to  imagine,  that  the  peculiar  rela- 
tions of  man  and  nature  influenced  the  desire  to  merge  m  unity  that 
which  could  not  be  reconciled.  In  the  New  World  the  nineteenth 
century  stood  vividly  and  sharply  contrasted  with  antiquity;  the  prim- 
itive savage  was  confronted  by  the  printing  press,  the  silence  of  the 
primaeval  forest  was  broken  by  the  whirr  of  the  last  mechanical  inven- 
tion. The  two  elements  could  not  be  harmonized,  but  they  might  be 
blended  in  that  Absolute  which  Transcendentalists  adored.  Moreover, 
the  nation  had  not  lost  the  sentiment  of  religion.  But  the  dominant 
philosophy  had  undermined  the  foundations  of  theology:  the  axiom, 
nihil  est  in  intellectu  nisipriua  in  sensu,  supplied  no  basis  for  faith,  no 
assurance  of  the  attributes  or  existence  of  Grod.  The  Transcendentalist 
met  unbelief  with  new  weapons.    He  insisted  upon  man's  communion 


430  THJS  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

with  the  super-sensible  world,  his  power  of  spiritual  perceptions,  his 
intuition  into  that  order  of  existence  to  which  belong  our  absolute 
ideas  of  truth,  justice,  beauty,  that  sphere  which  lies  beyond  the  region 
of  empiric  knowledge,  and  behind  the  horizon  of  the  senses.  The 
Americans  were  thus  predisposed  in  favor  of  Transcendentalism  by 
their  external  circumstances  and  their  religious  sentiment. 

The  passion  for  intelligible  results,  for  facts  which  can  be  fonnular- 
ized,  distinguishes  the  system  of  Locke.  If  this  feeling  in  excess 
leads  to  poverty  and  narrowness  of  thought,  it  has  compensating 
advantages.  Both  its  good  and  its  bad  side  are  illustrated  by  the 
Transcendental  movement.  A  boundless  future  seemed  to  open 
before  the  new  philosophers.  The  crust  of  society  was  broken  up  by 
a  volcanic  eruption  of  sentiment.  The  great  wave  of  Bomanticism 
reached  America  after  its  force  was  spent  in  Europe,  but  it  gathered 
irresistible  force  as  it  crossed  the  Atlantic,  or  encountered  less  oppo- 
sition from  past  or  present  in  it^  preparations  for  the  future.  The 
movement  was  one  of  intellectual  emancipation,  but  it  also  degener- 
ated into  every  form  of  whimsical  aberration,  into  vague  schemes  of 
grandiloquent  idealism,  as  well  as  into  the  dangerous  inanities  of 
spirit-rapping.  Abandoning  traditions,  denying  the  guidance  of  his- 
tory, Transcendentalists  launched  forth  into  the  sea  of  life  with  no 
compass  but  their  own  opinions,  and  no  rudder  except  their  instincts. 
Men  passed  through  "  moral  phases  "  with  bewildering  rapidity.  And 
here,  once  more,  the  inflaence  of  Emerson  proved  invaluaUe.  His 
reputation  bias  suffered  by  the  association  of  his  name  with  a  local 
movement  from  which  he  really  stood  aloof.  He  rebuked  alike  the 
fanaticism  of  the  Transcendentalists  and  the  Conservatives.  His 
shrewd,  vigorous,  and  well-balanced  judgment  gave  an  every-day 
meaning  to  their  vague  philosophies,  and  a  practical  turn  to  their 
aspirations  ;  he  condensed,  concentrated,  and  vitalized  the  thin,  wan- 
dering vapors  of  their  idealism.  He  saw  keenly  enough  the  extrav- 
agances and  eccentricities  of  the  Delia- Cruscans,  dilettanti,  and  phil- 
osophical dyspeptics,  who  called  themselves  his  followers.  His  strong 
common  sense  repudiated  their  abstention  from  the  duties  of  domes- 
tic and  public  life.  He  quietly  ridiculed  their  determination  to  sit  in 
comers,  and  wait  till  the  universe  bade  them  work,  and  he  refused  to 
join  in  the  Brook  Farm  experiment.  At  the  same  time  he  saw  the 
value  of  this  undisciplined  enthusiasm,  and  endeavored  to  divert  it 
into  useful  channels.  And  thus,  indirectly  through  his  influence,  the 
abolition  of  slavery  was  proclaimed  as  a  holy  war,  and  the  rights  of 
women  preached  with  the  ardor  of  a  crusade. 

We  have  endeavored  to  explain  the  position  which  Emerson  holds 
in  the  estimation  of  his  countrymen.    But  unless  another  ekonent 


J 


BALPH  WALDO  EMERSON.  43l 

is  considered,  we  fihall  do  injustice  to  Emerson  and  to  the  judgment 
of  his  admirers. 

"  Sir  Philip  Sydney,  the  Earl  of  Eeaex,  Sir  Walter  Baleigh,  are  men  of  great  figure 
and  of  few  deedu.  We  cannot  find  the  emallest  part  of  the  personal  weight  of  Wash- 
ington in  the  narratlTe  of  hie  exploits.  The  antibority  of  the  name  of  Schiller  is  too 
great  for  his  hooks.  The  largest  part  of  their  power  was  latent.  This  is  what  we 
call  '  character ' — a  reserved  force  which  acts  directly  and  without  means." 

In  these  words  Emerson  unconsciously  discloses  another  part  of  the 
secret  of  his  own  influence.  Inside  and  outside  his  books  he  was  an 
impressive  personality. 

In  the  intellectual  history  of  the  19th  century,  Emerson  is  not  a 
man  to  be  skipped.  His  position  is  in  itself  striking — a  solitary 
thinker  conteminating  the  bustling  throng  of  the  most  money-making 
nation  in  the  world,  a  sage  of  Pagan  Greece  travelling  in  the  tram-cars 
of  the  19th  century,  or  walking  in  the  grove  of  Academus  undisturbed 
by  the  whistle  of  the  steam  engine,  and,  worthy  of  the  age  of  Pericles,  not 
unmanned  by  his  philosophy.  No  one  reads  his  books  for  the  sake  of 
clear,  sjrstematic,  logical  expositions.  But  thousands,  who  do  not 
value  his  philosphy  for  itself,  value  it  for  the  trains  of  thought  which 
it  awakens,  the  suggestions  which  he  drew  &om  it,  the  imagery  with 
which  he  illustrated  it,  the  inspiration  of  noble  wishes  and  high  aspira- 
tions which  he  made  it  breathe.  So  again  he  broke  up  the  crust  of 
association ;  he  (presented  new  aspects  of  familiar  objects,  treated  old 
subjects  of  enquiry  in  novel  relations,  excited  his  hearers  to  fresh 
mental  activity. 

But  it  was  not,  alone,  or  in  combination,  the  peculiarity  of  his  posi- 
tion, nor  the  suggestiveness  of  his  teaching,  nor  the  stimulus  wnich 
he  gave  to  curiosity  that  kindled  in  his  audience  new  life,  and  imparted 
to  them  a  subtle  change  which  made  them  better  and  greater  men. 
He  gave  his  thought ;  out  he  also  gave  his  character  to  his  contem- 
poraries. With  rare  sincerity  he  bestowed  upon  the  people  what  was 
m  his  heart  and  mind.  "  His  words  had  power  because  they  accorded 
with  his  thoughts,  and  his  thoughts  had  reality  and  depth  because 
they  harmonized  with  the  life  that  he  always  lived  " — so  wrote  Haw- 
thorne in  his  fine  apologue  of  "  The  Great  Stone  Face,"  which  we  may 
well  believe  to  be  a  tribute  to  the  genius  of  Emerson.  He  efFected 
the  intellectual  emancipation  of  America  as  much  by  his  example  as 
by  his  teaching,  by  his  impersonation  of  the  unselfish  search  for  truth, 
and  of  the  unsatisfied  craving  for  self-improvement,  by  the  realized 
ideal  which  he  placed  before  them  of  "  plain  living  and  high  thinking." 
Thus  it  was  that  he  was  one  of  those  men  from  whom  virtue  proceeded 
into  others.  Thus,  too,  he  won  the  power  to  inspire,  enkindle,  and 
vivify,  to  communicate  the  confidence  of  nope  and  the  passion  for  beauty 
which  thrilled  and  vibrated  through  his  own  frame.    The  purity  of  his 


432  THE  LIBBABT  MAGAZINE. 

sensitive  integrity  seems  never  to  have  been  marred  even  by  childish 
weakness ;  no  boyish  error,  no  youthful  indiscretion,  has  been  laid  to 
his  charge.  He  would  have  been  a  wiser  philosopher,  and  a  pro- 
founder  moralist,  had  he  been  less  coldly  and  spontaneously  upnght. 
His  own  standard  of  duty  was  so  high,  that  he  could  with  safety  fol- 
low his  instincts.  His  character  corrected  his  intellectual  aberrations ; 
it  ministered  the  antidote  to  the  poison  of  his  teaching.  But  it 
scarcely  needs  the  example  of  a  Shelley  to  prove  the  peril  of  Emer- 
son's maxim,  "  Obey  yourself."  If  Emerson  nad  had  the  passions  of 
bad  men,  or  if  bad  men  adopted  Emerson's  principles,  the  world  would 
be  a  Pandemonium. 

The  position  of  a  philosopher  has  been  claimed  for  him  by  his 
admirers,  but  it  is  one  which  Emerson  never  claimed  for  himself.  To 
him  system  savored  of  charlatanism.  He  is  onlv  a  philosopher  in  the 
broad  sense  in  which  the  words  may  be  used  of  Montaigne.  He  was 
in  fact  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  philosophical  spirit,  but  he  abjured 
system  because  it  narrowed  sympathies,  and  he  admired  Plato  because 
his  balanced  soul  could  see  tne  oiflFerent  sides  of  every  question.  His 
own  thought  is  in  a  perpetual  state  of  flux;  he  recognizes  good  in 
Idealists  and  Bealists,  in  Trancendentalists  and  universal  skeptics,  in 
men  of  action  and  Oriental  mystics.  Each  had  seized  and  embodied 
some  portion  of  truth.  A  mina  so  constituted  might  be  philosophical, 
but  it  does  not  belong  to  the  philosopher. 

He  was  a  man  of  independent,  rather  than  original,  thought;  he 
combines  rather  than  invents.  Perhaps  this  form  of  orimnality  is  the 
only  form  still  open  to  the  heirs  of  the  ages.  He  defends  plagiarism, 
because  "As  every  house  is  a  quotation  out  of  all  forests  and  mines 
and  stone  quarries,  so  every  man  is  a  quotation  from  all  his  ancestors." 
He  depreciates  so-called  originality,  and  considered  that  assimilating 
power,  as  distinct  from  assimilating  knack,  differentiates  the  man  of 
genius  from  the  man  of  talent.  The  inventor  alone  knows  how  to 
borrow.  His  own  practice  illustrates  his  remark.  With  Catholic 
eclecticism  he  passes  through  the  crucible  of  his  mind  ideas  of  all  ages 
and  every  clime;  but  they  emerge  from  the  process  changed,  modern- 
ized, and  adapted  to  the  wants  of  a  New  W  orid.  He  deals  with  the 
familiar  counters  of  thought;  but  they  bear  new  values  and  are 
stamped  with  his  own  superscription.  He  sets  up  no  new,  and 
destroys  no  old,  landmarks  of  philosophy,  but  all  are  shifted.  He 
neither  followed  nor  founded  a  school;  he  uses  the  language  and  thinks 
the  thoughts  of  all,  but  he  adopts  the  views  of  none.  As  with  his 
intellectual  process,  so  with  his  intellectual  influence.  It  is  impossible 
to  tell  his  followers  by  their  literary  walk.  He  held  aloof  from  Emer- 
sonian  Societies,  and  urged  every  man  to  preserve  his  own  individu- 
ality.    Hence  his  general  influence  on  literary  aim,  character,  or  style, 


BALPE  WALDO  EMEB80N.  433 

oaonot  be  traced.  He  was  a  source  of  living  energy  in  wide  fields  of 
thought;  but  while  Curtis,  Clough,  Margaret  Fuller,  Higginson, 
Lowell,  Sterling,  Theodore  Parker,  Thoreau,  W  inthrop,  and  Whitman, 
acknowledged  their  debt  to  Emerson,  none  of  them  became  his  imi- 
tators. 

He  presents  his  thoughts  in  broken  lights,  attempts  to  excogitate  no 
system,  habitually  sacrifices  unity  to  richness  of  detail.  He  proposes 
no  object,  sustains  no  argument,  gives  the  pros  and  cons  with  tne  same 
apparent  earnestness.  Beyond  the  points,  on  which  we  insisted  in  the 
earlier  portions  of  this  article,  it  is  difficult  to  be  sure  of  his  general 
drift.  Like  Nature,  he  is  one  thing  to-day,  another  to-morrow;  his 
conceptions  vary  with  his  moods.  He  declares  himself  free  of  the 
universe,  and  condemns  a  foolish  consistency  as  the  hobgobhn  of 
little  minds.  He  claims  and  freely  exercises  the  right  to  contradict 
himself.  He  opens  upon  his  readers  flashes  of  startling  conjecture, 
and  sallies  forth  in  one  direction,  often  only  to  re-appear  in  the  oppo- 
site. "  I  delight,"  he  says,  "  in  telling  what  I  think ;  but  if  you  ask 
me  why  I  dare  say  so,  or  why  it  is  so,  I  am  the  most  helpless  of 
mortals."  He  call^  himself  an  Idealist,  his  enemies  called  him  a 
Mystic:  in  our  opinion  he  is  neither.  He  is  not  a  Platonic  idealist, 
for  he  prefers  ecstasy  to  dialectics,  reveres  the  Oriental  mind,  and 
believes  in  the  ineffable  union  of  God  and  man  in  every  act  of  the  soul. 
Neither  is  he  a  mystic  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  word;  for  not  only 
does  he,  like  many  mystics,  despise  theurgv,  but  he  also  disdains 
authority,  denounces  fatalism,  and  vehemently  asserts  indiv^iduality. 
But  his  view  of  Nature  combines  elements  of  both  schools.  He 
ideahzes  physical  science  into  religion.  He  regards  evolution  as  the 
supreme  law  of  Nature,  and  the  production  of  higher  forms  of  life,  the 
"  man-child "  that  is  to  be  "  the  summit  of  the  whole "  as  its  final 
cause.  But  of  the  primordial  Power  which  thus  directs  every  change 
towards  progress,  he  affirms  nothing.  God  was  one  of  his  ideas;  but 
he  held  it  to  be  impossible  to  find  logical  proof  of  physical  facts. 
"  The  spiritual  is  its  own  evidence."  It  would  be  an  idle  task  to 
attempt  what  Emerson  himself  never  attempted,  and  build  up  a  con- 
sistent scheme  of  Emersonian  philosophy.  The  value  of  his  thought 
consists,  not  in  system,  or  in  Idealism,  or  in  Pantheism,  but  in  subtle 
suggestiveness,  fertilizing  and  stimulating  influences,  unvarying  affini- 
ties with  all  that  is  noble  and  true,  and  that  happy  combination  of 
spiritual  forces  which  leaves  us  more  hopeful  of  tne  future,  and  more 
contented  in  the  present. 

Is  Emerson  a  great  writer?  Here,  too,  specialists  in  style  might 
deny  his  title.  His  epigrams,  aphorisms,  and  antitheses,  are  terse, 
trenchant,  penetrating;  but  they  require  relief.  A  continuity  of 
electric  shocks  becomes  weari0ome,  and  perpetual  jerks  create  a  long- 


4U  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

ing  for  repose.  The  same  inability  or  disinclinatioir  to  create  artistic 
wnoles,  whiob  is  tbe  flaw  both  in  his  poetry  and  his  philosophy, 
mars  the  beauty  of  his  prose  style.  Taken  separately,  his  sentences 
are  exquisitely  finished  by  a  master  of  language,  but  in  combination 
they  are  as  scrappy  as  patchwork.  Emerson  is  at  no  pains  to  weave 
a  perfect  robe  for  nis  thought:  he  is  content  with  a  book  of  patterns. 
Bat  critics  are  apt  to  forget  that  the  form  of  expression  is  perfectly 
adapted  to  the  matter.  His  style  lacks  continuity,  because  his 
thought  is  not  consecutive,  nor  his  method  dialectical.  His  olpect  is 
to  convey  a  portion  of  some  truth  with  such  point,  as  to  compel  us  to 
think  on  the  remainder.  He  does  not  employ  the  methods  of  lode, 
and  rarely  condescends  to  give  reasons.  He  refuses  to  prove,  and  is 
content  to  announce;  he  never  explains,  but  trusts  to  affirmations. 
His  sentences  convey  detached  observations,  independent  propositions, 
sweeping  generalizations ;  each  stands  on  its  own  merits,  each  must 
be  taken  by  itself.  He  works  by  surprises.  He  startles  and  excites, 
but  he  does  not  teach ;  and  he  loves  paradox,  contradiction,  exaggera- 
tion, because  they  are  the  best  weapons  for  his  purpose.  Other 
defects  in  his  style  may  be  similarly  explained,  though  they  deserve 
to  be  more  strongly  reprehended.  He  nas  the  curiosa  felicitas  of 
quotation  which  ^longed  to  Sir  Thomas  Brown,  and,  like  him,  he  is 
one  of  those  wayward  fitful  thinkers  who  suggest  reflection  under 
what  seems  an  idle  play  of  the  imagination,  ^^ut  his  allusions  are 
oflen  farfetched  and  even  pedantic.  He  is  not  always  scrupulous  of 
his  means  to  arrest  attention.  Thus  he  resorts  to  a  studied  <juaint- 
ness  of  language,  violates  grammatical  rules,  defies  idiomatic  pro- 
prieties, outrages  the  natural  meaning  or  collocation  of  words.  Ea^er 
to  be  epigrammatic,  he  is  sometimes  only  "smart;"  more  rarely  he 
violates  moderation  and  decorum;  here  and  there  he  is  flippantly 
irreverent.  But  these  defects  are  only  occasional  flaws  in  pages  of 
brilliant  writing. 

Emerson's  method  of  working  encouraged  the  broken  and  fragmen* 
tary  form  of  this  style.  He  jotted  down  his  separate  perceptions, 
quotations,  and  reflections  which  his  reading  suggested  in  common- 
place books.  When  he  wrote  on  any  given  subject,  he  worked  up 
the  material  which  he  had  thus  collected.  Hence  his  essays  resem- 
ble a  necklace  of  half-strung  pearls,  a  faintly-patterned  mosaic  of 
detached  gems  and  crystals  of  aphorism.  The  practice  seem^  to 
^row  upon  him.  Natwre^  his  first  published  work,  in  his  most  fin- 
ished and  systematic  treatise;  it  also  affords  the  best  illustration  of 
his  more  continuous  style.  His  latter  essays  are  condensed,  not 
exuberant,  austere  rather  than  florid,  no  longer  picturesque  or  emo- 
tional, but  intellectual  and  oracular. 

Emersou  is  a  brilliant  essayist.    His  stream  of  thought,  fresh  in 


J 


BALFB  WALDO  KMMMSOHr.  4» 

expTeBsioOY  pure  in  fasoy,  limpid  in  pbraee,  flows  tbrougli  pages  that 
gleam  with  the  sparkling  prodnots  of  penetrating  insight,  and  glow 
with  the  golden  frnit  of  yaried  reading.  His  aphorisms  compress 
into  a  pointed  phrase  masses  of  keen  observation,  and  show  rare 
powers  of  drawing  new  lessons  from  life,  and  special  gifts  of  distil- 
ling their  essence  into  shrewd  saws.  His  essays  form  a  medley  of 
strikingly  original  thought  and  paradoxical  conundrums,  facts  and 
sophisms,  truisms,  and  revelations.  Here  a  page  of  "Proverbial 
philosophy"  is  followed  by  a  page  of  poetry  which  is  lit  up  with  fine 
moral  distinctions,  and  sentences  which  bum  themselves  in  upon  the 
memory.  His  criticism  is  often  unsurpassed  for  its  penetration,  but, 
like  all  his  work,  it  is  singularly  imequal.  His  passion  for  epigrams 
too  often  betrays  him  into  exaggeration,  his  impatience  of  reserva- 
tions into  caricature,  his  parade  of  indenendence  into  violence.  As 
he  has  no  defined  ethical  ideas,  so  he  nas  no  well-marked  critical 
standard.  The  want  not  only  mars  his  style,  but  vitiates  his  judg- 
ments. 

A  teacher  with  unequalled  power  of  inspiration,  a  poet  with  rare 
gifts  of  imaginative  insights,  a  subtly  suggestive  thinker,  a  writer 
whose  phrases  have  enriched  the  proverbial  currency  of  the  world,  a 
brilliant  essayist,  and  a  penetrating  critic,  Emerson  is,  on  the  whole, 
the  most  striking  figure  m  the  American  republic  of  letters.  Totally 
without  hypocrisy  he  conceals  nothing  fVom  the  world,  and  pretends 
to  no  belief  which  he  does  not  sinoerely  hold.  If  on  the  one  side  he 
appears  rash,  superficial,  inconsistent,  inconclusive;  on  the  other,  he 
is  courageous,  comprehensive,  bracing,  practical.  Everything  which 
he  said  or  wrote  was  inspired  by  the  noolest  pumoee.  Bis  voice  was 
always  heard  on  the  side  of  Truth,  Justice,  and  Liberty.  To  English 
readers  he  will  never  become  a  classic  because  of  his  aggressive  inde- 
pendence, but  all  can  value  his  love  of  truth  and  his  lofty  ideal  of 
moral  beauty. 

Ordinary  men  resent  the  inadequate  solution  of  di£Bculties  that 
deems  itself  adequate,  and  feel  that  for  a  few  cold  intellects  constituted 
like  himself,  Emerson  may  be  a  guide.  His  studied  calm  and  polished 
embellishments  of  style  are  not  the  characteristics  of  a  man  who  utters 
burning  thoughts  that  have  consumed  his  own  soul,  or  speaks  of  pas- 
sions that  he  struggles  to  repress,  or  reveals  truths  which  nis  mind  has 
reached  after  long  years  of  doubt  and  difficulty.  But  those  who  reject 
his  moral  teaching  cannot  fail  to  recognize  the  nobility  of  his  example. 
'^I  am  striving  with  all  my  might,*'  said  Plotinus,  as  his  soul  was 
departing,  '^  to  return  the  divine  part  of  me  to  the  Divine  Whole  who 
fills  the  Universe.'^  This  was  the  purpose  of  Emerson's  life.  Nor  is 
it  strange  that  his  nation  should  treasure  the  memory  of  the  man,  who 
helped  to  throw  a  glow  and  warmth  over  grey  realities  of  life,  to  save 


4%  t^£:  ubkAkY  MAOAzms. 

which  threatened  infliction,  let  us  take  time  by  the  forelock,  and  con* 
aider  what  is  the  value  of  thia  work  as  a  whole,  whether  aa  an  teiat- 
ing  classic  (for  so  many  persons  seem  to  regard  itX  or  as  possibly  hang- 
ing over  us  in  the  form  of  a  new  edition. 

The  worst  charge  that  in  a  literary  sense  can  be  brought  against  any 
book  can  at  all  events  not  be  made  against  this  one.  No  one  can  say 
that  it  is  not  interesting,  and  perhaps  no  prose  writer  in  our  language 
could  lay  better  claim  than  Mr.  Buskin  to  the  eulogy  once  pas^  on 
Oarlyle,  that  he  "  never  wrote  a  dull  line."  The  matter  of  the  book 
should  be  as  interesting  as  the  manner,  professing  as  it  does  to  eluci- 
date the  philosophy  ana  practice,  the  meaning  and  the  methods  of  so 
glorious  an  art  as  Utndsoape  painting,  and  combining  with  this  a  long 
and  eloquent  dissertation  on  the  woriss  of  one  modem  painter  who 
was,  without  any  kind  of  question,  the  greatest  landsci^  painter  that 
ever  lived ;  ana  all  this  interspersed  with  descriptions  of  nature  and 
natural  phenomena  which  are  often  magical  in  their  vivid  and  pictur- 
esque realism.  No  wonder  that  such  a  book  should  have  found  many 
thousands  of  delighted  readers,  and  that  its  votaries  should  be  ready 
to  resent  as  sacrilege  any  suggestion  that  it  is  as  fiedlacious  in  much  of 
its  teaching  as,  with  all  its  beauty  of  diction,  it  is  dogmatic  and 
egotistical  in  its  pretensions. 

Of  the  latter  charge  against  the  author  it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say 
anything,  for  he  has  left  no  one  anything  to  say.  The  spectacle  of 
abnormal  vanity  and  self-complacency  presented  to  us  throughout  the 
whole  course  of  his  writings,  whether  in  the^shape  of  treatises,  lectures, 
or  letters  to  newspapers ;  his  a  ssumption  that  he  only  has  any  percep- 
tion of  the  truth  about  artistic  and  social  questions,  and  that  the  rest 
of  the  world  lieth  in  wickedness,  which  is  as  offensively  prominent  in 
his  latest  as  in  his  earliest  writings,  is  a  curious  phenomenon  in  itself; 
and  still  more  curious  is  the  extent  to  which  this  chum  to  dictate  and 
dogmatize  to  the  world,  which  is  really  a  kind  of  pubUc  impertinence, 
has  been  accepted  and  admitted  by  that  large  section  of  the  public 
who  are  ready  to  save  themselves  the  trouble  of  forming  any  opinion 
of  their  own,  by  taking  a  man  at  his  own  estimate  of  himself;  who 
will  accept  any  one  as  a  teacher  who  imposes  himself  upon  them  with 
a  sufficient  show  of  authority;  gives  them,  in  default  of  any  ideas  of 
their  own,  the  word  of  a  master  to  swear  by ;  dins  into  their  ears  that 
they  are  in  a  deplorable  condition,  and  that  they  can  enjoy  the  luxury 
of  being  delivered  from  it  if  they  will  listen  to  him.  As  Selden  said 
of  another  class  of  pulpiteers,  "  To  preach  long,  loud,  and  damnation,  is 
the  way  to  become  popular.  We  love  a  man  who  damns  us,  and  we 
run  after  him  again  to  save  us."  Our  own  feeling  on  this  aspect  of 
Mr.  Buskin's  intdlectual  personality  may  be  summM  up  in  the  words 
of  Mrs.  Quickly:  we  "  can't  abide  awaggoi^erOp" 


MS.  BUSKIN  AND  BIS  W0BE8.  439 

But  to  come  to  the  question  of  the  value  of  the  book  in  itself,  apart 
from  its  manner.  Modem  Painters  is  professedly  an  analysis  of  the 
objects  and  ends  of  landscape  art,  of  the  structure  and  appearances  of 
nature,  and  the  spirit  in  which  she  should  be  observed  and  reproduced 
by  the  artist.  It  is  a  corpus  of  critical  analysis  of  a  great  subject,  and 
if  it  is  not  that,  it  is  nothing  whatever  but  tall  talk.  In  such  a  work, 
eloquent  passages  of  declamation,  however  pleasant  to  read  as  bits  of 
prose-poetry,  are  all  moonshine  unless  they  are  the  mere  decoration 
of  truths  and  conclusions  based  on  sound  logical  analysis.  Beautiful 
writing,  picturesque  word-painting,  is  a  pleasure  in  its  way;  but,  like 
Paradise  Lostj  it  proves  nothing.  Mr.  Buskin  seems  to  have  had  some 
confused  perception  of  this  himself,  since  in  the  preface  to  his  third 
volume  he  tooK  the  trouble  to  assure  his  readers  that  he  was  infalhble, 
and  to  support  the  statement  in  a  manner  rather  more  characteristic 
than  he  was  aware  of.  There  were  laws  of  truth  and  right  in  painting 
"just  as  fixed  as  those  of  harmony  in  music,  or  of  affinity  in  chem- 
istry," and  which  were  ascertainable  by  labor. 

"It  it  as  ridietiloiis  ibr  any  one  to  speak  positiTely  about  painting  who  baa  not 
^▼en  a  great  part  of  hia  life  to  its  study  as  it  ^ould  be  for  a  person  who  bad  never 
studied  chemistry  to  give  a  lecture  on  affinities  of  elements." 

So  far,  and  in  a  certain  sense,  that  is  true  enough ;  and  it  is  to  be 
wished  that  manv  people  who  think  titat  opiuion  about  painting  is  a 
mere  matter  of  fancy  or  fashion,  apart  from  serious  study,  had  an 
inkling  of  the  worthlessness  of  their  likings  and  dislikings  in  art. 
But  we  proceed : — 

**Bnt  it  is  also  as  ridicnlous  for  a  person  to  speak  hesitatingly  about  laws  of  paint- 
ing who  has  conscientiously  given  his  time  to  their  ascertainment  as  it  would  be  for 
Bf  r.  Farada  to  announce  in  a  dubious  manner  that  iron  bad  an  affinity  for  oxygen,  and 
to  put  the  question  to  the  vote  of  his  audience  whether  it  had  or  nof 

This  latter  sentence,  coupled  with  the  first  one  quoted  above,  con- 
stitutes one  of  the  most  audacious  fallacies  that  was  ever  thrown  out 
for  the  mystification  of  fools.  As  it  stands  in  all  its  crudeness  in  the 
later  as  well  as  in  the  earlier  editions  of  the  book,  we  must  presume 
that  its  author  still  adopts  it.  Of  a  writer  who  could  deliberately  put 
forth  such  a  statement  almost  as  the  basis  of  his  claim  to  speak, 
only  one  of  two  ppinions  can  be  formed.  If  he  was  aware  of  its  fal- 
lacy", he  was  juggling  with  words  and  telling  the  public  a  falsehood; 
if  he  was  not  aware,  and  really  believed  wnat  he  said,  he  showed 
himself  utterly  incompetent  to  reason  from  premises,  or  to  distinguish 
between  one  class  of  mental  operations  and  another.  For  those  who 
have  any  capacity  of  logical  thought  at  all,  such  nonsense  would  be 
beneath  refutation ;  but  as  these  remarks  may  be  read  by  some  of  the 
spirits  in  prison,  it  is  as  well  to  endeavor  to  explain  to  them  the  real 
significance  of  this  deliverance  of  their  oracle.    As  far  as  the  method 


440  TEE  LiBMJJtr  MAOA^IKS. 

of  stating  tlie  argument  goes,  the  fallacy  consists  in  the  use  of  an 
"ambiguous  middle  term,"  the  use  of  the  sabie  word  in  two  different 
senses,  as  if  it  had  only  one  meaning.  The  passages  just  quoted 
involve  a  false  syllogism,  arising  out  of  the  ambiguous  use  of  the 
expression  "fixed  law."  There  are  laws  of  truth  and  right  in  painting 
which  may  in  a  sense  be  said  to  be  as  "  fixed"  as  those  of  aninity  in 
chemistry,  but  they  are  not  "fixed"  in  the  same  sense  or  by  a  similar 
process  of  reasoning.  The  confiision  is  between  a  law  fixed  by  general 
consensus  and  agreement  as  to  what  is  best,  and  a  law  determined  by 
unalterable  physical  conditions.  Thus  it  is  a  veiy  fixed  law  among 
all  civilized  and  right-minded  people,  that  you  should  not  commit 
theft.  It  is  also  a  fixed  law  that  the  angles  of  a  triansle  are  together 
equal  to  two  right  angles.  No  clear-headed  and  right-minded  man 
would  question  the  one  conclusion  more  than  the  other;  but  would 
the  most  simple-minded  reader  regard  them  as  laws  that  are  "fixed" 
in  anything  like  the  same  sense?  The  one  rests  on  a  consensus  of 
moral  judgment;  the  other  is  a  geometrical  fact.  You  can  commit 
theft  if  you  choose ;  you  cannot  alter  the  relations  of  the  angles  of  a 
triangle.  Yet  the  confusion  of  these  two  classes  of  facts  would  not 
be  more  absurd  than  the  one  which  Mr.  Buskin  has  for  thirty  years 
been  imposing  on  the  readers  of  his  principal  work.  What  he  chooses 
to  call  fixed  laws  of  painting,  so  far  as  they  are  fixed,  are  so  only  by 
a  general  conaipnt  as  to  aasthetic  propriety,  just  as  the  condemnation 
of  adultery  is  fixed  by  a  general  consent  as  to  moral  propriety.  The 
laws  of  harmonic  proportion  in  music  and  of  affinity  in  chemistry  are, 
like  the  relation  of  the  triangle  to  the  right  angle,  physical  facts, 
which  no  one  can  alter.  The  only  laws  in  painting  which  are  "  fixed" 
in  the  same  sense  are  those  relating  to  perspective,  the  treatment  of 
which  can  be  mathematically  denionstrated  to  be  correct  or  incorrect. 
Mr.  Ruskin's  syllogism  would  stand  thus:  "Subjects  governed  by  laws 
are  capable  of  dogmatic  treatment:  painting  is  governed  by  laws; 
ergo,  painting  is  a  subject  capable  of  dogmatic  treatment."  In  the 
first  term  of  the  syllogism  the  word  "law"  stands  for  "ascertain- 
able physical  facts;  "  in  the  second  term  it  stands  for  "habits  or  rules 
dictated  by  -a  sense  of  aesthetic  propriety,"  so  that  the  third  term  is 
merely  an  assertion  in  the  air,  having  no  basis  whatever.  This  is  bad 
enough  in  itself;  for  be  it  rememtered  that  this  so-called  argument 
is  advanced  as  a  statement  of  the  author's  right  to  lecture  his  readers  ; 
art  is  governed  by  laws  which  can  be  ascertained  by  labor;  Mr. 
Ruskin  has  so  ascertained  them :  ergo,  Mr.  Raskin's  word  is  law. 

These  demonstrations  of  self-conceit  have  been  commented  upon 
long  ago,  of  course,  in  various  quarters ;  but  inasmuch  as  there  is  no 
sign  of  repentance  or  amendment  of  life  on  the  part  of  their  author. 
and  as  the  Dulky  book  whereby  they  are  di^gurea  is  persistently  refer- 


MM,  BUSKIN  AND  ffIS  W0BK8,  441 

red  to  as  a  central  authority  and  guide  in  matters  of  art,  it  is  as  well  to 
point  out  to  readers  of  the  younger  generation  the  tone  and  temper  of 
the  man  whom  they  are  still  idolizing,  and  to  ask  them  to  consider 
fairly  whether  such  unblushing  and  rampant  vanity,  naked  and  not 
ashamed,  ever  has  been,  or  can  be,  the  concomitant  of  real  greatness 
of  heart  of  intellect ;  whether  it  is  worth  while  to  bow  down  to  and 
make  an  idol  of  a  man's  opinions  because  he  declares,  like  Peter  in 
the  Tale  of  a  TtA,  "  B^  God,  I  say  it  is  so."  Apart  firom  this  offensive- 
ness  or  manner,  what  is  the  permanent  value  of  Modern  Painters  as  a 
contribution  to  the  critical  philosophy  of  art  ?  For  a  large  number 
of  readers  we  strongly  suspect  that  the  attraction  of  the  book  consists 
not  in  its  exposition  of  principles  of  painting,  about  which  they  un- 
derstaad  and  care  little,  but  in  the  number  of  picturesque  passages  of 
word-painting  and  description  of  scenery  which  occur  in  it.  Many  of 
these  are  unquestionably  very  striking,  some  of  them  are  fall  M 
meaning,  and  show  a  keen  observation  of  the  operations  of  nature,  ^^^ 
the  way  things  happen,  which  so  many  people  miss.  We  must  con- 
fess, however,  that,  on  a  summarizing  view  of  the  book  as  a  whole,  it 
does  not  seem  to  us  that  these  bursts  of  eloquence  have  at  all  the  ring 
of  genuine  feeling;  they  have  rather  the  appearance  of  having  been 
put  in  at  intervals,  like  Wagner's  "grand  crescendo  trick,"  to  work  up 
the  spectators  to  a  fit  of  excitement. 

Bat  as  to  the  philosophy  of  art,  which  is  a  matter  somewhat  more 
within  the  range  ot  things  teachable,  the  main  burden  of  Modem 
Painters  is  that  landscape  painting  has  for  its  only  and  proper  object 
the  true  and  faithful  interpretation  of  the  physical  facts  of  nature  f 
that  this  has  been  (or  had  been  when  the  book  was  produced)  entirely 
neglected  to  the  detriment  of  all  truth  and  power  in  the  art ;  that  one 
modem  painter  only.  Turner,  understood  what  nature  meant,  and 
painted  ner  with  truth  and  insight.  And  to  these  general  views, 
ej^p#inded  at  great  length,  are  added  essays  on  the  physical  facts  and 
truths  of  nature,  as  seen  in  trees,  in  water,  in  mountains,  etc.,  as  i 
guide  to  the  study  of  nature  by  the  artist — an  inducement  to  him  tc 
look  for  and  to  study  facts  of  nature  as  they  are,  not  as  he  has> 
imagined  them  to  be.  This  is  a  great  design,  no  doubt ;  its  ambition 
alone  is  striking,  and  cannot  but  excite  the  imagination  of  the  reader; 
and  the  latter  portion  of  the  work,  the  analysis  of  the  construction 
of  natural  forms,  if  carried  out  with  insight  and  in  a  conscientious 
and  scientific  spirit,  would  be  a  work  of  permanent  value  to  landscape 
painters  and  students  of  nature.  .  .  . 

Becognizing  the  truth  that  the  observation  of  nature  in  a  scientific 
spirit  is  a  necessary  basis  of  the  highest  landscape  painting,  it  was  no 
doubt  a  great  idea  of  the  author  of  Modem  Painters  to  embody  in  his 
work  an  exa^nination  into  the  apparent  forms  of  nature  in  mountains, 


44d  TME  LIBRARY  MAQAlSlKE. 

trees,  water,  etc.,  and  the  reasons  for  them ;  and  this  portion  of  the 
work  is  undoubtedly  full  of  instraction  as  to  the  waj  to  look  at  things; 
valuable,  however,  rather  to  those  who  have  not  than  to  those  who 
have  eyes  of  their  own.  The  diagrams  of  the  perspeetive  of  the  clouds 
may  convey  to  many  readers  their  first  distinct  idea  of  the  true  mean- 
ing and  construction,  so  to  speak,  of  the  cloud  scenery  which  they  see 
in  constantly  foreshortened  perspective.  So,  again,  in  his  remarks 
about  tree  anatomy  and  growth,  and  the  folsity  of  mudi  of  the  com- 
monly accepted  drawing  of  trees,  there  are  remarks  and  suggestions 
that  are  of  permanent  value,  if  only  one  could  separate  them  from  the 
exaggeration  and  verbosity  with  which  they  are  inextricably  entan- 
gled. .  ,  . 

The  tendency  to  irrelevant  rhapsodizing  runs  through  all  the  long 
section  on  the  construction  and  painting  of  mountains  in  Volume  IV., 
where  it  seems  more  absurd  by  comparison  with  the  pretence  of  scien- 
tific knowledge  which  the  author  assumes,  but  which  is  little  more 
than  a  pretence.  His  geologj^  is  not,  of  course,  up  to  date  now ;  but 
it  is  not  up  to  the  date  of  publication.  His  guide  and  authority  seems 
to  be  De  Saussure,  and  he  was  apparently  not  acquainted  with  Lyell's 
Principles  of  Geology  when  these  chapters  were  written,  or  had  read  it 
to  no  purpose ;  and  the  consequence  is  that  he  frequently  makes 
imaginary  difficulties  about  the  way  this  or  that  appearance  was 
brought  about,  and  speaks  of  our  being  '^  within  the  cloud  "  about  it, 
when  a  study  of  the  real  geological  knowledge  available  at  the  time 
would  have  gone  far  to  solve  the  problem  for  mm.  He  invents  a  new 
nomenclature  of  his  own,  and  a  very  bad  one,  which  is  not  in  accord- 
ance with  facts,  and  then  is  obliged  to  depart  from  it,  and  says  "  for 
convenience  sake  I  shall  in  the  rest  of  this  chapter  call  the  slaty  rock 
gneiss,  and  the  compact  rock  protogine,  its  usual  French  name."  What 
geologist  would  ever  define  gneiss  as  a  '^  slaty  rock?  "  (he  is  speaking 
here  of  what  he  calls  "slaty  crystallines.")  In  the  remarks  m  refer- 
ence to  plate  34,  and  the  explanatory  schedule  on  it,  he  dassifies  as 
cleavages  various  joints  and  lines  of  weakness  which  are  not  cl^vages 
at  all  in  the  proper  sense,  and  is  therefore  only  misleading  his  readers, 
whom  he  is  professing  to  teach  to  draw  rocks  correctly  by  a  study  of 
their  processes  of  formation.^  These  and  other  facts  connected  with 
this  part  of  his  subject  Mr.  Buskin  might,  we  imagine,  have  known 
very  well  if  his  abnormal  egotism  and  vanity  would  have  allowed  him 
to  imagine  that  anyone  could  teach  him  anything.  Buttiiis,  (^course, 
is  out  of  the  question.  .  .  . 

The  misleading  rhetoric  of  Mr.  Euskin  is  nowhere  more  palpablv 
manifested  than  in  his  characterization  of  Turner's  work;  and  it  is 
perhaps  one  of  the  proo&  of  Turner's  real  greatness  that  even  Mr. 
Buskin's  rhapsodies  We  not  been  able  to  damage  hi«  iepat«ti(Hi| 


MR,  nvsJ^fir  ANb  »m  wonxs.  m 

tliough  tbey  are  enough  in  themselves  to  damage  very  seriously  that 
of  their  author.  The  movements  of  Turner's  brush  "dealt  with 
minuti®  expressed  by  the  thousandth  part  of  an  inch ; "  and  when 
there  was  a  chorus  of  laughter  at  this,  Mr.  Buskin's  scientific  ally, 
"my  friend  Kingsley,"  was  at  hand  to  declare,  in  the  detailed  epistle 
reprinted  in  Arrows  of  the  Chace^  that  Turner's  handiwork  was  more 
minute  than  could  be  measured  by  a  microscopically  divided  scale  of 
millionths  of  an  inch ;  and  that  "  he  stood  in  awe  before  it,"  as  indeed 
he  well  might.  After  this  it  is  nothing,  of  course,  to  read  that  every 
separate  quarter  of  an-  inch  of  Turner's  drawings  will  bear  magnify* 
ing.  Will  his  figures  and  their  faces  "bear  magnifying?"  such  as 
the  children  and  dogs  in  "The  New  Moon  Sunset,"  for  instance,  or  the 
figures  in  the  foreground  of  the  "Hesperides^"  and  other  works  of  the 
same  class.  Even  Mr.  Buskin  has  scarcely  the  hardihood  to  defend 
Turner's  figures  as  figures;  but  he  has  a  tneory  for  them:  they  are 
intentionally  bad.  "  I  do  not  mean  to  assert,"  he  says,  "  that  there  is 
any  reason  whatsoever  for  bad  drawing  (though  in  landscape  it  mat- 
ters very  little;")  t.  e.  trees  must  be  drawn  with  proper  correctness, 
but  human  figures  in  a  landscape  need  not  be,  because — ^well,  because 
it  suits  the  argument  to  say  so,  and  it  is  the  only  way  to  get  Turner 
and  Mr.  Buskin  out  of  a  hobble;  and  he  goes  on  to  argue  that  it  is 
impossible  that  the  eye,  looking  at  the  distant  landscape,  should  be 
able  to  perceive  more  of  the  faces  and  figures  of  the  nearer  objects 
than  Turner  gives.  This  is  far-fetched  enough,  but  it  might  pass  did 
we  not  find  in  another  passage  that  a  tree  in  the  foreground  of  one  of 
Turner's  drawings  is  so  minutely  finished  that  it  must  be  magnified  to 
show  all  its  detail;  that  the  mussel-shells  on  the  beach  in  one  of  his 
smaller  drawings  of  Scarborough  are  painted  carefully,  some  open, 
some  shut,  "  though  none  are  as  large  as  one  of  the  letters  of  this 
type;  "  that  Mr.  Buskin  cannot  conceive  how  people  can  talk  about 
foregrounds  as  "vigorous,"  "forcible,"  and  soon,  when  the  foreground 
bank  of  a  landscape  really  contains  the  most  delicate  detail  of  all, 
being  close  to  the  eye.  So  that  everything  is  to  be  finished  as  highly 
as  possible  eoccept  the  human  figure,  bacause  our  idol  cannot  draw"  the 
figure,  and  we  must  cast  about  for  the  most  plausible  excuse  for  him. 
But  the  fact  is  that  Turner,  with  all  his  greatness^  is  full  of  inaccura- 
cies, some  of  them  very  bad  ones 

The  Stones  of  Venice,  which,  has  re-appeared  recently  in  a  sumptuous 
edition,  is  the  most  important  demonstration  which  Mr.  Buskin  has 
made  in  reference  to  the  art  of  architecture,  upon  which  he  has 
undoubtedly  some  striking  and  rational  ideas,  more  perhaps  than  in 
regard  to  any  other  form  of  art.  His  other  deliverances  on  this  sub- 
ject are  to  be  found  in  the  Seven  Lamps,  in  Leeiwree  on  Archiiectwre 
and  Painting,  and  in  the  lecture  to  the  Architeotural  Awxaation 


444  TBE  LIBSART  MAGAZINE, 

included  in  the  volume  entitled  Two  Paths,  The  Seven  Lamps 
crammed  as  it  is  with  elaborate  nonsense  and  disfigured  by  detestable 
illustrations  which  any  man  with  a  feeling  for  architecture  ought 
to  have  been  ashamed  of,  may  be  regarded  as  pretty  well  passi  now. 
Few  are  likely  at  present  to  be  carried  away  by  such  phrases  as  "  the 
foul  torrent  of  the  Benaissance,"  or  take  a  series  of  picturesquely 
expressed  musings  upon  a  certain  arbitrarily  adopted  view  of  archi- 
tectural truth  as  a  senes  of  infallible  dogmas.  No  less  than  this,  how- 
ever, was  the  intent  and  claim  of  the  author,  who  says  that  he  ^^had 
long  felt  convinced  of  the  necessity,  in  order  to  its  progress,  of  some 
decisive  effort  to  extricate  from  the  confused  masses  of  partial  tradi- 
tions and  dogmata,  with  which  it  has  become  encumbered  during 
imperfect  or  restricted  practice,  those  large  principles  of  right  which 
are  applicable  to  every  stage  or  style  of  it."  That  such  an  effort  was 
required  is  very  true;  but  Mr.  Buskin's  method  was  too  narrow  in  its 
sympathy  and  too  vague  in  its  dogmatizing  to  render  any  decisive  ser- 
vice to  the  art,  and  his  pretended  analysis  only  amounts  to  a  compli- 
cated rhapsody  in  favor  of  certain  foregone  conclusions,  accompanied, 
as  in  his  treatise  on  mountains,  by  a  false  pretence  of  scientific  knowl- 
edge in  order  to  give  a  factitious  air  of  authority  to  his  statements. 
The  entire  absence  of  the  logical  faculty  does  not  promise  much  for 
an  author's  power  of  dealing  with  so  essentially  logical  an  act  as  archi- 
tecture; ana  we  find  that  while  recognizing  architecture  as  an  art 
"uniting  technical  and  imaginative  efforts  as  humanity  unites  soul  and 
body,"  he  nevertheless  can  brinff  himself  to  say  that  "  while  we  cannot 
call  those  laws  architectual  which  determine  the  height  of  a  breast- 
work or  the  position  of  a  bastion,''  yet  "  if  to  the  stone  facing  of  the 
bastion  be  added  any  unnecessary  feature  such  as  a  cable  moulding, 
that  is  architecture."  A  more  shallow  and  trumpery  definition  of 
this  great  intellectual  form  of  art  was  never  uttered ;  it  is  so  inher- 
ently false  and  superficial  as  in  itself  to  vitiate  all  claim  of  its  author 
to  be  a  critical  teacher  on  architecture.  All  the  interest  and 
effectiveness  of  plan  and  construction  is  at  one  stroke  reduced  to 
nothingness,  and  architecture  made  to  depend  merely  on  some  orna- 
mental adjuncts. 

The  popular  disquisition  on  the  meaning  and  essence  of  architec- 
tural design,  which  occupies  a  considerable  portion  of  the  first  vol- 
ume of  the  re-issue  of  the  Stones  of  Venice^  has  undoubted  merits  as 
a  "way  of  putting  things,"  a  manner  of  placing  the  truth  of  the 
matter  in  the  simplest  words,  without  any  reference  to  mere  technical 
phraseology.  Some  parts  of  this  are  so  well  done  that  it  is  vexatious 
to  find  them  mixed  up  with  misleading  and  contradictory  views  aris- 
ing from  faulty  scientific  knowledge  (one  might  say,  from  the  writers 
essentially  un3oientific  frame  of  mind),  and  firom  the  eternal  desire  for 


MR,  BUSKIN  AND  SIS  WORKS.  445 

making  points  that  has  more  than  anything  else  vitiated  the  whole 
body  of  Mr.  Buskin's  literary  work.  The  suggestion  that  there  are 
really  only  two  "orders:"  those  in  which  the  bell  of  the  capital  is 
concave  in  section  and  the  decoration  in  relief,  and  those  in  which 
the  bell  is  convex  and  the  decoration  cut  into  it,  is  a  really  brilliant 
generalization,  though,  of  course,  it  has  nothing  on  earth  to  do  with 
the  real  meaning  of  the  word  "  order"  as  used  in  architecture.  Like 
most  of  the  author's  generalizations,  however,  it  is  not  the  whole 
truth ;  the  definition  can  hardly  cover  the  type  of  capital  of  which 
the  Ionic  is  the  leading  form ;  and  that  type  is  not  going  to  be  pushed 
aside:  it  has  shown  evident  signs  of  the  contrary.  About  the 
pointed  arch  Mr.  Buskin  is  hopelessly  at  fault  in  every  way.  He 
attaches  a  constructive  value  to  the  Venetian  form  of  it  which  exists 
only  in  his  own  imagination;  while  on  the  other  hand  he  entirely 
ignores  the  constructive  origin  of  the  pointed  arch  in  the  great  styles 
of  Gothic.  "The  Greeks  gave  the  shaft.  Borne  the  arch;  the  Arabs 
pointed  and  foliated  the  arch."  That  is  a  neat  sentence,  and  has  the 
advantage  of  connecting  the  pointed  arch  with  the  Venetians,  who, 
no  doubt,  got  their  unscientifically  constructed  arches  from  Oriental 
sources.  But  does  not  Mr.  Buskin  know  that  the  large  arches  of 
Fumess  and  Fountains  and  Kirkstall  were  pointed,  for  constructive 
reasons  (while  the  smaller  ones  still  remained  round),  by  builders  who 
had  never  heard  of  the  Arabs,  and  to  whom  the  East  was  an 
unattainable  Ultima  Thule?  Every  architect  knows  that  now;  but, 
of  course^  Mr.  Buskin  cannot  learn  from  people  so  ignorant  of  archi- 
tecture as  architects 

We  have  devoted  our  principal  space  to  the  frillaoies  of  Mr.  Bus- 
kin's artistic  teaching,  because  it  is  on  that  class  of  subject  that  he  is 
most  generally  accepted  as  an  authority.  One  might  find  much  to 
aay  about  the  childish  absurdities  of  his  so-called  JElements  of  Draw- 
ing,  where  everything  is  turned  upside  down  to  suit  the  author's 
whimsicality,  and  the  pupil  is  offered  directions  for  shading  a  square 
space  evenly,  and  told  to  draw  the  branches  of  trees  as  a  flat  net- 
work of  lines,  without  paying  attention  to  any  other  feature  in  the 
first  instance  (the  very  way  to  train  him  to  regard  a  thing  wrongly 
from  the  commencement,  we  should  say),  and  is  told  to  get ''  any 
cheap  work"  containing  outline  plates  of  leaves  and  flowers  to 
copy,  "it  does  not  matter  whether  good  or  bad."  It  matters  a 
great  deal;  and  Mr.  Buskin  would  probably  have  scouted  the  sen- 
timent if  it  had  come  from  any  other  teacher  of  youth.  Much 
also  might  be  said  as  to  the  verbose  and  eccentric  directions  for 
the  practice  of  drawing  given  in  the  book  with  the  affected  title  The 
Laws  of  Fesole  (which,  so  far  as  they  are  laws,  were  no  more  laws 
of  F^3ole  than  of  anywhere  else),  ana  its  ecjually  affected  and  far- 


446  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

fetched  ''  axioms  ^'  and  lessons  in  drawing  from  sixpences  and  pennies. 
There  is  a  little  more  practical  value  in  the  treatise  on  elements  of 
perspective ;  but  the  manner  in  which  all  these  things  are  put  is  more 
like  an  attempt  to  interest  an  infant  school  in  drawing  than  like  seri- 
ous instruction  for  sensible  people;  and  indeed,  ^*The  Master"  and  his 
"  Guild  of  St.  George"  are,  in  all  their  works  and  ways,  as  described 
by  his  own  pen,  exceedinglv  like  a  parcel  of  rather  priggish  children 
playing  at  being  very  good.  The  best  thing  in  all  tnese  three  books 
18  the  single  and  for  once  unaffected  bit  of  advice,  not  to  draw  or 
color  anything  in  nature,  say  grass  or  a  stone  even,  in  this  or  that 
manner,  '*  because  some  one  else  tells  you  that  is  the  way  to  do  it ; " 
but  to  **look  at  it  and  make  it  like  what  you  see."  That  is  a  golden 
rule  that  deserves  to  be  written  up  in  every  school  of  drawing;  and 
it  is  indeed  a  pity  that  Mr.  Ruskin  has  not  oftener  thus  expressed  real 
and  broad  truths  about  art  in  simple  and  unaffected  language. 

Of  late  years,  however,  the  author  has  meddled  more  with  social 
and  economical  subjects ;  and  as  early  as  1851  he  gave  a  hint  of  his 
intention  to  preach  on  other  subjects  than  art,  in  the  publication  of 
the  essay  On  Sheep/olds,  a  kind  of  protest  against  the  purely  clerical 
idea  of  the  Christian  Church,  which  most  rational  persons  will 
concur  in,  but  which  was  put  forth  by  its  author  with  the  impor- 
tance of  one  who  is  uttering  some  great  new  truth  instead  of  putting 
a  very  commonplace  piece  of  common  sense  in  an  unnecessarily  eccen- 
tric manner.  Smce  then  Mr.  Buskin  has  at  sundry  times  and  in  divers 
manners  testified  to  the  world  upon  subjects  other  than  pure  art  criti- 
cism. His  view  of  the  situation,  expressed  under  many  various  titles 
and  various  kinds  of  imagery,  is  substantially  the  same  always,  and 
amounts  pretty  much  to  this — that  modem  civilization,  especially  bv 
means  of  steam  and  the  industries  which  it  has  developed,  has  brutal- 
ized and  laid  waste  our  life ;  that  England  is  getting  ruined  by  ugli- 
ness and  greed  of  money,  and  the  loss  of  all  that  might  give  joy  and 
beauty  to  life ;  that  in  every  respect  "  the  former  times  were  better 
than  these;"  that  there  is  no  salvation  for  us  but  in  giving  up 
machinery^  and  coalworking,  and  railway  travelling  (railways  being, 
according  to  one  of  his  latest  epistolary  utterances,  "  carriages  of 
damned  souls  on  the  ridges  of  their  own  graves,")  and  returning  to 
the  simplicity  and  unsopnisticated  manners  of  some  indefinite  golden 
age  of  tbe  past  which  he  does  not  very  clearly  define.  So  far  is  this 
pessimistic  theory  carried,  that  even  the  weather  is  arraigned,  and  we 
nad  not  long  since  the  spectacle  of  Mr.  Buskin  lecturing  to  a  crowded 
audience  at  the  London  Institution,  including  some  of  the  most 
eminent  men  of  science  of  the  day  (who  must  have  been  singulariy 
edified),  to  the  effect  that  "  the  storm-cloud  of  the  nineteenth  century" 
was  no  longer  the  beneficent  thwder-cloud  of  happier  davs,  but  a 


MB,  BUSKIN  AND  SIS  WOBKS,  447 

bitter  and  blighting  infliction,  sent  upon  England  as  a  punishment  for 
her  national  sins.    .    .    . 

Among  the  works  which  are  professedly  connected  with  what  Mr. 
Buskin  is  pleased  to  call  "  political  economy,"  the  only  one  which 
actually  bears  this  title,  but  which  has  really  little  to  do  with  political 
economy  properly  so  called,  viz.,  the  Political  Economy  of  Art^  is  a  far 
more  sober,  more  logical,  more  calmly  written  and  judicious  book  than 
any  of  those  which  embody  the  writer's  notions  on  political  economy 
as  usually  understood ;  and  compared  with  the  mass  of  grotesque 
lamentations,  far-fetched  similes,  moral  stories,  and  scraps  of  art-criti- 
cism, with  accounts  of  the  writer's  pecuniary  dealings  with  the  St. 
George's  Society  ^affectedly  called  "  Affairs  of  the  Master")  which  are  all 
bundled  up  togetner  in  that  tremendous  hodge-podge  called  Fors  Clavi- 
gera,  one  may  call  the  Political  Economy  of  Art  a  reasonable  and  reada- 
ble book,  it  is  mainly  occupied  in  considerations  of  the  true  value 
of  art  to  a  nation,  and  the  means  of  making  the  best  both  of  the  art 
and  of  the  artist;  and  there  is  much  in  this  book  that  may  be  read 
with  advantage  by  all  who  wish  to  take  a  serious  view  of  art  as  a 
part  of  the  business  of  life.  There  are  considerations,  crude  enough, 
m  regard  to  the  effect  of  the  spending  of  money  in  mere  luxuries, 
which,  however  untrue  and  misleading  in  regard  to  the  effects  of  this 
expenditure  on  the  distribution  of  the  means  of  existence,  have 
certainly  a  moral  value  in  so  far  as  that  they  urge  the  principle  that 
it  is  not  worth  while  to  pay  people  to  do  that  which  is  not  in  itself  of 
any  value  as  contributing  to  the  general  enjoyment  or  bettering  or 
beautifying  of  life.  Mr.  Kuskin  has  touched  well  upon  this  subject, 
too,  in  his  lectures  ou  engravings  (comprised  now  under  the  title  Ariadn^e 
FlorerUina)  where  he  described  the  result  of  putting  the  unfortunate 
engraver  to  work  at  a  considerable  space  of  shadow  produced  by  cross- 
hatched  lines,  which  means  cutting  a  number  of  httle  square  holes 
between  the  crossed  lines  in  order  to  leave  the  lines  in  relief.  He 
would  urge  that  it  is  no  humanity  to  encourage  a  form  of  art  which 
can  only  be  produced  by  such  dull  mechanical  labor;  though,  after 
all,  it  may  be  questioned  whether  the  wood-engraver  would  not  prefer 
to  continue  his  hatching  at  a  fair  remuneration  rather  than  have  the 
work  all  taken  out  of  his  hands  and  reproduced  in  "  zincograph  "  by 
the  aid  of  photography. 

We  have  passed  over  lightly,  Mr.  Buskin's  political  economy,  inas- 
much as  it  is  too  foolish  and  preposterous  to  take  in  any  but  absolute 
dunces.  It  is  otherwise  with  his  art  criticism,  which,  being  put  forth 
with  an  air  of  authority  and  on  subjects  which  the  majority  of  readers 
have  given  little  thought  to,  has  got  itself  largely  accepted.  We  think 
we  have  shown  sufficient  reasons  why  this  acceptance  should  be  at 
least  very  seriously  reconeider^d.    We  can  hardly  conclude  withwt 


448  THE  UBBARY  MAGAZINE. 

reference  to  the  very  last  utterances  of  Mr.  Euskin's  whicli  have 
appeared  in  print,  the  letters  to  some  ladies  published  under  the  title 
UorttLs  Inclusus.  We  wish  not  to  say  a  aisrespectful  word  of  the 
ladies,  who  we  have  no  doubt  are  gentle  souls  with  a  true  admiration 
of  their  idol ;  but  they  had  better,  for  his  sake,  have  kept  this  garden 
"  inclusus  "  still.  The  letters  indicate  only  too  well  the  kind  of  wor- 
ship Mr.  Buskin  delights  in,  and  the  kind  of  sickly,  self-conscious, 
eflfeminate  sentimentality  which  has  grown  upon  him  more  and  more, 
and  which  is  seen  in  these  letters  as  such  a  foolish  mixture  of  vanity, 
petulance,  and  childishnsss,  as  any  one  possessed  of  any  manliness  of 
feeling  would  have  regretted  to  have  seen  made  public.  This  kind  of 
writing  is  what  might  be  expected,  perhaps,  Jfrom  a  man  who  has 
always  specially  courted  the  praises  of  women  and  of  womanish  men ; 
who  would  wipe  out  from  English  literature  so  manly  a  writer  as 
Thackeray;  and  who  could  complacently  print  in  Fors  Vlavigera,  for 
public  edification,  the  schoolgirl's  adulation,  "  It  is  good  of  you  to 
Keep  on  writing  your  beautiful  thoughts,  when  everybody  is  so  un- 
grateful and  says  such  unkind,  wicked  things  about  you" — a  quotation 
amusingly  significant  of  the  type  of  intellect  to  which  Mr.  Buskin's 
vaticinations  appeal,  and  the  kinu  of  incense  which  is  as  a  sweet  savor 
to  him. 

We  regret  to  have  to  shock  Mr.  Buskin's  faithful  followers,  many 
of  whom  we  have  no  doubt  are  honestly  convinced  of  the  intellectual 
and  moral  superiority  of  their  idol,  by  saying  "unkind,  wicked  things" 
about  him.  But  when  a  writer  so  totally  without  logic  or  consistency 
in  his  so-called  reasonings,  and  possessed  by  such  abnormal  vanity  and 
folly  of  egotism,  has  by  dint  of  mere  verbal  eloquence  and  phenomenal 
effrontery  (for  that  is  what  Mr.  Buskin's  assumed  intellectual  position 
amounts  to)  imposed  himself  on  a  whole  generation  as  a  teacher  qual- 
ified to  lecture  de  haut  en  has  on  the  whole  circle  of  life  and  its  greatest 
artistic  and  social  problems,  it  is  necessary  that  those  who  see  good 
ground  for  refusing  credence  to  his  pretentions  should  express  them- 
selves in  plain  and  decisive  language.  In  one  respect  only  we  are 
prepared  to  give  Mr.  Buskin  nearly  unqualified  admiration,  namely,  in 
regard  to  his  own  artistic  work  as  far  as  it  has  gone:  with  the  excep- 
tion of  those  unhappy  illustrations  to  the  Seven  Lamps^  his  own  draw- 
ing, of  architecture  especially,  is  admirable.  When  two  or  three  of 
bis  own  landscapes  were  exhibited  some  years  ago  in  Bond  Stree 
along  with  his  Turners,  our  impression  at  the  time  was  that  they  wer 
ec[uai  to  most  of  the  Turner  drawings  in  that  collection;  at  all  event 
his  drawings  of  portions  of  St.  Mark's,  exhibited  more  recently  at  tht 
Society  of  Water-colors  exhibition,  were  of  the  highest  class,  and  sucl 
as  indeed,  of  their  kind,  it  would  not  be  possible  to  surpass.  In  tb 
preface  to  the  llluatrationa  of  Venetian  Architecture  he  said,  "  Had 


THE  STBUGGLE  FOB  EXISTEKCK  449 

fiupposed  myself  to  possess  the  power  of  becoming  a  painter,  I  should 
have  given  ever^  available  hour  of  my  life  to  its  cultivalaon,  and  never 
have  written  a  line."  It  is  a  thousand  pities  that,  vielding  to  the  only 
motive  of  misplaced  modesty  of  whion  any  evidence  is  to  be  found 
throughout  his  writings,  he  should  have  given  up  an  effort  which 
might  have  brought  him  solid  and  lasting  reputation,  to  turn  to  the 
easier  and,  after  all,  apparently  more  congenial  task  of  flooding  the 
world  with  showy  and  inconsequential  literary  rhapsodies,  and  have 
gone  far  to  reduce  to  mere  prosaic  fact  one  of  his  own  innumerable 
paradoxes — "  People  can  hardly  draw  anything  without  being  of  some 
use  to  themselves  and  others,  and  can  hardly  write  anvthing  without 
wasting  their  own  time  and  that  of  others." — Edinburgh  Review, 


THE  STEUGGLE  FOR  EXISTENCE:— A  PROGRAMME. 

Ths  vast  and  varied  procession  of  events  which  we  call  Nature 
affords  a  sublime  spectacle  and  an  inexhaustible  wealth  of  attrac- 
tive problems  to  the  speculative  observer.  If  we  confine  our  attention 
to  that  aspect  which  engages  the  attention  of  the  intellect,  nature 
appears  a  beautiful  and  harmonious  whole,  the  incarnation  of  a 
faultless  logical  process,  from  certain  premises  in  the  past  to  an  inevit- 
able conclusion  in  the  future.  But  if  she  be  regarded  from  a  less  ele- 
vated, but  more  human,  point  of  view;  if  our  moral  sympathies  are 
allowed  to  influence  our  judgment,  and  we  permit  ourselves  to  criticise 
oar  great  mother  as  we  criticise  one  another; — then  our  verdict,  at 
least  so  far  as  sentient  nature  is  concerned,  can  hardly  be  so  favorable. 

In  sober  truth,  to  those  who  have  made  a  study  of  the  phenomena 
of  life  as  thej  are  exhibited  by  the  higher  forms  of  the  ammal  world, 
the  optimistic  dogma  that  this  is  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds  will 
seem  little  better  than  a  libel  upon  possibility.  It  is  really  only 
another  instance  to  be  added  to  the  many  extant,  of  the  audacity  of  d, 
priori  speculators  who,  having  created  God  in  their  own  image,  find 
no  difficulty  in  assuming  that  the  Almighty  must  have  been  actuated 
by  the  same  motives  as  themselves.  They  are  quite  sure  that,  had 
any  other  course  been  practicable.  He  would  no  more  have  made  infinite 
suffering  a  necessary  ingredient  of  His  handiwork  than  a  respectable 
philosopher  would  have  done  the  like.  But  even  the  modifiea  optim- 
ism of  the  time-honored  thesis  of  physico-theology,  that  the  sentient 
world  is,  on  the  whole,  regulated  oy  principles  of  benevolence,  does 
but  ill  stand  the  test  of  impartial  confrontation  with  the  facts  of  the 
case.  No  doubt  it  is  quite  true  that  sentient  nature  affords  hosts  of 
examples  of  subtle  contrivances  directed  towards  the  production  of 


450  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

pleasure  or  the  avoidance  of  pain ;  and  it  may  be  proper  to  say  tliat 
these  are  evidences  of  benevolence.  But  if  so,  why  is  it  not  equaUy 
proper  to  say  of  the  equally  numerous  arrangements,  the  no  less  neces- 
sary result  of  which  is  the  production  of  pain,  that  diey  are  evidences 
of  malevolence? 

If  a  vast  amount  of  that  which,  in  a  piece  of  human  workmanship, 
we  should  call  skill,  is  visible  in  those  parts  of  the  organization  of  a 
deer  to  which  it  owes  its  aUlity  to  escape  from  beasts  of  pr^,  there  is 
at  least  equal  skill  displayed  in  that  bodily  mechanism  of  the  wolf 
which  enables  him  to  track,  and  sooner  or  later  to  bring  down,  the 
deer.  Viewed  under  the  dry  light  of  science,  deer  and  wolf  are  alike 
admirable ;  and  if  both  were  non-sentient  automata,  there  would  be 
nothing  to  qualify  our  admiration  of  the  action  of  the  one  on  the  other. 
But  the  fact  that  the  deer  suffers,  while  the  wolf  inflicts  suffering, 
engages  our  moral  sympathies.  We  should  call  men  like  the  deer 
innocent  and  good,  men  such  as  the  wolf  malignant  and  bad ;  we  should 
call  those  who  defended  the  deer  and  aided  him  to  escape  brave  and 
compassionate,  and  those  who  helped  the  wolf  in  his  bloody  work  base 
and  cruel.  Surely,  if  we  transfer  these  judgments  to  nature  outside  the 
world  of  man  at  all,  we  must  do  so  impartially.  In  that  case,  the 
goodness  of  the  ri^ht  hand  which  helps  the  deer,  and  the  wickedness 
of  the  left  hand  which  eggs  on  the  wolf,  will  neutrahze  one  another : 
and  the  course  of  nature  wUl  appear  to  be  neither  moral  nor  immoral, 
but  non-moral.  This  conclusion  is  thrust  apon  us  by  analogous  facts 
in  every  part  of  the  sentient  world ;  yet,  inasmuch  as  it  not  only  jars 
upon  prevalent  prejudices,  but  arouses  the  natural  dislike  to  that 
which  is  painful,  much  ingenuity  has  been  exercised  in  devising  an 
escape  from  it. 

From  the  theological  side,  we  are  told  that  this  is  a  state  of  proba- 
tion, and  that  the  seeming  injustices  and  immoralities  of  nature  will 
be  compensated  by-and-by.  But  how  this  compensation  is  to  be 
affected,  in  the  case  of  the  great  majority  of  sentient  things,  is  not 
clear.  I  apprehend  that  no  one  is  seriously  prepared  to  maintain  that 
the  ghosts  of  all  the  m^ads  of  generations  of  herbivorous  animals 
which  lived  during  the  millions  of  years  of  the  earth's  duration  before 
the  appearance  of  man,  and  which  have  all  that  time  been  tormented 
and  devoured  by  carnivores,  are  to  be  compensated  by  a  perennial 
existence  in  clover;  while  the  ghosts  of  carnivores  are  to  go  to  some 
kennel  where  there  is  neither  a  pan  of  water  nor  a  bone  with  any  meat 
on  it.  Besides,  from  the  point  of  view  of  morality,  the  last  state  of 
things  would  be  worse  than  the  first.  For  the  carnivores,  however 
brutal  and  san^nary,  have  only  done  that  which,  if  there  is  any  evi- 
dence of  oontnvance  in  the  world,  they  were  expressly  constructed  to 
do.     Moreover,  carnivores  and  herbivores  alike  have  been  subject  to 


\ 


THE  8TBUGQLE  FOB  EXISTENCE.  461 

all  the  miseries  incidental  to  old  age,  disease,  and  over-multiplication, 
and  both  might  well  put  in  a  claim  for  ^'compensation  "  on  this  score. 

On  the  evolutionist  side,  on  the  other  hand,  we  are  told  to  take 
comfort  from  the  reflection  that  the  terrible  struggle  for  existence 
tends  to  final  good,  and  that  the  suffering  of  the  ancestor  is  paid  for 
by  the  increased  perfection  of  the  progeny.  There  would  be  some- 
thing in  this  argument  if-— in  Chinese  fashion — ^the  present  generation 
could  pay  its  debts  to  its  ancestors ;  otherwise  it  is  not  clear  what  com- 
pensation the  JEohippus  gets  for  his  sorrows  in  the  fact  that,  some 
millions  of  years  afterwards,  one  of  his  descendants  wins  the  Derby. 
And,  again,  it  is  an  error  to  imagine  that  evolution  signifies  a  con- 
stant tendency  to  increase  perfection.  That  process  undoubtedly 
involves  a  constant  re- adjustment  of  the  organism  in  adaption  to  new 
conditions ;  but  it  depends  on  the  nature  of  those  conditions  whether 
the  direction  of  the  modifications  effected  shall  be  upward  or  down- 
ward. Betrogressive  is  as  practicable  as  progressive  metamorphosis. 
If  what  the  physical  philosophers  tell  us,  that  our  globe  has  been  in 
a  state  of  fusion,  and,  liKe  the  sun,  is  gradually  cooling  down,  is  true ; 
then  the  time  must  come  when  evolution  will  mean  adaption  to  a 
universal  winter,  and  all  forms  of  life  will  die  out,  except  such  low 
and  simple  organisms  as  the  DicUom  of  the  arctic  and  antarctic  ice  and 
the  Protococcus  of  the  red  snow.  If  our  globe  is  proceeding  from  a 
condition  in  which  it  was  too  hot  to  support  any  but  the  lowest  liv- 
ing thing  to  a  condition  in  which  it  will  be  too  cold  to  permit  of  the 
existence  of  any  others,  the  course  of  life  upon  its  surface  must 
describe  a  trajectory  like  that  of  a  ball  fired  firom  a  mortar ;  and  the 
sinking  half  of  that  course  is  as  much  a  part  of  the  general  process 
of  evolution  as  the  rising. 

From  the  point  of  view  of  the  moralist  the  animal  world  is  on  about 
the  same  level  as  a  gladiator's  show.  The  creatures  are  fairly  well 
treated,  and  set  to  fignt — whereby  the  strongest,  the  swiftest  and  the 
cunnin^est  live  to  fight  another  day.  The  spectator  has  no  need  to 
turn  his  thumbs  down,  as  no  quarter  is  given.  He  must  admit  that 
the  skill  and  training  displayed  are  wonderful.  But  he  must  shut  his 
eyes  if  he  would  not  see  that  more  or  less  endurine  suffering  is  the 
meed  of  both  vanquished  and  victor.  And  since  the  great  game  is 
going  on  in  every  comer  of  the  world,  thousands  of  times  a  minute ; 
since,  were  our  ears  sharp  enough,  we  need  not  descend  to  the  gates 
of  hell  to  hear — 

"  mspiri,  pionti,  6cl  aiti  goal 

Vod  alte  e  floohe,  •  soon  dl  man  ooo  eUe." 

It  seems  to  follow  that,  if  this  world  is  governed  by  benevolence, 
it  must  be  a  different  sort  of  benevolence  firom  that  of  John  Howard. 


452  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

But  the  old  Babylonians  wisely  symbolized  Nature  by  their  great  god- 
dess Istar,  who  combined  the  attributes  of  Aphrodite  with  those  of 
Ares.  Her  terrible  aspect  is  not  to  be  ignored  or  covered  up  with 
shams ;  but  it  is  not  the  only  one.  If  the  optimism  of  Leibnitz  is  a  foolish 
though  pleasant  dream,  the  pessimism  of  Schopenhauer  is  a  nightmare, 
the  more  foolish  because  of  its  hideousness.  Error  whick  is  not 
pleasant  is  surely  the  worst  form  of  wrong. 

This  may  not  be  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  but  to  say  that  it  is 
the  worst  is  mere  petulant  nonsense.  A  worn-out  voluptuary  may 
find  nothing  good  under  the  fiun,  or  a  vain  and  inexperienced  youth, 
who  cannot  get  the  moon  he  cries  for,  may  vent  his  irritation  m  pes- 
simistic meanings ;  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  any 
reasonable  person  that  mankind  could,  would,  and  in  fact  do,  get  on  fairly 
well  with  vastly  less  happiness  and  far  more  misery  than  find  their  way 
into  the  lives  of  nine  people  out  of  ten.  If  each  and  all  of  us  had 
been  visited  by  an  attack  of  neuralgia,  or  of  extreme  mental  depres- 
sion, for  one  hour  in  every  twenty -four — a  supposition  which  many 
tolerably  vigorous  people  know,  to  their  cost,  is  not  extravagant — the 
burden  of  life  would  have  been  immensely  increased  without  much 
practical  hindrance  to  its  general  course.  Men  with  any  manhood  in 
them  find  life  quite  worth  living  under  worse  conditions  than  these. 

There  is  another  sufficiency  obvious  fact  which  renders  the  hypo- 
thesis that  the  course  of  sentient  nature  is  dictated  by  male- 
volence quite  untenable.  A  vast  multitude  of  pleasures,  and  these 
among  the  purest  and  the  best,  are  superfluities,  bits  of  good  which  are 
to  all  appearance  unnecessary  as  inducements  to  live,  and  are,  so  to 
speak,  thrown  into  the  bargain  of  life.  To  those  who  experience  them, 
few  delights  can  be  more  entrancing  than  such  as  are  anbrded  by  nat- 
ural beauty  or  by  the  arts  and  especially  by  music ;  but  they  are  pro- 
ducts of,  rather  than  factors  in,  evolution,  and  it  is  probable  that  tbey 
are  known,  in  any  considerable  degree,  to  but  a  very  small  proportion 
of  mankind. 

The  conclusion  of  the  whole  matter  seems  to  be  that,  if  Ormuzd 
has  not  had  his  way  in  this  world,  neither  has  Ahriman.  Pessimism 
is  as  little  consonant  with  the  facts  of  sentient  existence  as  optim- 
ism. If  we  desire  to  represent  the  course  of  nature  in  terms  of  human 
thought,  and  assume  tnat  it  was  intended  to  be  that  which  it  is,  we 
must  say  that  its  governing  principle  is  intellectual  and  not  moral ; 
that  it  is  a  materialized  logical  process  accompanied  by  pleasures  and 
pains,  the  incidents  of  which,  in  the  majority  of  cases,  has  not  the 
slightest  reference  to  moral  desert.  That  tbe  rain  falls  alike  upon  the 
just  and  the  unjust,  and  that  those  upon  whom  the  Tower  of  Siloam 
fell  were  no  worse  then  their  neighbors,  seem  to  be  Oriental  modes  of 
expressing  the  same  conclusion. 


TEH  STRUGGLE  FOB  EXISTENCE.  .453 

In  the  strict  sense  of  the  word  "  nature,"  it  denotes  the  sum  of  the 
phenomenal  worlcL  of  that  which  has  been,  and  is,  and  will  be;  and 
society,  like  art,  is  therefore  a  part  of  nature.  But  it  is  cony eni  ent  to  d  i  s- 
tinguish  those  parts  of  nature  in  which  man  pla^s  the  part  of  Immediate 
cause,  as  something  apart;  and,  therefore,  society,  like  art,  is  usefully 
to  be  considered  as  distinct  from  nature.  It  is  the  more  desirable,  and 
even  necessa;r^,  to  make  this  distinction,  since  society  differs  from 
nature  in  having  a  definite  moral  object ;  whence  it  comes  about  that 
the  course  shaped  by  the  ethical  man — the  member  of  society  or 
citizen — ^necessarily  runs  counter  to  that  which  the  non-ethical  man — 
the  primitive  savage,  or  man  as  a  mere  member  of  the  animal  king- 
dom— tends  to  adopt.  The  latter  fights  out  the  struggle  for  existence 
to  the  bitter  end,  like  any  other  animal ;  the  former  devotes  his  best 
energies  to  the  object  of  setting  limits  to  the  struggle. 

In  the  cycle  of  phenomena  presented  by  the  life  of  man,  the  animal, 
no  more  moral  end  is  discernible  than  in  that  presented  by  the  lives 
of  the  wolf  and  of  the  deer.  However  imperfect  the  relics  of  prehis- 
toric men  may  be,  the  evidence  which  they  afford  clearly  tends  to  the  coii- 
clusion  that,  for  thousands  and  thousands  of  years,  before  the  origin 
of  the  oldest  known  civilizations,  men  were  savages  of  a  very  low 
type.  They  strove  with  their  enemies  and  their  competitors ;  they 
preyed  upon  things  weaker  or  less  cunning  than  themselves;  they 
were  born,  multipued  without  stint,  and  died,  for  thousands  of  gener- 
ations, alongside  the  mammoth,  the  urus,  the  lion,  and  the  hyaena, 
whose  lives  were  spent  in  the  same  way ;  and  they  were  no  more  to 
be  praised  or  blamed,  on  moral  grounds,  than  their  less  erect  and  more 
hairy  compatriots.  As  among  these,  so  amon^  primitive  men,  the 
weakest  and  stupidest  went  to  the  wall,  while  the  toughest  and 
shrewdest,  those  who  were  best  fitted  to  cope  with  their  circumstances, 
but  not  the  best  in  any  other  sense,  survived.  Life  was  a  continual 
free  fight,  and  beyond  the  limited  and  temporary  relations  of  the  fam- 
ily, the  Hobbesian  war  of  each  against  all  was  the  normal  state  of 
existence.  The  human  species,  like  others,  plashed  and  floundered 
amid  the  general  stream  of  evolution,  keeping  its  head  above  water 
as  it  best  might,  and  thinking  neither  of  whence  nor  whither. 

The  history  of  civilization — that  is  of  society — on  the  other  hand, 
is  the  record  of  the  attempts  which  the  human  race  has  made  to  escape 
from  this  position.  The  first  men  who  substituted  the  state  of  mutual 
peace  for  that  of  mutual  war,  whatever  the  motive  which  impelled 
them  to  take  that  step,  created  society.  But,  in  establishing  peace, 
they  obviously  put  a  limit  upon  the  struggle  for  existence.  Between 
the  members  of  that  society,  at  any  rate,  it  was  not  to  be  pursued  d 
otUrance.  And  of  all  the  successive  shapes  which  society  has  taken, 
that  most  nearly  approaches  perfection  in  which  tiie  war  of  individual 


464  TBE  LIBRAnY  MAGAZINE. 

against  individual  is  most  strictly  limited.  The  primitive  savage, 
tutored  by  Istar,  appropriated  whatever  took  his  fancy,  and  killed 
whomsoever  opi)osea  nim,  if  he  could.  On  the  contrary,  the  ideal  of 
the  ethical  man  is  to  limit  his  freedom  of  action  to  a  sphere  in  which 
he  does  not  interfere  with  the  freedom  of  others;  he  seeks  the  com- 
mon weal  as  much  as  his  own ;  and,  indeed,  as  an  essential  part  of  his 
own  welfare.  Peace  is  both  end  and  means  with  him ;  and  he  founds 
his  life  on  a  more  or  less  complete  self-restraint,  which  is  the  negation 
of  the  struggle  for  existence.  He  tries  to  escape  from  his  place  in  the 
animal  kingdom,  founded  on  the  free  development  of  the  principle  of 
non-moral  evolution,  and  to  found  a  kingdom  of  Man,  governed  upon 
the  principle  of  moral  evolution.  For  society  not  only  has  a  moral 
end,  but  in  its  perfection,  social  life,  is  embodied  morality. 

But  the  effort  of  ethical  man  to  work  towards  a  moral  end  by  no 
means  abolished,  perhaps  has  hardly  modified,  the  deep-seated  organic 
impulses  which  impel  the  natural  man  to  follow  his  non-moral  course. 
One  of  the  most  esential  conditions,  if  not  the  chief  cause,  of  the 
struggle  for  existence,  is  the  tendency  to  multiply  without  limit, 
which  man  shares  with  all  living  things.  It  is  notable  that  "increase 
and  multiply"  is  a  commandment  traditionally  much  older  than  the 
ten,  and  that  it  is,  perhaps,  the  only  one  which  has  been  spontaneously 
and  ex  amino  obeyed  by  the  great  majority  of  the  human  race.  But, 
in  civilized  society,  the  inevitable  result  of  such  obedience  is  the  re- 
establishment,  in  all  its  intensity,  of  that  struggle  for  existence— the 
war  of  each  against  all — ^the  mitigation  or  abolition  of  which  was  the 
chief  end  of  social  organization. 

It  is  conceivable  that,  at  some  period  in  the  history  of  the  fabled 
Atlantis,  the  production  of  food  should  have  been  exactly  sufficient  to 
meet  the  wants  of  the  population,  that  the  makers  of  artificial  com- 
modities should  have  amounted  to  just  the  number  supportable  by  the 
surplus  food  of  the  agriculturists.  And,  as  there  is  no  narm  in  adding 
another  monstrous  supposition  to  the  foregoing,  let  it  be  imagined 
that  every  man,  woman,  and  child  was  perfectly  virtuous,  and  aimed 
at  the  good  of  all  as  the  highest  personal  good.  In  that  happy  land, 
the  natural  man  would  have  been  finally  put  down  by  the  ethical 
man.  There  would  have  been  no  competition,  but  the  industry 
of  each  would  have  been  serviceable  to  all;  nobody  being  vain 
and  nobody  avaricious,  there  would  have  been  no  rivalries;  the 
struggle  for  existence  would  have  been  abolished,  and  the  millen- 
nium would  have  finally  set  in.  But  it  is  obvious  that  this  state  of 
things  could  have  been  permanent  only  with  a  stationary  population. 
Add  ten  firesh  mouths ;  and  as,  by  the  supposition,  there  was  only 
exactly  enough  before,  somebody  must  go  on  short  rations.  The 
Atlantis  society  might  have  been  a  heaven  upon  earth,  the   whole 


TS£  ^mVGQLB  POM  SXtSfEl^CS.  466 

nation  might  have  consisted  of  just  men,  needing  no  repentance,  and 
yet  somebody  must  starve.  Reckless  Istar,  non-moral  Nature,  would 
have  riven  the  social  fabric.  I  was  once  talking  with  a  very  eminent 
physician  about  the  vis  medicatrix  noUv/rsB.  " Stuflf I "  said  he  ;  "nine 
times  out  of  ten  nature  does  not  want  to  cure  the  man ;  she  wants  to 

f>ut  him  in  his  coffin."  And  Istar-Nature  appears  to  have  equally 
ittle  sympathy  with  the  ends  of  society.  "  Stuff  I  she  wants  nothing 
but  a  fair  field  and  firee  play  for  her  darling  the  strongest." 

Our  Atlantis  may  be  an  impossible  figment,  but  the  antagonistic 
tendencies  which  the  fable  adumbrates  have  existed  in  every  society 
which  was  ever  established,  and,  to  all  appearance,  must  strive  for  the 
victory  in  all  that  will  be.  Historians  point  to  the  greed  and  ambi- 
tion of  rulers,  to  the  reckless  turbulence  of  the  ruled,  to  the  debasing 
effects  of  wealth  and  luxury,  and  to  the  devastating  wars  which  have 
formed  a  great  part  of  the  occupation  of  mankind,  as  the  causes  of  the 
decay  of  states  and  the  foundering  of  old  civilizations,  and  thereby 
point  their  story  with  a  moral.  No  doubt  immoral  motives  of  all  sorts 
have  figured  largely  among  the  minor  causes  of  these  events.  But, 
beneath  all  this  superficial  turmoil,  lay  the  deep-seated  impulse  given 
by  unlimited  multiplication.  In  the  swarms  of  colonies  thrown  out 
by  Phoenicia  and  by  old  Greece ;  in  the  ver  sacrum  of  the  Latin  races ; 
in  the  floods  of  Gauls  and  of  Teutons  which  burst  over  the  frontiers  of 
the  old  civilization  of  Europe ;  in  the  swaying  to  and  fro  of  the  vast 
Mongolian  hordes  in  late  times,  the  population  problem  comes  to  the 
front  in  a  very  visible  shape.  Nor  is  it  less  plainly  manifest  in  the 
everlasting  agrarian  questions  of  ancient  Home  than  in  the  Arreoi 
societies  of  the  Polynesian  Islands. 

In  the  ancient  world  and  in  a  large  part  of  that  in  which  we  now 
live,  the  practice  of  infanticide  was  or  is  a  regular  and  legal  custom ; 
the  steady  recurrence  of  famine,  pestilence,  and  war  were  and  are 
normal  factors  in  the  struggle  for  existence,  and  have  served,  in  a  gross 
and  brutal  fashion,  to  mitigate  the  intensity  of  its  chief  cause.  But, 
in  the  more  advanced  civilizations,  the  progress  of  private  and  public 
morality  has  steadily  tended  to  remove  all  these  checks.  We  declare 
infanticide  murder,  and  punish  it  as  such ;  we  decree,  not  quite  suc- 
cessfully, that  no  one  shall  die  of  hunger ;  we  regard  death  from  pre- 
ventable causes  of  other  kinds  as  a  sort  of  constructive  murder,  and 
eliminate  pestilence  to  the  best  of  our  ability ;  we  declaim  against  the 
curse  of  war,  and  the  wickedness  of  the  military  spirit,  and  we  are 
never  weary  of  dilating  on  the  blessedness  of  peace  and  the  innocent 
beneficence  of  Industry.  In  their  moments  of  expansion,  even  states- 
men and  men  of  business  go  thus  far.  The  finer  spirits  look  to  an 
ideal  dvitas  Dei ;  a  state  when,  every  man  having  reached  the  point 
of  absolute  self-negation,  and  having  nothing  but  moral  perfection  to 


456  TBJB  LIBBABT  MAGAZINE. 

strive  after,  peace  will  truly  reign,  not  merely  among  nations,  but 
among  men,  and  the  struggle  for  existence  will  w  at  an  end.  Whether 
human  nature  is  competent,  under  any  circumstances,  to  reach,  or 
even  seriously  advance  towards,  this  ideal  condition,  is  a  question 
which  need  not  be  discussed.  It  will  be  admitted  that  mankind  has 
not  yet  reached  this  stage  hj  a  very  long  way,  and  mj  business  is  with 
the  present.  And  that  which  I  wish  to  point  out  is  that,  so  long  as 
the  natural  man  increases  and  multiplies  without  restraint,  so  long 
will  peace  and  industry  not  only  permit,  but  they  will  necessitate,  a 
struggle  for  existence  as  sharp  as  any  that  ever  went  on  under  the 
rigime  of  war.  If  Istar  is  to  reign  on  the  one  hand,  she  will  demand 
her  human  sacrifices  on  the  other. 

Let  us  look  at  home.  For  seventy  years,  peace  and  indtistry  have 
had  their  way  among  us  with  less  interruption  and  under  more  favor- 
able conditions  than  in  any  other  country  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 
The  wealth  of  Croesus  was  nothing  to  that  which  we  have  accumu- 
lated, and  our  prosperity  has  filled  the  world  with  envy.  But  Nemesis 
did  not  forget  Croesus;  has  she  forgotten  us?  I  think  not.  There 
are  now  86,000,000  of  people  in  our  island,  and  every  year  consider- 
ably more  than  800,000  are  added  to  our  members.'*'  That  is  to  say, 
about  every  hundred  seconds^  or  so,  a  new  claimant  to  a  share  in  the 
common  stock  of  maintenance  presents  him  or  herself  among  us.  At 
the  present  time,  the  produce  of  the  soil  does  not  suffice  to  feed  half 
its  population.  The  other  moiety  has  to  be  supplied  with  food  which 
must  be  bought  from  the  people  of  food-producing  countries.  That  is 
to  say,  we  have  to  offer  them  the  things  which  they  want  in  exchange 
for  the  things  we  want.  And  the  things  they  want  and  which  we  can 
produce  better  than  they  can  are  mainly  manufactures — ^industrial 
products. 

The  insolent  reproach  of  the  first  Napoleon  had  a  very  solid  foun- 
dation. We  not  only  are,  but,  under  penalty  of  starvation,  we  are 
bound  to  be,  a  nation  of  shopkeepers.  But  other  nations  also  lie  under 
the  same  necessity  of  keeping  shop,  and  some  of  them  deal  in  the 
same  goods  as  ourselves.  Our  customers  naturally  seek  to  get  the 
most  and  the  best  in  exchange  for  their  produce.  If  our  goods  are 
inferior  to  those  of  our  competitors,  there  is  no  around  compatible 
with  the  sanity  of  the  buyers,  which  can  be  allegec^  why  they  should 
not  prefer  the  latter.  And,  if  that  result  should  ever  take  place  on  a 
large  and  general  scale,  five  or  six  millions  of  us  would  soon  have 
nothing  to  eat.  We  know  what  the  cotton  famine  was ;  and  we  can 
therefore  form  some  notion  of  what  a  dearth  of  customers  would  be. 

*  These  nnmbera  are  only  approximately  accurate.  In  1881,  our  population 
amounted  to  to  35,241,482,  exceeding  the  number  in  1871  by  3,396,103.  llie  ayetage 
annual  increase  in  the  decennial  period  1871-1881  is  therefore  339,610.  The  number 
of  minutes  in  a  calendar  year  is  625,600 


TEE  8TBUQQLE  FOB  EXISTENCE.  4ff7 

Judged  by  an  ethical  standard,  nothing  can  be  less  satisfactoi^  than 
the  position  in  which  we  find  ourselves.  In  a  real,  though  incom- 
plete, degree  we  have  attained  the  condition  of  peace  which  is  the 
main  object  of  social  organization ;  and  it  ma^,  for  argument's  sake, 
be  assumed  that  we  desire  nothing  but  that  which  is  in  itself  innocent 
and  praiseworthy — namely,  the  enjoyment  of  the  fruits  of  honest 
industry.  And  lo  I  in  spite  of  ourselves,  we  are  in  reality  engaged  in 
an  internecine  struggle  for  existence  with  our  presumably  no  less 
peaceful  and  well-meaning  neighbors.  We  seek  peace  and  we  do  not 
ensue  it.  The  moral  nature  in  us  asks  for  no  more  than  is  compatible 
with  the  general  good ;  the  non-moral  nature  proclaims  and  acts  upon 
that  fine  old  Scottish  family  motto  '  Thou  snalt  starve  ere  I  want.' 
Let  us  be  under  no  illusions  then.  So  long  as  unlimited  multiplication 
goes  on,  no  social  organization  which  has  ever  been  devised,  or  is  likelv 
to  be  devised;  no  fiddle-faddling  with  the  distribution  of  wealth,  will 
deliver  society  from  the  tendency  to  be  destroyed  by  the  reproduction 
within  itself,  in  its  intensest  form,  of  that  struggle  for  existence,  the 
limitation  of  which  is  the  object  of  society.  And  however  shocking 
to  the  moral  sense  this  eternal  competition  of  man  against  man  and  of 
nation  against  nation  may  be;  however  revolting  may  be  the  accum- 
ulation of  misery  at  the  negative  pole  of  society,  in  contrast  with  that 
of  monstrous  wealth  at  the  positive  pole;  this  state  of  things  must 
abide,  and  grow  continually  worse,  so  long  as  Istar  holds  her  way 
unchecked.  It  is  the  true  riddle  of  the  Sphinx ;  and  every  nation 
which  does  not  solve  it  will  sooner  or  later  be  devoured  by  the  mon- 
ster itself  has  generated. 

The  practical  and  pressing  question  for  us  just  now  seems  to  me  to 
be  how  to  gain  time.  "Time  orings  counsel,"  as  the  Teutonic  proverb 
has  it ;  and  wiser  folk  among  our  posterity  may  see  their  way  out  of 
that  which  at  present  looks  like  an  impasse.  It  would  be  folly  to 
entertain  any  ill-feeling  towards  those  neighbors  and  rivals  who,  like 
ourselves,  are  slaves  of  Istar;  but,  if  somebody  is  to  be  starved,  the 
modem  world  has  no  Oracle  of  Delphi  to  which  the  nations  can  appeal 
for  an  indication  of  the  victim.  It  is  open  to  us  to  try  our  fortune; 
and  if  we  avoid  impending  fate,  there  will  be  a  certain  ground  for 
believing  that  we  are  the  right  people  to  escape.     Securus  judical  orbis. 

To  this  end,  it  is  well  to  look  into  the  necessary  conditions  of  our 
salvation  by  works.  They  are  two,  one  plain  to  all  the  world  and 
hardly  needing  insistance;  the  other  seemingly  not  so  plain,  since  too 
often  it  has  been  theoretically  and  practically  left  out  of  sight.  The 
obvious  condition  is  that  our  produce  shall  be  better  than  that  oi' 
others.  There  is  only  one  reason  why  our  goods  should  be  preferred 
to  those  of  our  rivals — our  customers  must  find  them  better  at  the 
price.    That  means  that  we  must  use  more  knowledge,  skilli  and 


458  TBE  LIBRABY  MAGAZINE. 

indastry  in  producing  them,  without  a  proportionate  increase  in  the 
cost  of  production;  and,  as  the  price  of  labor  constitutes  a  large  ele- 
ment in  that  cost,  the  rate  of  wages  must  be  restricted  within  certain 
limits.  It  is  perfectly  true  that  cheap  production  and  cheap  labor  are 
by  no  means  synonymous;  but  it  is  also  true  that  wages  cannot 
increase  beyond  a  certain  proportion  without  destroying  cheapness. 
Cheapness,  then,  with,  as  part  and  parcel  of  cheapness,  a  moaerate 
price  of  labor,  is  essential  to  our  success  as  competitors  in  the  markets 
of  the  world. 

The  second  condition  is  really  quite  as  plainly  indispensable  as  the 
first,  if  one  thinks  seriously  about  the  matter.  It  is  social  stability. 
Society  is  stable  when  the  wants  of  its  members  obtain  as  much  satis- 
faction as,  life  being  what  it  is,  common  sense  and  experience  show 
may  be  reasonably  expected.  Mankind,  in  general,  care  very  little  for 
forms  of  government  or  ideal  considerations  of  any  sort ;  and  nothing 
really  stirs  the  great  multitude  of  mankind  to  break  with  custom  and 
incur  the  manifest  perils  of  revolt  except  the  belief  that  misery  in  this 
world  or  damnation  in  the  next,  or  both,  are  threatened  by  the  contin- 
uance of  the  state  of  things  in  which  thejr  have  been  brought  up.  But 
when  they  do  attain  that  conviction,  society  becomes  as  unstable  as  a 
package  of  dynamite,  and  a  very  small  matter  will  produce  the  explo- 
sion which  sends  it  back  to  the  chaos  of  savagery. 

It  needs  no  argument  to  prove  that  when  the  price  of  labor  sinks 
below  a  certain  point,  the  worker  infallibly  falls  into  that  condition 
which  the  French  emphatically  call  la  misire — a  word  for  which  I  do 
not  think  there  is  any  exact  English  equivalent.  It  is  a  condition  in 
which  the  food,  warmth  and  clothing  which  are  necessary  for  the  mere 
maintenance  of  the  functions  of  the  bodv  in  their  normal  state  cannot 
be  obtained ;  in  which  men,  women  and  children  are  forced  to  crowd 
into  dens  wherein  decency  is  abolished  and  the  most  ordinary  condi- 
tions of  healthful  existence  are  impossible  of  attainment;  in  which  the 
pleasures  within  reach  are  reduced  to  bestiality  and  drunkenness ;  in 
which  the  pains  accumulate  at  compound  interest,  in  the  shape  of 
starvation,  disease,  stunted  development,  and  moral  degradation;  in 
which  the  prospect  of  even  steaay  and  honest  industry  is  a  life  of 
unsuccessful  battling  with  hunger,  rounded  by  a  pauper's  grave. 

That  a  certain  proportion  of  the  members  of  every  great  aggregation 
of  mankind  should  constantly  tend  to  establish  and  populate  such  a 
Malebolge  as  this  is  inevitable,  so  lon^  as  some  people  are  bv  nature 
idle  and  vicious,  while  others  are  disabled  by  sickness  or  accident,  or 
thrown  upon  the  world  by  the  death  of  their  bread-winners.  So  long 
as  that  proportion  is  restricted  within  tolerable  limits,  it  can  be  dealt 
with;  and,  so  far  as  it  arises  only  from  such  causes,  its  existence  may 
and  must  be  patiently  borne.    But,  when  the  organization  of  society, 


TffE  8TBUQQLE  FOB  EXI8TEN0E.  469 

instead  of  mitigating  this  tendency,  tends  to  continue  and  intensify  it; 
when  a  given  social  order  plainly  makes  for  evil  and  not  for  good, 
men  naturally  enough  begin  to  think  it  high  time  to  tr v  a  fresh  exper- 
iment. The  animal  man,  finding  that  the  ethical  man  has  landed  him 
in  such  a  slough,  resumes  his  ancient  sovereignty  and  preaches  anarchy; 
which  is,  substantially,  a  proposal  to  reduce  the  social  cosmos  to  chaos 
and  begin  the  brute  struggle  for  existence  once  again. 

Any  one  who  is  acquainted  with  the  state  of  the  population  of  all 
great  industrial  centres,  whether  in  this  or  other  countries,  is  aware 
that,  amidst  a  large  and  increasing  body  of  that  population,  la  mish-e 
reigns  supreme.  I  have  no  pretentions  to  the  character  of  a  philan- 
thropist and  I  have  a  special  horror  of  all  sorts  of  sentimental  rhet- 
oric ;  I  am  merely  trying  to  deal  with  facts,  to  some  extent  within  my 
own  knowledge,  and  further  evidenced  by  abundant  testimony,  as  a 
naturalist;  and  I  take  it  to  be  a  mere  plain  truth  that,  throughout 
industrial  Europe,  there  is  not*a  single  large  manufacturing  city  which 
is  free  from  a  vast  mass  of  people  whose  condition  is  exactly  that 
described,  and  from  a  still  greater  mass  who,  living  just  on  the  edge  of 
the  social  swamp,  are  liable  to  be  precipitated  into  it  bv  any  lack  of 
demand  for  their  produce.  And,  with  every  addition  to  tne  population, 
the  multitude  already  sunk  in  the  pit  and  the  number  of  the  host  slid- 
ing towards  it  continually  increase. 

Argumentation  can  hardly  be  needful  to  make  it  clear  that  no 
society  in  which  the  elements  of  decomposition  are  thus  swiftly  and 
surely  accumulating  can  hope  to  win  in  the  race  of  industries.  Intel- 
ligence, knowledge,  and  skill  are  undoubtedly  conditions  of  success; 
but  of  what  avail  are  they  likely  to  be  unless  they  are  backed  up  by 
honesty,  energy,  good- will,  and  all  the  physical  and  moral  faculties 
that  go  to  the  making  of  manhood,  and  unless  they  are  stimulated  by 
hope  of  such  reward  as  men  may  fairly  look  to?  And  what  dweller 
in  the  slough  of  misire,  dwarfed  in  body  and  soul,  demoralized,  hope- 
less, can  reasonably  be  expected  to  possess  these  qualities? 

Any  full  and  permanent  development  of  the  productive  powers  of 
an  industrial  population,  then,  must  be  compatiole  with  and,  indeed, 
based  upon  a  social  organization  which  will  secure  a  fair  amount  of 
physical  and  moral  welfare  to  that  population;  which  will  make  for 
good  and  not  for  evil.     Natural  science  and  religious  enthusiasm  rarely 

fro  hand  in  hand,  but  on  this  matter  their  concord  is  complete;  and  the 
east  sympathetic  of  naturalists  can  but  admire  the  insight  and  the 
devotion  of  such  social  reformers  as  the  late  Lord  Shaftesbury,  whose 
recently  published  Life  and  Letters  gives  a  vivid  picture  of  the  condi- 
tion of  tne  working  classes  fifty  years  ago,  and  of  the  pit  which  our 
industry,  ignoring  trese  plain  truths,  was  then  digging  under  its  own 
feet. 


,460  THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

There  is  perhaps  no  more  hopeful  sign  of  progress  among  us  in  the 
last  half-centurj  than  the  steamlj  increasing  devotion  which  has  been 
and  is  directed  to  measures  for  promoting  physical  and  moral  wel&re 
among  the  poorer  classes.  Sanitary  reformers,  like  most  other  reform- 
ers whom  I  have  had  the  advantage  of  knowing,  seem  to  need  a  good 
dose  of  fanaticism,  as  a  sort  of  moral  coca,  to  keep  them  up  to  the 
mark,  and,  doubtless,  they  have  made  many  mistakes ;  but  that  the 
endeavor  to  improve  the  condition  under  which  our  industrial  popu- 
lation live,  to  amend  the  drainage  of  densely  peopled  streets,  to  pro- 
vide baths,  washhouses,  and  gymnasia,  to  facilitate  habits  of  thrift,  to 
furnish  some  provision  for  instruction  and  amusement  in  public  libra- 
ries and  the  like,  is  not  only  desirable  from  a  philanthropic  point  of 
view,  but  an  essential  condition  of  safe  industrial  development,  appears 
to  me  to  be  indisputable.  It  is  by  such  means  alone,  so  far  as  1  can 
see,  that  we  can  hope  to  check  the  constant  gravitation  of  industrial 
society  towards  la  miahre^  until  the  genfiral  progress  of  intelligence  and 
morahty  leads  men  to  grapple  with  the  sources  of  that  tendency.  If  it  is 
said  that  the  carrying  out  of  such  arrangemen'ts  as  those  indicated 
must  enhance  the  cost  of  production,  and  tnus  handicap  the  producer 
in  the  race  of  competition,  I  venture,  in  the  first  place,  to  doubt  the 
fact:  but  if  it  be  so,  it  results  that  industrial  society  has  to  face  a 
dilemma,  either  bom  of  which  threatens  impalement. 

On  the  one  hand,  a  population  whose  labor  is  sufficiently  remuner- 
ated may  be  physically  and  morally  healthy  and  socially  stable,  but 
may  fail  in  industrial  competition  by  reason  of  the  deamess  of  its  pro- 
duce. On  the  other  hand,  a  population  whose  labor  is  insufficiently 
remunerated  must  become  physically  and  morally  unhealthy,  and 
socially  unstable;  and  though  it  may  succeed  for  a  while  in  industrial 
competition,  by  reason  of  the  cheapness  of  its  produce,  it  must  in  the 
end  fall,  through  hideous  misery  and  degradation,  to  utter  ruin.  Well, 
if  these  are  the  only  possible  alternatives,  let  us  for  ourselves  and  our 
children  choose  the  former,  and,  if  need  be,  starve  like  men.  But  I  do 
not  believe  that  a  stable  society  made  up_pf  healthy,  vigorous, 
instructed,  and  self-ruling  people  would  ever  incur  serious  risk  of  that 
fate.  They  are  not  likely  to  be  troubled  with  many  competitors  of 
the  same  character,  and  they  may  be  safely  trusted  to  find  ways  of 
holding  their  omiti. 

Assuming  that  the  physical  and  moral  well-being  and  the  stable 
social  order,  which  are  the  indispensable  conditions  of  permanent 
industrial  development)  are  secured,  there  remains  for  consideration  the 
means  of  attaining  that  knowledge  and  skill,  without  which,  even  Uien, 
the  baUle  of  competition  cannot  be  successfully  fought.  Let  us  con- 
sider how  we  stand.  A  vast  system  of  elementary  education  has  now 
oeen  in  ojperation  among  us  for  sixteen  years,  ana  has  reached  allbut 


THE  STBUOOLE  FOB  EXISTENCE.  461 

a  very  small  firaction  of  the  population.  I  do  not  think  that  there  is 
any  room  for  doubt  that,  on  the  whole,  it  has  worked  well,  and  that  its 
indirect  no  less  than  its  direct  benefits  have  been  immense.  But,  as 
might  be  expected,  it  exhibits  the  defects  of  all  our  educational 
systems — ^fashioned  as  they  were  to  meet  the  wants  of  a  bygone  con- 
dition of  society.  There  is  a  widespread,  and  I  think  well-justified, 
complaint  that  it  has  too  much  to  do  with  books  and  too  little  to  do 
with  things.  I  am  as  little  disposed*  as  anyone  can  well  be  to  narrow 
early  education  and  to  make  the  primary  school  a  mere  annex  of  the 
shop.  And  it  is  not  so  much  in  the  interests  of  industry  bs  in  that  of 
breadth  of  culture,  that  I  echo  the  common  complaint  against  the 
bookish  and  theoretical  character  of  our  primary  instruction. 

If  there  were  no  such  things  as  industrial  pursuits,  a  system  of  edu- 
cation which  does  nothing  for  the  faculties  of  observation,  which  trains 
neither  the  eye  nor  the  hand,  and  is  compatible  with  utter  ignorance 
of  the  commonest  natural  truths,  might  still  be  reasonably  regarded 
as  strangely  imperfect.  And  when  we  consider  that  the  instruction 
and  training  which  are  lacking  are  exactly  those  which  are  of  most 
importance  for  the  great  mass  of  our  population,  the  fault  becomes 
almost  a  crime,  the  more  that  there  is  no  practical  difficulty  in  making 
good  these  defects.  There  really  is  no  reason  why  drawing  should  not 
be  universally  taught,  and  it  is  an  admirable  training  for  both  eye  and 
hand.  Artists  are  bom,  not  made ;  but  everybody  may  be  taught  to 
draw  elevations,  plans  and  sections ;  and  pots  and  pans  are  as  good, 
indeed  better,  moaels  for  this  purpose  than  the  Apollo  Belvedere.  The 
plant  is  not  expensive ;  and  there  is  this  excellent  quality  about  draw- 
ing of  the  kind  indicated,  tJiat  it  can  be  tested  almost  as  easily  and 
severely  as  arithmetic.  Such  drawings  are  either  right  or  wrong,  and 
if  they  are  wrong  the  pupil  can  be  made  to  see  that  they  are  wrong. 
From  the  industrial  point  of  view,  drawing  has  the  further  merit  that 
there  is  hardly  any  trade  in  which  the  power  of  drawing  is  not  of 
daily  and  hourly  utility. 

In  the  next  place,  no  good  reason,  except  the  want  of  capable  teach- 
ers, can  be  assigned  why  elementary  notions  of  science  should  not  be 
an  element  in  general  instruction.  In  this  case,  again,  no  experience 
or  elaborate  apparatus  is  necessary.  The  commonest  thing — a  candle, 
a  boy's  squirt,  a  piece  of  chalk — m  the  hands  of  a  teacher  who  knows 
his  business  may  be  made  the  starting  points  whence  children  may 
be  led  into  the  regions  of  science  as  far  as  their  capacity  permits,  with 
efficient  exercise  of  their  observational  and  reasoning  faculties  on  the 
road.  If  object  lessons  often  prove  trivial  failures,  it  is  not  the  fault 
of  object  lessons,  but  that  of  the  teacher,  who  has  not  found  out  how 
much  the  power  of  teaching  a  little  depends  on  knowing  a  great  deal, 
and  that  thoroughly ;  and  wat  he  has  not  made  that  discovery  is  not 


4^  TffE  LIBBART  MAGAZINE. 

the  iault  of  the  teachera,  but  of  the  detestable  sjBtem  of  training  them 
which  is  widely  prevalent.  * 

As  I  have  said,  I  do  not  regard  the  proposal  to  add  these  to  the  pre- 
sent subjects  of  universal  instruction,  as  made  merely  in  the  interests 
of  industry.  Elementary  science  and  drawing  are  just  as  needful  at 
Eton  (where  I  am  happy  to  say  both  are  now  parts  of  the  regular 
course)  as  in  the  lowest  primary  school.  But  their  importance  in  the 
education  of  the  artisan  is  enhanced,  not  merely  by  the  fact  that  the 
knowledge  and  skill  thus  gained — little  as  they  may  amount  to— will 
still  be  of  practical  utility  to  him  ;  but  further,  because  they  consti- 
tute an  introduction  to  that  special  training  which  is  commonly  called 
"  technical  education." 

I  conceive  that  our  wants  in  this  last  direction  may  be  grouped 
under  four  heads :  (1)  Instruction  in  the  principles  of  those  branches 
of  science  and  of  art  which  are  peculiarly  applicable  to  industrial  pur- 
suits, which  may  be  called  preliminary  scientific  education.  (2)  In- 
struction in  the  special  branches  of  such  applied  science  and  art,  as 
technical  education  proper.  (8)  Instruction  of  teachers  in  both  these 
branches.  ^4)  Capacity -catching  machinery.  A  great  deal  has  already 
been  done  m  each  of  these  directions,  but  much  remains  to  be  done. 
If  elementary  education  is  amended  in  the  way  that  has  been  sug- 
gested, I  think  that  the  school-boards  will  have  quite  as  much  on  their 
hands  as  they  are  capable  of  doing  well.  The  influences  under  which 
the  members  of  these  bodies  are  elected  do  not  tend  to  secure  fitness 
for  dealing  with  scientific  or  technical  education ;  and  it  is  the  less 
necessary  to  burden  them  with  an  uncongenial  task  as  there  are  other 
organizations,  not  only  much  better  fitted  to  do  the  work,  but  already 
actually  doing  it. 

In  tne  matter  of  preliminary  scientific  education,  the  chief  of  these 
is  the  Science  and  Art  Department,  which  has  done  more  during  the 
last  quarter  of  a  century  for  the  teaching  of  elementary  science  among 
the  masses  of  the  people  than  any  organization  whicn  exists  either  in 
this  or  in  any  other  country.  It  has  become  veritably  a  people's 
university,  so  far  as  physical  science  is  concerned.  At  the  foundation 
of  our  old  universities  they  were  freely  open  to  the  poorest,  but  the 
poorest  must  come  to  them.  In  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  the 
Science  and  Art  Department,  by  means  of  its  classes  spread  all  over 
the  country  and  open  to  all,  has  conveyed  instruction  to  the  poorest. 
The  University  Extension  movement  shows  that  our  older  learned 
corporations  have  discovered  the  propriety  of  following  suit. 

*  Training  in  the  nse  of  simple  tools  is  no  donbt  yery  desirable,  on  all  gronnda. 
From  the  point  of  view  of  '  coltnre,'  the  man  whose  '  fingers  are  idl  thamha  '  is  but 
a  stunted  creature.  Bnt  the  practical  difficnlties  in  the  way  of  introdndng  handi- 
work of  this  kind  into  elementary  schools  appear  to  me  to  be  ccmsidenible* 


THE  BTRUQQLE  FOB  EXISTENCE.  463 

Teohxdcal  edaoation,  in  the  strict  sense,  has  become  a  necessity  for 
two  reasons.  The  old  apprenticeship  system  has  broken  down,  partly 
by  reason  of  the  changed  conditions  of  industrial  life,  and  partly 
because  trades  have  ceased  to  be  "crafts,"  the  traditional  secrets 
whereof  the  master  handed  down  to  his  apprentices.  Invention  is 
constantly  changing  the  face  of  our  industries,  so  that"  use  and  wont," 
"  rule  of  thumb,"  and  the  like,  are  gradually  losing  their  importance, 
while  that  knowledge  of  principles  which  alone  can  deal  successfully 
with  changed  conditions  is  becoming  more  and  more  valuable. 
Socially,  the  "  master  "  of  four  or  five  apprentices  is  disappearing  in 
favor  of  the  "employer  "  of  forty,  or  four  hundred,  or  four  thousand 
"hands,"  and  the  odds  and  ends  of  technical  knowledge,  formerly 
picked  up  in  a  shop,  are  not,  and  cannot  be,  supplied  in  the  factory. 
The  instruction  formerly  given  by  the  master  must  therefore  be  more 
than  replaced  by  the  systematic  teaching  of  the  technical  school. 

Institutions  of  this  kind  on  varying  scales  of  magnitude  and  com- 
pleteness, from  the  splendid  edifice  set  up  by  the  City  and  Guilds  In- 
stitute to  the  smallest  local  technical  school,  to  say  nothing  of  classes, 
such  as  those  in  technology  instituted  by  the  Society  of  Arts  (subse- 
quently taken  over  by  the  City  Guilds),  have  been  establisned  in 
various  parts  of  the  country,  and  the  movement  in  favor  of  their 
increase  and  multiplication  is  rapidly  growing  in  breadth  and  intensity. 
But  there  is  much  difference  of^  opinion  as  to  the  best  way  in  which 
the  technical  instruction,  so  generally  desired,  should  be  given.  Two 
courses  appear  to  be  practicable  r  the  one  is  the  establishment  of 
special  tecnnical  schools  with  a  systematic  and  lengthened  course  of 
instruction  demanding  the  employment  of  the  whole  time  of  the 
pupils.  The  other  is  the  setting  afoot  of  technical  classes,  especially 
evening  classed,  comprising  a  short  series  of  lessons  on  some  special 
topic,  which  may  be  attended  by  persons  already  earning  wages  in 
some  branch  of  trade  or  commerce. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  technical  schools,  on  the  plan  indicated  under 
the  first  head,  are  extremely  costly ;  and,  so  far  as  the  teaching  of 
artisans  is  concerned,  it  is  very  commonly  objected  to  them  that,  as 
the  learners  do  not  work  under  trade  conditions,  they  are  apt  to  fall 
into  amateurish  habits,  which  prove  of  more  hindrance  than  service  in 
the  actual  business  of  life.  W  hen  such  schools  are  attached  to  fac- 
tories under  the  direction  of  an  employer  who  desires  to  train  up  a 
supply  of  intelligent  workmen,  of  course  this  objection  does  not  apply , 
nor  can  the  usefulness  of  such  schools  for  the  training  of  future  em- 
ployers and  for  the  higher  grade  of  the  employed  be  doubtful ;  but 
they  are  clearly  out  of  the  reach  of  the  great  mass  of  the  people,  who 
have  to  earn  their  bread  as  soon  as  possible.  We  must  therefore  look 
to  the  classes,  and  especially  to  evening  classes,  as  the  great  instru 


464  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

ment  for  the  tecbnical  education  of  the  artisan.  The  utility  of  such 
classes  has  now  been  placed  beyond  all  doubt ;  the  only  question 
which  remains  is  to  find  the  ways  and  means  of  extending  tnem. 

We  are  here,  as  in  all  other  questions  of  social  organization,  met  by 
two  diametrically  opposed  views.  On  the  one  hand,  the. methods  pur- 
sued in  foreign  countries  are  held  up  as  our  example.  The  State  is 
exhorted  to  tase  the  matter  in  hand,  and  establish  a  great  system  of 
technical  education.  On  the  other  hand,  many  economists  of  the  indi- 
vidaalist  school  exhaust  the  resources  of  language  in  condemning  and 
repudiating,  not  merely  the  interference  of  the  general  government  in 
such  matters,  but  the  application  of  a  farthing  of  the  funds  raised  by 
local  taxation  to  these  purposes.  I  entertain  a  strong  conviction  that, 
in  this  country,  at  any  rate,  the  State  had  much  better  leave  purely 
technical  and  trade  instruction  alone.  But,  although  my  personal  lean- 
ings are  decidedly  towards  the  individualists,  I  have  arrived  at  that  con- 
clusion on  merely  practical  grounds.  In  fact,  my  individualism  is 
rather  of  a  sentimental  sort,  and  I  sometimes  think  I  should  be  stronger 
in  the  faith  if  it  were  less  vehemently  advocated.*  I  am  unable  to 
see  that  civil  society  is  anything  but  a  corporation  established  for  a 
moral  object — namely,  the  good  of  its  members — and  therefore  that 
it  may  take  such  measures  as  seem  fitting  for  the  attainment  of  that 
which  the  general  voice  decides  to  be  the  general  good.  That  the 
suffrage  of  the  majority  is  by  no  means  a  scientific  test  of  social  good 
and  evil  is  unfortunately  too  true  ;  but,  in  practice,  it  is  the  only  test 
we  can  apply  and  the  refusal  to  abide  by  it  means  anarchy.  The 
purest  despotism  that  ever  existed  is  as  much  based  upon  that  will  of 
the  majority  (which  is  usually  submission  to  the  will  of  a  small  minor- 
ity) as  the  freest  republic.  Law  is  the  expression  of  the  opinion 
of  the  majority,  and  it  is  law,  and  not  mere  opinion^  b^ause  the  many 
are  strong  enough  to  enforce  it. 

I  am  as  strongly  convinced  as  the  most  pronounced  individualist 
can  be,  that  it  is  desirable  that  every  man  should  be  &ee  to  act  in 
every  way  which  does  not  limit  the  corresponding  freedom  of  his  fel- 
low-man. But  I  fail  to  connect  that  great  induction  of  sociology 
with  the  practical  corollary  which  is  frequently  drawn  from  it :  that 
the  State — that  is,  the  people  in  its  corporate  capacity — has  no  busi- 
ness to  meddle  with  anything  but  the  administration  of  justice  and 
external  defence. 

It  appears  to  me  that  the  amount  of  freedom  which  incorporate 
society  may  fitly  leave  to  its  members  is  not  a  fixed  quantity,  to  be 

*  In  what  foUows  I  am  only  repeating  and  emphasising  opinions  which  f  ex- 
pressed,  seventeen  years  ago,  in  an  address  to  the  members  of  the  Midland  Institnte 
(re-pnblished  in  Oritiqpies  and  Addreaaet  in  1873).  I  have  seen  no  reason  to  modli^ 
them,  notwithstanding  high  antborily  on  the  oUier  side. 


i  J 


THE  8TBU00LE  FOB  EXISTENCE.  466 

determined  d  priori  by  deduction  from  the  fiction  called  ^  natural 
rights ; "  but  that  it  must  be  determined  by,  and  vary  with,  ciroom- 
stances.  I  conceive  it  to  be  demonstratable  that  the  higher  and  the 
more  complex  the  organization  of  the  social  body,  the  more  closely 
is  the  life  of  each  member  bound  up  with  that  of  the  whole ;  and  the 
larger  becomes  the  category  of  acts  which  cease  to  be  merely  self- 
regarding,  and  which  interfere  with  the  freedom  of  others  more  or  less 
seriously. 

K  a  squatter,  living  ten  miles  away  from  any  neighbor,  chooses  to 
bum  his  house  down  to  get  rid  of  vermin,  there  may  be  no  necessity 
(in  the  absence  of  insurance  ofiBices)  that  the  law  should  interfere  with 
his  freedom  of  action.  His  act  can  hurt  nobody  but  himself;  but,  if 
the  dweller  in  a  street  chooses  to  do  the  satne  thing,  the  State  very 
properly  makes  such  a  proceeding  a  crime,  and  punishes  it  as  such. 
He  does  meddle  with  his  neighbors  freedom,  and  that  serioasly.  So 
i^  might,  perhaps,  be  a  tenable  doctrine,  that  it  would  be  needless,  and 
even  tyrannous,  to  make  education  compulsory  in  a  sj)arse  agricultural 
population,  living  in  abundance  on  the  produce  of  its  own  soil ;  but, 
]Q  a  densely  populated  manufacturing  country,  struggling  for  existence 
with  competitors,  every  ignorant  person  tends  to  become  a  burden 
upon,  and,  so  far,  an  infringer  of  the  liberty  of  his  fellows,  and  an 
obstacle  to  their  success.  Under  such  circumstances  an  education  rate 
is,  in  fact,  a  war  tax,  levied  for  purposes  of  defence. 

That  State  action  always  has  been  more  or  less  misdirected,  and 
always  will  be  so,  is,  I  believe,  perfectly  true.  But  I  am  not  aware 
that  it  is  more  true  of  the  action  of  men  in  their  corporate  capacity 
than  it  is  of  the  doings  of  individuals.  The  wisest  and  most  oispas- 
sionate  man  in  existence,  merelv  wishing  to  go  from  one  stile  in  a 
field  to  the  opposite,  will  not  walk  quite  straight — ^he  is  always  going 
a  little  wrong,  and  always  correcting  himself;  and  I  can  only  congrat- 
ulate the  individualist  who  is  able  to  say  that  his  general  course  of 
life  has  been  of  a  less  undulating  character.  To  abolish  State  action, 
because  its  direction  is  never  more  than  approximately  correct,  appears 
to  me  to  be  much  the  same  thing  as  abolishing  the  man  at  the  wheel 
altogether,  because,  do  what  he  will,  the  ship  yaws  more  or  less. 
"  Why  should  I  be  robbed  of  my  property  to  pay  for  teaching  another 
man's  children? "  is  an  individusoist  question,  which  is  not  unfrequently 
put  as  if  it  settled  the  whole  business.  Perhaps  it  does,  but  I  find 
difficulties  in  seeing  why  it  should.  The  parish  in  which  I  live  makes 
me  pay  my  share  for  the  paving  and  lighting  of  a  great  many  streets 
that  I  never  pass  through ;  and  I  might  plead  that  I  am  robbed  to 
smooth  tiie  way  and  lichten  the  darkness  of  other  people.  But  I  am 
afraid  the  parochial  authorities  would  not  let  me  on  on  this  plea;  and 
I  must  confess  I  do  not  see  why  they  should. 


406  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

I  cannot  speak  of  my  own  knowledge,  but  I  hare  every  iMson  to 
believe  that  I  came  into  this  world  a  small  reddish  person,  certainly 
without  a  gold  spoon  in  my  mouth,  and  in  fact  with  no  disoemible 
abstract  or  concrete  "  rights "  or  property  of  an^  description.  If  a 
foot  was  not,  at  once,  set  upon  me  as  a  squalling  nuisance,  it  was 
either  the  natural  affection  of  those  about  me,  which  I  certainly  had 
done  nothing  to  deserve,  or  the  fear  of  tlte  law  which,  ages  before  my 
birth,  was  painfully  built  up  by  the  society  into  which  I  intruded,  that, 
prevented  that  catastrophe.  If  I  was  nourished,  cared  for,  taught, 
saved  from  the  vagabondage  of  a  wastrel,  I  certainly  am  not  aware 
that  I  did  anything  to  deserve  those  advantages.  And,  if  I  possess 
anything  now,  it  strikes  me  that,  though  I  may  have  fairly  earned  my 
day's  wages  for  my  day's  work,  and  may  justly  call  them  my  property 
— ^yet,  without  that  organization  of  society,  created  out  of  the  toil  and 
blood  of  long  generations  before  my  time,  I  should  probably  have  had 
nothing  but  a  flint  axe  and  an  indifferent  hut  to  call  my  own ;  and 
even  those  would  be  mine  only  so  long  as  no  stronger  savace  came 
my  wajr.  So  that  if  society,  having— <[uite  gratuitously— done  aJl 
these  things  for  me,  asks  me  in  turn  to  do  something  towards  its  pres- 
ervation— even  if  that  something  is  to  contribute  to  the  teaching  of 
other  men's  children — I  really,  in  spite  of  all  my  individualist  lean- 
ings, feel  rather  ashamed  to  say  no.  And  if  I  were  not  ashamed,  I 
cannot  say  that  I  think  that  society  would  be  dealing  unjustly  with 
me  in  converting  the  moral  obligation  into  a  legal  one.  There  is  a 
manifest  unfairness  in  letting  all  the  burden  be  borne  by  the  willing 
horse. 

It  does  not  appear  to  me,  then,  that  there  is  any  valid  objection  to 
taxation  for  purposes  of  education;  but,  in  the  case  of  technical 
schools  and  classes,  I  think  it  is  practieally  expeditot  that  such  taxa- 
tion should  be  local.  Our  industrial  population  accumulates  in  par- 
ticular towns  and  districts;  these  districts  are  those  which  immedi- 
ately profit  by  technical  education ;  and  it  is  only  in  them  that  we 
can  find  the  men  practically  engaged  in  industries,  among  whom  some 
may  reasonably  be  expected  to  be  competent  judges  of  that  which  is 
wanted,  and  of  the  best  means  of  meeting  the  want.  In  my  belief,  all 
methods  of  technical  training  are  at  present  tentative,  and,  to  be  suc- 
cessful, each  must  be  adapted  to  the  special  peculiarities  of  its  locality. 
This  is  a  case  in  which  we  want  twenty  years,  not  of  "  strong  govern- 
ment," but  of  cheerful  and  hopeful  blundering;  and  we  may  be  thank- 
ful if  we  get  things  straight  in  that  time. 

The  principle  of  the  Bill  introduced,  but  dropped,  by  the  Govern- 
ment last  session,  appears  to  me  to  be  wise,  and  some  of  the  objectiona 
to  it  I  think  are  due  to  a  misunderstanding.  The  Bill  proposed  in 
substance  to  allow  localities  to  tax  themselves  for  purposes  of  teohni- 


TSE  STRUGGLE  FOB  EXISTENCE.  467 

cal  edueation — on  tbe  oondition  that  any  scheme  for  such  purpose 
should  be  submitted  to  the  Science  and  Art  Department,  and  declared 
by  that  Department  to  be  in  accordance  with  the  intention  of  the  Leg- 
islature. A  cry  was  raised  that  the  Bill  proposed  to  throw  technical 
education  into  the  hands  of  the  Science  ana  Art  Department.  But, 
in  reality,  no  power  of  initiation,  nor  even  of  meddling  with  details, 
was  given  to  that  Department — the  sole  function  of  which  was  to 
decide  whether  any  plan  proposed  did  or  did  not  come  within  the 
limits  of  "  technical  education."  The  necessity  for  such  control,  some- 
where, is  obvious.  No  Legislature,  certainly  not  ours,  is  likely  to 
grant  the  power  of  self-taxation  without  setting  limits  to  that  power 
in  some  way;  and  it  would  neither  have  been  practicable  to  devise  a 
legal  definition  of  technical  education,  nor  commendable  to  leave  the 
question  to  the  Auditor-General  to  be  fought  out  in  the  law  courts. 
The  only  alternative  was  to  leave  the  decision  to  an  appropriate  State 
authority.  If  it  is  asked,  what  is  the  need  of  sucn  control  if  the 
people  of  the  localities  are  the  best  judges;  the  obvious  reply  is  that 
there  are  localities  and  localities,  and  that  while  Manchester,  or  Liver- 
pool, or  Birmingham,  or  Glasgow,  might,  perhaps,  be  safely  left  to  do 
as  they  thought  fit,  smaller  towns,  in  which  there  is  lew  certainty  of 
full  discussion  by  competent  people  of  different  ways  of  thinking, 
might  easily  fall  a  prey  to  crotcheteers. 

Supposing  our  intermediate  science  teaching  and  our  technical 
schools  and  classes  are  established,  there  is  yet  a  third  need  to  be  sup- 
plied, and  that  is  the  want  of  good  teachers.  And  it  is  necessary  not 
only  to  get  them,  but  to  keep  them  when  you  have  got  them.  It  is 
impossible  to  insist  too  strongly  upon  the  lact,  that  efiicient  teachers 
of  science  and  of  technology  are  not  to  be  made  by  the  processes  in 
vogue  at  ordinary  training  colleges.  The  memory  loaded  with  mere 
book  work  is  not  the  thing  wanted — is,  in  fact,  rather  worse  than  use- 
less— ^in  the  teacher  of  scientific  subjects.  It  is  absolutely  essential 
that  his  mind  should  be  full  of  knowledge  and  not  of  mere  learning, 
and  that  what  he  knows  should  have  been  learned  in  the  laboratory 
lather  than  in  the  library.  There  are  happily  already,  both  in  Lon- 
don and  in  the  provinces,  various  places  in  wnich  such  training  is  to 
be  had,  and  the  main  thing  at  present  is  to  make  it  in  the  first  place 
accessible,  and  in  the  next  indispensable,  to  those  who  undertake  the 
business  of  teaching.  But  when  the  well-trained  men  are  supplied,  it 
must  be  recollected  that  the  profession  of  teacher  is  not  a  very  lucra- 
tive or  otherwise  tempting  one,  and  that  it  may  be  advisable  to  offer 
special  inducements  to  good  men  to  remain  in  it.  These,  however, 
are  questions  of  detail  into  which  it  is  unnecessary  to  enter  further. 

Last,  but  not  least,  comes  the  question  of  nroviding  the  machinery 
for  enabling  those  who  are  by  nature  specially  qualified  to  undertake 


468  THE  LIBRARY  MAQAZINK 

the  higher  branches  of  industrial  work,  to  reach  the  position  in  which 
they  may  render .  that  service  to  the  community.  If  all  our  educa- 
tional expenditure  did  nothing  but  pick  one  man  of  scientific  or  inven- 
tive genius,  each  year,  from  amidst  the  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers 
of  water,  and  give  him  the  chance  of  making  the  best  of  his  inborn 
faculties,  it  would  be  a  very  good  investment.  If  there  is  one  such 
child  among  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  onr  annual  increase,  it 
would  be  worth  any  money  to  drag  him  either  from  the  slough  of 
misery  or  from  the  hotbed  cdt  wealth,  and  teach  him  to  devote  himself 
to  the  service  of  his  people.  Here,  again,  we  have  made  a  beginning 
with  our  scholarships  and  the  like,  and  need  only  follow  in  the  tracl^ 
already  worn. 

The  programme  of  industrial  development  briefly  set  forth  in  the 
preceding  pages  is  not  what  Kant  calls  a  Himgespinnstj  a  cobweb 
spun  in  the  brain  of  a  Utopian  philosopher.  More  or  less  of  it  has 
taken  bodily  shape  in  many  parts  of  the  country,  and  there  are  towns 
of  no  great  size  or  wealth  in  the  manufactunng  districts  ^eighley 
for  example)  in  which  almost  the  whole  of  it  has,  for  some  time,  been 
carried  out  so  far  as  the  means  at  the  disposal  of  the  energetic  and 
public-spirited  men  who  have  taken  the  matter  in  hand,  permitted. 
The  thing  can  be  done ;  I  have  endeavored  to  show  good  grounds  for 
the  belief  that  it  must  be  done,  and  that  speedily,  if  we  wish  to  hold 
our  own  in  the  war  of  industry.  I  doubt  not  that  it  will  be  done, 
whenever  its  absolute  necessity  becomes  as  apparent  to  all  those  who 
are  absorbed  in  the  actual  business  of  industrial  life  as  it  is  to  some  of 
the  lookers-on. — T.  H.  Huxlby,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century 


OUR  SMALL  IGNORANCES. 

A  GREAT  deal  of  the  charm  of  polite  conversation  consists  not  in 
what  is  said  but  in  what  is  implied,  not  in  expressions  but  in  allusions. 
A  light  reference  to  some  classical  story,  a  quick  glance  at  some  page 
of  history,  a  half-line  from  some  loved  poem,  ^ves  not  only  grace  to  i£e 
remarks  of  the  speaker  but  zest  to  the  attention  of  his  audience.  Sel- 
dom does  a  verse  or  a  couplet  fail  to  '  bring  down  the  House  '  of  Com- 
mons ;  reporters  never  omit  to  write  '  (hear) '  after  a  line  from  Vircil, 
Shakespeare,  or  Milton.  And  the  listener  who  says  to  himself,  *^  Ah, 
the  Qeorgica,  Samlet,  or  L'AUegiro"  feels  himself  to  be  as  CTiltured  a 
person  as  he  who  has  uttered  the  quotation. 

We  resent  the  impertinence  of  foot-notes  and  even  of  inverted  commaa 
when  an  allusion  is  made  in  print  and  we  understand  it;  such  helps  to 
memory  or  to  knowledge  are  reflections  on  our  culture ;  and  yet  when 


OVA  SMALL  iGKObAlfCiA  4dd 

we  make  close  inquiry  of  ourselves,  we  are  shocked  to  find  how  ignorant 
we  are  concerning  even  common  allusions.  Many  persons  seem  to  think 
it  quite  safe  to  conclude  that  any  quotation  is  taken  "from  either  the 
Bible  or  Shakespeare.  Again,  others,  when  they  hear  a  very  melodious 
line,  set  it  down  at  once  as  "  Tennyson."  How  many  of  us  know  who 
wrote  the  beautiful  axiom,  "  Ood  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb?" 
and  how  many  can  name  the  source  of  "  barbaric  gold  and  pearl,"  and 
"thick  as  leaves  in  VaUombroea?  "  Not  long  ago  1  wished  to  verify  the 
hackneyed  line,  *  When  wild  in  woods  the  noble  savage  ran ; '  several 
volumes  of  reference  failed  me,  and  no  friend  could  help;  until  I  saw 
the  words  on  an  American  advertisement  of  the  Yosemite  Valley,  with 
the  reference  *  Conquest  of  Granada,'  and  then  further  search  made  me 
aware  that  the  '  Conquest  of  Granada '  was  a  poem  by  Drvden. 

In  the  year  1881  a  volume  called  Petites  Ignorances  de  la  ConveTsa" 
Hon,  by  Cnarles  Bozan,  was  published  in  Paris;  and  in  1887  Quizzism 
and  its  Key,  by  Albert  P.  Southwick,  appeared  in  its  sixth  edition  at 
Boston ;  and  in  the  same  year  the  second  edition  of  Queer  Questions  and 
Beady  Beplies,  by  S.  Grant  Oliphant,  shone  out  to  enlighten  the  same 
city.  The  two  American  books  are  in  every  way  very  similar;  the 
French  one  is  not  altogether  unlike  them.  Much  information  for  Eng- 
lish readers  may  be  gathered  from  all  three,  and  much  in  all  three  is 
Juite  useless  for  us.  For  instance,  the  very  fi^t  of  the  Queer  Questions 
oes  not  rouse  in  us  much  thirst  for  the  "  Keady  Beply : "  "  What  town 
in  Vermont  was  taken  by  the  Confederates  during  the  late  Civil  War  ?  " 
The  reply  is  shortly  "St.  Albans,"  and  half  a  page  of  history  is  given 
with  it.  Opening  Quizsrism  at  random  I  reaa  the  question :  "  What 
general  has  two  graves? "  The  answer  states  that  General  Wayne's 
remains  were  exhumed  at  Erie  seventy-six  years  ago,  and  some  of  them 
re-interred  at  Badnor ;  so  that  he  is  said  to  have  two  graves.  In  the 
Petites  Ignorances  I  find  a  disquisition  on  the  proverbial  expression, 
Les  enfants  vont  d  la  moutarde;  it  is  too  long  to  quote  here,  and,  hav- 
ing no  eauivalent  in  English,  is  not  of  much  interest.  But  as  I  turn 
over  the  leaves  of  the  three  little  books  I  find  a  great  deal  of  informa- 
tion which,  like  sunshine  in  a  shady  place,  shows  me  my  own  ignorances 
and  negligences.  Every  cottage,  thanks  to  America,  possesses  its  clock, 
and  almost  every  .pocket  its  watch.  But  why  are  the  dials  divided  into 
twelve  divisions  ot  five  minutes  each  ?    Hear  Mr.  S.  Grant  Oliphant : 

"  We  have  sixty  diTimons  <m  the  dials  of  onr  docks  and  watcbes  because  the  old 
Greek  astronomer,  Hipparchns,  who  lived  in  the  second  oentniy  before  Christ, 
accepted  the  Babylonian  system  of  xeckoning  time— that  system  being  sexagesimal. 
The  Babylonians  were  acquainted  with  the  decimal  system,  bnt  for  common  or  prac- 
tical porpoees  they  counted  by  »08»i  and  son,  the  bobbos  representing  60,  and  the  mroi 
00  times  6—3,600.  From  Hipparchna  that  mode  of  reckoning  fonnd  its  way  into 
the  works  of  Ptolemy  about  160  aj>.,  and  hence  was  carried  down  the  stream  of 
science  and  dfV^iiaa»  aad  found  ita  wi^  to  the  dial-pUtes  of  our  docks  and 


470  TME  UBMAMY  MAQAZtKE. 

The  language  and  literature  of  America,  being  so  closely  related  to 
that  of  England,  present  few  difficulties  to  us  except  in  the  coUoauial- 
isms  of  recent  times ;  continental  idioms  and  proveros,  based  chieny  on 
local  customs  and  incidents,  are  often  c^uite  mexplicable  by  us.  But 
there  are  many  Americanisms  very  puzzling  to  Englishmen ;  and,  again, 
many  Gallicisms  which  at  once. reveal  an  affinity  to  expressions  of  our 
own.  We  use  "  JJncU  Sam  "  as  a  facetious  name  for  the  United  States; 
Mr.  S.  Grant  Oliphant  explains  its  origin  thus : 

*' '  Unde  Sam  Wilson '  wu  the  goveniment  inspector  of  sapplies  at  Troy  in  the  war 
of  1812.  Thoae  edibles  of  which  he  approTed  were  labelled  U,  i9.,  then  a  new  sign  for 
United  States;  the  workmen  sappoaed  that  these  letters  were  the  initials  of  *  Unde 
Sam/  and  the  mistake  became  a  joke  and  a  laating  one.  So '  Brother  Jonathan '  had 
a  simple  origin :  Washington  thought  very  highly  of  the  judgment  of  Jonathan  Tmoi- 
ball  the  elder,  then  governor  of  Ck>nnecticat^  and  constantly  remarked,  *  We  moat 
consnlt  Brother  Jonathan.'    The  name  soon  became  regarded  as  a  national  sobriquei." 

Mr.  Southwick,  in  Quizzism,  gives  some  curious  information  about 
the  term  "Yankee;"  of  course,  we  all  know  that  it  is  the  word  "Eng- 
lish "  as  pronounced  by  the  American  Indians,  but  we  do  not  all  know 
that  "  in  a  curious  booK  on  the  Bound  Towers  of  Ireland  the  origin  of 
the  term  Yankee-doodle  was  traced  to  the  Persian  phrase  Tanki-doo- 
niah,  or  "  Inhabitants  of  the  New  World."  Layard,  in  his  book  on 
Nineveh  and  its  Itemains,  also  mentions  Tanahidvnia  as  the  Persian 
name  of  America.  The  song  Yankee  Doodle,  Mr.  Southwick  tells  us,  is 
as  old  as  Cromwell's  time;  it  was  the  Protector  himself  who  "stuck  a 
feather  in  his  hat  "  when  going  to  Oxford;  the  bunch  of  ribbons  which 
held  the  feather  was  a  maccaroni.  We  know  that  maccaroni  was  a 
cant  term  for  a  dandy,  that  feathers  were  worn  in  the  hats  of  Boyalists, 
and  that  Oxford  was  a  town  of  the  highest  importance  during  the  Civil 
War.  I  do  not  quite  see  how  round  towers,  tne  Persian  language,  and 
Old  Noll  come  to  be  so  intimately  connected,  even  though,  as  Mr. 
Southwick  tells,  the  song  was  at  first  known  as  "Nankee  Doodle." 

America  must  not,  as  some  of  her  sons  have  done,  imagine  that  the 
dollar-mark  f  stands  for  U.  S.,  the  S.  being  written  upon  Sie  U.  For 
both  the  dollar  and  the  sign  for  it  were  in  use  long  Wore  there  were 
any  United  States.  Both  Mr.  Southwick  and  Mr.  Oliphant  give  the 
very  probable  origin  indicated  by  the  design  on  the  reverse  of  the  Span- 
ish dollar — the  rillars  of  Hercules  with  a  scroll  round  each  piUar,  the 
scrolls  perhaps  representing  the  serpents  which  Hercules  strangled 
while  yet  he  was  a  child  in  his  cradle.  There  is  also  another  theory 
that  the  dollar-mark  is  a  form  of  the  figure  8,  because  in  old  times  the 
dollar  was  a  piece  of  eight  reals.  The  expression  "almighty  dollar  " 
was  first  used  by  Washington  Irving  in  his  sketch  of  a  G-eo2e  ViUoffe, 
1837. 

"Filibustering"  is   a   slang  American  term,  corresponding  to  our 


OUR  SMALL  tQNOJEtANCES,  ^  471 

"obstruction  "  in  Parliamentary  language,  and  appears  to  have  had  a 
short  but  adventurous  career^  starting  as  the  English  fiyhoat,  then 
becoming  the  Spanish  fiLibotey  or  pirate-ship,  next  getting  naturalized 
on  the  V  Iv,  a  small  river  in  Holland,  and  then  invading  Cuba  under 
Lopez  in  1851,  and  in  the  form  of  flihosterB  appearing  as  the  designa- 
tion of  his  followers. 

In  all  countries  there  is  a  large  literature  clustering  around  the  name, 
history,  character,  and  qualities  of  his  Satanic  !^fajesty,  the  Prince  of 
Darkness.  One  of  his  synonyms  is  "  Old  Harry,"  which,  Mr.  Oliphant 
says,  may  be  a  corruption  of  the  Scandinavian  Hari^  one  of  the  names 
of  Odin,  or  another  form  of  "  Old  Hairy. ^^  "  Old  Nick "  is  derived 
from  the  name  of  the  river-god  Nick  or  iVecfc,  though  Butler,  the 
author  of  Sudibras,  says  that  it  comes  fix)m  Niccoh  Machiavelli !  And 
'  Old  Scratch  '  must  be  taken  to  be  derived  from  Scrat,  a  "  house  or 
wood  demon  of  the  ancient  North."  M.  Bozan  is  strong  on  all  diabol- 
ical points;  DiahU  i  qvuxtref  he  says,  has  come  down  from  the  old 
Miracle  Plays  in  which,  at  first,  one  demon  was  enough;  but  enterpris- 
ing managers  soon  added  a  second,  and  finally  some  Irving  or  Harris  of 
the  day  crowded  his  stage  with  four  devils.  Sainte-Beuve  calls  Henry 
IV.  ce  diable-d-qtiatre.  The  French  kings  were  choice  in  their  oaths ; 
each  had  his  own.  We  remember  how,  in  Quentin  Durward,  Louis 
XI.  iterates  Pasqiiea  Dieu  !  even  to  weariness.  Henry  IV.  took  a  cer- 
tain portion  of  the  person  of  St.  Gris  under  his  special  protection. 
Who  St.  Gris  was  appears  very  doubtful :  perhaps  St.  Francis,  founder 
of  the  Grey  Friars ;  perhaps  an  imaginary  saint  invented  as  the  patron 
of  drunkards,  as  St.  Lache  was  invented  for  the  lazy,  and  Ste.  Nitouche 
for  hypocrites.  Had  Henry  IV.  been  an  Italian,  he  would  have  invoked 
the  (xyrpo  di  Baooo  rather  than  the  ventre  St  Chia.  To  swear  by  some 
portion  of  the  Deity  or  of  a  saint  was  the  fashionable  and  aesthetic 
thing  in  the  Middle  Ages ;  true,  our  fore&thers  said  pardy^  which  was 
par  Dieu,  but  they  also  said  tudieu  (which  is  tete-Dieu),  corbleu  {corps- 
de-Dieu),  ventre-bleu  {ventre  de  Dieu),  sam-bleu  {aang-de-Dieu},  and 
morbleu  {morte'de'Dietc).  So  in  English  they  said  Zounds  ("  God's 
wo\xnda'\'i%lood  and  'Sdeath  ("God's  blood"  and  "God's  death"). 
Henry  IV.  of  France  is  said  to  have  introduced  the  curious  oath 
jamicoton  I  into  polite  conversation ;  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  saying 
je  renie  Dieu  ("1  deny  or  blaspheme  Grod  ") ;  his  confessor,  the  Father 
Coton,  a  Jesuit,  who  refused  a  cardinal's  hat,  expostulated  with  the  royal 
penitent  and  begged  him  rather  to  use  the  words  je  renie  Coton ;  hence 
arose  the  new  expression.  M.  Boaen  tells  this  story,  and  manv  others, 
with  a  delightful  touch  of  humor,  which,  strange  to  .say,  is  totally  want- 
ing in  the  American  books.  The  transition  of  MortrlHeu  into  Morbleu 
is  seen  in  the  following  epitaph  by  Benserade,  a  wit  and  poet  much 
esteemed  in  his  own  day  at  the  court  of  Louis  XIV.,  but  whose  works 


472  »  THE  LIBBABT  MAGAZINE, 

have  long  been  justly  consigned  to  oblivion;  the  exception  may  be  this 
stanza: 

Ci-gtt,  oni,  par  la  morbiea  I 
Le  GArdinal  de  Bicheliea  j 
Et  oe  qui  canae  mon  ennniy 
Ma  penffion  gtt  avec  IqL 

M.  Bozan  also  gives  another  short  poem  called  the''  Epith^ton  des 
quatre  rois : " 

Qaand  la  Paaqne  Dien  deo^da,  rixraiB  XI.) 

£e  Bon  Jonr  Diea  lai  SQCO^da ;  (CharleB  YIIL) 

Aa  Bon  Jour  Dien  deffkmct  et  mort. 

8nco^a,  le  liable  m'emport  (Lonia  XIL) 

Lay  deo^da,  nous  Toyons  oomme 

Nous  doiflt  la  Foi  de  Gentll  Homme.  (Francis  L) 

(The  word  duist  is  part  of  duire,  an  obsolete. verb,  meaning  to  9uU^ 
We  say  deuce  as  a  mild  form  of  devU,  and  the  French  say  diomtre  as  a 
mild  form  of  diahle.  But  not  even  M.  Bozan  can  explain  why  the 
lovely  freshness  of  early  girlhood  is  called  the  beavU  de  didble.  One 
would  naturally  suppose  that  the  innocence  of  youth  was  utterly  unlike 
any  beauty  which  the  author  of  evil  could  impart,  and  to  him  one 
would  rather  attribute  the  charms,  if  any,  of  rouged  cheeks,  dyed  hair, 
stuffed  bust,  and  self-possessed  manners.  There  is  an  old  French  prov- 
erb, Le  diable  Stait  oeau  qucmd  iL  etaitjeune,  which  may  be  in  some 
way  connected  with  this  curious  phrase,  but  I  hardly  see  in  what  the 
link  can  consist.  One  of  Mr.  Oliphant's  Qiceer  Qtieetiona  is  this : 
"  What  was  the  origin  of  the  expression  Printer's  Devil  ? "  He 
answers  it  thus 

"  Aldns  Manntins  (1440-1515),  the  celebrated  Venetian  printer  and  pabfidier,  had 
a  small  black  slave  whom  the  saperstitioas  believed  to  be  an  emiasaiy  of  Satan.  To 
satisfy  the  carious,  one  day  he  said  publicly  in  church,  *  I,  Aldus  Manutius,  printer  to 
the  Holy  Church,  have  this  day  made  public  ezpoeure  of  the  printer's  devil.  All  who 
think  he  is  not  flesh  and  blood,  come  and  pinch  him.'  Henoe  in  Venice  arose  the 
somewhat  curious  sobriquet  *  Printer's  DeviL'^ 

I  must  remark,  en  passant,  that  1649  is  more  probably  the  year  of 
the  birth  of  Aldus  Manutius  the  elder.  If  Venice  saw  the  first  Print- 
er's Devil,  it  also  saw  the  first  modern  newspaper,  which  was  published 
in  that  city ;  a  "  gazetta,"  a  small  coin  worth  one  farthing,  was  paid  for 
the  privilege  of  reading  it.  The  name  of  this  ancestor  of  journals  was 
the  M)tizie  Scritte,  and  it  appeared  about  1536.  The  Gazette  de  I^anee 
came  into  being  in  1631,  but  had  a  forerunner,  the  Mercure  Frangais ; 
the  London  Gazette  dates  from  1666,  and  followed  on  the  Puhlio  IrUelr 
ligencer.  The  Acta  Diwma  of  Rome  were  first  published  about  the 
year  b.c.  623  (Mr.  Southwick  says  691).  They  were  hung  up  in  some 
public  place,  and  must  have  been  rallying  points  for  the  auicuiuncs  of 
the  dty.    They  contained  the  political  speeches  of  the  daji  the  law 


ovs  SMALL  tam^A^cm.  473 

reports,  police  news,  lists  of  births,  marriages,  divorces,  and  funerals, 
and  advertisements  of  the  public  games.  Private  persons  made  copies 
of  these  Acta  to  send  to  their  friends  in  the  country.  We  can  hardly  , 
call  such  a  news-sheet  by  the  name  of  newspaper,  but  there  is  in  exist- 
ence a  weekly  journal  of  a  great  antiquity.  It  is  said  to  have  first 
appeared  in  a.d.  911,  and  is  called  the  KingPau^  or  chief-sheet,  and  is 
puolished  at  Pekin.  In  its  early  days  it  was  irregular  in  its  dates  of 
publication,  but  in  1351  became  hebdomadal,  and  in  1882  assumed  a 
new  shape.  Three  editions  are  published  in  the  day,  containing  matter 
of  different  kinds,  and  are  called  respectively  tHe  lousiness,  the  Official, 
and  the  (hwrdry  sheets.  Their  comoined  circulation  amounts  to  about 
fourteen  thousand.  M.  Bozan,  in  one  of  his  sly  notes,  quotes  Eugene 
Hattins'  opinion  that ''  gazette  "  as  the  name  of  a  newspaper  is  derived 
from  gazta,  a  magpie. 

Strangely  as  names  of  things  have  come  down  to  us,  even  more 
strangely  have  come  names  of  persons.  The  Wandering  Jew  is  one  of 
those  mysterious  characters  which  never  fail  to  interest  us  in  whatever 
form  they  present  themselves — history,  romance,  or  opera.  He  is  said 
to  have  been  a  Jew  named  Ahasuerus,  who  refused  to  allow  the  Lord 
Jesus  Christ  to  rest  before  his  house  when  carrying  His  cross  to  Calvary. 
In  1644,  Michob  Ader,  a  very  extraordinary  person,  appeared  in  Paris 
and  said  that  he  W6is  the  Wandering  Jew,  having  been  usher  of  the 
Court  of  Judgment  of  Jerusalem  when  sentence  was  given  against  the 
Messiah.  He  was  an  astoundingly  well-informed  man,  and  no  one  con- 
victed him  of  the  imposture  wnich  all  knew  him  to  be  practicing. 
Eugene  Sue  founded,  as  is  well  known,  a  powerful  romance  on  the  story 
of  ie  Juif  Errant. 

John  0' Groat  is  reported  by  Mr.  Southwick  to  have  been  a  Dutch- 
man who  settled  himself  at  the  most  northern  point  of  Scotland  in  the 
reign  of  James  IV.  He  had  nine  sons  who  strove  for  precedency,  and 
to  settle  their  dispute  he  made  nine  doors  to  his  house  so  that  none 
should  go  out  or  come  in  before  another. 

The  "  Roi  d'Tvetot "  is  another  personage  either  historical  or  myth- 
ological, perhaps  both,  for  there  is  no  distinct  line  of  demarcation  between 
the  two.  M.  Ilozan  says  that  the  king  and  the  kingdom  of  Yvetot. 
have  been  matter  of  discussion  since  the  time  of  Louis  XL ;  that  Fran- 
cois I.  called  the  lady  of  that  place  reine  •,  that  Henry  IV.  said,  '  If  I 
lose  the  kingdom  of  France,  I  will  at  least  be  king  of  Yvetot ; '  that 
Beranger  made  a  pretty  song  on  this  subject ;  thereiore  certainly  there 
must  have  been  such  a  monarch.  The  story  runs  that  the  Lord  of 
Yvetot,  Walter  or  Gautier,  was  much  loved  by  Clotaire,  ''  but  whisper- 
ing tongues  can  poison  truth,"  and  they  succeeded  in  depriving  Wdter 
of  the  affection  of  his  sovereign.  He  was  compelled  to  fly ;  but,  hav- 
ing provided  himself  with  letters  from  th,e  "PoDe,  ne  retumea  to  Soissons, 


474  TffE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

hoping  to  recover  the  good  graces  of  his  master.  Hepresented himself 
before  the  king  in  the  cathedral  on  GxxkI  Friday.  Cktaire,  forgetting 
day,  place,  and  example,  drew  his  sword  and  plunged  it  into  the  heart 
of  Walter.  Then  remorse  and  the  Pope,  St.  Agapet,  together  forced 
Clotaire  to  expiate  his  crime  by  raising  the  lordship  of  i  vetot  into  a 
kingdom  for  the  heirs  and  successors  of  Walter.  I  may  supplement  M. 
Rozan's  information  by  mentioning  that  the  title  roi  of  Yvetot  was  not 
used  until  the  fourteenth  century,  whereas  Clotaire  lived  in  the  sixth  ; 
it  was  officially  recognized  by  liouis  XI.,  Fran9ois  I.,  and  Henri  II. 
When  the  estate  passed  "by  marriage  into  the  Bu  Bellay  &mily,  the  title 
roi  gave  place  to  that  oi  prince  souverain,  which  also  died  out  in  course 
of  time. 

Another  Middle- Age  expression  is  '*  A  Boland  for  an  Olivier."  These 
two  heroes  were  paladins  of  Charlemagne,  who  fought  in  single  combat 
during  five  consecutive  days  on  an  island  in  the  Knine,  without  either 
gaining  the  least  advantage.  Again,  who  was  Bodomont,  who  has 
bequeathed  us  his  name  in  rodomorUade  f  We  are  told  by  M.  Bozan 
that  he  was  a  king  of  Algiers,  brave,  but  haughty  and  insolent,  whom 
the  Count  of  Boiardo  in  Orlando  Innamorato  and  Arioeto  in  Orlando 
Furioao  have  made  popular.  A  man*  who  talks  much  of  his  own  daring 
is  said  in  French  faire  U  BodomoTVt ;  and  we  English  have  made  a  sub- 
stantive which  we  use  in  common  parlance,  knowing  little  of  the  hero 
of  romance  who  uttered  the  first  rodomontade. 

'^  Boger  Bontemps  "  is  a  character  often  alluded  to,  but,  I  venture  to 
say,  little  known  in  England.  Manage,  as  quoted  by  M.  Bozan,  thinks 
that  the  expression  '^  has  come  from  some  one  named  lloger  who  diverted 
himself,  or,  in  fact,  gave  himself  a  good  time."  This  derivation  is  too 
simple  and  self-apparent  to  be  quite  satisfying,  so  we  will  seek  for 
another.  Jean  !Baillet,  Bishop  of  Auxerre,  had  a  secretary  who  was 
both  priest  and  poet,  whose  name  was  Boger  de  CoUerye,  and  who  was 
surnamed  from  his  merry  disposition  Bontemps.  The  partisans  of  this 
derivation  quote  a  ballad  which  begins  thus : 

''  Ce  qai  m'aymerft  si  me  sayye! 

Je  soiB  Bon  Temps,  voas  le  ▼oyeB»e(c.'* 

On  the  other  hand,  the  reverend  fathers  of  Tr^voux  have  exhumed  a 
lord  of  the  house  of  Bontemps  which  was  very  illustrious  in  the  country 
of  Vivarais,  Languedoc  then,  now  in  the  department  of  the  Arddche ; 
this  family  of  Bontemps  always  gave  the  name  of  Boger  to  its  senior 
member  (a  somewhat  curious  fact,  as  death  must  occasionly  have  carried 
off  the  chief;  perhaps  every  Bontemps  was  christened  Boger  as  every 
Count  Beuss  is  christened  Henry).  There  arose  a  Boger  Bontemps 
whose  gay  humor,  hospitality,  valor,  and  other  mediaeval  virtues  were 
so  well  known  that  his  name  was  the  synonym  for  a  good  £elloW|  and 


OUM  SMALL  IGKOMANCm  475 

afterwards  became  corrupted  into  meaning  an  idle  and  dissipated  scamp. 
M.  Bozan^  with  his  knowing  smile,  adds  that  Le  Duchat  and  Fasquier 
found  yet  other  origins  for  the  term;  the  one  asserting  that  it  comes 
from  rijoui  bontemps,  the  other  deriving  it  from  r(mge  bontemps,  because, 
says  Pasquier,  "  red  color  in  the  face  dfenotes  a  certain  quality  of  gaiety 
and  light-heartedness.'' 

''  The  real  Simon  Pure  ^'  is  a  gentleman  of  whom  we  in  these  degener- 
ate days  know  too  little.     Here  is  Mr.  Oliphant's  history  of  him : 

'*He  was  a  Pennsylvanian  Quaker  in  Mrs.  Centlivre'8  comedy,  A  Bold  Stroke  for  a 
Wife,  This  worthy  person  being  abont  to  visit  London  to  attend  the  quarterly  meet- 
ing of  his  sect,  his  friend,  Aminadab  Hold&at,  sends  a  letter  of  recommendation  aiid 
introdnctioD  to  another  Quaker,  Obadiah  Prim,  a  rigid  and  stem  man,  who  is  guardian 
of  Anne  Lovely,  a  young  lady  worth  30,0001.  Colonel  Feignwell,  another  charactf  r 
in  the  same  play,  who  is  enamored  of  Miss  Lovely  and  her  handsome  fortune,  avail- 
ing himself  of  an  accidental  discovery  of  Holdtet's  letter  and  of  its  contents,  succeeds 
in  passing  himself  off  on  Prim  as  his  expected  visitor.  The  real  Simon  Pare  oallinK 
at  Prim's  house  is  treated  as  an  impostor,  and  is  obliged  to  depart  in  order  to  hunt 
up  witnesses  who  can  testily  to  his  identity.  Meanwhile  Feignwell  succeeds  in  get- 
ting firom  Prim  a  written  and  unconditional  consent  to  his  marriage  with  Anne.  No 
sooner  has  he  obtained  possession  of  the  document  than  Simon  Pure  reappears  with 
his  witnesses,  and  Prim  dlaoovers  the  trick  that  has  been  pnt  npon  him." 

Here  ended  Mr.  Oliphant's  information.  Whoever  desires  to  know 
whether  of  the  twain  suitors  obtained  the  hand  of  the  lady  must  consult 
Mrs.  Centlivre's  play  itself. 

We  all  live  in  a  very  wholesome  dread  of  Mrs.  Grundy.  She  first 
saw  the  light,  it  is  said,  in  Thomas  Morton's  Speed  the  Plough.  In  the 
first  scene  Mrs.  Ashfield  shows  herself  very  jealous  of  neighbor  Grundy, 
and  Farmer  Ashfield  says  to  her,  "Be  quiet,  woolve?  Allways  ding- 
dinging  Dame  Grundy  into  my  ears :  What  will  Mrs.  Grundy  zay  ? 
What  will  Mrs.  Grundy  think  V' 

Who  was  Philippine,  and  whv  do  we  wish  her  bonjour?  Yesterday 
we  dined  at  a  friend's  house  ana  were  happily  placed  beside  a  charming 
young  lady.  At  dessert  we  cracked,  an  cJmond  in  its  shell,  and  on 
opening  it  found  that  it  contained  a  double  kernel,  one  half  of  which  we 
bestowed  on  our  neighbor,  the  other  half  we  ourselves  devoured.  This 
morning,  all  unsuspicious  of  evil,  we  met  our  fair  friend  in  the  street ; 
she  exclaimed,  Bon  jour,  Philippine  I  and  we,  albeit  our  name  is  not 
Philippine,  nor  even  Philippe,  are  bound  by  every  law  of  honor  and 
society  to  make  a  suitable  present  to  the  lady.  Having  been  thus  caught, 
we  anxiously  inquire  who  and  what  is  or  was  this  Hiilippine?  Now, 
M.  Eozan  goes  quite  deeply  into  the  subject.  He  says  that  the  game  is 
not  unknown  in  France,tnough  less  practiced  than  in  Germany,  A 
reference  to  a  German  dictionary  shows  that  they  have  a  word,  viellieb' 
chen,  which  corresponds  to  Philippine.  Outen  Morgen,  Vvslliebchen, 
waa  the  original  pnrase;  it  gradually  glided  into  Gvien  Morgm,  Phil- 


Ate  TBM  LISBABT  MA0A2II^. 

ippchen;  the  French  took  it  over  and  made  it  Bon  jour ^  Philippine, 
M.  Bozan  says  that  VieUid>ehen  is  pronounced  almost  precisely  the  same 
as  Philipptne/  It  seems  to  us  barbarous  English  astonishing  that  the 
delicate  ear  of  a  Frenchman,  whose  refinements  of  pronunciation  are 
hopeless  to  us,  can  yet  hear  no  difference  between  those  two  words:  the 
soft  French  with  its  final  and  just  indicated  e,  and  the  harsh  Grerman 
with  b  in  the  place  of  one  p,  the  guttural  ch  for  another  p,  and  en  instead 
of  ine/  This  must  be  one  of  M.  Bozan's  quiet  jokes  at  the  expense  of 
his  own  countrymen ;  he  says  that  Philippine  rime  exactement  avec  Vex- 
premon  dea  Allemands.  The  French  ear  detects  a  difference  between 
the  acute,  grave,  and  circumflex  accents  on  the  letter  e;  thus  Ute,  tite, 
and  tite  would  each  have  its  own  special  sound.  We  English  think  we 
do  well  if  we  distinguish  the  circumflex  from  the  grave. 

It  is  told  of  M.  Ars^ne  Houssaye  (commonly  called  Saint-Arshie 
because  he  was  the  refuge  and  patron  of  young  authors)  that  Monselet 
came  to  him  with  a  manuscript ;  said  M.  Houssaye  to  the  young 
writer,  soon  to  be  famous,  "  Ii  I  were  you,  instead  of  Monselet,  I 
should  sign  myself  Monsel^ ;  it  is  softer."  Monselet,  horrified  and 
irate,  exclaimed,  "Monsel^?  Like  Franjol^?  No,  thank  you!*' 
Now,  I  am  afraid  that  to  English  ears  the  final  let  and  U  sound  almost 
identical.  Tet  M.  Bozan  asserts  that  to  French  ears  VielliMien  is 
exactl;^  like  Philippine  I  The  surname  of  St.- Ars^ne  appears  to  have 
been  either  Houssaye  or  Housset ! 

Various  animals  have  become  famous  and  left  their  names  as  prov- 
erbs or  puzzles.  I  do  not  now  allude  to  such  as  Bucephalus,  the 
horse  of  Alexander,  but  rather  to  such  as  Bosinante,  the  charger  of 
Don  Quixote ;  not  to  the  dog  of  Montargis,  but  the  dog  of  Lance.  The 
Kilkenny  cats  are  doubtless  entirely  historical,  but  who  was  the 
equally  famous  cat  who  was  let  out  of  the  bag  ?  She  was  not  unlike 
the  pig  in  a  poke  {poche  ««  pocket").  If  a  foolish  bumpkin  bought  a 
pig  m  a  poke,  well  and  gooA ;  if  ne  opened  the  pocket  or  bag  and  a 
cat  jumped  out,  he  discovered  the  trick  played  on  him,  and  was  oflF 
his  bargain. 

There  is  a  certain  cow  whose  death  has  insured  her  a.  long  literary 
life.  The  event  is  chronicled  in  verse,  which  runs  somewhat  in  this 
style : 

*<  There  was  a  man  who  bought  a  oow, 

Add  he  had  bo  food  to  give  her, 
80  he  took  up  his  fiddle  and  played  her  a  tone: 

'Consider,  my  cow,  consider, 
This  is  not  the  time  for  grass  to  grcfw- 

Consider,  my  oow,  consider.' '' 

This  is  said  to  have  been  the  famous  tune  of  which  the  old  oow 
died,  but  long  experience  has  convinced  me  that  an  obvious  deriva- 


OUB  SMALL  IQN0SANCE8.  477 

tion  is  seldom  the  correct  one,  and  I  would  rather  put  forward  another. 
Among  the  inspiriting  airs  often  performed  on  the  melodious  and 
richly  modulated  bagpipe  is  one  known  as  Nathaniel  OouPa  Lament 
for  his  Brother^  and  when  listening  to  it  I  have  felt  an  internal  convic- 
tion  that  it,  and  no  other,  is  the  "  tune  the  old  Gow  died  of." 

*'  The  high  horse  "  is  another  animal  whose  history  is  worth  inves- 
tigating ;  the  French  call  him  le  grand  cheval.  In  the  days  of  chivalry 
each  knight  had  two  horses,  the  palfrev  and  the  charger.  The  pal- 
frey (pal^roij  from  the  Latin  paravereaus^  post-horse)  was  the  steed 
ordinarily  used  for  show  and  hack  work,  and  the  charger  {destrier^ 
which  the  squire  led  bv  his  right  hand,  ad  dexterum)  was  the  war- 
horse.  When  the  knight  mounted  his  high  horse,  he  was  known  to 
be  angry,  proud,  indignant,  and  quarrelsome ;  and  when  we  modems 
are  ^'  on  the  high  horse  "  we  are  certainly  in  no  amiable  mood. 

Nor  is  an  unlicked  cub  a  very  amiable  creature ;  in  French  he  is 
frankly  called  an  ours  mat  UchL  The  English  cub  is  a  young  bear, 
the  French  ours  may  be  of  any  age ;  ifid^,  we  may  designate  a 
surly  old  man  as  a  bear.  The  following  is  quoted  from  Balzac: 
"  This  L^chard  was  an  old  journeyman  pressman,  who  was  called  in 
printer^s  slang  an  ours  ;  the  pressman  {jpressierj  has  a  to-and-fro  move- 
ment as  he  carries  the  ink  to  the  press,  which  resembles  the  move* 
ment  of  a  bear." 

Avoir  des  rats  dans  la  tSte  is  a  phrase  which  corresponds  to  our 
expression  "  to  have  a  bee  in  his  bonnet"  The  Abb^  iUesfontaines, 
best  known  as  the  opponent  of  Voltaire,  says  that  "  this  expression 
comes  from  ratum,  which  means  a  thought,  a  resolution,  an  intention." 
Bat  from  ratum  was  naturally  confounded  with  ra4j  the  unpleasant 
animal,  and  hence  arose  what  has  become  an  obscure  proverbial 
phrase.  M.  Bozan  quotes,  but  especially  adds  that  he  does  not  endorse, 
the  punning  remark :  Les/emmes  ont  des  souris  d  la  bouche  et  des  rats 
dans  latSte. 

Let  me  for  a  few  minutes  leave  the  animals  and  consider  that  word 
calemiour,  which  appears  to  have  encountered  as  much  contumely  in 
France  as  its  equivalent  in  England.  It  has  been  said  among  us  that 
the  man  who  would  make  a  pun  would  pick  a  pocket,  and  across  the 
Channel  have  been  debated  tne  questions,  "  Is  one  a  fool  because  one 
makes  ct  pun  ?  "  and  "  Must  one  necessarily  make  puns  if  one  is  a 
fool  ?  "  These  are  weighty  questions,  and  are  yet  unanswered.  As 
to  the  derivation  of  the  word  calenUfour  there  are  various  theories.  It 
is  a  modem  word,  not  known  until  the  eighteenth  century.  At  the 
Court  of  Versailles  there  was  a  Count  von  Kallemberff,  ambassador 
from  the  German  Empire ;  his  broken  French  resultea  in  such  odd 
combinations  of  words  that  after  a  time  every  incongruous  union  of 
symphonious  syllables  came  to  be  called  by  his  name.    Then  there 


478  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

was  also  an  Abb^  Calemberg,  an  amnsin^  figure  in  German  stories; 
he  was  the  father  of  the  calenAour.  M.  Victorien  Sardou  has  conclu- 
sively shown  that  the  word  comes  firom,  or  rather  is,  cal&mbour^  a 
sweet-scented  Indian  wood.  M.  Darmesteter,  the  savant^  is  certain 
that  caUmbour  comes  from  calembourdainej  another  form  of  calembre- 
daine,  fib,  quibble,  subterfuge.  Of  these  various  derivations  the 
French  punster  may  take  ms  choice.  But  now,  revenons  d  nos 
moutons. 

The  story  of  the  sheep  is  to  be  found  among  the  jests  of  Pathelin. 
Guillaume,  a  draper,  has  oeen  robbed  by  Pathelin,  a  lawyer,  of  six  ells 
of  cloth,  and  bv  Agnelet,  his  shepherd,  of  twenty-six  sheep.  Guillaume 
intends  to  make  it  a  hanging  matter  for  the  shepherd,  but  when  he 
comes  into  court  to  accuse  him  he  finds  that  Pathelin,  who  stole  the 
cloth,  is  the  lawyer  employed  to  defend  Agnelet.  With  his  head  run- 
ning upon  both  his  sheep  and  his  cloth  he  makes  a  delightful  confusion 
of  Sie  two  losses ;  the  judge  says — 

"  Stu,  reyeiKms  ik  dob  montoDB, 
Qu'enfutril?" 

send  the  draper  replies — 

''n  en  a  piia  six  annes, 
Deneuf  tencs." 

The  judge  is  much  puzzled,  and  continually  entreats  Guillaume  to 
return  to  his  sheep. 

Another  famous  animal  is  the  poviet,  when  in  the  form  of  a  pretty 
pink  note  or  a  delicate  "correspondence  card.*'  Many  a  good  story  is 
to  be  traced  to  Madame,  de  S^vign^,  whom  we  do  not  read  much, 
though  we  read  a  great  deal  about  her.  Some  one  wrote  her  a  note, 
and  begffed  her  not  to  show  it  to  any  human  being ;  but  at  the  end  of 
several  days  she  did  show  it,  with  the  remark,  "  If  I  had  brooded  over 
it  any  longer,  I  should  have  hatched  it  I  "  This  was  a  ccdembour,  of 
course,  but  it  does  not  solve  the  difficulty  of  the  derivation  of  pcyuiet 
in  the  sense  of  billet. 

From  fowl  to  fish  is  not  a  very  long  stride.  The  poisson  cPavril  is  as 
popular  in  France  as  the  April  Fool  is  with  us.  Why  we  use  our 
expression  is  not  difficult  to  understand,  but  why  our  neichbors  should 
call  that  person  a  fish  who  falls  into  the  trap  of  a  practiced  joke  on  t^e 
first  of  April  is  very  mysterious.  Francis,  Duke  of  Lorraine,  whom 
Louis  XIlI.  held  pnsoner  at  the  Castle  of  Nancy,  contrived  to  escape 
on  a  first  of  April  by  swimming  across  the  river  Meurthe,  which  gave 
rise  to  a  saying  among  the  people  of  Lorraine  that  the  French  had  had  a 
fish  in  custody.  But  as  the  escape  of  this  Duke  of  Lorraine  is  only 
spoken  of  in  explanation  of  the  poisson  cCavril,  and  as  Louis  XIIl. 
never  bad  a  Duke  of  Lorraine  as  his  prisoner,  the  story  is  somewhat 


OUB  SMALL  IQNOBANCES.  479 

hard  to  believe.  The  reason  assigned  hj  ^arer  authorities  than  pop- 
ular legends  is  that  the  first  of  Apnl  is  the  day  on  which  the  sun 
enters  the  zodiacal  sign  of  the  Fishes.  But  unfortunately  Pisces  is  the 
sign  for  February.  I  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  bring  forward  my 
own  solution  of  this  difficult  question  of  origin.  I  would  refer  botn 
the  fish  and  the  fool  to  St.  Benedict,  whose  festival  is  March  21,  a 
date  which,  when  the  change  was  made  from  the  Old  to  the  New 
Style,  became  April  1.  It  is  recorded  that  a  holy  priest  at  a  distance, 
one  Easter  Day,  became  miraculously  aware,  as  he  was  preparing  his 
own  good  dinner,  that  St.  Benedict  was  faint  with  hunger,  thinking 
that  tne  Lenten  fast  was  not  ^et  over.  Of  course  the  priest  hastened 
to  share  his  meal  with  the  saint;  he  doubtless  threw  to  the  birds  the 
fish  which  lay  in  St.  Benedict's  larder,  and  probably  applied  the  Eng- 
lish term  which  we  have  been  considering  to  the  saint  himself.  This 
derivation  is  strengthened  by  the  fact  that  March  21  is  the  earliest 
day  on  which  Easter  Eve  can  fall. 

"  A  propos  de  bottes"  or  "  d  propos  de  poissons,^^  we  may  glance  at 
the  lana  of  CocagnSy  where  plenty  reigns,  whose  streets  are  paved  with 
gold,  and  where  all  men  may  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry.  This  land  is 
said  to  have  been  the  ancient  duchy  of  Lauraguais  in  Languedoc.  In 
that  country  were  made  conical  cakes  known  as  coqxmignes  de  pastel^ 
or  shells  of  woad.  The  dye  of  the  woad  was  very  valuable,  and  thus 
the  land  of  the  coqitaigne  came  to  mean  a  land  of  prosperity  and  plenty. 
But  if  that  derivation  does  not  please  us  we  may  accept  another. 
Ouccagna  was  a  district  in  Italy,  oetween  Home  and  Loretto,  where 
living  was  cheap;  there  was  a  poet  named  Martin  Coccaie,  who  wrote 
of  this  delightful  country.  The  word  also  signified  a  loaf  or  cake,  and 
came  from  cogtiere,  to  cook.  There  are  other  derivations,  but  I  think 
I  have  cited  enough. 

It  can  scarcely  be  doubted  that  our  word  Cockney  comes  from  the 
French  cocagne;  to  the  rustic  mind  the  capital,  whether  Paris  or  Lon- 
don, is  the  abode  of  plenty;  London  is  the  English  cocagne^  and  the 
inhabitant  of  Cocagne  is  the  Cockney.  I  am  aware  that  there  is  a 
legend  of  a  Londoner  who  visited  the  country  for  the  first  time,  and 
next  morning  was  awakened  by  the  crowing  of  chanticleer.  He  is 
said  to  have  exclaimed  later  in  the  day  to  his  host,  "  This  morning  I 
heard  a  cock  neigh  I "  But  I  pass  over  the  origin  of  the  word  as  too 
derogative  of  the  intelligence  of  Londoners. 

I  used  above  the  expression  d  propos  de  bottes,  and  as  I  am  bound  in 
this  paper  to  mind  mj  p^s  and  ;'s  I  will  endeavor  to  throw  some  light 
on  that  subject.  It  is  an  abbreviation  of  d  propos  de  hottes  oombien 
Faune  de  fagots  t  Now  this  is  an  absurd  question,  on  the  face  of  it^ 
for  fagots  are  not  sold  by  the  ell.  But  then  aune  is  also  the  French 
for  elder  tree^  the  timber  of  which  might  be  sold  by  the  ell,  and  af^?- 


480  THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE, 

wards  split  up  into  fagots;  and  again,  sefagoter  is  to  dress  in  a  sIoy- 
enl J  manner — ^as  we  say,  to  look  like  a  bundle  of  rags,  and  rags  might 
be  sold  bj  the  ell.  Wonderful  combinations  of  ideas  are  evolved  from 
proverbial  phrases.  Boots  have  ever  played  an  important  part  in 
modem  languages;  we  speak  of  seven-leagued  boots,  a  remimscence 
of  Tom  Thumb  and  the  Ogre;  we  talk  of  sock  and  buskin  as  syno- 
nyms of  tragedy  and  comedy ;  graisser  aes  boUes  is  to  prepare  for  a 
long  journey,  and,  by  extension  of  meaning,  to  die ;  and  ^'  to  die  in 
on^s  shoes  "  is  a  vulgar  euphuism  for  being  hanged. 

To  mind  our  p'a  and  q'a,  again.  Why  must  we  be  careM  of  those 
letters  more  than  of  others  ?  Because  in  the  olden  days  the  host  kept 
his  customer's  scores  in  chalk  on  the  panels  of  the  doors.    P  stood  for 

Eint,  and  Q  for  quart,  and  it  behooved  the  guest  to  watch  his  score  lest 
e  should  exceed  his  proper  number  of  p's  and  g's.  The  printer,  too, 
must  needs  be  carefiu  of  the  two  letters,  Which  in  type  are  so  very 
much  alike.  To  suit,  or  to  fit,  to  a  T  is  a  plain  allusion  to  the  car- 
pentw's  T)  which  is  much  used  in  mechanics  and  drawings. 

There  is  an  immense  number  of  words  and  expressions  which  we 
use  in  daily  conversation  without  reflecting  on  their  original  meaning, 
and  of  which  the  history  is  both  instructive  and  amusing ;  but  I  will 
now  only  explain  the  French  saying  Chacun  a  sa  TnarotUj  equivalent 
to  "  Every  man  has  his  hobby."  HMy  is  a  contractioii  of  hohby-horst, 
the  wooden  creature  on  which  a  small  dov  rides  round  the  nursery,  or 
the  animal  which  prances  at  fairs  and  village  feasts.  I  have  not  gone 
into  the  derivation  of  hohhy,  but  I  would  suggest  that  it  may  be  au 
boia — wooden;  or  from  abbey,  because  popular  entertainments  in  the 
Middle  Ages  were  chiefly  provided  by  tne  regular  clergy. 

^^Marotte^^  is  literallv  the  fooVs  bavhU,  and  is  a  contraction  of 
Marwaette^  which  is,  of  course,  a  familiar  form  of  Marie,  the  chief 
female  figure  in  the  old  Mysteries;  the  little  figure  on  the  bavhU  is  a 
baby  or  doll ;  the  Scotch  bawbee,  or  halfpenny,  received  that  name 
because  it  was  first  struck  to  commemorate  the  birth  of  Mary,  Queen 
of  Scots ;  bawbee  reminds  us  of  the  cognate  poupie  and  the  Italian 
bamiino-^  and  b  being  interchangeable  letters ;  even  our  doll  may  be 
only  another  form  of  poll  and  moU,  both  of  which  are  diminutives  of 
Mary.  Again,  we  have  the  word  puppet,  an  English  form  of  paupit. 
The  Italians  have  popazza  for  doU,  and  the  Nonk  American  Indians 

?apoo8e  for  babe.  One  of  the  gravest  pa^es  of  English  historv  records 
ow  the  Speaker's  mace  was  stigmatized  as  "that  bauble; "  by  impli- 
cation that  brutal  phrase  classed  the  Speaker  Lenthall  with  the 
mfuority  of  mankind  (see  Carlyle). 

The  hobby,  or  marotte,  of  many  profound  thinkers  is  philology*, 
therefore  I  need  make  no  excuse  for  having  endeavored  to  explain 
some  of  our  small  ignorances  of  words  and  expressions. — Cbrnhill 
Magazine. 


8HAKE8PEABE  OB  BACONt  48X 

SHAKESPEARE  OR  BACON? 

Bacx)N,  in  bis  will,  dated  19tli  December  1625,  made  an  appeal  to 
the  cbaritable  judgment  of  after  times  in  tbese  words — "  For  my  name 
and  memory  I  leave  it  to  men's  charitable  speeches,  and  to  foreign 
nations,  andf  the  next  ages."  He  might  well  do  so.  The  doubtful 
incidents  of  a  shifty  and  in  some  particulars  by  no  means  exemplary 
life  he  might  fairly  suppose  would  be  but  little  known  to  foreign 
nations  -and  to  men  of  future  -centuries.  Time,  to  use  his  own  words 
in  a  letter  to  Sir  Humphrey  May  in  1625,  would  **have  turned  envy 
to  pity ; "  and  what  was  blameworthy  in  his  life  would,  in  any  case, 
be  judged  lightly  by  posterity,  in  their  gratitude  for  the  treasures  of 
profound  observation  and  thought  with  which  his  name  would  be  iden- 
tified.   He  died  a  few  months  afterwards,  on  the  9th  of  April  1626. 

No  author  probably  ever  set  greater  store  than  Bacon  upon  the 
produce  of  his  brain,  or  was  at  more  pains  to  see  that  it  was  neither 
mangled  nor  misrepresented  by  careless  printing  or  editing.  Neither 
is  there  the  slightest  reason  to  believe  that  he  did  Thot  take  good  care 
' — ^nay,  on  the  contrary,  that  he  was  not  at  especial  pains  to  ensure — 
that  the  world  should  be  informed  of  everything  he  had  written,  which 
he  deemed  worth v  to  be  preserved.* 

Two  years  before  Bacon  made  his  will,  the  first  or  1628  folio  of 
Shakespeare's  plays  was  published,  with  the  following  title  page: 
"i/r.  Willinm  Shakespeare^ 8  Comedies,  Histories^  and  Tragedies;  Pub- 
lished according  to  the  Thie  Originall  Copies,  London:  Printed  by 
Isaac  Jaggard  and  Ed.  Blount.  1628."  It  was  a  portly  volume  of 
nearly  a  thousand  pages,  and  must  have  taken  many  months,  probably 
the  best  part  of  a  year,  to  set  up  in  types  and  get  printed  oflF.  The 
printing  of  similar  lolios  in  those  days  was  marked  by  anything  but 
exemplary  accuracy.  But  this  volume  abounds  to  such  excess  in 
typograpical  flaws  of  every  kind,  that  the  only  conclusion  in  regard  to 
it  which  can  be  drawn  is,  that  the  printing  was  not  superintended  by 
any  one  competent  to  discharge  the  duty  of  the  printing  house 
"reader"  of  the  present  day,  but  was  suflfered  to  appear  with  " all  the 
imperfections  on  its  head,"  which  distinguish  "proof-sheets"  as  they 
issue  from  the  hands  of  careless  or  illiterate  compositors.  Most  clearly 
the  proof-sheets  had  never  been  read  by  any  man  of  literary  skill,  still 

*  See  what  care  he  took  of  his  writings  in  the  next  sentences  of  his  will.  "  As  to 
that  durable  part  of  tn^f  memorjfy  wMch  oonnsteth  tn  my  worka  and  writingSj  I  d^ire  my 
execators»  and  especially  Sir  John  Constable  and  my  Tery  good  friend  Mr.  Bosville, 
to  take  care  that  of  all  my  writings,  both  of  English  and  Latin,  tbere  may  be  books 
fair  boand,  and  placed  in  the  King's  library,  and  in  the  library  of  tJie  University  of 
Cambridge,  and  in  the  library  of  Trinity  College,  where  myself  was  bred,  and  in  the 
library  of  the  Uniyersity  of  Ozonford,  and  in  the  library  of  my  Lord  of  Canterbniy, 
and  in  the  library  of  Eaton^^Sjpeddinff'e  Life  and  LeUen  of  Bacon, 


483  THE  LIBRABT  MAGAZINE. 

less  by  any  man  capable  of  reotifjing  a  blundered  text.  In  this 
respect  the  book  offers  a  marked  contrast  to  the  text  of  Bacon's 
Works,  printed  in  bis  own  time,  which  were  revised  and  re-revised 
till  they  were  brought  up  to  a  finished  perfection.* 

Down  to  the  vear  1856  the  world  was  content  to  accept  as  truth 
the  statement  of  the  folio  of  1628,  that  it  contained  the  plays  of  Mr. 
William  Shakespeare  "according  to  the  true  ori^nal  copies."  To 
the  two  preceding  centuries  and  a  half  the  marvd  of  Shakespeare's 
genius  had  been  more  or  less  vividly  apparent.  His  contemporaries 
had  acknowledged  it;  and  as  the  years  went  on,  and  under  reverent 
study  that  marvel  became  more  deeply  felt,  men  were  content  to  find 
the  solution  of  it  in  the  fact,  that  the  birth  of  these  masterpieces  of 
dramatic  writing  was  dae — only  in  a  higher  degree — ^to  tne  same 
heaven-sent  inspiration  to  which  great  sculptors,  painters,  warriors,  and 
statesmen  owe  their  pre-eminence.  They  would  not  set  a  limit  to 
"  the  gifts  that  God  gives,"  or  see  anything  more  strange  in  the  prod- 
igality of  power  in  observation,  in  reeling,  in  humor,  in  tiiought,  and 
in  expression,  as  shown  by  the  son  of  the  Stratford-on-Avon  wool- 
stapler,  than,  in  the  kindred  manifestations  of  genius  in  men  as  lowly 
bom,  and  as  little  favored  in  point  of  education  as  he,  of  which  Uo- 
graphical  records  furnish  countless  in8tanoe8.t  But  in  1866,  or  there- 
abouts, a  new  light  dawned  upon  certain  people,  to  whom  the  ways  of 
genius  were  a  stumbling-block.  The  plays,  they  conceived,  could  not 
have  been  written  by  a  man  of  lowly  origin,  of  scanty  education,  a 
struggling  actor,  who  had  the  prosaic  virtue  of  looking  carefully  after 
^  his  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence ;  and  who,  moreover,  was  content  to 
'  retire,  in  the  fulness  of  his  fame,  with  a  moderate  competence,  to  a 
small  country  town  where  he  was  bom,  and  to  leave  his  plays  to  shift 
for  themselves  with  posterity,  in  seemingly  perfect  indifference 
whether  they  were  printed  or  not  printed,  remembered  or  buried  in 
oblivion.  This  virtue  of  modesty  and  carelessness  of  fame  is  so  unlike 
the  characteristic  of  "the  mob  of  gentlemen  who  write  with  ease"  in 
these  days,  it  is  so  hard  to  be  understood  by  people  possessed  by  small 
literary  ambitions,  that  it  was  natural  it  should  be  regarded  by  them 
as  utterly  incomprehensible.  So  they  set  themselves  to  look  else- 
where for  the  true  author.  Shakespeare  lived  amid  a  crowd  of  great 
dramatic  writers — Marlowe,  Jonson,  Decker,  Lyly,  Marston,  Chapman, 
Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  Middleton,  and  others.    But  we  know  their 

*  So  senaitiTe  about  accuracy  and  finish  was  Bacon,  that  he  tranaciibed,  altexing  aa 
he  wrote,  his  Novum  Organwm  twelve,  and  his  AdvcMcemeii4of  Learniiig  oewea  timee. 

t  For  example :  Giotto,  a  ahepherd  boy ;  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  the  illegitimate  aoa  of 
a  common  notary ;  Bnms,  the  son  of  a  small  &rmer;  Keats,  an  apothecaiT's  appaMn- 
tice ;  Tamer,  a  barber's  son.  The  list  may  be  extended  indefinitely  of  men  who, 
with  all  external  odds  against  them,  have  txiomphed  £»  beyond  tiiote  who  had  all 
ihese  odds  in  their  ftTor. 


SffAKESPEASB  OB  BACON f  483 

works ;  and  to  ascribe  Othello^  Macbethj  Borneo  and  Juliet j  Julius  Ceesar^ 
King  Lear^  or  the  other  great  plays  to  any  of  them,  would  have  been 
ridiculous. 

Oatside  this  circle,' therefore,  the  search  had  to  be  made;  but  out- 
side it  there  was  no  choice.  Only  Francis  Bacon  towered  pre-emi- 
nently above  his  literary  contemporaries.  He,  and  he  only,  could 
have  written  the  immortal  dramas  I  And  so  the  world  was  called 
upon  to  forego  its  old  belief  in  the  marvel  that  one  man  had  written 
Snakespeare's  plays,  and  to  adopt  a  creed  which  made  the  marvel  far 
greater  than  ever,  adding  these  plays  as  it  did  to  the  other  massive 
and  voluminous  acknowledged  works  of  Francis,  Lord  Verulam — 
enough,  and  more  than  enough,  in  themselves  to  have  absorbed  the 
leisure  and  exhausted  the  energies  of  the  most  vigorous  intellect. 
The  great  jurist,  statesman,  philosopher  and  natural  historian  of  his 
age  was,  according  to  this  new  doctrine,  the  greatest  dramatist  of  any 
age  I 

Who  has  the  merit  of  being  first  in  the  field  with  this  astounding 
discovery  is  not  very  clear.  In  September  1856,  a  Mr.  William 
Henry  Smith  propounded  it  in  a  letter  to  Lord  Ellesmere,  sometime 
President  of  the  then  Shakespeare  Society,  which,  as  the  copy  before 
us  bears,  was  modestly  printed  for  private  circulation.  Mr.  Smith 
has  really  little  else  to  say  for  his  theory,  beyond  his  own  personal 
impression  that  Shakespeare,  by  birth,  education,  and  pursuits,  was 
not  the  kind  of  man  to  write  the  plays ;  while  Bacon  had  "  all  the 
necessary  qualifications — a  mind  well  stored  by  study  and  enlarged  by 
travel,  with  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  nature,  men,  and  books." 
But  if  Bacon  wrote  the  plays,  why  did  he  not  say  so  ?  Mr.  Smith's 
answer  to  this  very  pregnant  (juestion  was,  that  to  have  been  known 
to  write  plays,  or  to  have  business  relations  with  actors,  would  have 
been  ruinous  to  Bacon's  prospects  at  the  Bar  and  in  Parliament;  and 
that,  being  driven  into  the  avocation  of  dramatist  by  the  necessity  of 
eking  out  nis  income,  he  got  Shakespeare  to  lend  his  name  as  a  blind 
to  the  real  authorship !  buch  a  thing  as  the  irrepressible  impulse  of 
dramatic  genius  to  find  expression  in  its  only  possible  medium  is  not 
even  suggested  by  Mr.  Smith  as  among  Bacon's  motives.  He  claims 
for  him,  indeed,  '^  great  dramatic  talent,"  on  the  strength  of  the  very 
trumpery  masques  and  pageants  in  which  Bacon  is  known  to  have 
had  a  share,  and  of  some  vague  record,  that  '*  he  could  assume  the 
most  different  characters,  and  speak  the  language  proper  to  each  with 
a  facility  which  was  perfectly  natural " — a  gift  which  might  have  pro- 
duced a  Charles  Matthews,  senior,  and  is  by  no  means  an  uncommon 
one,  as  we  can  testify  from  our  own  limited  experience,  but  which 
would  go  but  a  little  way  towards  the  invention  of  a  single  scene  of 
even  the  weakest  of  the  Shakespearian  plays. 


484  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

Strangely  enough,  Mr.  Smith,  nnable  apparently  to  foresee  to  wLat 
his  argument  led,  founded  on  the  first  folio  in  proof  of  his  assump- 
tion.    "  Bacon,"  he  writes,  "  was  disgraced  in  1621,  and  immediately 
set  himself  to  collect  and  revise  his  literary  works."     "  Immediately  " 
is  rather  a  strong  assertion,  but  he  no  doubt  very  soon  busied  himself 
in  literary  and  scientific  work.     He  finished  his  Life  of  Henry  YII,^ 
and  set  to  work  upon  the  completion  and  translation  into  Latin  of  his 
Advanaem&n^  of  Lea/ming^  which  appeared  in  October  1628  as  De  Aug- 
mentis  Scientiarum,    In  the  same  year  he  published  his  History  of  the 
Winds  and  his  Treatise  on  Death  and  Life.     At  this  time,  as  his  cor- 
respondence proves,  he  was  busy  with  anything  but  poetry  or  play- 
books.*    In  March  1622  he  offered  to  draw  up  a  digest  of  the  law,  a 
long-cherished  project  of  his,  and  showed  the  greatest  anxiety  to  get 
again  into  active  political  life.     He  was,  moreover,  in  wretchea  health, 
but  at  the  same  time  intent  on  making  progress  with  his  Insiauraiio 
Magna^  with  all  the  eagerness  of  a  man  who  feared  that  his  life  would 
be  cut  short  before  he  could  accomplish  the  chief  object  of  his  ambi- 
tion.    All  his  occupations  during  1622-23,  during  which  the  first  folio 
was  at  press,  are  thus  fully    accounted  for.    "  But,"  continues  Mr. 
Smith,  "  in  1628  a  folio  of  thirty -six  plays  (including  some,  and  ex- 
cluding others,  which  had  always  been   reputed  Shakespeare's)  was 
published."     And  then,  he  asks,  in  the  triumphant  emphasis  of  ital- 
ics, ^^Who  hut  the  author  himself  could  have  eocercised  this  power  of  dis- 
crimination f"    As  if  the  researches  of  Shakespearian  students  had 
not  demonstrated  to  a  certainty,  that  one  of  tne  chief  defects  of  the 
folio  was  the  absence  of  this  very  "  power  of  discrimination,"  which, 
if  duly  exercised,  would,  besides  giving  us  a  sound  text,  have  shown 
which  of  these  plays  were  all  Shakespeare's,  and  which  had  only  been 
worked  up,  upon  tne  slight  or  clumsy  fabric  of  some  inferior  hand. 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  inexact  and  illogical  kind  of  mind,  which 
had  persuaded  itself  of  the  soundness  of  a  theory  rested  on  such  trivial 
data,  that  Mr.  Smith  accepted  without  verification  the  "  remarkable 
words,"  as  he  calls  them,  to  be  found  in  Bacon's  will.  "  My  name  and 
memory  I  leave  to  foreign  nations ;  and  to  my  own  countrymen,  cfter 
some  time  be  passed  over,  language  which,  it  may  be  presumed,  in  the 
light  of  the  use  which  has  since  been  made  o{  it,  was  held  by  Mr. 
Smith  to  point  to  some  revelation  of  great  work  done  by  Bacon,  which 
should  be  divulged  to  the  world,  "  after  some  time  had  passed  over." 
Unluckily  for  this  theory  the  words  in  italics  do  not  exist  in  the  will. 
Nevertheless,  followers  in  Mr.  Smith's  wake  have  found  them  so  con- 
venient for  their  theory,  that  they  repeat  the  misquotation,  and  ignore 
the  actual  words  of  the  will  quoted  in  the  first  sentence  of  this  paper. 

*  As  to  how  Bacon  was  occupied  in  1622,  see  his  letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Winchester, 
(Spedding's  Life  and  Wwks  of  Bacon)  and  his  letter  to  Fftther  Kedemptor  Baianmnow 


BHAKE8PBABE  OB  BACON f  485 

Mr.  Smith  seems  never  to  have  perceived  that,  if  Bacon  were  the 
author,  and  revised  the  first  folio,  or,  as  we  should  say,  "  saw  it  through 
the  press,"  he  was  guilty  of  inconceivable  carelessness  in  letting  it  go 
forth  with  thousands  of  mortal  blunders  in  the  text,  "  the  least  a 
death  "  to  prosod v,  poetry,  and  sound  printing.  *  The  man,  in  short, 
who  rewrote  and  retouched  over  and  over  even  so  relatively  small  a 
book  as  his  Essays^  was  content  to  leave  innumerable  blunders  in  pas- 
sages of  the  finest  poetry  and  the  choicest  humor  in  all  literature  I 
What  wonder  if  Shakespearian  scholars,  indeed  the  world  generally, 
met  the  preposterous  assumption  with  the  familiar  quotation — 
Quodcunque  mihi  ostenderis  stc,  incredulus  odif 

Nor  were  they  disposed  to  alter  their  opinion,  when  America  in 
the  same  year,  1856,  sent  forth  an  apostle  to  preach  the  same  new  doc- 
trine in  the  person  of  a  Miss  Delia  Bacon,  to  whom  years  of  study  of 
Shakespeare's  works  had  revealed  in  them  "  a  continuous  inner  current 
of  tie  philosophy  of  Sir  Walter  Ealeigh,  and  the  imperishable 
thoughts  of  Lord  Bacon."  This  was  Miss  Bacon's  first  opinion.  It 
seems  to  have  been  modified  when  she  came  to  grapple  more  closely 
with  the  subject  in  a  portentous  volume  of  582  pages  octavo,  in  which, 
dropping  Sir  Walter  Baleigh  out  of  the  discussion,  she  ascribed  the 
whole  honor  and  glory  of  the  thirty-seven  plays  to  her  namesake. 
Poor  Miss  Bacon  died  a  victim  to  her  own  belief.  She  had  pondered 
over  it  until  her  brain  gave  way,  and  she  went  mad  to  her  crave.  Of 
course  she  had  followers.  What  craz^  enthusiast  has  not  r  for  there 
is  a  charm  to  a  certain  order  of  minds  in  running  counter  to  the  estab- 
lished  creeds  of  ordinary  mortals. 

Her  mantle  was  not  suffered  to  fall  neglected.  She  was  quickly 
succeeded  by  a  more  vigorous,  but  even  more  long-winded  preacher  of 
the  same  doctrine,  in  Judge  Nathaniel  Holmes  f  of  Kentucky,  who 
spent  696  octavo  pages  in  demonstrating  that  Shakespeare  was  utterly 
incapable  of  writing  either  poetry  or  plays,  being  nothing  but  an  illit- 
erate stroller,  who  could  scarcely  write  his  own  name,  who  had  no 
ambition  but  to  make  money,  and  was  not  very  scrupulous  as  to  how 
he  made  it;  while  Bacon  was  endowed  with  every  quality,  natural  and 
acquired,  which  was  requisite  for  the  composition  of  the  lamous  plays. 
Like  Mr.  Smith,  Judge  Holmes  deals  largely  in  assumptions,  such,  for 
example,  as  that "  it  is  historically  known  that  Lorn  Bacon  wrote 
plays  and  pjoems."  How  "  historically  known "  he  does  not"  say,  as 
neither  by  his  contemporaries  nor  by  the  collectors  of  Elizabethan  and 
Jacobean  poetry  is  he  credited  with  that  faculty.  He  left  behind  him, 
it  is  true,  a  frost-bitten  metrical  version  of  seven  of  the  Psalms,  which 
scarcely  rises  to  the  Stemhold  and  Hopkins  level,  published,  when  he 

*  The  typographical  errors  alone  have  heen  oompvted  to  amoiuit  to  nearly  20,000. 
t  Atiiharik^  of  Skakapeare.    By  N.  Holm^r ;  6th  ed.,  1888. 


486  TBE  LIMAMT  MAGAZINE. 

was  quite  broken  in  health,  iti  1624;  and  one  small  poem.  The 
Retired  Courtier^  not  without  beauty,  has  also  been  assigned  to  him  on 
doubtful  authority.  Very  different  was  the  view  taken  by  Mr.  James 
Spedding,  who,  by  his  fine  literary  taste  and  deep  study  of  Shakes- 
peare,  as  well  as  by  the  intimate  knowledge  of  Bacon's  mind  and 
modes  of  thought  and  expression  gained  in  editing  his  works,  was 
entitled  to  speak  upon  the  subject  with  authority.  Judge  Holmes  had 
courted  his  judgment,  and  this  was  his  answer: — 

^  To  ask  me  to  believe  that  Baoon  was  the  author  of  theee  plays,  is  like  asking  me 
to  believe  that  Lord  Brougham  was  the  author,  not  only  of  Dickens's  works,  bat  of 
Thackeray's  and  Tennyson's  besides.  That  the  author  of  Piekwkk  was  Charles 
Dickens  I  know  upon  no  better  authority  than  that  upon  which  I  know  that  the 
author  of  HamUi  was  a  man  called  WiUiam  Shakespeare.  And  in  what  respect  is  the 
one  more  difficult  to  believe  than  the  other  ?  .  .  .  If  you  had  fixed  upon  anybody 
else  rather  than  Bacon  as  the  true  author —anybody  of  whom  I  know  nothing — I 
should  have  been  scarcely  less  incredulous.  But  if  there  were  any  reason  for  suppos- 
ing that  the  real  author  was  somebody  else,  I  think  I  am  in  a  condition  to  say  that, 
whoever  it  was,  it  was  not  Frands  Bacon.  The  difficulties  which  such  a  supposition 
would  involve  would  be  innumerable  and  altogether  insozmountable." 

Such  a  judgment  from  such  a  man  is  death  to  all  the  arguments 
drawn  by  Mr.  Holmes  and  others  from  fanciful  parallelisms  or  analo- 
gies between  passages  in  Bacon^s  writings  and  passages  in  the  Shake- 
speare dramas.  No  man  in  England  or  elsewhere  was  more  thor- 
oughly conversant  than  Mr.  Sp>edding  with  the  works  of  both  Bacon 
and  Shakespeare,  or  more  capable  of  bringing  a  sound  critical  judg- 
ment to  bear  upon  the  distinctive  literary  qualities  of  each.  But  even 
if  this  were  not  so,  it  is  notorious  that  arguments  of  this  sort,  fre- 
quently resorted  to  as  they  are  to  support  charges  of  plagiarism,  are 
utterly  deceptive.  Great  ideas  are  the  common  property  of  great 
minds,  especially  i^  being  contemporaries,  their  authors  are  living  in 
the  same  general  atmosphere  of  thought  and  daily  nsing  the  same 
vocabulary.  Literary  history  does  undoubtedly  furnish  some  remarka- 
ble instances  of  authors  expressing  the  same  feeling  or  the  same 
thought  in  closely  analogous  language.  But  we  venture  to  say  that 
every  competent  jud^e  who  will  so  "slander  his  leisure"  as  to  wade 
through  the  so-called  parallelisms  cited  by  Miss  Bacon,  Mr.  Holmes, 
Mr.  Smith,  and  other  victims  of  the  Baconian  delusion,  will  come  to 
the  conclusion  that  they  are  mostly  far-fetched  and  overstrained  to  the 
point  of  absurdity.  It  would  be  quite  as  reasonable  to  maintain  on 
such  evidence  that  Bacon  borrowed  from  Shakespeare,  as  that  Shake- 
speare and  Bacon  were  one. 

It  is  obviously  essential  for  the  Baconians  to  set  out  with  the 
assumption  that  Shakespeare  was  an  illiterate  boor.  They  say  as 
much  as  that  he  was  so  from  the  first  and  remained  so  to  the  last.  He 
was  a  butcher's  boy,  they  tell  us ;  he  could  only  have  been  some  two 
years  at  school ;  and  so  completely  had  his  nature  become,  "  like  ^e 


dyer's  hand,  subdaed  to  what  it  [had  once]  worked  in,''  that  when  he 
returned,  at  near  fifty,  to  Stratford,  he  resumed  the  trade  of  butcher 
and  wool-stapler  I  The  ascertained  facts  of  Shakesoeare's  life  are  few. 
Still  some  facts  there  are  which  cannot  be  disputea ;  and  which  give 
the  lie  to  this  scandalous  assumption. 

Shakespeare  came  of  a  good  stock  on  both  father  and  mother's  side. 
They  hela  a  good  position  in  Stratford,  and  were  in  easy  circimistances 
during  the  boyhood  of  Shakespeare.  There  was  in  Stratford  an  excel- 
lent grammar-school,  to  which  they  were  certain  to  have  sent  their 
son,  when  he  reached  the  age — about  six — at  which  boys  were  usually 
entered  there.  What  the  course  of  study  pursued  at  tnis  and  similar 
schools  was  is  well  known,  and  was  pointed  out  in  an  admirable  series 
of  papers  by  the  late  Mr.  Spencer  Baynes  on  ^^  What  Shakespeare 
learnt  at  School "  in  Fraser^s  Magazine  in  1879-80.  It  was  very  much 
the  same  as  that  of  the  Edinburgh  High  School  in  the  days  of  our 
youth,  and  brought  a  boy  up,  by  the  time  he  reached  the  i^e  of 
twelve,  to  the  reading  of  such  writers  as  Ovid  and  Cicero  in  Latin, 
and  the  New  Testament  and  some  of  the  orators  and  tragedians  in 
Greek.  To  send  their  children  to  the  school  was  within  tne  means 
of  all  but  the  poorest,  which  John  Shakespeare  and  Mar^  Arden  were 
not ;  and  all  that  is  known  of  them  justifies  the  conclusion,  that  they 
would  not  have  allowed  their  son  to  want  any  advantage  common  to 
boys  of  his  class.  Desperate,  indeed,  are  tne  straits  to  which  the 
Baconian  theorists  are  driven,  when,  without  a  particle  of  evidence, 
they  deny  these  advantages  to  Shakespeare. 

The  next  fact  which  bears  upon  this  part  of  the  question  is  the  pub- 
lication of  the  Venus  and  Adonis^  when  Shakespeare  was  in  his 
twenty-ninth  year.  Only  in  the  previous  year  does  he  come  clearly 
into  notice  as  a  rising  dramatist  and  Doet,  there  beins,  as  admitted  by 
his  best  biographer,  Mr.  Halliwell-rhillipps,*  nothing  known  of  his 
history  between  his  twenty- third  and  twenty-eighth  year — an  interval 
which  he  very  reasonably  considers  "  must  have  been  the  chief  period 
of  Shakespeare's  literary  education,"  which,  when  he  left  Stratford, 
could  not  have  been  otherwise  than  imperfect.  Mr.  Spencer  Baynes, 
who  would  have  been  the  last  man  to  oispute  the  proposition  that  it 
is  not  at  school  but  by  his  own  self-imposed  studies  afterwards  that  a 

*  Let  U0  here  acknowledge  the  debt  that  all  stndentB  of  Shakespeare  owe  to  Mr. 
J.  O.  HalliweU-Phillippe  for  the  inTalnable  informatioii  which  he  has  brought 
U^gether  in  the  two  ^olames  of  his  OuUvms  of  the  L\fe  of  Shaketpeare,  of  which  the 
sixth  edition,  published  in  1886,  contains  every  ascertained  fact  concerning  Shake- 
speare and  his  family  and  pursuits.  The  book  is  a  model  of  pains-taking  inquiry, 
and  contains  no  conclusions  that  are  not  based  upon  Judidu  proof,  we  are  not 
aware  whether  Mr.  Halliwell-PhiUipps  has  published  his  yiews  upon  the  Shakespeare- 
Bacon  controyeny ;  but  that  he  rei^uds  the  proposition  that  Bacon  wrote  the  plays, 
and  the  arguments  on  which  it  is  founded,  as  "  Innaqy,"  we  have  diract  means  of 
knowing. 


488  TSE  LTSBAMT  MA QA ZINR 

man  is  educated,  so  far  dififers  from  Mr.  Halliwell-tbillipps  as  to 
maintain  that  before  Shakespeare  left  Stratford  he  had  probably  writ- 
ten the  Venus  arid  Adonis^  quoting  in  support  of  his  view  tne  Ian- 
guage  of  the  dedication  to  the  Earl  of  Soutnampton,  in  which  Shake- 
speare speaks  of  it  as  "  the  first  heir  of  his  invention."  It  might  be 
so,  for  Shakespeare  was  twenty-one  when  he  was  forced  to  leave 
Stratford ;  and,  weighted  although  the  poem  is  with  thought  as  well 
as  passion,  the  genius  which  produced  the  dramas  might  even  at  that 
early  age  have  conceived  and  written  it.  But,  however  this  may  be 
the  poem  shows  a  knowledge  of  what  Ovid  had  written  upon  the 
same  theme,  in  a  poem  of  which  there  existed,  at  that  time  no 
English  translation,  which  could  not  have  been  accidental,  any  more 
than  it  could  have  been  within  the  command  of  an  uneducated  man. 
Moreover,  that  Shakespeare  knew  Latin  is  conclusively  proved  by  his 
placing  as  motto  upon  the  title-paee  the  following  lines  from  Ovid's 
Elegies,  the  very  selection  of  which  showed  that,  at  this  early  date, 
Shakespeare  set  the  calling  of  a  poet  above  all  ordinary  objects  of 
ambition : — 

"  YUia  miretnr  Tiilgas ;  mihi  flaTos  Apollo 
Pocnla  Castalia  plena  miniBtret  aqua." 

The  success  of  the  poem  was  immediate.  Edition  followed  edition, 
and  by  1602  five  had  been  printed.  In  1594  the  Lucrece^  alsb  dedi- 
cated to  Lord  Southampton,  appeared,  and  ran  into  several  editions. 
This  poem,  like  the  Venus  and  Adonis^  bears  internal  proofs  of  faniil- 
iarity  with  what  had  been  written  by  Ovid  on  the  same  theme.  Un- 
less, therefore,  it  can  be  shown  that  Shakespeare,  who  claimed  the 
authorship  on  the  title-pages,  did  not  write  either  poem,  the  charge 
of  want  of  education  must  fall  to  the  ground.  But  how  can  this  be 
shown  in  the  face  of  the  fact  that  his  was  by  this  time  a  familiar  name 
among  literary  men  in  London,  some  of  whom  would  have  been  glad 
enough  to  expose  so  glaring  an  imposture,  while  by  several  of  tnem 
his  merits  were  recognized  in  such  epithets  as  "honey-tongued  Shake- 
speare" (John  Weaver,  1594),  "mellifluous  and  honey-tongued  Shake- 
speare" (Francis  Meres,  1598);  while  "his  sugared  sonnets,"  then  un- 
published, but  "  circulating  among  his  private  friends,"  were  acknowl- 
edged by  Meres  as  adding  fresh  lustre  to  a  name  that  had  already  been 
coupled  with  many  popular  plays — Midsummer  Nighfs  Dreamt^  The 
Merchant  of  Venice^  King  John^  and  Borneo  and  Juliet  among  the 
number. 

That  Shakespeare's  success  as  a  furbisher-up  of  plays,  whicfi  wanted 
the  magic  of  nis  hand  to  turn  their  dross  to  gold,  had,  even  before 
1593,  excited  the  jealousy  of  at  least  one  rival  dramatist,  is  shown  by 
the  language  of  Robert  Greene  in  his  OroaCs  Worth  of  Wit^  bought 


8EAKE8PEARE  OR  BACONf  48d 

with  a  Million  of  Repentance,  Greene  died  in  1592,  leaving  this  tract 
behind  him  in  manuscript.  In  it  the  starveling  dramatist,  sinking  in 
poverty  into  the  grave,  bad  poured  out  the  bitterness  of  his  heart  at 
seeing  the  players  making  a  rich  harvest  by  acting  pieces,  while  the 
authors  of  them,  like  himself,  were  in  poverty.  His  grudge  against 
Shakespeare  was  apparently  intensified  by  the  fact,  uiat  the  young 
man  from  Stratford  not  only  acted  plays,  but  wrote  them,  or,  at  least, 
had  worked  them  up  for  the  stage. 

''There  is  an  npetart  Crow/' he  writeR, '' beautified  with  onr feathers"  (allading 
apparently  to  plays  originaUy  written  by  Greene  and  Marlowe,  of  which  Shake- 
speare had  somehow  or  other  made  use) ''  that  with  his  Tyger^s  heart  wrapt  in  a  player^ a 
Aide"  (a  parody  of  *'0h,  Tyger's  heart  wrapt  in  a  woman  hide's"  Shakespeare's 
Henry  VI.  f  part  iii.,  act  1,  sc  4)  "  supposes  he  is  as  well  able  to  bumbast  out  a  blank 
Terse  as  the  best  of  yon ;  and,  being  an  absolute  Johannea  Factotum^  is  in  his  owne 
conceit  the  onely  Shakesoene  in  a  conntrie." 

A  few  months  after  Greene's  death,  in  the  same  year,  1592,  the 
tract  was  published  by  his  friend  Henry  Chettle.  It  had  given  great 
offence  to  the  ^'play-makers  "  attacked  in  it;  and  as  Oreeue  could  not 
be  attacked  in  return,  Chettle  found  himself  in  the  awkward  position 
of  having  to  bear  the  responsibility  for  Greene's  invective.  Marlowe, 
to  all  appearance,  and  Shakespeare  certainly,  considered  themselves 
especially  wronged ;  and  to  the  latter  Greene  felt  bound  to  make  an 
apology,  in  an  Address  to  the  Gentlemen  Headers,  published  in  Decem- 
ber, 1592,  along  with  his  Kind-Hart's  Dreame. 

'*  With  neither  of  them  that  take  offence,"  he  writes,  ^'was  I  acquainted,  and  with 
one  of  them  I  care  not  if  I  never  be  "  (a  very  natural  resolution,  considering  what  a 
Bohemian  Marlowe  was).  *'  The  other,  whome  at  that  time  I  did  not  so  much  spare 
as  since  I  wish  I  had,  for  that  as  I  have  moderated  the  heate  of  living  writers,  and 
might  have  used  my  owne  discretion  ^especially  in  snch  a  case),  the  Author  being 
dead,  that  I  did  not  I  am  as  sorry  as  if  tne  originall  fault  had  been  my  fault,  because 
myselfe  have  seene  his  demeanour  no  lesse  civill  than  he  excellent  in  the  quality  he 
professes.  Besides,  divers  of  worship  have  reported  his  uprightness  of  dealing^  which  argues 
his  honestly  and  his  facetious  grace  in  writing y  that  approves  his  ari,^^ 

It  is  therefore  clear  beyond  all  question,  that  so  early  as  1592 
Shakespeare  had  made  a  name  for  himself  both  as  actor  and  as  author, 
"  excellent  in  the  quality  he  professed,"  viz,,  acting,  and  noted  for 
"  facetious  grace,"  or  as  we  should  now  write,  "  graceful  facility  "  in 
writing.  The  latter  gift  must  have  made  him  a  most  valuable  mem- 
ber of  the  theatrical  company  to  which  he  belonged,  and  its  possession 
was  what,  it  is  onlv  reasonable  to  suppose,  procured  for  him  his  rapid 
advancement  in  the  theatre.  To  polish  up  indifferent  dialogue,  to 
write  in  effective  speeches  for  his  brother  actors,  to  recast  inartistic 
plots,  was  work  that  must  have  been  constantly  wanted  in  the  theatre; 
and  it  is  obviously  work  that  was  frequently  dfone  by  Shakespeare  in 
those  early  days.  It  was,  moreover,  a  kind  of  work  that  must  often 
have  been  wanted  in  a  hurry.    It  would  never  have  been  intrusted  to 


1 


490  THE  LIBRARY  MAQAZINB. 


him  unless  his  qualifications  for  it  had  been  obvious ;  and,  if  he 
undertook  it,  his  brother  actors  must  have  quickly  found  out  whether 
he  did  it  himself  or  not — ^for  much  of  it  must  have  required  to  be  done 
under  their  own  eye,  possibly  within  the  theatre  itself,  and  was  no 
doubt  conceived  on  the  impulse  of  that  quickness  of  invention,  and 
executed  with  that  fluent  facility  which  a  host  of  concurrent  testimony 
shows  that  his  brother  poets  and  actors  ascribed  to  Shakespeare  as  a 
distinguishing  characteristic. 

And  vet  the  Baconians  ask  us  to  believe  that  not  any  of  the  plays 
of  which  he  was  the  recognized  author  could  have  been  written  by 
him !      Have  they  ever  tried  to  picture  to  themselves  what  was  the 

E^sition  of  an  actor  and  dramatic  writer  in  a  theatre  of  those  days? 
y  necessity  he  was  in  daily  communion  with  some  of  the  sharpest 
and  finest  intellects  of  the  time.  In  the  theatre  itself  were  men  like 
Burbage,  Armin,  Taylor,  Lowine,  Kempe,  all  well  qualified  to  take  the 
measure  of  his  capacity ;  while  his  profession  as  an  actor,  as  well  as 
his  pretensions  as  a  writer  of  poetry  and  drama,  must  have  brought 
him  into  close  contact,  both  at  the  theatre  and  in  their  couvtmI 
gatherings,  with  men  like  Marlowe,  Decker,  Chapman,  Middleton, 
Heywood,  Drajrton,  and  Ben  Jonson.  We  might  as  soon  believe  that 
a  man  who  pretended  that  he  had  written  Vanity  Fair  or  Esmoniy  but 
had  not  written  them,  could  have  escaped  detection  in  the  society  of 
Charles  BuUer,  Tennyson,  Yenables,  or  James  Spedding,  as  that 
Shakespeare  could  have  passed  himself  off  as  the  author  of  even  Hie  Two 
Oentlemen  of  Verona  or  Lovers  Labor  Lost — we  purposely  name  two  of  his 
earliest  and  weakest  plays, — ^as  that  any  of  that  brilliant  circle  of  Eliza- 
bethan poets  would  have  given  credit  for  ten  minutes  to  such  a  man  as  the 
Baconians  picture  Shakespeare  to  have  been  for  the  capacity  to  construct 
one  scene,  or  to  compose  ten  consecutive  lines  of  the  black  verse — the 
exquisite  blank  verse — which  is  to  be  found  in  those  plays.  How, 
then,  are  we  to  suppose,  as  the  years  flowed  on,  and  the  young  poet  of 
the  Venu6  and  Aaonis  and  the  Lucrece,  who  had  begun  dramatic 
authorship  by  patching  up  old  and  inartistic  plays  well  known  to  the 

Jublic,  put  in  his  claim  to  the  nobler  dramas  which  made  him,  in  Ben 
onson's  words,  "the  wonder  of  our  stage,"  that  such  rival  writers  as 
we  have  named,  could  have  failed  to  see  that  it  was  the  actor  Shake- 
speare, their  chum  and  intimate  companion,  with  all  his  marvellous 
comprehensive  grasp  of  character,  his  play  of  ebullient  humor,  his 
unbounded  exuberance  of  fancy,  and  fertility  of  exquisite  expression, 
and  none  but  he,  whose  genius  alone,  breathed  throughout  the  series 
of  dramas  which,  after  1592,  he  gave  to  the  stage  in  almost  startling 
profusion?  By  1698,  as  we  learned  fix)m  Meres's  Lamic^  alreadv 
cited,  Shakespeare  had  established  his  claim  to  predominating  excel- 
lence in  both  tragedy  and  comedy.    "  For  comedy,  witness,"  says  Merea^ 


SBAKE8PEAMB  OS  BACOtff  401 

"  his  Gentlemen  qf  Verona,  his  (Comedy  of)  Errors,  his  Lovers  Labor 
Lost,  his  Love's  Labor  Wonne  (Much  Ado),  his  Midsummer^ s  Night 
Dream,  and  his  Merchant  of  Venice;  for  tragedy,  his  Richard  IL, 
Richard  I  11^  Henry  IV.,  King  John,  Titus  Andronictis,  and  his  Romeo 
and  JulietJ^  Within  the  ensuing  twelve  years  he  had  added  to  that 
noble  list  the  other  great  plays  which  will  at  once  leap  to  every  reader's 
memory. 

If  he  had  lived  for  fame,  he  might  well  think  that  by  this  time  he 
had  lived  enough  for  it.  Most  probably  he  had  warnings  within  him- 
self that  the  great  fountain  of  thought,  imagination,  and  feeling,  whicli 
had  hitherto  flowed  so  copiously,  was  no  longer  to  be  relied  on.  The 
wine  of  his  poetic  life  had  oeen  drunk,  and  he  was  not  the  man  to  wrong 
the  public  or  his  own  reputation  by  drawing  upon  the  lees.  Tempus 
abire  tibi  est  was  the  warning  that  was  like  enough  to  have  come  to  a 
man  so  wise,  as  it  does  evermore  come  to  less  thoughtful  men.  He 
had  made  for  himself  what  a  man  in  whom  ^*  the  elements^  were  so 
temperately  mingled  "  was  sure  to  recard  as  a  sufficient  fortune ;  and 
to  go  back  to  his  boyhood's  home  ana  breathe  again  the  free^^ir  of  the 
old  familiar  haunts,  and  share  in  the  simple  duties  of  a  well-to-do-citi- 
zen among  the  ageing  friends  of  his  early  youth,  was  to  such  a  nature 
a  welcome  release  from  the  anxieties  and  the  conflicts  of  the  crowded 
and  struggling  and  feverish  life  which  had  been  his  since  he  started  to 
seek  his  fortune  in  London.  To  London  he  obviously  went  after  this 
upon  occasion — partly  on  businessi  as  we  know — partly,  it  may  be  pre- 
sumed, to  enjoy  the  stimulating  society  of  his  old  actor  and  literary- 
friends.  There  he  would  renew  the  wit-combats  with  Ben  Jonson,  of 
which  Thomas  Fuller  must  have  heard  from  living  witnesses  of  them 
— for  he  could  not  have  been  present  at  them  in  person,  when  he 
wrote : — 

*'  Which  two  I  hehold  like  a  great  SfMuiiah  Oalle^m  and  an  EngUeh  Kan-of- War ; 
Master  Jon&on  (like  the  former)  was  bailt  ikr  higher  in  learning ;  solid,  but  slow  in 
his  performances.  Shakespeare,  with  the  English  Man-of-War,  lesser  in  bnlk  but 
lighter  in  sailing,  conld  tnm  with  all  tides,  tack  about,  and  take  advantage  of  all 
winds,  hy  the  quickness  of  his  wit  and  invention." 

And"  yet  the  Baconians  would  have  us  believe  that  Ben  Jonson,  de- 
spite this  frequent  collision  of  their  wits,  was  unable  to  discover,  what 
is  so  palpable  to  them,  that  Shakespeare  was  a  liar  who  throws  Men- 
dez  Pmto  into  the  shade,  and  a  literary  impostor  such  as  the  world 
has  never  dreamt  of.  So  far  was  Jonson  from  having  a  doubt  as  to 
the  works  ascribed  to  Shakespeare  being  truly  his,  that  in  his  Timber; 
or,  Discoveries  upon  Men  ana  Matters,  written  long  after  Shakespeare 
was  in  his  grave,  he  described  him  in  terms  that  confine  Fullers  es- 
timate in  a  remarkable  degree : — 

"  He  was  (indeed)  honest, and  of  an  open  and  free  natnie;  had  an  ezoaUent  phan- 


492  TBE  tlMAttr  MAGAZINE. 

tBie ;  brave  notions  and  gentle  expieasions ;  wherein  he  flowed  with  that  ikdlity,  that 
sometimes  it  was  necessary  he  should  he  stop'd :  Sitfflaim/iinandus  era<,as  Augostos  said 
of  Haterlos.  His  wit  was  in  his  power — woald  the  rale  of  it  had  heen  so  too.  .  .  . 
Bnt  he  redeemed  his  vices  with  his  virtues.  There  was  evermore  in  him  to  be  prayaed 
tluui  to  be  pardoned.'^ 

Who  does  not  see,  from  this,  the  Shakespeare,  not  of  the  dramas 
merely  but  of  social  int-ercourse — with  his  flashes,  not  of  merriment 
only,  but  also  of  pathos  and  subtle  thought,  his  flow  of  anecdote  and 
whim  playing  like  summer  lightning  amid  the  general  talk  of  the 
room,  and  sometimes  provoking  the  ponderous  and  irritable  Jonson  by 
throwing  his  sententious  and  Teamed  talk  into  the  shade  ?  Brilliant 
talk  would  seem  to  have  come  to  Shakespeare  as  easily  as  brilliant 
writing,  and  he  would  thus  eclipse  Jonson  in  society  as  he  eclipsed 
him  even  when  dealing  with  classical  themes  upon  the  stage.  But  the 
genial  player  and  poet,  to  whom  all  concurred  in  giving  the  epithet  of 
"  gentle,"  was  too  good  a  fellow  to  deal  in  the  wit  that  wounds,  to 
presume  on  his  personal  popularity,  or  to  view  the  efforts  of  a  rival 
author  with  jealousy.  Jonson  had  good  cause  to  think  well  of  him, 
for  it  "^as  to  Shakespeare's  active  intervention  that  he  owed  the  pro- 
duction on  the  stage,  by  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  con^any,  of  which 
Shakespeare  was  a  member,  of  the  fine  play  of  Every  Man  in  his 
HuTnor^  which  Jonson,  then  in  needy  circumstances,  had  failed  to  get 
them  to  accept.  This,  and  many  other  acts  of  good-fellowship,  as 
well  as  the  numberless  hours  which  the  talk  and  fine  spirits  of  his 
friend  had  made  memorable,  were  doubtless  in  Jonson's  mind,  when 
in  a  previous  passage  of  the  "  Memorandum"  just  quoted  he  said  of  him 
— "  I  loved  the  man,  and  doe  honour  his  memory  on  this  side  idolatrie 
as  much  as  any."*  And  this  is  the  man  we  are  now  to  be  told  was  the 
poor  creature  to  which  the  Baconians  would  reduce  him  I 

They  found  in  support  of  their  theory  upon  the  circumstance  that, 
after  Shakespeare  settled  about  1612  in  Stratford,  no  more  plays  ap* 
peared  with  his  name.     If  there  had  been  anything  extraordinai'y  in 
that  circumstance,  surely  Ben  Jonson  and  his  other  author  friends 
would  have  been  struck  by  it.     We  know  that  down  to  the  last  he 
was  in  intimate  contact  with  JonsotL  and  Michael  Drayton,  who,  ac- 
cording to  a  fairly  authenticated  tradition,  visited  him  at  Stratford 
about  a  month  before  his  death.     But  neither  Jonson  nor  Drayton,       J 
nor,  what  is  more  material,  his  player  partners  and  intimates,  hint       i 
anywhere  the  slightest  surprise  that  he  ceased,  while  still  in  the        | 
vigor  of  his  years,  to  furnish  the  stage  with  fresh  sources  of  attrac-        : 
tion.     Why  he  so  ceased  no  one  can  tell,  any  more  than  we  can  tell 
with  certainty  why  he  did  not  himself  see  his  works  through  the 
press.     He  '\nay  very  well  have  intended  to  do  so,  so  soon  as  they 
could  be  printed  without  injury  to  the  interests  of  the  theatres  to  wbich        t 
he  had  sold  them,  and  to  which  it  was  important  that  they  should  not 


SHAKESPEARE  OB  BACONt  493 

be  made  available  to  rival  theatres,  as  thev  would  have  been  by  pub- 
lication. It  must  always  be  remembered,  too,  that  Shakespeare  died 
of  a  sudden  illness,  which  probably  cut  short  many  other  projects  be- 
sides that  of  having  his  mramas  printed  in  an  authentic  K)rm.  This 
view  is  countenanced  by  the  language  of  Heminges  and  Condell  in 
their  dedication  of  the  first  folio  to  the  Earls  of  Pembroke  and  Mont- 
gomery, in  which  they  speak  of  Shakespeare  with  regret  as  "  not  hav- 
ing the  fate  common  witn  some,  to  be  executor  to  his  owne  writings." 
To  them  it  seems  clear  enough  that  he  would  have  brought  them  out 
himself  had  he  lived.  "We,"  they  say,  "have  but  collected  them, 
and  done  an  office  to  the  dead  to  procure  his  orphanes  guardians,  with- 
out ambition  either  of  selfe-profit  or  fame^  onely  to  Jceep  the  memory  of  so 
worthy  a  friend  and  fellow  alive  as  was  our  Shakespeare,  by  humble 
offer  of  his  playes  to  your  most  noble  patronage."  The  words  of  their 
preface  to  the  volume  are  even  more  significant : — 

''It  had  bene  a  thing,  we  oonfesse,  worthy  to  have  bene  wished,  that  the  author 
hlmselfe  had  liyed  to  have  set  foith  and  overseen  his  own  writings ;  but  since  it  hath 
bin  ordained  otherwise,  and  he  by  death  departed  from  that  righC  we  pray  you  do  not 
envie  his  friends  the  office  of  there  care  and  pains  to  haye  collected  and  published 
them ;  and  so  to  have  pnblish'd  them,  as  where  (before)  yon  were  abns'd  with  diverse 
stolne  and  surreptitious  copies,  maim'd  and  deform'd  by  the  frauds  and  stealthee  of 
injurious  impostors  that  expos'd  them  ;  even  those  are  now  offer'd  to  your  view  cnr'd 
and  perfect  of  their  limbes,  and  all  the  rest  absolute  in  their  numbers  as  he  conceived 
them ;  tpAo,  as  he  wu  a  happie  imiiatar  of  Nature^  was  a  mast  gentle  expresaer  of  it.  His 
mind  and  hand  went  together;  and  what  he  thought^  he  uttered  with  that  eaatneMe,  that  we 
have  scarce  received  from  him  a  blot  in  his  papers.^^ 

Now  who  are  the  men  who  bear  this  testiqiony  to  the  fact  that 
Shakespeare's  "  mind  and  hand  went  together,"  and  that  composition 
was  to  him  so  easy,  that  his  manuscripts — like  George  Eliot's  or 
Thackeray's,  both  great  masters  of  style — were  almost  without  a  blot? 
They  were  men  who  had  been  associated  with  him  for  years  as  brother 
actors,  men  who  must  have  often  heard  discussed  in  his  presence  what 
plots  were  to  be  selected  for  new  plays,  and  how  they  were  to  be 
treated — ^who  must  have  again  and  again  marked,  with  delighted  sur- 

Erise,  how  he  had  transformed  into  something  of  which  his  fellows 
ad  never  dreamed,  the  tales  on  which  such  plays  as  The  Merchant  of 
Venice,  Cyrribdinej  The  Winter's  Tale,  and  As  You  Like  It  were  founded 
— who  had  known  him  from  time  to  time  write  in  scenes  and  speeches, 
sometimes  of  his  own  accord,  but  sometimes  as  likely  at  the  sug- 
gestion of  his  brother  actors,  or  at  a  rehearsal  in  their  very  presence 
cut  and  carve  upon  a  passage  to  give  it  more  point  and  finish.  They 
at  least  knew  his  autograph,  and  had  seen  **  his  papers."  If  he  could 
not  even  write  his  own  name  respectably,  as  tne  Baconians  contend, 
they  must  have  known  the  fact,  and  would  not  have  ventured  to 


494 


THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 


speak  of  "  his  papers,"  when  so  many  people  were  alive,  who,  if  the 
BaooniaDB  are  nght,  could  have  shown  np  the  imposture. 

It  in  no  way  militates  against  the  weight  of  this  argument,  that 
much  of  the  first  folio  was  a  re-reprint  merely  of  some  of  the  plays 
which  had  already  been  printed  in  quarto.  Heminges  and  Gondell 
might  not  have  intended  by  what  they  wrote  to  suggest  that  the  book 
was  entirely  printed  from  "  his  papers."  Their  language  may  fairly 
be  read  merely  as  a  record  of  the  fact  that  the  MSS.  of  his  plays,  as 
originally  delivered  by  him  to  his  "  fellows  "  at  the  theatre,  were  not 
disfigured  by  the  erasures  and  interlineations  with  which  they  were 
familiar  in  the  MSS.  of  other  dramatic  writers.  Ben  Jonson,  it  is 
true,  thought  this  absence  of  blots  no  virtue  in  his  friend.  The 
players,  he  says,  often  mentioned  it  in  Shakespeare's  honor. 

^  My  answer  hath  beene,  would  he  had  blotted  a  thoiuaiid. .  .  Many  times  he  fell 
into  those  thingB  conld  not  escape  langhter ;  as  when  he  said  in  the  person  of  Caeear, 
one  sp^ikiag  to  him — Gassar,  ihou  dott  me  wrong ;  he  reply'd — Oassor  did  neoer  wnmg 
but  vnthjust  cau9e;  and  such  like,  which  were  ridicnlons.'' 

There  is  a  good  deal  to  be  said  for  the  sentences  excepted  to  by 
Jonson  (which,  by  the  way,  are  not  in  the  first  folio,  nor  indeed  printed 
anywhere,  thougn  they  may  very  possibly  have  been  in  Shakespeare's 
original  MS.);  but  what  Jonson  writes  is  of  importance  as  showing 
that  the  cleanness  and  freedom  from  correction  of  Shakespeare's  MSS. 
was  notorious  in  the  theatres  to  which  he  had  belonged.  Jonson 's 
deliberate  thought  as  to  how  Shakespeare  worked,  and  that  art  as 
well  as  natural  gifts  went  to  the  composition  of  his  works,  is  very 
clearly  stated  in  the  splendid  eulogy  oy  him  prefixed  to  the  first 
folio : — 


"  The  merry  Greek,  tart  Aristophanes, 
Neat  Tettoce,  witty  Plantos,  now  not 

please, 
Bat  antiquated  and  deserted  lye, 
As  they  were  not  of  Nature's  fiimily. 
Tet  must  I  not  give  Nature  all ;  thy  art, 
My  gentle  Shakespeare,  must  e^joy  a 

part; 
For  though  the  poet's  matter  Natnre  he, 
His  art  doth  give  the  &ahion  !  and  that 

he, 


Who  casts  to  write  a  living  line  mnst 

sweat, 
Such  as  thine  are,  and  strike  the  second 

heat 
Upon  the  Muses  anvile ;  tame  the  same 
And  himselfe  with  it,  that  he  thinkes  to 

firame, 
Or  for  the  laureU  he  may  gaine  a  scorne, 
For  a  good  poet's  made  as  weU  as  borne. 
And  such  wert  thou ! " 


Jonson  was  not  the  man  to  write  thus  without  having  a  hasis  of 
fact  to  go  upon.  What  more  natural  than  that  Shakespeare  and  he 
should  have  often  talked  over  passages  in  their  plays,  which  one  or 
the  other  thought  might  be  improved  f  It  may  be,  that  among  these 
passages  were  those  very  sentences  in  Jvliua  Ccesar  to  which  we  have 
seen  that  Jonson  took  exception;  for  in  the  first  folio  {Jvima  Cbesor, 
act  iii.  so.  1)  what  we  read  ' 


SHAKEaPEABE  OB  BACONf  496 

**  Know,  OBfltt  doth  not  wrong;  nor  without  gshm 
WiU  he  be  aatisfled." 

Just  saoli  a  oorreotion  aa  the  Shakespeare  described  by  Heminges 
and  Condell  would  be  likely  to  make  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
if  his  attention  had  been  oalled  to  the  seeming  paradox  of  the  words 
which  Jonson  says  he  wrote.  Jonson  had  probaDly  in  his  mind's  eye 
many  incidents  of  a  similar  nature,  which  satisfied  him  that  all  the 
seeming  artlessneas  of  his  friend — the  ^'art  without  art,  unparalleled  as 
yet,"  as  the  scholarly  Leonard  Digges  called  it — was  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  that  highest  triumph  of  art,  by  which  art  is  never  sug- 
gested. No  unprejudiced  mind  can  read  what  Johnson  has  written 
of  Shakespeare  without  having  the  conviction  forced  upon  him,  that 
Jonson  had  seen  in  the  man  himself  living  and  immistaKeable  proofs 
that  in  him  was  the  genius  from  which  sprang  both  the  poetry  and 
the  plays  which  were  iaentified  with  his  name.  It  is  not  of  the  plays 
alone,  but  of  tiie  man  also  as  he  knew  him,  that  Jonson  was  thinking, 
when  he  wrote  the  lines  opposite  the  Droeshout  portrait  in  the  first 
foUo:— 

"  (Ml,  oonld  he  but  haye  dnwne  hla  wit 
Ab  weU  in  braase,  as  he  hath  hit 
His  ftoe,  the  print  would  then  smpasse 
AU  that  was  oyer  writ  in  bnsse." 


And  also  in  the  lines — "  To  the  memory  of  my  beloved  the  author, 
Mr.  William  Shakespeare,  and  what  he  hath  leu  us  "  apostrophizing 
him 


'«6onlof  theagel 
The  applause  I  delight  1  the  wonder  of  oar  stage  1 " 
And  again — 

**  If  I  thon^t  my  judgment  were  of  jeeres,'* 

— that  iS|  that  my  opinion  was  to  be  prized  by  posterity 

^  I  shoald  oommit  thee  snrely  with  thy  peers, 
And  tell  how  ftr  thou  didst  our  Lilly  outaldne^ 
Or  sporting  Kyd,  or  Biarlowe'a  mighty  line. 
And  though  thou  hadst  small  Latin  and  less  Greeke," 

(How  does  this  comport  with  the  Baconians'  theory  of  the  illiterate 
butcher's  boy  ?) 

**  From  theneeto  honoor  thee  I  would  not      Of  all  that  insolent  Greece,  or  haughtie 

Rome 


For   names,  but    call  forth  thund'ring  Sent  forth,  or  since  did  from  their  ashes 

.&chilus,  come. 

Euripedest  and  So|diocIee  to  us.  Triumph,  my  Britaine  I  thou  hast  one  to 

PaoouYius,  Aocius,  him  of  Oordova  dead,  showe, 

To  life  aoain,  to  hear  thy  buskin  tread  To  whom  all  scenes  of  Europe  homage 

And  shake  a  stage;  or,  when  thy  sockes  owe. 

were  on.  He  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for  al\  time ! " 
Leave  thee  alone,  ibr  the  comparison 


496 


THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 


Though  these  have  shamed  all  th'  an- 
cients, and  might  raise 
Their  anthonr's  merit  with  a  crowne  of 

bays; 
Tet  these  sometimes,  even  at  a  friend's 

desire, 
Acted,  have  scarce  defray'd  the  seaoole 

fire 
And  doore-keepers ;   when,  let  bnt  Fal- 

staffs  come, 
Hal,  Poins,  the  rest,— you    scarce  shall 

have  a  roome. 
All  is  so  pester'd ;  let  bnt  Beatrice 
And  Benedick  be  scene,  loe,  in  a  trice 
The  cockpit,  galleries,  boxes,    all   are 

ftill." 


There  spoke  out  the  heart  of  brave  old  Ben,  remembering  bow 
meekly  the  man  with  whose  friendship  he  had  been  blest  had  borne 
his  honors,  and  had  never  made  him  feel  that  allJonson's"  slow- 
endeavoring  art,"  working  even  upon  classic  ground,  could  not  bring 
him  abreast  in  popularity  with  the  heaven-gifted  man,  who  had 
^^  small  Latin  and  less  Greek."  For  so  it  was  in  Ben  Jonson^s  own 
time,  as  we  learn  from  the  lines  of  Leonard  Digges,  who  died  in  1636 
at  the  university  of  Oxford,  wbere  he  led  a  scholar's  life,  when  he 
says : — 

'*So  have  I  scene,  when  Cnsar  wonld 

appeare, 
And  on  the  stage  at  half-swoide  parlej 

were 
Brntns  and  Gasains,  oh,  how  theandience 
Were  ravish'd  !    With  what  wonder  they 

went  thence, 
When  some  new  day  they  wonld  not 

brook  a  line 
Of  tedious  (thongh  weU-labor'd)  Cati- 
line ; 
Scjanus,  too,  was  irkesome;  they  prized 

more 
Honest  lago  or  the  jealons  Moore ; 
And  though  the  Fox  and  snbteU  Alclii- 

mist, 
Long   intermitted,  conld  not  qnite  be 

missed; 

Few  men  like  the  man  who  eclipses  them  in  a  race,  where  they 
think  they  are  especially  strong, — authors  least  of  all ;  but  "  gentle  " 
Shakespeare  subdued  the  envy  even  of  the  rough  and  somewhat  jeal- 
ous Ben.  But  had  Ben  for  a  moment  seen  reason  to  surmise  that  the 
man  who  had  so  thoroughly  distanced  him  and  all  his  compeers  in 
the  arena  of  both  tragedy  and  comedy  was  sailing  under  false  colors, 
"  an  upstart  crow  "  wearing  feathers  not  his  own,  it  would  not  have 
been  left  for  the  Smiths,  Bacons,  Holmes,  and  Donnellys  of  the  nine- 
teenth century  to  throw  discredit  upon  the  great  name,  which  from 
1616  had  been  held  in  reverence  by  all  cultivated  men. 

We  have  purj)osely  refrained  from  entering  upon  any  of  the  argu- 
ments from  tne  internal  evidence  of  the  works  of  Shakespeare  and 
Bacon,  that  Bacon  did  not  and  could  not  have  written  the  marvellous 
series  of  plays,  of  which  until  1856  the  authorship  was  undisputed. 
This  would  open  a  field  far  too  wide  for  discussion.  Life  is  short,  and 
a  conflict  of  aesthetic  judgments  in  such  matters  is,  by  its  very  nature, 
interminable.  We  have  purposely  confined  ourselves  to  a  naked 
statement  of  facts,  based  upon  contemporary  testimony,  and  argued 
from  upon  the  principles  which  guide  the  judfgment  of  practical  men 
in  all  matters  where  they  have  only  contemporary  evidence  fix>m 


8SAJPE8PEABE  OB  BACONf  497 

whicli  to  draw  their  conclusions.  On  what  better  evidence  than  we 
have  cited  in  regard  to  Shakespeare,  do  we  believe  that  ^schylus, 
Sophocles,  and  Euripides  wrote  the  plays  coupled  with  their  names, 
that  Horace  wrote  nis  Odes^ot  Tacitus  his  Otrmaniaf  From  the 
belief  of  three  centuries  the  world  is  not  to  be  shaken  by  the  fine- 
spun theories  of  nobodies,  who  know  nothing  of  the  mysterious  ways 
by  which  genius  works,  and  conceive  that  fine  poetry,  and  a  sweep  of 
thought  of  invention,  and  of  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  vast 
beyond  their  limited  conceptions,  can  only  issue  from  the  brain  of 
a  man  trained  in  the  learning  of  the  schools  and  moving  in  high 
society.  Something  more  than  conjecture,  something  more  than  un- 
warrantable assumption,  must  be  produced  to  entitle  them  even  to  a 
bearing,  however  slight,  at  this  time  of  day. 

But  now  we  are  told  that  the  true  authorship  of  the  pseudo-Shake- 
spearian works  has  been  established  by  a  great  Amenca  discoverer, 
Mr.  Ignatius  Donnelly,  a  lawyer,  ex-member  of  Congress,  and  ex-sen- 
ator of  Minnesota,  wno  conceives  that  he  has  solved  the  problem  in 
a  work  bearing  the  name  of  The  OrecU  Cryptogram:  Francis  Bacori's 
Cipher  in  the  so-called  Shakespeare  Plays.  The 'book  has  not  yet  left 
the  publisher's  hands,  but  what  we  are  to  expect  from  it  has  been 
sufficiently  disclosed  by  a  writer  in  the  'DoAly  Telegraphy  to  whom  the 
privilege  was  granted  of  seeing  an  early  copy.  Mr.  Donnelly,  it 
appears,  lawyer  though  he  be,  and  by  his  pro^ssion  bound  to  have 
some  regard  to  the  laws  of  evidence  started  with  the  fixed  idea  that 
Shakespeare's  name  was  simply  a  mask  for  Bacon.  He  does  not  com- 
mend himself  to  much  consideration,  when  we  find  that  he  adopts  as 
gospel  all  the  preposterous  nonsense  of  previous  Baconians  about 
Shakespeare  having  had  no  education,  of  his  having  been  a  tavern- 
haunter  and  habitual  poacher,  a  mere  money-grubber,  who  could  not 
spell  his  own  name,  and  who  was  glad  to  get  back  to  Stratford  to  his 
old  occupation  of  butcher  and  wool-stapler,  having  had  his  purse  {)re- 
vioualy  well  Uned  by  Bacon  for  having  lent  the  use  of  his  name  to  a 
scandaJous  fraud  for  some  twenty  odd  years.  Neither  does  he  prepossess 
us  in  his  favor — although  of  his  sincerity  we  entertain  no  doubt — 
when  he  tells  us  that  he  was  put  upon  tne  trail  of  his  vaunted  dis- 
covery by  coming  across  an  elaborate  cipher  of  Bacon's,  quoted  in 
Every  Boy^s  Book.  "  Then,"  he  says,  "  lollowed  like  a  flash  this 
thoa^ht)  could  Bacon  have  put  a  cipher  in  his  plays  7  "  On  further 
inquiry,  he  found,  what  is  very  well  known,  that  Bacon  had  a  fancy 
for  cryptographic  systems  which  "  elude  and  exclude  the  decipherers.^' 
Upon  this  hmt  Mr.  Donnelly  set  to  work  to  find  out  a  cipher  in  the 
first  folio  edition  of  the  plays,  that  was  to  confirm  his  preconceived 
theory,  and  of  course,  he  found  it  to  his  own  satisfaction.  If,  how- 
ever, any  judgment  may  be  formed  as  to  the  results  of  his  hunt  from 


498  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

tlie  specimens  cited  in  the  Daily  Telegraphy  a  more  thoroa^li  illTiBfa*a- 
tion  can  scarcely  be  conceived  of  the  process  known  as  elucidating  tie 
obscurum  by  the  obscuriwf.  When  Mr.  Donnelly's  book  makes  its 
appearance,  there  will  no  doubt  be  found  persons,  blessed  or  cursed,  as 
it  may  be,  with  such  superabundance  oi  time  upon  their  hands,  and 
with  a  passion  for  such  a  literary  wild-goose  chase  as  Mr.  Donnelly 
invites  them  to,  that  they  may  follow  him  through  mazes  of  figures 
and  calculations  which  would  drive  any  ordinary  brain  mad. 

On  such  a  chase,  however,  we  do  not  conceive  that  Mr.  Donnelly 
has  a  right  to  ask  any  one  to  enter,  until  he  can  first  establish  fix>m 
credible  evidence  the  following  propositions :  (1)  That  Bacon  did  in 
some  clear  and  unmistakable  way  set  up  in  his  life  a  claim  to  the  work 
which  has  hitherto  been  assigned  M;o  Shakespeare ;  (2J  That  he  was 
privy  to  the  publication  of  the  first  folio  ;  (8)  That  he  nad  Heminges 
and  Oondell  under  his  thumb,  and  got  them  to  write  what  they  aid 
write  in  the  Dedication  and  Preface,  with  the  deliberate  purpose  of 
throwing  the  world  off  the  scent  as  to  the  real  authorship ;  ^4)  That 
he  suborned  Ben  Jonson  to  become  a  party  to  the  fi^ud ;  (5)  That 
there  exists  somewhere,  and  in  some  definite  form  under  Bacon's  hand, 
a  suggestion,  no  matter  how  slight,  that  he  had  aught  to  do  with  the 
plays  any  more  than  Mr.  Donnelly  himself. 

When  a  satisfactory  answer  is  given  on  these  points,  then,  but  not 
till  then,  Mr.  Donnelly  may  have  some  excuse  for  intruding  his  so- 
called  discovery  upon  the  public.  It  is  idle  to  tell  us,  as  he  and  his 
predecessors  do,  that  Bacon  had  reason  during  his  life  to  conceal  his 
connection  with  the  stage.  No  man  who  wrote  the  plays  assigned  to 
Shakespeare,  could  have  kept  up  such  an  imposture  lor  such  a  length- 
ened period,  and  under  the  circumstances  in  which  these  were  produced 
— one  of  them,  ITie  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor^  written  at  Queen  Eliza- 
beth's request  and  produced  within  a  fortnight.  But  grant  that  there 
might  be  reason  for  concealment  while  Bacon  was  alive,  there  could 
be  none  afler  his  death.  He  might  say  of  himself  then,  in  the  words 
of  his  own  (?)  Macbeth — 

"  After  life's  fitful  fever  I  sleep  well, 
Notliing  can  tondi  me  farther."  ^ 

He  would  by  that  time  be  beyond  reach  of  the  anger  of  either  "  Eliza 
or  our  James."  How  simple  a  matter,  then,  would  it  have  been  to 
place  upon  record,  along  with  the  requisite  proofs — for  clear  proof 
would  in  any  case  have  been  wanted — that  he,  and  not  Shakespeare, 
wrote  the  plays  I  Write  them  if  he  did,  is  it  conceivable  that  he 
would  not  have  been  so  proud  of  their  authorship  that  he  would  have 
taken  care  to  place  the  feet  beyond  a  doubt? 

This  he  unquestionably  did  not  do,  and  yet  we  are  asked  to  give  a 
hearing   to  an  American  lawyer,  who,  nearly  three  centuries  after 


lifABCff:  AN  ODE.  499 

Bacon's  death,  chooses  first  to  imagine  that  he  wrote  the  immortal 
plays,  and  then  to  assure  us  that,  instead  of  placing  the  fact  upon 
record  as  any  man  of  common-sense  would  be  sure  to  ao,  Bacon  wrapt 
up  his  secret  in  a  cryptogram,  of  which  he  did  not  even  leave  the  key 
— a  cryptogram  distributed  in  a  most  mystical  and  bewildering  way 
through  the  bad  printing  of  the  first  folio,  and  which  it  was  left  for 
Mr.  Donnelly's  laborious  ingenuity  to  discover.  Mr.  Donnelly  and  his 
proselytes  would  have  us  forget  that  Bacon  knew  what  was  evidence, 
and  what  was  not,  far  too  weU  to  trust  to  a  cryptogram  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  so  important  a  fact,  as  that  he  was  entitled  to  the  fame 
which  he  knew  the  plays  in  question  had  won  for  the  Stratford  poet. 
However  clear  a  cryptogram  might  be,  it  could  not  possibly  amount 
to  more  than  a  mere  assertion  by  an  interested  witness.  On  the  as- 
sumption of  ftaud  on  Shakespeare's  part.  It  was  a  fraud  of  which  Bacon 
himself  was  the  instigator.  He  had  helped,  ex  hypothesis  to  set  up 
Shakespeare's  claim,  and  he  of  all  men  must  have  known  that  this 
claim  could  only  be  displaced  b^  conclusive  extraneous  evidence  or  by 
the  confession  of  Shakespeare  himself. 

Again  we  say,  no  man  has  a  right,  without  a  sure  ground  of  fact  to 
go  upon,  to  strain  our  credulity  as  Mr.  Donnelly  does,  or  to  ask  reason- 
able men  to  investigate  the  cumbrous  processes  by  which  he  works 
out  his  "  Great  Cryptogram  "  theory.  It  is  impossible  within  the 
space  at  our  disposal  to  go  into  an  infinite  number  of  reasons  which 
might  be  adduced  against  it.  Let  Mr.  Donnelly  get  over  the  initial 
difficulties  which  we  nave  suggested,  and  then  Shakespearian  students 
will  give  him  a  hearing.  Tm  then  they  and  all  men  who  recognize 
that  one  pf  life's  chief  responsibilities  is  the  responsibility  for  a  right 
use  of  our  time,  will  be  content  to  abide  in  the  iaith  of  Shakespeare's 
contemporaries,  and  of  wellnigh  three  centuries  of  rational  men,  that 
the  kindly  and  modest  man,  whose  mortal  remains  rest  in  front  of  the 
altar  in  Stratford  Church,  was  no  impostor,  but  the  veritable  author 
of  the  works  for  which,  as  one  of  its  wholly  priceless  possessions,  the 
civilized  world  owes  to  him  endless  gratitude.— Sib  Theodobs  Mabtin, 
in  BlacktwocCs  Magazine, 


MAECH :  AN  ODE. 
I. 


Ebe  frost-flower  and  snow-blossom  faded  and  fell,  and  the  splendor  of 

winter  had  passed  out  of  sight, 
The  ways  of  the  woodlands  were  fairer  and  stranger  tban  dreams  that 

fulfil  us  in  sleep  with  delight  j 


600  TEE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINK 

The  breath  of  the  mouths  of  the  winds  had  hardened  on  tree-tope  and 

branches  that  glittered  and  swayed 
Such  wonders  and  ^ories  of  blossonouike  snow  ot  of  firost  that  out* 

lightens  all  flowers  till  it  fade 
That  the  sea  was  not  lovelier  than  here  was  the  land,  nor  the  night  ihan 

the  day,  nor  the  day  than  the  night, 
Nor  the  winter  sublimer  with  storm  than  the  spring:  such  mirth  had 

the  madness  and  might  in  thee  made, 
March,  master  of  winds,  bright  minstrel  and  mamhal  of  storms  that 

enkindle  the  season  tney  smite. 

IL 

And  now  that  the  rage  of  thy  rapture  is  satiate  with  rerel  and  ravin 

and  spoil  of  the  snow. 
And  the  branches  it  brightened  are  broken,  and  shattered  the  tree-tops 

that  only  thy  wrath  could  lay  low, 
How  should  not  thy  lovers  rejoice  in  thee,  leader  and  lord  of  the  year 

that  exalts  to  be  bom 
So  strong  in  thy  strength  and  so  glad  of  thy  gladness  whose  laughter 

puts  winter  and  sorrow  to  scorn  ? 
Thou  hast  shaken  the  snows  from  thy  wings,  and  the  frost  on  thy  fore- 
head is  molten :  thy  lips  are  aglow 
As  a  lover^s  that  kindle  with  kissing,  and  earth,  with  her  raiment  and 

tresses  yet  wasted  and  torn. 
Takes  breath  as  she  smiles  in  the  grasp  of  thy  passion  to  feel  through 

her  spirit  the  sense  of  thee  flow. 

III. 

Fain,  fain  would  we  see  but  again  for  an  hour  what  the  wind  and  the 
sun  have  dispelled  and  consumed. 

Those  full  deep  swan-soft  feathers  of  snow  with  whose  luminous  bur- 
den the  branches  implumed 

Hung  heavily,  curved  as  a  half-bent  bow,  and  fledged  not  as  birds  are, 
but  petalled  as  flowers, 

Each  tree-top  and  branchlet  a  pinnacle  jewelled  and  carved  or  a  foun- 
tain that  shines  as.  it  showers. 

But  fixed  as  a  fountain  is  fixed  not  and  wrought  not  to  last  till  by- 
time  or  by  tempest  entombed, 

As  a  pinnac/e  carven  and  gilded  of  men:  for  the  date  of  its  doom  is  no 
more  than  an  hour's. 

One  hour  of  the  sun's  when  the  warm  wind  wakes  him  to  wither  the 
snow-flowers  that  froze  as  they  bloomedt 


MABCH:  AN  ODR  601 

IV. 

As  thd  SQQshioe  queoohes  tbe  snowshine ;  as  April  sabdaes  thee,  and 

yields  up  his  kingdom  to  May ; 
So  timd  overcomes  the  regret  that  is  bom  of  delight  as  it  passes  in 

passion  away, 
And  leaves  but  a  dream  for  desire  to  rejoice  in  or  mourn  for  with  tears 

or  thanksgivings ;  but  thoo, 
Bright  god  that  art  gone  firom  us,  maddest  and  gladdest  of  months,  to 

what  goal  hast  thou  gone  finom  us  now? 
For  somewhere  surely  the  storm  of  thy  laughter  that  lightens,  the  beat 

of  thy  wings  that  play, 
Must  ^ame  as  a  fire  through  the  world,  and  the  heavens  that  we  know 

not  rejoice  in  thee:  surely  thy  brow 
Hath  lost  not  its  radiance  of  empire,  thy  spirit  the  joy  that  impelled 

it  on  <)ue8t  as  for  prey. 

V. 

Are  thy  feet  on  the  ways  of  the  limitless  waters,  thy  wings  on  the 

winds  of  the  waste  north  sea? 
Are  the  fires  of  the  &lse  north  dawn  over  heavens  where  summer  is 

stormful  and  strong  like  thee 
Now  bright  in  the  sight  of  thine  eyes?   are  the  bastions  of  icebergs 

assailed  by  the  blast  of  thy  breath  ? 
Is  it  March  with  the  wild  north  world  when  April  is  waning  ?  the 

word  that  the  changed  year  saith, 
Is  it  echoed  to  northward  with  rapture  of  passion  reiterate  from  spirits 

triumphant  as  we 
Whose  hearts  were  uplift  at  the  blast  of  thy  clarions  as  men's  rearisen 

from  a  sleep  that  was  death 
And  kindled  to  life  that  was  one  with  the  world's  and  with  thine  ? 

hast  thou  set  not  the  whole  world  free  ? 

VI. 

For  the  breath  of  thy  lips  is  freedom,  and  fi^edom^s  the  sense  of  thy 
spirit,  the  sound  of  thy  song,  ' 

Olad  gcd  of  the  north-east  wind,  whose  heart  is  as  high  as  the  hands 
of  thy  kingdom  are  strong. 

Thy  kingdom  whose  empire  is  tenor  and  joy,  twin-featured  and  fruit- 
ful of  births  divine. 

Days  lit  with  the  flame  of  the  lamps  of  the  flowers,  and  nights  that 
are  drunken  with  dew  fox  wine. 


602  THE  LIBRARY  MAQAZWE. 

And  sleep  not  for  joy  of  the  stars  that  deepen  and  quicken,  a  denser 

and  fierier  throng, 
And  the  world  that  thy  breath  bade  whiten  and  tremble  rejoices  at 

heart  as  they  strengthen  and  shine, 
And  earth  ^ves  thanks  for  the  glory  bequeathed  her,  and  knows  of 

thy  reign  that  it  wrought  not  wrong. 

VIL 

Thy  spirit  is  quenched  not,  albeit  we  behold  not  thy  face  in  the  crown 

of  the  steep  sky's  arch, 
And  the  bold  first  buds  of  the  whin  wax  golden,  and  witness  arise  of 

the  thorn  and  the  larch : 
Wild  April,  enkindled  to  laughter  and  storm  by  the  kiss  of  the  wildest 

of  winds  that  blow. 
Calls  loud  on  his  brother  for  witness ;  his  hands  that  were  laden  with 

blossom  are  sprinkled  with  snow, 
And  his  lips  breathe  winter,  and  laugh,  and  relent ;  and  the  live  woods 

feel  not  the  frost's  flame  parch ; 
For  the  flame  of  the  spring  that  consumes  not  but  quickens  is  felt  at 

the  heart  of  the  forest  aglow,  ' 

And  the  sparks  that  enkindled  and  fed  it  were  strewn  from  the  hands 

of  the  gods  of  the  winds  of  March. 

Algernon  Charles  Swinburne,  in  The  Nineteenth  Century. 


THE    BALANCE   OP   POWER   IN  EUROPE:    ITS  NAVAL 

ASPECT.* 

The  series  of  articles  by  a  military  writer,  which  were  brought  to  a 
conclusion  in  the  December  number  of  this  Magazine,  cannot  fail  to 
call  public  attention  to  the  altered  position  whicn  Great  Britain  now 
occupies  with  regard  to  the  other  rowers  of  Europe,  and  to  the  fact 
that  this  position  has  been  brought  about  during  the  last  few  years  by 
the  steady  advance  of  Russia  upon  India,  until  our  firontiers  are  now 
practically  conterminous. 

When  a  vast  change  takes  place  in  the  conditions  of  a  country  gov- 
erned by  a  despot,  it  is  sufficient  that  the  ruler  and  his  more  immedi- 
ate advisers  should  convince  themselves  that  such  a  change  has  taken 

*  BUKkwooeTs  Magazine  has  been  pobliahing  a  series  of  papen  on  "  The  Balanoe  of 
Power  in  Enrope.  The  present  article,  from  the  Febmaiy  Komber,  *ii^«n^ftft  the 
Siayal  aspects  of  the  qnestion.— £o.  Lib.  Mag. 


TEE  BALANCE  OF  POWER  IN  EUROPE.  603 

place,  in  order  to  give  effect  to  the  necessary  alterations  in  the  mili- 
tary or  naval  arrangements  of  the  country  which  are  required  to  meet 
that  change;  and  assuming,  as  we  must  do,  that  the  ruler  and  his 
ministers  are  blessed  with  common-sense  and  true  patriotism,  there  is 
every  reasonable  prospect  that  the  necessary  alterations  will  be  car- 
ried out  with  promptitude  and  vigor.  But  in  a  popularly  governed 
country  it  is  not  so ;  the  whole  country  has  to  be  convinced  of  the 
change,  and  also  (which  is  equally  important)  of  the  necessity  for 
action,  before  any  effective  steps  can  be  taken  by  those  who  are  called 
the  rulers,  but  who  are  in  point  of  fact  the  servants  of  the  people. 
The  weakness  and  strength  of  popular  government  appear  to  consist 
respectively  in  the  time  which  it  takes  to  convince  the  whole  country, 
or  at  any  rate  the  ^at  body  of  the  electors,  of  the  direction  in  which 
their  true  national  interests  lie,  and  in  the  extreme  tenacity  of  purpose 
and  enthusiasm  with  which  they  act  when  once  so  convinced.  W  ere 
all  popular  leaders  in  this  country  true  patriots,  who  invariably  placed 
the  interests  of  the  nation  above  the  interests  of  the  party  to  which 
they  belong,  we  should  have  very  little  apprehension  as  to  the  disin- 
tegration and  downfall  of  the  Britisli  empire,  with  the  commanding 
positions  which  it  holds  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  its  unrivalled 
resources,  and  its  still  vigorous  race.  But  our  great  national  danger 
appears  to  lie  in  the  ever-increasing  bitterness  and  virulence  of  party 
warfare,  until  those  who  engage  in  it,  thoueh  for  the  most  part  honest 
men,  have  become  through  the  force  of  habit  so  indifferent  to  the 
exercise  of  everything  in  the  shape  of  eloquence  or  persuasion  which 
does  not  tend  to  promote  some  directly  party  advantage,  that  they, 
the  leaders  oi  public  thought,  who  ou^ht  to  instruct  the  masses  m 
those  matters  wnich  vitally  concern  the  interests,  and  in  fact  the  exis- 
tence of  the  nation,  so  entirely  fail  in  this  most  obvious  duty,  that  we 
appear  likely  to  reap  all  the  disadvantages  without  any  of  the  advan- 
tages of  fi'ee  and  popular  government.  Did  these  leaders  of  public 
opinion  do  their  duty  to  their  country  but  half  as  well  as  they  do  it 
to  their  party,  it  would  not  be  necessary  for  naval  and  military  officers 
to  step  outside  the  immediate  circle  of  their  own  professional  studies, 
and  the  due  consideration  of  the  ever-increasing  applications  of  science 
to  the  arts  of  war,  which  indeed  are  their  proper  functions,  and  by 
rushing  into  the  dusty  arena  of  politics,  lay  themselves  open  to  the 
charge  of  seeking  personal  advancement  and  employment,  and  of 
striving  to  provoke  war  by  keeping  up  what  are  callea  bloated  arma- 
ments, simply  because  they  try  to  point  out  to  their  countrymen  the 
imminent  aangers  to  which  Great  Britain  is  madly  exposing  herself, 
by  failing  to  augment  her  fighting  forces,  especially  her  navy,  so  that 
she  may  have  some  reasonable  prospect  of  being  able  to  defend  her 
vast  possessions  when  next  war  shall  oome  upon  her. 


604  THE  LISSAnr  MAGA^JtrA 

Agreeing  as  we  do  in  nearly  every  particular  With  the  writer  of 
**  The  Balance  of  Military  Power  in  Europe,"  we  shuU  proceed  to  dis- 
cuss from  a  naval  point  of  view  the  practical  conclusions  which  he  has 
drawn  in  the  series  of  articles  which  he  has  put  before  the  public  in 
this  Magazine.  The  broad  result  of  his  arguments  may  be  stated 
somewhat  as  follows : — 

1.  Bnssia  is  steadily  adTandng  upon  India  by  set  pnrpoee,  and  not  by  accident  aa 
she  would  lead  ns  to  belieTe.—2.  If  we  -wish  to  defend  India,  we  can  only  doao  by 
aoqairing  the  power  of  striking  Bossia  in  Europe.  Or,  in  tbe  writer's  own  words^ 
*'  Therefore  it  is  also  Titally  neoessaiy  for  us  to  pat  pressure  upon  Bona  elaewhere 
than  at  Herat  in  order  to  protect  Herat.*' — 3.  If  we  wish  to  have  the  power  of  strik- 
ing Bossia  in  Europe,  we  can  only  do  so  by  forming  European  alliances,  offenswe  and 
defen8ifte.—A.  Our  army  being  so  small  in  proportion  to  the  great  armaments  of 
Europe,  it  is  only  by  yirtne  of  our  nav^  that  we  can  expect  to  be  taken  into  aUiaaoe 
with  the  central  Powers  (the  only  alliance,  in  short,  which  would  be  useftil  to  ua) ; 
but  that,  if  our  navy  is  what  it  ought  to  be,  and  we  choose  to  apply  its  force  in  a 
statesmanlike  manner,  we  can  make  it  worth  more  than  half  a  million  of  men  to  the 
central  allianoe— yiz.,  Germany,  Austria,  Italy,  as  against  Bossia  or  France,  or  both 
combined. 

The  whole  question,  then,  of  the  safety  of  India  is  governed  by 
an  "if";  and  we  shall  proceed  to  show  that  it  is  a  very  shaky  "if." 
Our  military  writer  guardedly  expresses  himself  thus :  "  In  all  that 
we  have  spoken  of  jux)ve,  we  have  almost  exclusively  insisted  upon 
what  our  navy  can  do  if  it  is  as  strong  as  it  ought  to  be."  And  again 
(p.  890,  %b.) :  "  We  have  cautiously  spoken,  not  of  what  our  navy  is, 
but  of  what  it  ought  to  be."  It  is  the  old,  old  story.  If  my  aunt 
were  my  uncle,  she  would  wear  different  garments.  If  the  British 
navy  were  what  it  ought  to  be,  we  should  have  some  reasonable  pros- 
pect of  being  able  to  defend  India. 

Let  us  proceed  to  inquire,  then,  whether  the  British  navy  is,  or  is 
not,  what  it  ought  to  be.  And  before  entering  into  details,  or  discus- 
sing the  question  on  its  merits,  we  will  quote  two  opinions  from  oppo- 
site quarters.  First,  then,  we  make  bold  to  say,  and  we  believe  that 
we  are  well  within  the  mark  when  we  say  it,  that  nine  out  of  ten  of 
all  our  own  naval  officers  who  have  given  a  thought  to  the  subject, 
are  firmly  convinced  that  our  navy  is  not  nearly  strong  enough  to  per- 
ibrm  the  duties  which  the  nation  will  expect  of  it  in  case  of  a  war 
with  France  alone.  We  know  that  we  cannot  prove  that  this  is  the 
opinion  of  the  vast  majority  of  naval  officers,  in  the  way  that  we 
could  prove  a  proposition  in  Euclid ;  we  merely  state  it  as  our  firm 
conviction  that  it  is  so,  and  we  challenge  its  contradiction.  The  other 
opinion  is  from  the  Paris  Temps  of  November  80,  1887,  and  is  as  fol- 
lows: "It  is  notorious  that  the  maritime  force  of  Great  Britain, 
scarcely  sufficient  for  defence,  would  have  great  difficulty  in  providing 
for  offensive  action,  such  as  the  protection  of  the  Mediterranean  oi 
the  German  Ocean  against  a  foreign  attack."    If  this  is  truei  wheie^ 


THE  BALANCE  OF  J^OWEM  IN  EUROPE.  505 

tben,  is  the  value  of  our  alliance  ?  It  may  of  course  be  said  that  the 
opinions  of  French  newspapers  are  of  little  value  in  the  matter ;  but 
unfortunately,  in  the  present  case  the  above  remark  coincides  too 
closely  with  what  we  hear  fh)m  other  quarters  to  allow  us  to  pass 
over  it  with  indifference. 

In  estimating  the  strength  of  navies  up  to  the  year  1860,  it  was 
sufficient  for  aU  practical  purposes  to  count  line*o^battle  ships,  and 
perhaps  latterly,  nrst-class  frigates.  A  line-of-battle  ship  was  a  line- 
of- battle  ship,  and  she  bore  a  certain  intrinsic  value  as  a  fighting  item ; 
and  although  we  are  far  from  saying  that  all  line-of-battle  ships  were 
equal,  either  in  their  material  force  or  in  the  fighting  efficiency  of  the 
crews  which  manned  them,  yet  by  counting  fine-of-battle  ships,  and 
making  a  certain  rough  allowance  for  the  nationality  of  the  crews 
which  manned  them,  a  sufficiently  accurate  estimate  could  be  formed 
of  the  naval  forces  of  different  nations.  Kow  all  this  is  changed ;  we 
have  lost  all  knowledge  of  the  value  of  our  fighting  item — the  line-of- 
battle  ship  has  gone ;  and  although  for  a  short  time  her  place  was 
taken  by  the  ironclad,  she  in  her  turn  is  in  a  very  shaky  position, 
and  has  already  lost  most  of  her  original  and  distinctive  attributes. 
We  are  far  from  agreeing  with  M.  Gabriel  Charmes's  supposition  that 
the  torpedo-boat  is  going  to  sweep  all  ironclads  off  the  sea,  and  thus 
place  the  weakest  and  poorest  of  maritime  nations  on  a  par  with  rich- 
est and  strongest — ^this  was  an  excentric  swing  of  the  pendulum  a 
long  way  beyond  its  normal  balance ;  but  nevertheless  it  cannot  be 
denied  that  the  introduction  of  the  locomotive  torpedo  has  gravely 
affected  the  conditions  of  naval  warfare,  and  has  also  airectly  produced 
radical  changes  in  the  problem  which  the  naval  architect  nas  been 
called  upon  to  solve ;  although  in  this  latter  connection  it  is  probable 
that  the  mounting  afloat  of  very  heavy  guns  of  great  penetrative 
power  has  had  quite  as  great,  if  not  a  greater  effect  upon  naval  archi- 
tecture, than  even  the  introduction  of  the  torpedo. 

It  is  not  our  intention  on  the  present  occasion  to  enter  into  the  con- 
troversy on  naval  designs  which  has  been  raging  with  sreat  virulence, 
and  unfortunately  not  without  personal  abuse  (though  we  are  bound 
to  say  only  since  politicians  entered  the  field),  ever  since  the  mounting 
afloat  of  neavy  guns  rendered  it  necessary  to  reduce  the  extent  of 
armor  on  ships  in  order  to  increase  its  thickness  in  certain  vital  places. 
The  navies  of  Europe  are  represented  b^  every  conceivable  design 
which  the  untiring  ingenuity  of  naval  architects  has  been  able  to  pro- 
duce, in  order  to  strike  various  compromises  between  the  requirements 
of  a  modern  man-of-war — which  may  be  roughly  stated  as  armament, 
speed,  protection,  coal  endurance,  manoeuvring  power  or  bandiness, 
seawortniness — and  reasonable  size  and  cost.  We  have  placed  the 
qualities  above  in  the  order  in  which  we  estimate  their  value.    Prob- 


506  THE  LIBKAHY  MAGAZINE. 

ably  no  two  naval  officers  or  naval  architects  would  agree  in  thus 
placing  them ;  hence  the  great  variety  of  designs. 

The  navy  of  England  has  been  compared  with  the  navies  of  other 
nations  on  many  occasions  during  the  last  ten  years  by  various  critics, 
with  more  or  less  ability,  and  with  singularly  varying  results  accord- 
ing to  the  peculiar  views  of  the  critic.  One  authority  takes  tonnage 
displacement  as  a  fair  measure  of  the  fighting  efficiency  of  various 
types  of  ships,  on  the  principle  that  it  must  represent  something:  (very 
vague).  Another  takes  gun-powder,  counting  no  guns  under  a  certain 
weight.  Another  takes  thickness  of  armor  (irrespective  of  extent). 
Another  introduces  speed  and  horse-power  into  his  calculations.  An- 
other fixes  upon  some  particular  date,  and  then  assumes  arbitrarily 
that  all  ships  built  prior  to  that  date  are  obsolete.  None  of  these 
plans  are  satisfactory,  and  most  of  them  are  very  misleading.  A  short 
time  ago  a  noble  lord  in  a  prominent  position  stated  publicly  and 
emphatically  that  eight  of  our  most  recently  built  ships  ?viz.,  the  six 
ships  of  the  Admiral  class,  and  the  Ajax  ana  AgamemTion)  were  abso- 
lutely useless  for  all  purposes  of  a  ship -of- war.  This,  of  course,  was 
only  a  fagon  de  parler,  his  vigorous  method  of  expressing  his  disap- 
proval of  a  particular  type  of  ships — a  disapproval  which  in  all  prob- 
ability he  had  adopted  from  some  hostile  and  not  wholly  disinterested 
expert. 

in  a  praiseworthy  endeavor  to  rescue  this  subject  of  the  estimation 
of  fighting-power  from  its  nebulous  and  most  unsatisfactory  condition, 
one  of  our  scientific  captains  read  a  paper  about  two  years  ago  before 
the  Institute  of  Naval  Architects,  setting  forth  a  very  elaborate  plan, 
by  which  he  assigned  certain  definite  values  to  the  diflPerent  items  in 
the  equipment  of  a  ship  which  could  by  any  stretch  of  imagination  be 
supposed  to  add  to  her  fighting- power,  and  then  expressed  the  value 
of  each  ship  in. a  startling-looking  algebraical  formula,  finally  assessing 
the  true  value  of  x  the  unknown  quantity. 

The  usually  grave  body  of  naval  architects  smiled  blandlv  at  his 
effi>rts,  but  they  did  not  appear  to  attach  any  large  amount  of  practi- 
cal value  to  them ;  and  on  leaving  the  hall  the  present  writer  was 
accosted  by  a  fnend  who  said  he  had  a  much  better  plan,  by  which  he 
took  the  length  of  a  ship's  keel  in  feet,  and  having  multiplied  it  by 
the  number  of  guns  she  carried,  and  subtracted  therefrom  the  diameter 
of  the  high -pressure  cylinder,  he  divided  the  remainder  by  the  age  of 
the  captain — and  this  gave  him,  he  said,  the  exact  fighting  value  of 
every  ship  so  treated.  Of  course  this  was  nonsense,  but  not  such 
mischievous,  as  the  other. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  that  there  are  so  many  points  of  contro- 
versy, and  such  a  great  diversity  of  opinions  amongst  those  most  com- 
petent to  judge  in  the  matter,  that  it  is  impossible  to  assign  a  value 


TEE  BALANCE  OF  POWER  W  EUROPE.  507 

to  the  different  qualities  of  a  ship  until  actual  war  shall  have  cleared 
up  some  of  the  points  in  dispute.  But  the  moral  of  this  is  (or  ought 
to  be),  that  as  the  value  of  some  of  our  ships  is  doubtful,  we  ought  to 
allow  a  good  margin  for  possible  failures.  It  may  be  said  that  this 
argument  cuts  both  ways,  and  that  as  all  other  nations  are  in  the  same 
boat  as  ourselves,  an  equal  margin  must  be  allowed  for  their  failures. 
True,  so  far  as  it  goes ;  but  the  consequences  of  failure  are  not  equal. 
The  breakdown  of  the  navy  of  any  other  European  Power  than  Eng- 
land would  not  be  fatal — it  might  be  very  inconvenient  to  them ;  but 
it  is  their  armies  and  not  their  navies  which  constitute  their  vital 
powers  of  resistance — whereas  to  England  her  navy  is  her  heart,  her 
soul,  the  life-giving  power  of  the  nation,  the  mainspring  of  her  exist- 
ence. Annihilate  her  navy,  and  she  must  die  as  surely  and  as  rapidly 
as  an  animal  whose  blood  has  ceased  to  circulate  in  his  veins.  She 
must  stop  in  her  career  as  suddenly  as  a  watch  with  its  mainspring 
broken.  What  madness  is  it,  then,  which  has  seized  upon  a  practical 
nation  like  England,  which  causes  her  to  leave  it  doubtful  for  one 
single  hour  whether  her  navy  is  or  is  not  strong  enough  to  protect  her 
vital  interests? 

The  writer  of  "The  Balance  of  Military  Power  in  Europe"  has 
stated  his  case  very  clearly — viz.,  that  the  value  of  England  as  an  ally 
to  the  central  Powers  will  be  something  like  half  a  million  of  men, 
provided  that  England's  navy  is  what  it  ought  to  be.  Herein  rests  the 
whole  question,  for  it  is  not  necessary  for  our  present  purpose  to  take 
into  consideration  the  question  of  the  two  mobilized  army-corps  which 
are  to  act  supplemental  to  our  naval  force.  The  way  in  which  our 
naval  alliance  is  to  represent  or  make  itself  equal  to  a  force  of  half  a 
million  soldiers  is,  first,  by  supplying  such  a  squadron  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean, that  in  conjunction  with  the  Italian  and  Austrian  squadrons 
the  coasts  of  Italy  ahall  be  assured  against  attack  by  the  fleets  of 
France,  and  the  allied  squadrons  shall  dominate  in  those  waters.  The 
strength  of  the  surplus  Italian  army,  and  the  opinions  of  Italian 
soldiers  and  statesmen,  have  been  adduced  to  show  that  this  would  set 
free  300,000  Italian  soldiers  for  the  purpose  of  operating  against  France 
or  Russia,  or  both  combined.  Secondly,  by  supplying  such  another 
squadron  in  the  Baltic,  that  in  conjunction  with  a  portion  of  the  Ger- 
man navy,  the  northern  flank  of  Germany  would  be  secured  against  an 
attack  by  Russia,  and  the  allied  squadrons  dominate  in  the  Baltic. 
We  do  not  propose  to  consider  the  third  combination  which  brought 
in  Denmark  as  a  factor,  for  we  believe  that  the  first  two  propositions 
are  quite  beyond  the  power  of  England,  with  her  navy  as  it  is  at 
present.  What  we  mean  is  this,  that  we  do  not  believe  that  public 
opinion — or  public  panic,  to  put  it  plainer — which,  after  all,  is  certain 
to  control  the  Government  oi  the  day,  will  allow  for  one  moment  such 


a  dispeiBion  of  our  naval  forces  that,  with  France  against  us,  and  our 
respective  navies  so  nearly  equal  as  they  are,  it  would  be  in  the  power 
of  France,  from  her  geograf^ical  position,  to  concentrate  an  over- 
whelming force  in  the  British  Channel,  and  thus  obtain  command  of 
those  narrow  waten. 

The  whole  sa^ect^  then,  narrows  itself  into  a  nut-shell.  We  have 
not  got  a  aafficieDt  naval  force  to  supply  the  two  aauadrons  in  the 
MediterraoeaD  and  Baltic  which  would  make  our  alliance  with  the 
central  Powers  worth  having ;  therefore  we  are  unable  to  form  those 
aUiances  which  alone  would  give  us  the  power  of  striking  Bussia 
elsewhere  than  on  our  Indian  frontier;  and  this  power  is,  in  the 
opinion  of  military  critics,  essential  to  us  if  we  are  to  hold  India 
against  Buaaia. 

The  conclusion,  therefore,  which  we  are  logically  brought  to  is,  that 
if  we  do  not  immediately  proceed  to  strengthen  our  navy,  we  shall  not 
be  in  a  position  to  deal  with  Bussia  when  she  makes  her  contemplated 
descent  on  India*  Now  there  are  two  ways  of  strengthening  the  navy : 
one  is  to  do  it  steadily  in  peace-time,  when  there  is  no  immediate 
prospect  of  war,  and  labor  and  materials  can  be  obtained  at  reasonable 
prices;  and  the  other  way  is  to  do  it  in  a  panic,  on  the  outbreak  or 
under  the  immediate  prospect  of  war,  when  you  pay  double  for  every- 
thing and  get  an  inierior  article.  As  an  instance  of  the  latter,  it  is 
not  too  much  to  say  tiiat  if  it  hcHl  not  been  for  the  Penjdeh  incident, 
coupled  with  the  panic  which  followed,  we  should  not  now  have  our 
seven  belted  cruisers,  our  fost  ships  of  the  Porpoise  class,  or  our  tor- 
pedo*catcher8  of  the  BaUlesfiake  class;  and  our  navy  would  now  be 
actually  weaker  than  that  of  Franca  This  seems  to  oe  a  remarkably 
unbusinesa-like  method  of  supplying  yourself  with  a  navy ;  but  there 
is  no  disputidg  the  &ot  that  it  is  the  method  adopted  oy  England : 
possibly  it  is  one  of  the  glories  of  popular  government. 

It  was  remarked  above  that  the  natives  ^  England  and  France  were 
nearly  equal.  This,  indeed,  is  the  key  to  the  whole  question  so  far  as 
we  are  concerned ;  for  no  other  navy  save  that  of  France  approaches 
so  nearly  to  that  of  Ensland  as  to  render  the  issue  of  a  naval  war 
doubtful.  Most  critics  mace  England  first ;  France  second,  and  very 
close  upon  England's  heels ;  Italy  third,  and  a  good  way  behind ;  Bus- 
sia fourth ;  Germany  fifth ;  Austria  sixth ;  Turkey  seventh,  and  the 
rest  nowhere. 

Our  readers  wiO  gather  from  what  has  been  already  said,  that  if  it 
is  difficult  to  compare  the  fighting  value  of  diiSerent  types  of  ships,  it 
must  be  equally  difficult  to  compare  the  respective  strength  of  the 
navies  which  are  composed  of  all  these  unknown  quantities ;  for  the 
different  nations  have  on  the  whole  adopted  very  distinctive  types  of 
warships.    Thus,  for  instance,  France  has  adopted  great  defensive 


THE  BALANCE  OF  POWEE  XN  EUBOPK  509 

power  in  her  ships,  devoting  a  large  pefoentage  of  thci  displaoement  to 
armor,  and  sacrificing  thereto  both  coal  and  ammunition  for  the  heavy 
slow-firing  guns.  Italy  has  gone  to  the  other  extreme,  and  has 
denuded  her  most  recent  ships  almost  entirely  of  their  armoTi  giving 
them  great  offensive  power  and  great  speed. 

England  has  struck  a  medium  between  these  two  extiemeSy  and  has 
endeavored  to  secure  the  advantages  of  both  systems,  with  what  suc- 
cess remains  to  be  seen ;  but  she  is  greatl  v  handicapped  by  the  consid- 
eration, that  as  her  ships  will  be  expected  to  act  at  a  considerable  dis- 
tance from  their  depots,  she  is  constrained  to  give  them  a  large  coal- 
allowance.  How  immensely  this  affects  the  whole  problem,  none  but 
the  naval  architect  who  has  to  work  it  out  can  fully  realize.  As  a 
popular  illustration  of  it,  let  us  suppose  that  we  build  a  ship  of  10,000 
tons  and  allow  her  seven  per  cent  or  her  tonnage  in  ftiel :  this,  in  fact, 
is  about  the  allowance  which  the  French  make  to  their  ships,  on  the 
assumption,  we  must  presume,  that  they  only  intend  them  to  act  near 
their  own  coasts.  But  British  naval  officers,  knowing  what  will  be 
expected  of  our  ships  in  case  of  a  war  with  France,  are  not  at  all  sat- 
isfied with  700  tons  of  coal,  and  require  about  double  that  amount. 
Just  let  the  reader  consider,  then,  what  this  means.  In  two  ships  sup- 
posed to  be  equal,  you  must  allow  your  enemy  700  tons  of  fighting- 
power,  which  he  can  take  out  in  armored  protection,  guns,  ammuni- 
tion, torpedoes,  or  anything  else  he  likes ;  or  else  you  must  overload 
your  ship  by  that  amount.  This  is  only  one  of  the  numerous  problems 
which  tne  naval  architect  is  called  upon  to  solve :  it  is  a  problem 
which  is  obviously  governed  to  a  large  extent  by  the  tactics  which 
England  intends  to  pursue  in  a  future  naval  war ;  and  hence  it  indi- 
cates the  necessity  of  the  closest  connection  and  confidence  between 
the  naval  architect  and  the  naval  officer.  It  also  shows  the  absurdity 
of  the  ill-informed  party  politician  intruding  himself  into  the  contro- 
versy, and  for  the  first  time  in  its  history  (so  far  as  we  are  aware) 
introducing  into  it  his  parliamentary  tactics  of  personal  abuse. 

The  various  authorities  who  have  undertaken  to  compare  the  fight- 
ing efficiency  of  the  English  and  French  navies,  differ  considerably  in 
their  conclusions.  Some  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  in  consequence  of 
the  greater  defensive  power  of  the  ships,  and  of  the  fact  that  France 
has  a  greater  number  of  heavy  bteech-loading  guns  mounted  afloat 
than  we  have,  her  navy  is  now  actually  the  stronger  of  the  two. 
Some  consider  the  two  navies  to  be  about  equal  .  Otnerg,  again,  esti- 
mate the  English  to  be  ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  and  some  say  five-and- 
twenty  per  cent  stronger  than  the  French.  This  is  probably  about  the 
outside  limit  of  the  optimists ;  but  if  we  put  down  the  English  navy 
as  being  now  from  ten  to  fifteen  per  cent  stronger  than  the  J^nch,  it 


510  THE  LJBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

will  be  sufficiently  accurate  for  our  purpose,  and  we  do  not  think  the 
error  will  be  great  on  either  side. 

The  question  now  arises,  What  will  be  expected  of  these  two  navies 
in  case  of  war  between  the  two  countries,  without  allies  on  either 
side  ?  For  this  is  the  simplest  question,  and  the  one  which  we  ought 
to  consider  first,  as  it  is  an  eventuality  which  might  occur  any  day,  in 
spite  of  our  most  earnest  desire  for  peace. 

It  is  obvious  that  on  the  outbreak  of  war  we  must  adopt  instantly 
some  clear  and  definite  policy  with  regard  to  the  Mediterranean: 
either  we  must  largely  increase  our  force  of  ironclads  on  that  station, 
or  we  must  abandon  it  altogether,  and  with  it  Gibraltar  and  Malt^ ; 
for,  no  doubt,  military  critics  will  agree,  that  if  the  fleet  is  withdrawn 
from  the  Mediterranean,  it  would  be  only  a  question  of  time,  and  not 
a  very  long  time  either,  when  Gibraltar  and  Malta,  with  their  present 
armaments  and  garrisons,  would  fall  before  the  determined  attack 
which  France  would  be  in  a  position  to  make  upon  them  in  the  absence 
of  any  possibility  of  maritime  succor.  If  the  present  Mediterranean 
fleet  IS  neither  to  be  strengthened  nor  withdrawn,  it  must  remain  use- 
less in  Malta  harbor;  or  if  it  puts  to  sea,  must,  in  all  human  proba- 
bilitv,  be  overwhelmed  by  vastly  superior  numbers.  If,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  Mediterranean  deet  is  sufliciently  strengthened  to  give  it  any 
chance  of  coping  successfully  with  such  a  force  as  France  could  bring 
against  it,  we  immediately  split  our  forces,  and  put  it  in  the  power  of 
the  enemy,  acting  on  the  inner  circle,  to  gain  the  command  of  the 
English  Channel. 

Now,  when  we  come  to  consider  the  defenceless  state  of  our  commer- 
cial ports,  the  feeble  defenses  of  our  military  ones,  the  nature  and  strength, 
or  rather  weakness,  of  our  Channel  and  Beserve  squadrons,  the  abso- 
lute uncertainty-  as  to  where  a  blow  would  be  struck,  and  the  absolute 
certainty  of  the  panic  that  would  occur  in  London  on  a  declaration 
of  war  with  France — can  any  one  of  ordinary  foresight  bring  himself 
to  balieve  that  public  opinion  would  allow  the  Admiralty  to  with- 
draw one  ironclad  firom  the  Channel  for  the  purpose,  of  strengthening 
the  Mediterranean  squadron?  This  question  only  considers  the 
Cliannel  and  Mediterranean,  without  having  regard  to  the  urgent 
applications  of  the  admirals  on  all  our  foreign  stations  for  the  imme- 
diate reinforcement  of  their  respective  squadrons,  on  pain  of  disaster 
to  our  commerce  and  coaUng- stations. 

A  short  time  ago,  when  the  proposition  to  abandon  the  Mediterran- 
ean in  case  of  war  was  discussed  in  some  letters  to  the  Times,  and  the 
Lite  General  Gordon  was  quoted  as  having  advocated  that  policy, 
there  was  a  regular  outcry  of  patriots  raised  against  the  perpetration 
of  such  a  pusillanimous  act.  But  an  outcry  of  patriots,  however  loud 
and  honest  it  may  be,  will  not  mount  one  single  gun,  or  add  a  ship  or 


■ 
i 


THE  BALANCE  OF  POWER  IN  EUROPE  511 

a  man  to  the  fighting  forces  of  the  empire;  and  if  General  Gordon 
ever  did  advocate  this  policy,  he  must  have  done  so  because  he  recog- 
nized and  guaged  correctly  the  supineness  and  want  of  foresight  of 
his  countrymen  in  all  matters  appertaining  to  the  war-like  forces  of  the 
nation,  ^ut  whether  he  advocated  it  or  not,  it  is  difficult  to  see  how 
the  naval  strategist  can  propose  any  other  plan,  so  long  as  the  English 
and  French  navies  maintain  their  present  relative  proportions. 

If  we  were  called  upon  to  give  a  rough  estimate  of  the  relative 
strength  of  the  diflferent  European  navies,  we  should  represent  them 
as  follows: — England,  100;  France,  90;  Italy,  50;  Bussia,  45;  Ger- 
many, 40 ;  Austria,  80.* 

The  numbers  are  simply  hypothetical,  and  intended  to  represent 
the  comparative  values  of  the  material  of  the  diverent  navies  at  the 
present  time;  and  although  we  are  far  from  saying  that  the  personal 
element  will  not  enter  largely  as  a  factor  into  the  case,  yet  we  believe 
that  this  is  quite  as  difficult,  and  a  far  more  delicate  subject  to  discuss, 
than  even  the  fighting  value  of  the  different  types  of  ships  of  which 
the  navies  arrf  composed.  We  should  be  very  glad  indeed  if  we  could 
honestly  subscribe  to  the  sentiments  of  the  old  "  fo'castle  "  ditty :- 

"  Two Frenchmeii,  one  Portagee, 

One  jolly  Englishmen  lick  all  three.'' 

But  whatever  the  truth  of  the  song  may  have  been  in  days  gone  by, 
when  the  element  of  the  seamanship  entered  so  largely  (we  might 
almost  say  preponderatingly)  into  the  conditions  of  naval  warfare,  we 
cannot  hide  firom  ourselves  the  fact,  that  the  introduction  of  steam  as 
a  motive  power,  and  the  substitution  of  machinery  for  manual  labor, 
in  so  many  of  the  fighting  appliances  of  a  modern  man-of-war,  must 
render  the  supposed  superiority  in  seamanship  of  British  sailors,  at 
least  a  doubtful  factor  in  the  present  day.  And  before  quitting  this 
subject,  we  would  beg  to  point  out  that  this  pre-eminence  in  seamanship, 
which  was  acquired  by  British  seamen  in  our  last  naval  war,  was  the 
direct  result  oi  practice,  resulting  from  the  great  numerical  superiority 
of  .the  British  navy  over  that  of  her  enemies-;  so  that  we  were  enabled 

to  keep  them  blockaded  in  their  ports,  and  thus  prevent  them  firom 

—  —  - 

*  These  nnmben  mnet  not  he  taken  to  represent  in  any  respect  the  na^al  force 
whieh  each  nation  conld  hring  to  hear  on  a  certain  point :  if  so  taken,  they  wonld  he 
most  illusive  and  misleading.  England,  for  instance,  in  consequence  of  her  peculiar 
circumstances,  and  the  necessary  dispersion  of  her  forces,  could  not  in  all  prohability 
hring  half  of  her  strength  to  h^  on  a  given  point;  whereas  France  would  he  able  to 
hring  almost  the  whole  of  hers.  And  it  must  he  remembered  that  the  possession  of 
Gibraltar  does  not  now  give  us  all  the  same  power  of  fVistrating  a  junction  as  it  did 
in  the  days  of  sailing-ships.  We  should  also  bear  in  mind  that  during  our  Isst  war 
with  France  our  navy  was  always  at  least  double  the  strength  of  hers,  and  yet  we 
were  not  able  to  meet  her  with  superior  forces  at  given  points ;  moreover,  at  that 
time  our  colonies  and  our  commerce  were  not  nearly  so  extoisive  as  they  are  pow. 


512  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

acquiring  that  great  skill  in  seamanship  which  the  VeA'j  act  of  keeping 
the  sea  for  the  purpose  of  blockading,  without  firing  a  shot  at  all,  gave 
to  oar  seamen.  Therefore  we  sa^  that  this  pre-eminenoe  in  seaman- 
ship was  the  direct  result  of  practice,  and  not  because  all  Englishmen 
are  born  '^  web-footed,"  as  the  expression  goes.  We  saj  that  we  by  no 
means  ignore  the  personal  element  either  in  naval  or  military  warfare, 
but  we  assert  that  it  will  be  a  most  unstatesmanlike  and  foolish  act  to 
base  our  calculations  as  to  what  naval  strength  England  requires,  upon 
any  assumption  that  her  seamen  possess  a  marked  superiority  m  a 
particular  quality  which  certainly  won  battles  for  her  a  century  ago, 
but  which  does  not  now  enter  as  a  factor  into  the  case.  This  dwell- 
ing on  past  glories,  dulness  and  inability  to  appreciate  the  onward 
march  of  improvements,  and  pinning  of  faith  upon  obsolete  weapons  of 
warfare  and  modes  of  attack,  have  in  all  ages  been  the  prolific 
causes  of  the  defeat  and  downfall  of  nations. 

One  thing  at  any  rate  will  have  been  made  dear  by  the  publication 
of  "  The  Balance  of  Military  Power  in  Europe  " — viz.,  that  it  is 
incumbent  upon  England  to  make  up  her  mmd  now*  (and  to  do  it 
quickly  and  before  it  is  too  late)  wnich  of  the  proverbial  ^  three 
courses  "  she  intends  to  take. 

Firsty  to  take  her  place  once  more  amongst  the  nations  of  Europe, 
preparea  to  bear  the  burdens  and  reap  the  benefits  of  such  a  course, 
giving  up  the  short-sighted  silly  cry  of  "  "We  will  only  fight  for  British 
interests  ;"  and  by  admng  thirty  or  forty  per  cent  to  her  present  navy, 
and  possibly  by  keeping  two  army-corps  mobilized  and  ready  for 
instant  use,  to  make  her  alliance  worth  having  to  the  Central  Powers. 

Secondly,  To  declare  boldly  that  she  wished  for  no  allies ;  to  double 
the  present  navy ;  to  increase  greatly  the  army,  particularly  in  India ; 
and  then  take  her  chance  and  fight  alone,  as  soon  as  Bussia  (possibly 
assisted  by  France)  is  ready  to  attack  her. 

TMrdlv,  To  do  nothing,  but  just  drift  on  as  she  is  going  now, — too 
weak  to  fight  alone,  untrustworthy  as  an  ally,  but  wishing  to  obtain  all 
the  benefits  of  an  alliance  without  taking  any  of  its  responsibilities  or 
burdens;  foolishly  supposing  that  other  nations  will  be  ready  to  fight 
for  her  notwithstanding  that  she  is  continually  shouting  that  she  does 
not  intend  to  fi^ht  for  any  one  but  herself;  striving,  in  short,  to  wield 
the  destinies  of  a  rich  and  mighty  empire  on  the  penny-wise  pound- 
foolish  princiole^a  course  which  must  inevitably  lead  to  disaster. 

The  secona  course  is  comprehensible  but  expensive,  and  we  think 
dangerous,  as  being  calculated  to  provoke  great  je^ousy,  and  turn  every 
man  s  hand  against  us. 

The  first  course  appears  to  be  the  cheapest,  the  most  honorable,  the 
safest,  and  that  most  likely  to  preserve  the  peace  of  Europe;  for  if  ever 
Si  vis  pacem  para  helium  was  applicable  to  any  nation,  it  is  so  to  £ng- 


THE  BALANCE  OF  POWES  IN  EUROPE.  513 

land  iu  the  present  day.  Of  all  nations  she  is  the  one  to  whom  mari- 
time peace  is  the  most  essential.  An  increase  in  the  war  navy  of  Eng- 
land would  not  be  a  menace  to  anybody ;  it  could  only  be  intended  for 
defensive  purposes,  and  all  Europe  knows  this,  notwithstanding  that  it 
might  suit  the  policy  of  some  astute  diplomatist  to  misrepresent  such  an 
increase.  England  is  clearly  entitled,  by  virtue  of  her  commerce,  to  a 
preponderating  war  navy  such  as  she  had  in  1815.  If  she  had  such  a 
navy  now,  or  anything  approaching  to  it,  and  was  prepared  to  take  her 
proper  place  amongst  the  nations  of  Europe  as  she  did  then,  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that  uie  peace  of  Europe  would  be  assured. 

In  considering  the  naval  aspect  of  the  balance  of  power  in  Europe, 
there  can  be  no  doubt  that  England  is  the  principal  factor  in  the  prob- 
lem ;  and  for  that  reason  we  have  so  far  confined  ourselves  almost 
entirely  to  England's  navy.  We  say  that  she  is  the  principal  factor, 
not  only  by  reason  of  the  slight  superiority  to  France  with  which  we 
credit  her,  but  still  more  so  by  reason  of  her  possession  of  what  are 
called  the  coaling-stations,  viz.,  most  of  the  great  maritime  strategic 
points  on  the  eartn's  surface — points  which  will  be  of  more  value  to  tne 
nation  possessing  them,  in  the  steam  era,  than  ever  they  were  in  the  old 
sailing  days,  though  even  then  they  were  not  to  be  despised.  When 
we  say  possessing  them,  we  mean  possessing  them  in  such  a  condition 
that  tney  would  oe  able  to  defend  themselves  against  attack ;  for  it  is 
scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  if  they  are  undefended,  or  inadequately 
defended,  they  would  be  a  supreme  source  of  weakness  to  whoever  was 
responsible  for  them,  as  they  would  require  ships  to  defend  them,  and 
would  also  be  likely  to  bSotA  coal-supplies  to  an  enemy.  Thus  the 
defence  of  the  coalmg-stations  has  become  to  England  a  question  of 
even  greater  moment  than  the  necessary  increase  of  her  navy — ^that  is 
to  say,  if  she  intends  to  try  and  hold  her  own  in  the  world.  But  if,  on 
the  other  hand,  she  is  content  to  be  guided  by  the  blustering  party 
politician  or  the  well-meant  hallucinations  of  the  Peace  Society,  and  to 
slide  supinely  down  the  inclined  plane  of  indifference  and  neglect,  throw- 
ing away  the  golden  hours  of  grace,  and  making  no  rational  preparations 
for  the  inevitable  struggle,  she  ought  in  common  consistency  to  leave 
off  singing  "  Rule  Britannia,"  and  to  cease  bragging  about  her  empire 
upon  which  the  sun  never  sets,  and  be  content  to  give  up  quietly  (if 
possible)  all  her  vast  possessions,  and  take  a  back  seat  in  the  world,  such 
as  Portugal,  Spain,  and  Holland  have  been  obliged  to  take.  But  in  the 
meantime  we  have  to  consider  England  as  the  leading  maritime  nation 
of  the  world — ^unquestionably  so  as  regards  her  mercantile  navy,  doubt- 
fully or  barely  so  as  regards  her  war  navy.  This  in  itself  is  ominously 
significant ;  but  if  we  are  never  again  going  to  fight  without  allies,  as 
we  hear  stated  in  some  quarters,  the  questions  arise — ^Who  are  the  allies 
to  be  ?  and  what  steps  are  wd  taking  to  secure  them? 


t 


614  THE  LIBBABT  MAQAZINK 

It  would  be  superfluous  to  consider  the  question  of  England  and 
France  allied  in  a  naval  war,  for  in  that  improbable  contingency  the 
combination  of  the  two  navies  would  be  so  immensely  superior  to  any- 
thing that  could  be  brought  against  them,  that  there  would  in  all  prob- 
abUity  be  no  such  thing  as  a  naval  battle.  It  is  with  England  and 
France  opposed  to  each  other  that  we  have  to  consider  the  effect  of  dif- 
ferent combinations  and  alliances;  or  without  starting  witli  the  assump- 
tion that  Englcmd  and  France  are  to  declare  war  against  each  other  as 
the  initial  step  in  the  matter,  to  consider  what  assistance  England  would 
be  able  to  offer  to  the  Central  Powers — Germany,  Austria,  and  Italy,  as 
against  France  and  Eussia. 

We  have  already  stated  that  we  do  not  believe  that,  in  the  present 
condition  of  the  English  navy,  it  would  be  possible  for  any  Grovemment 
to  detach  a  sufficient  force  to  the  Mediterranean  and  Baltic  for  the  pur- 
pose of  protecting  the  coasts  of  Italy  and  Germany,  and  of  thus  setting 
free  for  other  efforts  large  numbers  of  Italian  and  German  soldiers,  u 
France  and  Bussia  were  combined  against  the  Central  Powers. 

Supposing  (to  take  another  case)  that  France  did  not  join  Bussia, 
but  remained  neutral,  and  just  hung  back  watching  events.  Should 
we  be  much  better  off?  The  tide  and  fortune  of  war  setting  against 
the  Central  Powers,  and  the  English  navy  dispersed  in  the  M^iter- 
ranean  and  Baltic,  might  give  France  the  opportunity  of  regaining  by 
one  bold  stroke  her  lost  provinces,  and  of  settling  at  the  same  time 
many  an  ancient  score  and  grudse  against  her  old  enemy  England. 
And  who  could  blame  France,  if  she  re^ly  wished  for  war  with  Eng- 
land (which  we  neither  assert  nor  deny),  if  she  took  the  most  oppor- 
tune and  promising  moment  for  declaring  it? 

We  by  no  means  despise  the  Italian  navy;  but  although  we  gave  it 
the  comparative  number  of  fifty,  we  cannot  hide  from  ourselves  that 
it  is  a  very  doubtful  quantity.  The  ships  have  very  little  defensive 
power,  though  great  offensive  power  and  great  speed.  Their  value  as 
fighting  machines  is  most  problematical — more  so  perhaps  than  those 
of  any  other  nation.  Of  Xh&it personnel  we  know  very  little:  we  do 
not  for  one  moment  doubt  their  bravery  or  their  patriotism;  but  we 
know  nothing  of  their  skill  and  ability  to  fight  a  modem  man-of-war. 
The  same  may  be  said  to  a  certain  extent  of  all  nations ;  but  if  we 
had  to  bet  about  it,  we  should  back  the  French  for  long  odds  against 
the  Italians,  ship  for  ship — and  we  should  also  be  ratner  inclined  to 
back  French  strategv.  Again  we  repeat  that  we  have  a  hieh  opinion 
of  the  Italians,  and  reciprocate  the  warm  attachment  which  they 
declare  for  this  country,  out  we  aie  constrained  to  speak  the  plain 
truth  according  to  our  convictions.  We  should  hail  the  Italians  as 
our  allies  with  the  greatest  delight ;  but  at  the  same  time,  we  should 
remember  that  all  alliances  contain  an  element  of  weakness.      Allied 


THE  BALANCE  OF  POWER  IN  EUROPE  615 

fleets  and  allied  armies  are  never  so  strong  proportionally  as  tbose 
composed  of  one  nationality,  and  we  believe  it  is  neoessary  to  make  a 
large  allowance  for  this  in  counting  keels  for  a  combination  of  English 
and  Italian  fleets  in  the  Mediterranean,  irrespective  of  any  other  allow- 
ances for  the  doubtful  value  of  some  of  the  new  ships. 

The  fighting  efficiency  of  the  ships  of  the  Eussian  navy  is  at  least  as 
doubtful  as  that  of  the  Italian.  The  Eussians  are  a  blustering,  at  the 
same  time  that  they  are  a  wily,  race;  thev  have  a  very  good  opinion  of 
themselves,  and  we  should  not  be  disposed  to  believe  quite  all  they  say 
on  that  head,  or  of  the  performances  of  their  ships.  They  played  us 
one  or  two  tricks  last  time,  with  wooden  guns  and  boguo  forts,  and  we 
should  be  disposed  to  give  them  credit  for  as  much  brag,  bluster,  and 
sham  as  they  think  their  enemies  will  swallow.  They  bragged  a  good 
deal  beyond  their  power  at  the  dose  of  their  last  war  against  tne  Turks ; 
though  fortunately  at  that  time  we  had  a  statesman  at  the  helm  who 
could  see  through  their  tricks  and  knew  their  weakness. 

At  the  time  of  the  last  Eussian  war-scare,  when  we  were  expecting 
war  to  be  declared  at  any  moment,  the  question  used  to  be  discussed  in 
naval  circles  as  to  whether  we  could  maintain  a  fleet  in  the  Baltic,  in 
the  same  wav  that  we  did  in  1854-65 — that  is  to  say  (in  plain  lan- 
guage), whetner  the  torpedo-boats  would  make  it  too  hot  for  them  or 
not.  Our  own  opinion  is,  that  if  we  did  not  have  France  against  us, 
and  if  there  was  no  fear  of  her  jumping  on  our  back  as  soon  as  she 
found  our  ships  dispersed,  we  most  certainly  could  maintain  a  fleet  in 
the  Baltic,  though  not  quite  upon  the  same  comfortable  conditions  as 
in  1854-55 ;  and  that,  so  far  from  the  torpedo-boats  making  it  too 
hot  for  it,  the  fleet  would  be  very  apt  to  make  it  too  hot  for  the  torpedo- 
boats.  Probably  most  British  naval  officers  have  some  plans  of  their 
own  for  circumventing  torpedo-boats ;  and  they  may  well  be  excused  if 
they  decline  to  publish  tnem,  or  to  give  any  other  information  which 
might  be  of  use  to  the  enemy:  hence  our  sketch  must  be  of  the  vaguest 
and  most  shadowy  description.  For  three  at  least,  of  the  summer 
months  it  is  broad  daylight  all  night  in  the  Gulf  of  Finland,  and  fogs  are 
not  particularly  prevalent ;  so  tnat,  during  that  period  at  any  rate, 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  in  maintaining  a  superior  fleet  actually  in 
sight  of  Cronstadt,  and  of  thus  paralyzing  all  trade,  and  preventing  any 
serious  attack  upon  the  Grerman  coast,  supposing  that  was  one  of  our 
objects.  Under  some  circumstances  and  under  some  conditions  of  alli- 
ances, or  want  of  alliances,  it  might  be  England's  best  policy  to  keep 
cordons  of  ships  cruising  off  the  Skaw,  or  rarther  down  in  Uie  narrow 
waters;  but  these  are  questions  of  naval  strate^  which  we  see  no 
advantage  in  discussing.  We  are  not  in  the  confidence  of  the  present 
Board  of  Admiralty,  and  we  should  certainly  not  disclose  their  plans  if 
we  were. 


516  THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

When  England  and  Bussia  come  to  blows,  one  of  Bussia's  principal 
objects  will  be  to  prey  upon  our  commerce  by  means  of  swift  armed 
cruisers :  some  might  manage  to  escape  from  the  Baltic ;  some  few 
might  smuggle  themselves  aown  the  ^osphorus  and  Dardanelles,  dis- 
guised as  merchant-steamers ;  and  in  spite  of  the  vigilance  of  our 
consids,  some  would  probably  be  fitted  out  in  America  ana  other  neutral 
countries.  But  with  England's  present  and  prospective  power  of  deal- 
ing with  this  mode  of  warfare,  tne  Muscovite  ''  Alabamas  "  ought  to 
have  a  short  and  not  ajparticularly  merry  life. 

The  question  of  the  British  fleet  entering  the  Black  Sea  (always  sup- 
posing that  we  have  not  France  against  us)  must  of  course  depend  upon 
the  Turks;  for  certainly  no  British  fleet  could  be  maintained  in  the 
Black  Sea  with  Turkey  hostile,  even  if  it  could  get  there  at  all.  Turkey 
used  to  be  our  ally,  and  there  can  be  no  question  as  to  the  enormous 
advantage  of  having  her  as  our  ally  whenever  the  time  comes  for  us  to 
fight  Eussia  for  our  Indian  possessions ;  but  the  exigencies  of  party  war- 
fare in  England  rendered  it  necessary  a  few  years  ago  for  the  leader  of 
one  of  the  political  parties  to  insuLt,  revile,  and  abuse  Turkey  with 
every  epithet  which  a  vivid  imagination  and  a  rich  vocabulary  could 
supply,  and  to  call  upon  his  countrymen  to  desert  her  in  her  dire  nec^- 
sity.  We  must  expect,  then,  from  the  Moslem  Turks,  such  a  sweet  and 
touching  forgiveness  as  would  make  all  Christians  blush  for  shame,  if 
we  really  think  that  they  will  go  out  of  their  way  to  assist  us  when  our 
day  of  necessity  arrives — unless,  indeed,  it  is  still  to  their  own  advan- 
tage to  join  hands  with  us.  But  even  in  that  case  we  could  scarcely 
biame  them  if  they  looked  upon  our  alliance  with  suspicion  and  doubt — 
at  any  rate,  so  long  as  the  disturbing  spirit  of  one  restless  statesman 
still  broods  over  England,  frustrating  ner  combinations,  thwarting  her 
interests,  and  threatening  her  rule,  wherever  these  claah  with  his  per- 
sonal ambition  and  love  of  power. 

The  present  writer  spent  six  months  at  Constantinople  a  few  years 
ago,  and  he  then  formed  a  very  mean  opinion  of  the  Turkish  navy — of 
its  organization,  equipment,  and  everything  connected  with  it;  and  it  is 
not  probable  that  it  has  materially  improved  since  then.  Of  the  fight- 
ing-power of  the  Turkish  troops  (if  properly  led),  all  military  critics 
speaK  in  the  highest  terms ;  and  that  the  "  decaying  empire "  still 
contains  great  vitality  in  this  respect  is  scarcely  open  to  doubt. 
Whether  this  vitality  is  in  futare  to  be  used  to  further  our  interests  or 
to  thwart  them,  depends  upon  the  wisdom  of  our  statesmen  and  the 
consistency  of  our  policy. 

The  two  other  navies  of  Europe  which  affect  our  subject  are  the 
German  and  Ahe  Austrian.  Of  the  German,  we  know  that,  though 
small,  it  is  highly  organi25ed ;  the  ships,  of  their  kind,  are  powerful ; 
guns  unrivalled  (save  perhaps  by  our  own  when  we  get  them);  and 


THE  BALANCE  OF  FOWES  IK  EXJROFE.  617 

geueral  equipment  complete  and  perfect.  The  personnel  also  of  the 
German  navy  we  believe  to  be  most  eflScient;  the  discipline  rigid  and 
excellent ;  and  in  fact  the  whole  machine  just  what  we  should  expect 
from  that  practical  and  business-like  nation ;  and  it  must  be  remem- 
bered that  the  military  rigidity  of  the  German  system  is  not  nearly  so 
unsuited  to  the  mechanical  navies  of  to-day  as  it  would  have  been  to 
the  sailing  navies  of  the  past.  We  therefore  look  for  great  things 
from  the  German  navy,  in  proportion  to  its  size,  whenever  it  shall  be 
called  upon  to  act. 

The  Austrian  navy  is  also  small,  but,  we  have  reason  to  believe, 
well  armed,  organizeo,  and  equipped.  It,  however,  labors  under  the 
great  disadvantage  of  being  composed  of  mixed  nationalties,  as  many 
as  five  or  six  different  languages  being  sometimes  spoken  on  board 
one  ship — the  executive  orders,  however,  being  always  given  in  Ger- 
man. The  present  writer  was  told  not  long  ago  by  an  Austrian  naval 
captain,  that  when  one  of  their  men-of-war  got  into  a  gale  of  wind, 
the  crew  forgot  their  German,  and  each  nationality  shouted  in  its  own 
vernacular,  K>rgetting  idso  that  the  others  did  not  understand  them, — 
an  excellent  modern  exemplication  of  the  Tower  of  Babel,  and  not 
calculated  to  allay  the  natural  excitement  and  confusion  of  battle. 
We  must,  however,  remember  that  Austria  is  the  birthplace  of  the 
Whitehead  torpedo,  and  that  she  has  the  prestige  of  Lissa  to  her  credit 
— a  prestige  which  will  certainly  not  detract  from  her  chances  of  suc- 
cess in  any  future  naval  battle  she  may  be  engaged  in. 

We  have  now  taken  a  rapid  glance  at  the  diflFerent  navies  of  the 
Great  Powers  of  Europe,  with  the  exception  of  that  of  France ;  and 
of  the  French  navy  we  have  already  said  that  we  believe  it  to  be  very 
little,  if  at  all,  less  powerful  than  that  of  England.  When  we  have 
said  this,  we  have  said  enough,  or  what  ought  to  be  enough,  to  make 
every  sober  Englishman  reflect  gravely  upon  what  this  really  means 
in  the  present  position  of  European  politics— or  in  the  present  position 
of  the  balance  of  power  in  Europe,  as  the  military  writer  more  hon- 
estly expresses  it.  We  would  now  ask  the  question.  What  are  the 
naval  requirements  of  England  and  France  respectively  ?  And  if  war 
navies  should  bear  any  proportion  to  the  extent  of  coast,  the  com- 
merce, the  maritime  riches,  and  the  colonies  which  a  nation  will  expect 
its  navy  to  defend  in  case  of  war,  how  is  it  that  the  English  navy  is 
not  double  or  treble  that  of  France  ?  It  is  a  riddle,  and  we  give  it 
up  ;  but  we  commend  it  to  our  readers  to  answer,  and  if  they  canncrt 
answer  it,  we  would  suggest  that  they  ask  those  who  represent  them 
in  Parliament — ^for  it  is  a  question  of  the  most  vital  importance,  and 
admits  of  no  delay :  events  are  marching  rapidly,  and  it  is  not  prob- 
able that  the  day  of  grace  will  last  much  longer.  Those  believers  in 
Russian  integrity  who  swallowed  with  avidity  •  her  assurances,  made 


518  TBE  UBHA  R  K  HA  QA  Zt^fJL 

only  a  few  years  ago,  tliat  Afghanistan  was  entirely  oatside  the  range 
of  ner  operations  in  Central  Asia,  must  see  now  how  entirely  tbey 
were  berooled ;  and  they  ought  to  regret  bitterly  the  effect  on  the 
practical  politics  of  the  day  which  their  deception  occasioned.  We 
cannot  go  back,  but  we  can  be  wiser  for  the  future,  and  believe  noth- 
ing in  the  shape  of  promises  or  assurances  which  come  from  that 
quarter.  All  disguises  and  subterfuges  on  this  score  are  now  thrown 
off  for  the  present ;  and  our  readera  will  no  doubt  appreciate  the  sig- 
nificance of  the  clumsily  gilded  and  insolent  threat  contained  in  the 
following  expression  of  opinion  of  one  of  the  leading  Russian  journals. 
We  quote  from  the  Times  of  December  26th: — 

**  The  Nvwe  Vremya  of  December  25th,  oommentiDg  upon  Lord  Bandolph  Chnrchill's 
visit  to  St.  PeterabuTg,  states  that  it  is  by  no  means  fally  convinoed  that  his  lordship 
has  come  on  a  diplomatic  mission.  The  joamal  adds,  however,  that  should  there  be 
such  a  mission,  it  can,  in  its  (the  newspaper's)  opinion,  only  be  advantageous  for  Bus- 
sia  entirely  to  reassure  England  as  to  the  absolute  siafety  of  her  Indian  possessions, 
provided  that  the  British  Cabinet  give  sufficient  guarantees  that  in  future  it  will  not 
oppose  Russia  in  international  questions  which  directly  concern  her." 

In  the  face  of  this  and  many  similar  expressions  of  the  Russian 
press,  we  maiDtain  that  no  one  but  an  idiot,  or  a  traitor  to  his  couutrv, 
can  profess  to  doubt  Russia's  real  designs.  The  writer  of  "The  Bal- 
ance of  Military  Power  in  Europe  "  has  pointed  out  with  great  clear- 
ness the  direction  wherein,  under  the  existing  circumstances,  the  true 
interests  of  England  lie,  and  the  alliances  which  it  would  be  advan- 
tageous for  her  to  conclude — the  alliances,  in  short,  which  she  must 
conclude,  if  she  wishes  to  defend  India  otherwise  than  at  an  utterly 
ruinous  cost. 

The  whole  of  his  argument  is  based  on  the  very  modest  assumption 
that  we  are  to  provide  two  squadrons— one  for  the  Mediterranean  and 
one  for  the  Baltic — to  assist  the  Central  Powers ;  and  that  this  naval 
force,  even  without  the  two  mobilized  army-corps  (also  suggested), 
would  be  worth  half  a  million  of  men  to  those  Powers,  and  would,  in 
short,  make  our  alliance  worth  having.  Following  in  his  wake,  and 
endeavoring  to  supplement  his  comprehensive  articles  with  a  sketch  of 
the  naval  aspect  of  the  case,  we  are  unfortunately  obliged  to  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  with  France  and  Russia  against  us,  no  matter 
who  else  was  on  our  side,  or  even  with  Russia  against  us,  and  France 
doubtful  and  hanging  back,  we  should  be  unable  to  supply  the  two 
squadrons  required,  without  a  considerable  increase  to  our  present 
navy. 

If  we  were  asked  whether  we  see  any  prospect  of  the  country  con- 
senting to  spend  more  money  on  the  navy  so  as  to  bring  it  up  to  the 
strength  which  the  most  modest  computation  would  show  to  be  neoes- 
sary  for  the  defence  of  our  possessions,  we  should  be  obliged  to  say 
'  No."    In  the  present  position  of  British  politics,  and  with  the  present 


THE  BALANCE  OF  POWEB  IK  EUROPE.  61« 

balance  of  parties  in  England,  we  see  no  prospect  of  suoh  a  wise  and 
rational  course  being  taken. 

There  are  too  many  quackeries  in  the  air ;  and  the  people  prefer 
specious  quackeries  to  rational  treatment.  We  have  tne  Randolph 
Churchill  quackeries — well  meant,  no  doubt,  but  in  reality  hurtful  to 
the  best  interests  of  the  country,  by  reason  of  exaggerations,  irrelevant 
comparisons,  unjust  denunciations  of  public  servants,  and  wandering 
questions  to  the  witnesses  before  his  committee.  Then  we  have  the 
quackery  of  those  who  tell  us  that  a  recasting  of  the/orm  of  the  navy 
estimates,  a  reshuffling  of  the  pack  at  Whitehall,  the  pensioning  of 
half-a-dozen  clerks,  and  the  redistribution  of  the  work  of  the  remainder, 
will  bring  the  navy  up  to  its  required  strength.  Then  we  have  that 
most  dangerous  but  well-meant  quackery  of  the  Peace  and  Arbitra- 
tion Society,  with  its  influentially  supported  deputation  to  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States,  We  say  most  dangerous,  because  we  know 
how  often  in  this  world  the  wish  is  father  to  thought ;  and  the  Eng- 
lish nation  being  most  earnestly  desirous  of  peace,  are  easily  persuadea 
that  the  millennium  of  peace  is  upon  them,  notwithstanding  the  very 
marked  signs  to  the  contrary.  But  the  President's  practical  though 
courteous  reply  ought  to  open  these  good  men's  eyes  to  the  fact  that 
the  hour  for  disarming  has  not  vet  arrived,  even  in  enlightened 
America.  We  do  not  remember  his  exact  words,  but  the  reply  was 
somewhat  to  the  e£Fect  that  he  would  be  very  ^lad  to  see  their  princi- 
ples prevail,  but  that  he  was  not  prepared  to  sign  away  the  sovereign 
right  of  his  country  to  defend  its  own  vital  interests  in  the  manner  it 
deemed  best  {%.  e.,  war^.  Or  in  other  words,  "  If  the  matter  is  trivial, 
we  don't  mind  arbitrating;  but  if  it's  serious,  I  guess  we'll  fight." 

Then  we  have  the  quackery — and  we  regret  to  see  it  supported  by 
an  ex-controller*  of  the  navy  who  ought  to  know  better — of  supposing 
that  a  large  increase  of  parliamentary  control  over  the  distribution  of 
the  money  voted  for  the  navy  would  bring  it  up  to  the  required 
strength.  This  is  probably  the  hollowest  quackery  of  all.  Parlia- 
mentary control  I  1  ou  might  as  well  ask  a  lawyer  or  a  sailor  to  fit 
up  a  doctor's  shop  with  the  pi^oper  proportion  of  pills  and  plasters,  as 
to  invite  the  Giihoolys  ana  Tanners  of  Parliament  to  discuss  the 
designs  of  an  iron-clad.  These  men  do  mischief  enough  already, 
without  giving  them  any  more  control  over  the  forces  of  a  country  of 
which  they  are  the  avowed  enemies.  But  even  if  all  members  of  rar- 
liament  were  loyal,  and  all  of  them  were  men  of  sense  and  moderation, 
what  possible  advantage  to  the  country  could  arise  from  the  more 
elaborate  discussion  of  the  technical  details  of  such  a  complicated  ser- 
vice as  the  navy  now.  is,  tinged,  not  to  say  colored,  as  those  discussions 
would  be  by  party  politics? 

*  Bix  B.  B.  BolniuoDi  in  a  letter  to  tbe  2lme9,  dated  17th  DeeanbcTi  1887. 


6^  fHi:  LlJBSAAT  HAQAZlK^. 

We  remarked  towards  the  beginning  of  this  article  that  the  only 
way  in  which  it  was  possible  to  get  the  money  out  of  the  country,  to 
keep  the  navy  anything  like  up  to  the  mark  in  the  matter  of  modem 
ships  and  modern  ordnance,  was  by  the  fortuitous  recurrence  of  peri- 
odical war-scares,  which  so  frighten  the  people,  in  consequence  of  our 
unprepared  condition,  that  they  are  ready  to  lavish  money  as  long  as 
the  scare  lasts.  We  say  fortuitous,  for  although  we  do  not  look  upon 
this  as  a  dignified,  nor  even  as  an  economical  method  of  raising  the 
necessary  money  to  keep  up  a  navy,  still  it  is  better  than  not  raising 
it  at  all;  and  without  tnese  war- scares,  there  is  no  knowing  to  what 
state  of  decay  and  obsoleteness  the  doctrines  of  the  so-called  econo- 
mists might  not  have  brought  the  navy :  probably  to  a  state  resem- 
bling that  of  Turkey. 

It  appears,  then,  as  if  England  in  th^  present  day,  with  her  much- 
boastea  popular  government,  and  with  what  Mr.  Gladstone  calls  the 
foundations  of  her  constitution  widened  and  deepened,  was  yet  quite 
incapable  of  taking  a  wide  and  deep  view  of  her  own  situation  in  the 
world  around  her,  and  was  only  capable  of  living  from  hand  to  month, 
in  a  thriftless,  haphazard  manner,  like  a  ioiimeyman  tinker  or  itinerant 
pedlar,  never  reasoning  or  looking  ahead,  or  trying  to  use  her  common- 
sense  and  foresight,  but  just  drifting  along,  and  waiting  until  the  actual 
catastrophe  is  upon  her,  and  then  making  her  preparations  (?)  in  haste 
and  panic. 

We  are  not  authorized  to  speak  in  the  name  of  the  navy;  but  we 
believe  we  shall  be  expressing  the  opinion  of  the  vast  majority  of 
those  naval  ofiioers  who  have  ever  given  a  thought  to  the  subject, 
when  we  say  that  an  increase  of  something  like  thirty  or  forty  per 
cent  to  our  present  navy  is  the  least  that  must  be  made  in  order  to 
put  it  in  such  a  condition  that  there  would  be  any  reasonable  pros- 
pect of  its  being  able  to  perform  the  duties  which  we  know  will  be 
expected  of  it  in  case  of  war. 

Whether  this  can  be  best  accomplished  by  having  recourse  to  Lord 
Bandolph  Churchiirs  scheme  of  reducing  the  navy  estimates  by  three 
or  four  millions,  or  by  increasing  them  by  about  the  same  amount,  are 
questions  for  Chancellors  of  the  Exchequer  and  financiers,  and  not  for 
soldiers  and  sailors, — Blackwood's  Magazine. 


ENGLISH  AND  AMERICAN  FEDERALISM. 

A  CURIOUS  chance  has  lately  come  over  both  Great  Britain  and  the 
United  States.  Not  thirty  years  ago  each  was  firmly  persuaded  that 
its  own  political  constitution  was  the  best  in  the  world,  and  that,  even 
if  any  slight  imperfections  appeared  in  the  management  of  its  a&iia^  at 


HKOUSS^  AKt>  AMERICAN  FEbEUALlSM,  621 

least  nothing  could  be  learned  by  studying  the  government  of  the  otlier. 
Now,  many  intelligent  men  are  casting  curious,  sometimes  well-nigh 
envious,  glances  across  the  water,  admiring  not  any  mere  details  of 
Transatlantic  laws,  but  the  very  fundamental  principles  of  Transatlantic 
government.  English  periodicals  bring  us  proposals  to  supply  Great 
Britain  with  a  written  cooBtitution  or  a  feaeral  system,  while  in  the 
United  States  there  are  ably-written  books,  like  that  of  Woodrow  Wil- 
son on  Congressional  Government,  urging  us  to  give  up  the  written  con- 
stitution and  the  federal  system  of  our  fathers,  and  to  try  a  responsible 
ministry  in  their  place.  In  one  aspect,  at  least,  this  international-^ 
admiration  is  advantageous.  Englishmen  and  Americans  have  been 
led  to  study  institutions  widely  diflFering  from  their  own,  though  belong- 
ing to  a  kindred  people,  and  it  is  now  possible  to  speak  of  the  Constitu- 
tions of  Great  ioritain  and  the  United  States  with  the  certainty  that 
many  men  in  both  countries  understand  much  of  the  fundamental  prin- 
ciples and  practical  workings  of  both  forms  of  government. 

In  England  two  different  classes  of  people  are  looking  to  America  for 
constitutional  examples ;  and  this  in  order  to  reach  two  ends  apparently 
distinct,  though  I  shall  try  to  show  that  those  ends  ai*e,  in  reality, 
inseparably  connected.  One  class  wishes  to  establish  a  federal  system 
in  some  form,  partly  to  bring  the  Colonies  into  closer  and  healthier  rela- 
tion with  the  Imperial  Government,  and  partly  to  settle  the  pressing 
Irish  question.  Another  class,  and  largely  a  different  one,  is  afraid  that 
Parliament  will  make  too  free  with  the  property  and  vested  rights  of 
individuals,  and  therefore  is  inclined  to  admire  those  limitations  on  the 
power  of  the  legislature  which  are  found  in  the  Constitution  of  the 
United  States.  The  first  class  wishes  to  divide  the  unlimited  powers 
now  belonging  to  the  Parliament  of  the  United  Kingdom  among  a  num- 
ber of  legislative  bodies;  the  second  class  would  be  glad  to  see  certain 
powers  taken  &om  Parliament  without  entrusting  them  to  any  one.  Each 
class  sees  that  the  conditions  it  looks  for  are  found  in  the  Government 
of  the  United  States. 

In  the  United  States,  as  in  England,  there  are  two  classes  of  people 
dissatisfied  with  the  present  working  of  their  instructions.  The  first 
is  disposed  to  complain  because  the  Government  is  not  sufficiently  cen- 
tralized ;  it  finds  fault  with  the  variety  of  our  local  laws,  it  wishes  a 
uniform  law  of  divorce,  a  national  law  to  prohibit  the;  sale  of  intoxi- 
cating liquors,  national  aid  to  education,  national  supervision  of  rail- 
roads. Some  of  these  measures  obviously  need  an  amendment  of  the 
Constitution,  others  can  be  carried  out  by  a  national  grant,  the  consti- 
tutionality of  which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  assail ;  in  both  cases 
it  is  the  insufficiency  or  the  unsatisfactory  character  of  the  local  laws 
which  is  complained  of,  and  which  the  authority  of  the  nation  is  invoked 
to  cure. 


'^•^ 


b'>2  THE  LIMA MT  MAOJ ZINE. 

There  are  other  persons,  for  the  most  part  writers  on  the  theory  of 
goyernment  rather  than  statesmen  or  active  politicians,  who  find  fault 
with  the  impotence  and  irresponsibility  of  Congress.  They  point  out 
that  Congress  is  unable  to  perform  even  those  duties  which  are  most 
plainly  within  its  constitutional  province,  and  this,  too,  when  no  great 
party  question  is  involved.  It  cannot  pass  a  bankrupt  law — ^it  is  so 
tied  up  by  its  own  rules  that  it  cannot  bring  the  matter  to  a  direct  vote 
— ^it  cannot  relieve  the  Supreme  Court  from  the  excessive  burden  of 
its  judicial  duties,  it  cannot  provide  for  the  counting  of  votes  in  Pres- 
^idential  elections.  These  critics  point  out,  also,  that  no  one  is  respon- 
sible for  such  legislation  as  Congress  is  able  to  accomplish.  '  The  var- 
ious measures  are  prepared  by  committees,  a  few  of  their  members 
known  to  the  public  as  mdividuals,  almost  none  of  them  known  in  con- 
nection with  any  particular  committee.  To  remedy  this  state  of  things, 
to  secure  greater  efficiency  in  Congress  and  a  greater  sense  of  respon- 
sibility, some  American  publicists  have  favored  the  establishment  of 
a  responsible  ministry,  like  that  found  in  England  and  most  Continen- 
tal countries. 

Now,  certainly,  things  have  come  to  a  strange  pass  when  intelligent 
Englishmen  seek  to  abridge  the  power  of  the  imperial  Parliament  by 
the  creation  of  a  federal  system  or  by  the  establishment  of  a  tmited 
constitution,  while,  on  the  other  hand,  many  Americans,  dissatisfied 
with  the  vagaries  of  local  laws^are  seeking  to  abolish  the  federal  system, 
or  are  striving  to  increase  the  power  and  responsibility  of  the  national 
Congress  by  the  introduction  of  Cabinet  government.  Is  there  any 
explanation  common  to  these  phenomena  apparently  so  diverse  ? 

it  is  plain  to  everyone  that  the  English  (iovemment  at  the  present 
time  is  a  representative  democracy,  very  slightly  affected  by  the  House 
of  Lords,  hardly  aflfected  at  all  by  the  Crown.  Through  natursd  devel- 
opment, parliamentary  government  has  become  a  scheme  for  carrying 
out  the  will  of  the  people  as  fully  and  as  rapidly  as  possible.  Under 
it  the  will  of  the  whole  JBritish  people,  through  Parliament,  may  regu- 
late the  most  minute  concerns  of  each  individual  in  the  United  King- 
dom, and,  therefore,  the  whole  British  people  and  its  Parliament  are 
held  responsible  for  the  welfare  of  each  British  citizen.  Of  course, 
the  healthy  individualism  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race  and  the  strong  Con- 
servatism of  the  English  people  very  greatly  afiect  the  workings  of 
this  principle,  but  omnipotence  is  an  attnbute  of  Parliament,  and  every 
one  will  axlmit  that  individualism  and  Conservatism  are  less  marked 
now  than  they  were  fifty  years  ago. 

We  have  been  deluded  so  long  by  misleading  names,  that  we  have 
come  to  believe  a  republic  must  be  at  least  as  democratic  as  a  mon- 
archy, and  that  a  written  Constitution  is  a  means  to  cany  out  the 
popular  will.     Hardly  anything  could  be  farther  from  the  truth.     In 


ENQLISH  AND  AMERICAN  FEDERALISM:  623 

the  present  age  of  the  world,  the  existence  of  a  king  may  do  no  more 
than  give  to  the  popular  will  the  sanction  of  the  hereditary  principle, 
that  sentimental  affection  for  monarchy  which  has  not  yet  lost  all  its 
inflaence.  Nothing  has  been  found  capable  of  withstanding  the  will 
of  the  majority  except  a  written  Federal  Constitution.  The  United 
States  Government  to-day  is  less  democratic  than  that  of  any  other 
country  enjoying  what  we  call  free  institutions. 

At  first  sight  this  may  not  appear,  but  the  more  carefully  we 
examine  the  matter  the  more  evident  it  will  become.  If  we  define 
democracy  as  that  form  of  government  in  which  the  people  of  the 
nation  or  a  majority  of  them  exercise  the  most  complete  control  over 
the  persons  and  property  within  its  limits,  we  shall  recognize  how 
very  undemocratic  the  American  Government  is.  We  have,  first,  a 
National  Government,  shut  in  on  eYerj  side  by  a  Federal  Constitution 
very  limited  in  its  general  scope,  and  even  within  this  scope  restricted 
from  interference  with  many  individual  privileges  by  the  positive 
prohibitions  of  the  Bill  of  Eights.  This  Government  is  not  able  to 
add  an  iota  to  its  authority  or  jurisdiction  ;  and  the  Upper  Chamber 
of  its  Legislature,  possessing  at  least  equal  powers  with  the  Lower, 
has  a  basis  of  representation  far  more  unequal  than  that  of  England 
or  Scotland  under  the  Act  of  1867 — a  basis  which  cannot  be  changed 
save  with  the  consent  of  every  one  of  these  unequal  constituencies. 
Standing  beside  the  national  Government,  and  more  concerned  with 
the  everj'^day  life  of  the  citizen,  is  the  Government  of  the  State,  limited 
in  its  scope  like  the  former,  and  restricted  even  here  from  interference 
with  individual  privileges  by  the  Constitutions,  both  of  the  State  and 
the  Nation. 

Of  course  it  may  be  said  that,  in  fact,  the  life  and  property  of  an 
individual  Englishman  are  as  safe  from  popular  aggression  as  those 
of  a  citizen  of  the  United  States.  Even  if  this  be  true,  however,  the 
latter  is  shielded  by  a  law  which  the  Legislature  cannot  alter,  tlie 
former  only  by  acquiesence  hardened  into  custom,  which  acquiescence 
may  cease  at  any  time  if  Parliament  wills  it ;  and  certainly  there  are 
some  signs  which  point  to  the  possibility  that  this  acquiescence  will 
cease.  Again,  if  it  be  said  that,  afler  all,  the  Constitution  which 
protects  individual  and  local  rights  can  be  amended,  it  may  be 
answered  that  to  amend  the  National  Constitution  requires  practical 
unanimity  except  under  conditions  like  those  following  the  late  war ; 
even  a  very  large  majority  of  the  people  may  be  completely  powerless. 
For  example,  so  long  as  Mormon  pdygamy  exists  only  in  the  terri- 
toriesy  Congress  can  use  very  severe  means  to  root  it  out ;  but  if  it 
once  gained  control  of  any  State,  it  is  certain  that  the  evil  could  not 
be  checked  for  years,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that  no  constitutional 
amendment   stringent   enough   to  deal   with  the  matter  could  get 


6U4  TSE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

the'  votes  of  the  requisite  number  of  States.  la  Eugland,  if  the 
majority  desired,  all  the  necessary  legislation  could  be  got  in  a  few 
months  at  the  farthest.  Again,  no  one  will  deny  that  the  House  of 
Lords  can  be  remodelled  or  abolished  if  the  popular  will  really  is  bent 
upon  it.  No  wish  of  a  majority  can  remodel  or  abolish  the  Senate  of 
the  United  States. 

The  makers  of  the  American  Constitution  knew  well  that  no  paper 
limitations  could  curb  the  popular  will.  Agreeing  with  many  Euro- 
peans that  the  people  shoula  be  saved  from  oppression  by  individuals, 
their  singular  merit  consisted  in  providing,  in  part  unconsciously,  that 
individuals  should  not  be  oppressed  by  the  people.  They  did  not 
create  a  strong,  highly  centralized  Government,  and  then  write  down 
that  it  should  not  do  this  or  that ;  they  did  not  rely  wholly  upon  the 
Supreme  Court  with  its  marvellous  power  of  declaring  void  unconsti- 
tutional laws.  Through  the  jealousy  of  the  several  branches  of  the 
Federal  Government,  and  the  jealousy  of  the  States,  they  secured  both 
the  rights  of  the  indivudual  and  local  rights — for  these  last,  as  para- 
mount to  national  rights,  are,  like  individual  rights,  so  many  restric- 
tions upon  the  will  of  the  people.  "  Heretofore,"  said  Pierce  Butler 
in  the  Constitutional  Convention,  "  I  have  opposed  the  grant  of  new 
powers  to  Congress,  because  they  would  all  be  vested  in  one  body  ;  the 
distribution  of  the  powers  among  different  bodies  will  induce  me  to  go 
great  lengths  in  its  support."  He  was  thinking,  not  only  of  the 
Senate,  but  of  the  President  and  Supreme  Court  as  well. 

If  it»be  asked  why  the  people  of  the  United  States  submit  to  a  gov- 
ernment so  undemocratic,  two  answers  may  be  given.  It  may  be  said 
quite  truly  that  they  have  voluntarily  given  up  a  portion  of  their  au- 
tnority,  but  such  an  answer  contains  only  part  of  the  truth.  Persuaded 
that  their  government  is  realW  popular,  tnere  is  little  chance  for  them 
to  find  out  their  mistake.  Witn  nothing  in  the  nature  of  a  plebiscite, 
they  have,  if  the  President  and  Congress  are  at  loggerheads,  no  means 
of  finding  out  which  represents  the  popular  will,  and  so  there  is  little 
popular  excitement  when  one  obstructs  the  other.  Even  when,  as  in 
I876,  the  defeated  candidate  for  the  Presidency  gets  a  larger  popular 
vote  than  the  President-elect,  it  is  open  to  the  supporters  of  the  latter 
to  say  that  the  States  in  which  they  were  successful  would  have  given 
them  much  larger  majorities  if  the  issue  had  depended  on  the  popular 
vote.  It  is  probable,  indeed,  that  the  popular  will  has  such  restricted 
power  in  the  United  States  principally  because  it  has  no  one  authorita- 
tive organ  of  expression.  For  a  few  years  after  the  civil  war  it  had 
such  an  organ  in  a  united  Congress,  and  the  Constitution  has  hardly 
recovered  from  the  strain  then  put  upon  it. 

We  now  approach  the  explanation  of  the  recent  movements  in  Eng- 
land and  America.    This  transformation  of  individual  and  local  privi- 


ENGLISE  AND  AMEBIOAN  FEDERALISM.  625 

leges  into  individual  and  local  rights  is  very  pleasing  to  the  American ; 
but,  like  many  another,  he  objects  to  the  cost  of  maintaining  his  pre- 
cious possession.  So  strong  is  the  tendency  of  modem  civilization 
towara  democracy  that  nottiing  but  this  minute  division  of  power  be- 
tween Nation  and  State,  between  the  Legislature  and  the  Executive, 
keeps  the  popular  will  from  asserting  itself  With  this  division  of 
power  comes  necessarily  a  division,  and  therefore  a  lack,  of  responsibil- 
ity. No  one  is  responsible  for  anything.  If  we  have  no  bankrupt 
law  the  House  of  Representatives  is  not  responsible  without  the  Senate, 
the  Senate  is  not  responsible  without  the  House,  both  together  are  not 
responsible  without  tne  President,  and  he  is  powerless  to  do  anvthing. 
As  the  three  branches  of  the  legislature  have  been  under  tne  con- 
trol of  the  same  political  party  but  two  years  out  of  th^  last  twelve, 
each  party  finds  it  easier  to  throw  the  blame  of  failure  upon  the  other 
than  to  carry  measures  the  credit  of  which  it  must  share  with  its  op- 
ponents. Again,  in  the  matter  of  divorce  the  national  authorities  are 
powerless  under  the  Constitution,  the  States  can  deal  only  with  their 
several  jurisdictions,  and  so  no  comprehensive  scheme  can  be  framed. 

It  follows  naturally,  from  this  want  of  authority  and  responsibility, 
that  even  those  powers  which  are  entrusted  to  Congress  are  but  feebly 
exercised,  and  that  both  its  branches  lack  responsible  leaders.  At  all 
times  in  the  historv  of  the  United  States  the  ablest  men  in  the  National 
Legislature  have  oeen  willing  to  leave  it  in  order  to  enter  the  Cabinet, 
where  there  is  little  power  over  legislation  and  no  responsibility  for  it. 
Within  three  years  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  majority  in  the  House  of 
Representatives  shelved  himself  by  obtaining  the  post  of  Minister  to 
Turkey,  which,  considering  our  relations  with  that  country,  is  very 
much  as  if  Lord  Randolph  Churchill  should  beg  Lord  Salisbury  to  make 
him  Grovernor-General  of  Barbadoes. 

Now  the  American  people  have  grown  somewhat  tired  of  all  this,  and 
many  of  them  do  not  lite  to  be  hampered  in  every  movement  by  the  strait 
jacket  of  a  written  Constitution.  The  desire  for  uniformity,  so  charac- 
teristic of  the  democratic  spirit,  makes  one  class  of  men  impatient  of  the 
vagaries  of  local  laws  ;  while  another  class,  when  something  goes  wrong, 
wants  some  one  to  bear  the  blame  and  furnish  the  remedy.  Therefore 
the  former  desire  to  have  the  National  Government  deal  with  great 
vexed  questions  outeide  its  jurisdiction,  as  defined  by  the  Constitution 
— ^with  the  liquor  traffic,  with  public  education,  with  railroads  and  tel- 
egraphs. Congressional  inefficiency  and  irresponsibility  make  the  latter 
long  for  a  responsible  Government  to  succeed  the  irresponsible  commit- 
tee system.  It  is  very  plain  what  the  result  of  these  cnanges  would  be. 
If  the  scope  of  the  National  Government  were  ^eatly  enlarged  the 
States  would  lase  nearly  all  their  power,  and  the  little  which  these  ad- 
vocates of  centralization  are  willing  to  leave  them  would  soon  be  ab- 


526  TEE  LIBRARY  MAt^AZlNK 

Borbed.  If  a  Cabinet,  responsible  to  Congress,  be  introduced,  it  ia 
clearly  impossible  for  an  independent  executive  like  the  American 
President  to  exist.  No  Cabinet  can  be  responsible  without  the  means 
of  choosing  its  agents,  or  in  the  face  of  a  real  veto  power;  indeed,  abso- 
lute responsibility  and  absolute  power  are  corollaries  of  each  other.  If 
the  power  of  the  National  Government,  both  executive  and  legislative, 
were  united  in  one  body,  that  body  would  most  certainly  absorb  the  au- 
thority of  the  States,  considered  as  governmente  with  independent  polit- 
ical rights.  Even  the  Supreme  Court,  that  American  wonder  of  the 
world,  could  not  prevent  this.  As  Hamilton  said  in  the  Federalist^  the 
Judiciary  is  the  weakest  of  the  three  departments,  and  its  power,  appar- 
ently so  tremendous,  can  exist  only  in  face  of  a  weak  and  divided  gov- 
ernment. Iiv..  fine,  if  the  Government  of  the  United  States  now  recog- 
nizes and  protects  many  local  and  individual  rights  against  a  popular 
majority,  it  can  do  so  only  at  the  expeuse  of  division  and  lack  of  re- 
sponsibility;  if  a  strong  and  responsible  government  be  established, 
individual  and  local  rights  will  disappear,  and  a  highly  centralized 
representative  democracy  will  arise  upon  their  ruins. 
-  in  England  the  case  is  precisely  reversed.  A  highly  centralized 
representative  democracy  exists  already,  and  it  is  desired  to  import 
into  this  form  of  government  some  oi  the  advantages  of  a  Federal 
Constitution,  and  some  safeguards  for  individual  rights  and  privileges; 
to  adapt  some  of  the  modern  conveniences  of  a  written  Constitution  to 
the  stately  old  fabric  that  has  been  building  ever  since  the  dawn  of 
history.  The  attempt  is  utterly  useless.  The  former  building  must 
be  pulled  down  and  the  new  building  begun  at  the  foundations.  If  it 
be  possible  to  make  of  the  British  Empire  a  Federal  State  whose 
several  members  shall  have  rights  inviolable  even  by  the  will  of  the 
Imperial  people,  certainly  no  such  State  can  be  established  until  its 
government,  aivided  into  jealous  and  independent  departments,  and 
strictly  limited  in  its  jurisdiction,  has  lost  much  of  its  efficiency  and 
nearly  all  its  responsibility.  Then  and  only  then  can  it  be  prevented 
from  dealing  with  individual  and  local  rights  as  it  pleases.  Thus  and 
only  thus  can  the  Empire  obtain  the  advantages  of  American  feder- 
alism. 

Take  the  case  of  Ireland,  for  example,  and  suppose  Home  Bule 
granted  it.  The  Irish  Parliament  will  then  express  the  will  of  the 
Irish  people.  If  this  will  is  allowed  to  govern,  Great  Britain  will 
tend  to  become  a  Confederacy,  not  a  Federal  Union  in  the  American 
sense  of  the  word.  If  this  will  is  checked  and  thwarted,  great  fricton 
and  irritation  will  follow.  In  America  this  is  not  so,  because  for  gen- 
erations the  people  have  been  accustomed  to  a  Government  in  which 
the  popular  will  is  not  expressed  by  any  man  or  body  of  men,  and 
under  which  the  popular  desires  are  in  a  ohronio  state  of  non-fuliil- 


ON  A  SILVER  WEDDING.  527 

ment.  Would  Ireland  be  satisfied  with  so-called  Home  Bule,  under 
which  the  Irish  Parliament,  and  the  Parliament  of  Ghreat  Britain  to 
boot,  could  not  abate  a  jot  or  a  tittle  of  the  rights  of  the  most  oppres- 
sive landlord  ?  Such  a  state  of  affairs  is,  I  beUeve,  the  inevitable  con- 
comitant of  a  Federal  Union  like  ours.  Democracy  can  exist  only 
under  a  treaty- made  Confederacv  or  under  a  centralized  Government. 
In  the  first  case  the  people  of  the  State  are  dl  powerful ;  in  the  sec- 
ond, the  people  of  the  nation. 

If  these  things  are  true,  it  is  easy  to  see  how  they  bear  upon  the 
changes  in  popular  feeling,  mentioned  at  the  beginning  of  this  article. 
There  are  special  advantages  pertaining  to  the  federal  form  of  govern- 
ment: a  healthy  local  spint  and  a  security  for  individual  rights. 
There  are  special  advantages  pertaining  to  what  Mr.  Dicey  calls  the 
unitarian  form  of  government:  concentrated  energy  and  perfect 
responsibility.  But  individual  and  local  rights  cannot  exist  in  the 
jface  of  a  supreme  legislature  like  the  present  Parliament  of  Great 
Britain,  nor  can  perfect  responsibility  exist  where  authority  is  divided. 

Finally,  it  may  be  asked  if  it  would  be  possible  for  the  United 
States  to  give  up  federalism  or  for  the  Unitea  Kingdom  to  adopt  it? 
This  question  I  shall  not  try  to  answer,  and  in  regard  to  it  I  shall 
make  but  one  suggestion.  The  drift  of  the  age  appears  to  be  toward 
democracy,  and  not  away  from  it.  So  it  may  be  possible  for  the  Gov- 
ernment of  the  United  States  to  grow  centralized  and  unitarian,  while 
it  is  impossible  for  the  British  Government  to  grow  decentralized  and 
federal. — ^0.  E.  Lowell,  in  The  Fortnightly  Beview. 


ON  A  SILVER  WEDDING. 

March  10, 1888. 

The  rapid  tide  of  gliding  years 
Flows  gently  by  this  Eoyal  home, 
Un  vexed  by  clouds  of  grief  and  tears 
Its  tranquil  seasons  come. 

To  one,  as  happy  and  more  great. 
Came  earlier  far,  the  dread  alarm, 
The  swift  immedicable  barm, 
The  icy  voice  of  Fate. 

The  gracious  father  of  his  race 
Heara  it,  too  soon,'and  dared  the  night; 
Death  coming  found  him  with  the  light 
Of  Sunshine  on  his  face. 


528  TEE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

He  left  his  widowed  Queen  to  move 
Alone  in  solitary  away, 
Alone,  throngh  her  long  after-day^ 
But  for  her  people's  love. 

Their  saintly  daughter,  sweet  and  mild. 
Drew  poison  from  her  darling's  breath; 
Their  young  son  trod  the  paths  of  death 
Far,  far  from  love  and  child. 

Nay,  now  by  the  Ausonian  sea, 
Daughter  of  England,  good  and  wise  t 
Thou  watchest,  with  sad  anxious  eyes, 
Thy  flower  of  chivalry ! 

But  this  fair  English  home  no  shade 
Of  deeper  sorrow  comes  to  blot, 
No  grief  for  dear  ones  who  are  not, 
Nor  voids  which  years  have  made. 

One  sickness  only,  when  its  head 
Lay  long  weeks,  wrestling  sore  with  death, 
And  pit3ring  England  held  her  breath 
Despairing,  round  his  bed. 

No  regal  house  of  crowned  state. 
Nor  lonely  as  the  homes  of  kings 
Where  the  slow  hours  on  leaden  wings 
Oppress  the  friendless  great. 

But  lit  with  dance  and  song  and  mirth, 
And  graceful  Art,  and  thought  to  raise, 
Crushed  down  by  long  laborious  days, 
The  toiler  from  the  earth. 

Its  Lord  an  English  noble,  strong 
For  public  cares,  for  homely  joys, 
A  Prince  among  the  courtly  throng, 
A  brother  with  his  boys. 

Who  his  Sire's  footsteps  loves  to  tread, 
In  prudent  schemes  for  popular  good ; 
And  strives  to  raise  the  multitude, 
Bemembering  the  dead. 


ON  A  SILVER  WEDDING. 

And  having  seen  how  far  and  wide 
Flies  England's  flag,  by  land  and  sea, 
Would  bind  in  wilSng  unity 
Her  strong  sons  side  by  side. 

Its  gentle  mistress,  fair  and  sweet, 
A  girlish  mother,  clothed  with  grace^ 
With  only  summer  on  her  face, 
Howe'er  the  swift  years  fleet. 

Who  was  the  Vision  of  our  youth 
Who  is  the  Exemplar  of  our  prime, 
Sweet  lady,  breathing  Love  and  Truth^ 
With  charms  which  vanquish  Time* 

Good  sons  in  flowering  manhood  firee. 
Girls  fair  in  budding  womanhood, 
An  English  household  bright  and  good, 
A  thousand  such  there  be  1 

Great  Heaven,  how  brief  our  Summers  show  I 
And  fleeting  as  the  flying  Spring  I 
The  almonds  blush,  the  throstles  sing, 
The  vernal  wind-flowers  blow. 

And  yet  'tis  five-and-twenty  years. 
Since  those  March  violets  aewy,  sweety 
Were  strewn  before  the  maiden's  feet| 
Amidst  a  people's  cheers. 

And  mile  on  mile  the  acclaiming  crowd 
Surged  round  her,  and  the  soft  Spring  air 
Witn  loy  bells  reeled,  and  everywhere 
Boarea  welcome  deep  and  loud 

While  this,  our  trivial  life  to-day, 
Loomed  a  dim  perilous  landscape  strange, 
Hid  by  thick  mists  of  Time  ana  Change, 
Unnumbered  leagues  away. 

Long  years  I  lone  years  t  and  yet  how  nigli 
The  dead  Past  shows,  and  still  how  far 
The  Future's  hidden  glimpses  are 
From  mortal  brain  and  eye. 


530  TEE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

What  secrets  here  shall  Time  unfold? 
What  fates  befall  this  gracious  home  ? 
Shall  to-day's  festal  once  more  come, 
Bipened  with  time  to  gold  ? 

Heaven  send  it  I    Close-knit  hearts  are  heiOi 
Not  that  old  hate  of  sire  and  heir, 
Here  .flourish  homely  virtues  fair, 
And  love  that  conquers  fear. 

For  these  may  Fortune  grant  again 
Their  Sovereign's  large  and  blameless  life, 
Unmarred  bv  care,  undimmed  by  strife, 
Less  touched  than  Hers  by  pain  I 

High  set  above  the  noise  and  dust 
Of  Faction,  and  contented  still 
To  guide  aright  the  popular  will, 
By  sympathy  and  trust  I 

Through  civic  wisdom  temperate, 
And  forethought  for  the  general  need. 
Keeping  midst  change  of  politic  creed, 
A  Tnrone,  a  People  great  I 


Lewis  MoBBiB. 


MYSTICAL  PESSIMISM  IN  RUSSIA. 

I. 

Pessimism  is  a  characteristic  feature  of  all  those  epochs  of  history 
in  which  the  mass  of  human  suffering  is  at  a  maximum,  and  moral 
aspirations  are  entirely  out  of  harmony  with  social  conditions.  In- 
volved in  an  unequal  conflict  with  their  surroundings,  men  come  to 
regard  life  as  a  terrible  burden,  and  seek  refti^e  in  suicide,  or  in 
strange,  mystical,  and  extravagant  theories  of  society.  Bussia  is  now 
passing  through  such  a  period ;  and  it  is  the  resultant  pessimism  and 
]joetic  melancholy  which  have  attracted  so  much  interest  in  Europe 
during  the  past  few  years.  A  society  in  which  the  most  remarkable 
writers  fall  into  the  mystico-moral  asceticism,  like  Count  Leo  Tolstoi, 
or  into  orthodox  fanaticism  like  Dostoievsky,  or  into  Panslavist  mys- 
ticism like  Aksakoflf,  is  an  unhealthy  society — a  society  which  has,  in 
a  certain  degree,  lost  its  intellectual  eq^uilibriumt 


MYSTICAL  FE881MJ8M  IN  MUSSlA.  531 

Russian  life  offers  as  vast  a  field  to  One  psychologist  as  to  the  phil- 
osopher. In  it  are  to  be  found  rapid  revulsions,  from  despairing  mater- 
ialism to  sombre  mysticism  or  to  spiritualism.  To  day  educated 
people  bow  before  the  peasant,  make  him  their  ideal,  carry  themselves 
off  m  crowds  into  the  country  so  as  to  share  the  labors  and  privatioud 
of  the  common  people ;  ana  then  to-morrow  they  suddenly  abandon 
liim  and  betake  themselves  enthusiastically  to  revolutionary  conspira- 
cies. Later  on  comes  the  turn  of  Slavophile  Chauvinism,  of  the 
abstract  cloudy  ideas  of  Socialism ;  and  agam  suddenly  faith  in  yester- 
day's ideal  vanishes,  and  all  is  apathy  and  despair. 

The  spread  of  Freemasonry  and  of  mystical  pietism  in  Eussia  at 
the  end  of  the  last  and  the  beginning  of  the  present  century  is  well- 
known.  The  archives  of  the  tribunals  show  that  princes  and  noble 
ladies,  officers,  state  officials,  and.  simple  serfs  joined  the  sect  of  the 
"Chri8ts"and  the  "  Skoptsy."  The  most  aristocratic  houses  were 
open  to  the  apostles  of  these  mystical  sects.  Noble  families,  such  as 
those  of  the  Princes  Meshchersky,  Golovine,  Sheremetieff,  and  others, 
protected  the  Skoptsjr  (mutilators),  permitted  themselves  to  be  drawn 
away  by  their  teaching  and  rites,  built  chapels,  carried  on  a  propo* 
ganda,  and  gave  asylum  to  a  crowd  of  fanatics.  People  of  all  ranks  of 
society  took  part  in  the  meetings  of  the  sectaries  with  unrestrained 
dancing,  contortions,  and  hysteric  sobbings. 

The  most  fanatical  and  barbarous  section  of  the  "Christs" — ^the 
Skoptsy — ^has  made  a  great  number  of  proselytes  even  quite  lately 
amon^  the  class  of  rich  tradespeople  in  St.  Petersburg  and  Moscow. 
This  fascination  for  the  sect  of  tne  Dkoptsy  formed  the  point  of  depart- 
ure for  a  series  of  sects  and  confraternities  which  gathered  round  Uiem 
a  large  mass  of  people.  Such  a  sect  was  that  of  Colonel  Doobowits, 
which,  towards  tne  end  of  1860,  spread  through  the  higher  circles  of 
society  and  preached  mortification  of  the  flesh ;  such  was  also,  later 
on,  the  sect  of  the  "Apostles  of  the  Last  Days,"  preaching  the  end  of 
the  world ;  and  lastly,  the  pietistic  sect  of  Lord  Badstock,  which  has 
in  recent  days  made  a  crowd  of  converts,  among  whom  are  two  verv 
zealous  apostles,  the  celebrated  Hichard  Pashkoff  and  Aaron  Kom, 
both  exiles  from  their  country.  Nor  can  the  celebrated  Sussian  nov- 
elist, Count  Leo  Tolstoi,  be  passed  over  in  silence,  as  the  apostle  of  a 
new  Christian  religion  based  on  social  mysticism.  He  has  attracted 
a  considerable  portion  of  that  Russian  society  which,  owing  to  the 
entire  lack  of  political  and  social  careers  in  Bussia,  seeks  a  sphere  in 
various  mystico-social  theories.  To  suffer  wrong  without  resistance, 
not  to  judge,  not  to  kill ;  such  are  the  doctrines  preached  by  Count 
Tolstoi.  Therefore  there  must  be  no  more  tribunals,  no  more  armies, 
no  more  prisons.  The  law  of  the  world  is  to  struggle  for  existence ; 
the  law  of  Christ  is  to  sacrifice  existence  for  others.    The  Turk,  the 


532  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

German,  will  not  attack  us  if  W6  are  Christiaofl — if  we  do  them  good. 
Happiness  and  morality  will  only  be  possible  when  all  men  shall 
have  commanion  in  the  doctrines  of  Jesus  Christ,  shall  return  to  the 
natural  life,  to  community  of  goods.  Towns  must  be  deserted,  the 
people  set  free  from  the  factories,  all  must  return  to  the  country  and 
labor  there  with  their  own  hands,  each  man  having,  as  his  ideal,  him- 
self to  provide  for  all  his  wants. 

This  tendency  to  mysticism  has  been  demonstrated  during  the  last 
twenty  years  by  the  successes  of  spiritism  in  the  larger  cities  of  Bussia, 
such  as  St.  Petersburg,  Odessa,  Moscow,  Kiev,  etc.  Spiritist  societies 
are  always  increasing  in  number ;  table-turning  seances^  where  the 
spirits  of  ancient  poets,  warriors,  kin^s,  sages,  are  summoned  to  appear, 
attract  numbers  of  people.  Faith  m  sorcery  and  in  the  supernatural 
reigns  still  among  all  classes  of  society.  In  all  the  large  towns  one 
meets  with  a  great  number  of  people  who  gain  their  livelihood  by 
predicting  the  future,  or  by  practicing  chiromancy.  A  correspondent 
tells  of  a  simple  peasant  woman  in  the  province  of  Kostroma  who 
enjoys  immense  popularity  as  a  prophetess.  The  people  of  the  neigh- 
boring towns  and  villages  have  the  profoundest  respect  for  her,  and 
never  undertake  anything  fresh  without  consulting  her.  Young  men 
and  women,  old  men,  of&cials,  peasants,  come  from  all  sides  to  learn 
from  her  their  destiny,  or  to  ask  her  help  in  gaining  the  affections  of 
their  beloved. 

Up  to  the  present  day  a  belief  in  destiny  and  in  the  evil  eye  is  wide- 
spread. Quite  lately  the  Bussian  papers  nad  a  story  of  a  cniromatist 
who  had  a  great  reputation  in  the  city  of  Novgorod.  He  was  a  re- 
tired officer  in  the  Uhlans,  who  removed  hysteria  by  exorcising  the 
evil  spirit,  and  not  only  peasants  but  the  leisured  classes  believed  in 
the  sorceries  of  this  magician,  who  cured  by  cabalistic  formulaB  para- 
lytics, madmen,  drunkards,  and  women  of  bad  life. 

Now  if  these  psychic  phenomena  are  partially  the  outcome  of  ab- 
normal conditions  of  political  life  which  are  oppressive  in  Bussia,  they 
are  at  the  same  time  partially  the  resultants  of  the  influence  producea 
by  the  masses  on  the  comparatively  small  group  of  the  educated. 
Educated  society  in  Bussia  is  but  as  a  small  oasis  in  the  midst  of  the 
immense  desert  of  the  total  population,  ignorant,  superstitious,  un- 
happy. Mystery,  teri'or,  uncertainty  of  the  morrow  have  so  wrecked 
the  nerves  of  the  people  that  hysterical  epidemics  are  frequent,  and 
men  and  women  scream  like  demoniacs,  are  convulsed,  throw  tbem- 
selve»^n  the  ground,  announce  the  end  of  the  world,  quit  their  fields 
and  flee  to  desert  places,  where  they  seek  solitude  and  salvation. 

For  more  than  nfly  years  past  there  has  been  observable  among  the 
Bussians  a  sort  of  religious  fermentation,  taking  the  form  of  different 
sects,  which  number  millions  of  adherents,  all  in  quest  of  "  truth,"  of 


MYBTtCAL  PESSIMISM  IN  RUSSIA.  533 

"  the  true  God,"  and  of  "  salvation."  And  if  pessimism  is  a  character 
istic  mark  of  all  Russian  life,  it  is  in  certain  mystic  sects  that  it  shows 
itself  particularly  strong.  In  these  we  see  pessimism  reach  its  fur- 
thest Dounds,  go  so  far  as  to  abnegate  life  itself,  often  to  the  point  of 
suicide.  They  say  the  world  is  plunged  in  sin,  virtue  has  disappearecl, 
the  devil  reigns  over  the  earth,  evil  triumphs  everywhere ;  the  only 
means  of  salvation  is  to  renounce  society,  to  reorgamze  social  life  on  a 
new  basis,  or  voluntarily  to  embrace  death. 

I  am  going  to  describe  one  of  these  sects,  which  may  give  an  idea 
of  this  religious  and  moral  fermentation  in  the  breast  of  the  Eussian 
people. 

n. 

In  the  province  of  Perm,  on  the  other  side  of  the  Kama,  in  the 
depths  of  the  forests,  there  was  enacted  about  twenty  years  ago  a  ter- 
rible drama,  the  principal  actor  in  which  was  a  peasant  named  Khod- 
kine.  Khodkine  was  to  a  certain  degree  an  educated  man ;  he  was 
passionately  addicted  to  reading,  and  spent  most  of  his  time  over 
religious  books,  which  he  expounded  after  his  own  fashion.  He  soon 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  end  of  the  world  was  at  hand.  lie 
plunged  more  and  more  deeply  into  these  ideas  as  he  contemplated  the 
unsatisfactory  state  of  things  surrounding  him — on  the  one  hand,  the 
degradation  of  the  moral  tone  of  the  people,  their  drunkenness,  their 
debasement  of  manners ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  violence  and 
tyranny  of  the  authorities  who,  arrogant  and  cruel,  treat  the  people 
like  a  herd  of  cattle.  Khodkine  ended  by  persuading  himself  that  the 
only  way  to  save  one's  soul  was  to  leave  the  world,  to  hide  in  a  forest, 
and  make  an  end  of  this  life  of  sin  and  ignomy.  He  did  not  conceal 
his  views  from  his  neighbors,  and  he  soon  haa  devoted  disciples,  the 
first  of  whom  were  members  of  his  own  family — ^his  mother,  brother, 
sister-in-law,  and  uncle.  "  Antichrist  is  already  come,  and  goes  to  and 
fro  in  the  earth,"  taught  Khodkine ;  "  the  end  of  the  world  is  at  hand, 
let  us  fly  into  the  forests,  bury  ourselves  alive,  and  die  of  hunger." 

Once  in  the  woods  the  men  set  themselves  to  dig  out  actual  cata- 
combs, while  the  women  made  dead-clothes.  These  preparations  lasted 
through  three  days.  All  the  disciples,  dressed  in  these  clothes,  had 
three  several  times  to  renounce  Satan  and  all  his  works.  The  cere- 
mony of  abjuration  over,  Khodkine  addressed  them  in  the  following 
words :  "Now  that  you  have  renounced  Satan,  you  must  die  of  hunger. 
If  you  take  no  nounshment,  if  you  drink  no  water  for  twelve  days,  you 
will  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  heaven."  Then  began  the  interminable 
days  of  horrible  suflfering  for  these  wretches.  Tortured  by  hunger  and 
thirst,  the  women  and  children  cried  loudly  for  a  few  drops  of  water. 
The  children's  sufferings  touched  the  hearts  of  some  of  the  fanatics, 


534  TBE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

who  knelt  to  their  chief  praying  him  to  have  pity  on  these  little  ones. 
Bat  Khodkine  was  immoyable.  Tears,  prayers,  and  suffering  did  not 
touch  him,  and  the  children  writhed  in  agony,  suokine  the  grass,  chew- 
ing fern  fronds,  or  swallowing  sand.  Two  of  the  mnatics  could  not 
endure  the  sight,  and  fled  during  the  darkness  of  the  night.  This 
frightened  Khodkine,  and  he  resolved  to  hasten  the  death  which  was 
so  long  in  coming.  "  The  hour  of  death  has  come :  are  you  ready  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  We  are  ready,"  replied  the  unhappy  people,  all  their 
strength  exhausted.  Then  they  bc^ao  to  massacre  the  children.  The 
bodies  of  the  victims  were  buriea  in  the  earth,  and  the  survivors 
decided  to  continue  their  fast.  But  the  Aigitives  had  had  time  to 
warn  the  police,  and  they  came  to  the  place.  Hearing  the  steps  of 
men  .approaching,  and  being  unwilling  to  give  themselves  up  alive 
into  the  hands  of  the  servants  of  Antichrist,  the  fanatics  reached  the 
height  of  their  religious  madness,  swore  to  shed  their  blood  for  Christy 
and  abandoned  themselves  to  horrible  carnage.  They  begauby  killing 
the  women  with  hatchets,  then  they  put  an  end  to  the  men  most 
weakened  by  hunger,  and  the  leader,  Khodkine,  and  three  others  were 
the  sole  survivors.  They  saw  the  police  and  tried  to  escape  into  the 
forest,  but  were  caught  and  delivered  into  the  hands  of  justice. 

This  case  of  religious  fanaticism  is  unhappily  not  unique  in  Bussia. 
I  doubt  whether  any  other  country  shows  so  great  a  number  of  sui- 
cides, both  of  numbers  together  and  of  isolated  individuals.  I  will 
only  notice  in  passing  the  suicidal  epidemics  of  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries,  provoked  by  religious  persecutions.  According 
to  contemporaneous  statistics  1700  persons  in  the  province  of  Pamboy 
alone  killed  themselves  in  a  fit  of  fanaticism  in  1679.  In  the  next  year, 
in  the  province  of  laroslav,  1920  peasants  burned  themselves  alive  in 
order  to  escape  the  claws  of  Satan.  Five  years  later  2700  persons  burned 
and  otherwise  killed  themselves  in  a  convent  in  Olonets.  In  the  first  half 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  according  to  official  reports,  about  2000  persons 
burned  themselves  in  different  parts  of  Bussia,  the  suicides  always 
taking  place  by  the  100  or  200  together.  Suicide  by  fire  has  not  dis- 
appeared, in  spite  of  the  progress  of  civilization  in  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury. Thus,  in  1812,  all  the  inhabitants  of  a  village  threw  themselves, 
for  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation  of  their  souls,  on  wood  piles 
prepared  by  themselves.  Again,  quite  lately,  in  1860,  fifteen  sectaries 
in  the  province  of  Olonets  devoted  themselves  to  death  in  one  house. 
I  will  not  speak  of  the  numerous  cases  of  solitary  suicide  by  fire,  the 
axe,  or  starvation. 

Poverty  and  ignorance,  irritation,  the  sickly  condition  of  mind  and 
of  nerves  of  the  people,  give  rise  to  a  number  of  mystic  religious  sects, 
whose  founders  wander  from  village  to  village  preaching  tne  coming 
end  of  the  world,  and  the  necessity  of  fleeing  from  ain  fml  from  per^ 


MYSTICAL  PESSIMISM  IN  BUSSIA.  635 

dition*    Discontented  with  life,  seeking  relief  from  the  doubts  which 

f)ress  upon  him,  the  peasant  receives  these  preachers  with  joy,  and 
istens  to  their  teaching  with  avidity. 

Among  a  great  number  of  religious  preachers,  one  above  all,  the 
monk  Falard,  enjoyed  great  popularity.  He  preached  on  the  banks 
of  the  Volga,  not  many  years  ago,  that  the  sole  mode  of  salvation  for 
man  was  voluntary  death.  "  It  is  impossible,"  said  he,  "  to  continue 
to  live  in  this  world  immersed  in  sin  and  falsehood.  We  must  seek 
safety  in  death;  we  must  die  for  Christ."  This  barbarous  teaching 
found  numbers  of  disciples,  who  attached  themselves  to  the  monk 
with  the  fixed  intention  of  dying.  One  night  eighty-four  persons  met 
in  a  cavern  prepared  beforehana  near  a  river.  Straw  and  faggots  had 
been  accumulated  there  that  they  might  perish  in  the  flames,  should 
the  police  succeed  in  discovering  their  projects.  These  preparations 
being  made,  the  fanatics  began  to  fast  and  pray.  Happily  one  of  the 
women  present,  who  had  doubts  as  to  the  efficacy  of  suicide,  profiting 
by  the  darkness  of  the  night,  hid  herself,  and  fled  to  a  village,  where 
she  told  the  authorities  what  bad  happened.  The  inhabitants  went  to 
the  cavern,  the  entrance  to  which  was  guarded  by  one  of  the  sectaries, 
who  gave  the  alarm.  "  Antichrist  is  coming  I  Fly !  Let  us  not  give 
ourselves  up  living  into  the  hands  of  our  enemies  I "  cried  the  fanatics, 
setting  fire  to  the  straw.  The  peasaifts  tried  to  put  out  the  flames. 
A  terrible  struggle  followed.  The  police  and  the  peasants  strove  to 
snatch  these  wretches  from  the  flames,  but  they  defended  themselves, 
wrestled  with  their  rescuers,  threw  themselves  anew  into  the  fire,  and 
slew  themselves  with  hatchets.  "  We  die  for  Christ  I "  was  heard  on 
all  sides.  Still  a  considerable  portion  of  these  fanatics  were  saved. 
But  the  affair  did  not  end  thus.  One  of  the  condemned,  a  peasant 
named  Touschkoff*,  escaped  from  prison  and  continued  to  propagate 
doctrines  of  suicide.  His  teachinff  was  very  successful.  More  than 
sixty  persons  in  the  same  locality  decided  to  give  themselves  to  a  vol- 
untary death.  Among  them  were  whole  families,  fathers,  mothers, 
children.  They  no  longer  chose  the  forest  to  carry  out  their  design, 
but  on  a  day  fixed  beforehand  the  massacre  took  place  in  the  peasants' 
iTAa,  Peasant  P.  entered  the  house  of  his  neighbor  N.,  killed  his  wife 
and  children ;  then,  still  armed  with  his  hatcnet,  he  entered  the  barn 
where  other  fanatics  were  waiting  for  him  with  their  wives,  who 
calmly  put  their  heads  on  the  block,  while  P.  played  the  part  of  exe- 
cutioner. Then  he  went  to  another  iaba^  that  of  the  peasant  woman 
W.,  and  killed  her  and  her  kinswomen,  while  an  accomplice  killed 
their  children.  Then  the  accomplice  put  his  head  on  the  olock,  beg- 
ing  P.  to  cut  it  off.  P.  in  his  turn  was  killed  by  the  peasant  T. 
hirty-five  persons  thus  perished.  A  woman  passing  by  was  tarified 
at  the  spectacle  and  ran  quickly  to  give  the  alarm. 


¥ 


636  TffE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

It  is  true  that  maasacres  en  masse  for  a  religious  motive  are  becom- 
ing more  and  more  rare.  But  individual  suicides,  committed  in  order 
to  save  the  soul  and  deserve  heavenly  blessedness,  are  yet  sufficiently 
frequent.  Beligious  fanaticism  often  manifests  itself  under  the  form 
of  human  sacrifice.  Thus,  in  1870,  a  peasant  woman,  A.  K.,  living  in 
a  village  in  the  province  of  Perm,  offered  her  only  daughter  in  sacri- 
fice to  God.  She  belonged  to  one  of  the  numerous  mystic  sects,  and 
her  meditations  led  her  to  the  conclusion  that  the  only  way  to  save 
her  child  from  sin  was  to  kill  it.  To  accomplish  this  purpose  she 
took  advantage  of  the  absence  of  all  the  family,  went  to  the  burning 
stove  and  threw  her  child  in.  A  few  minutes  later,  having  satisfied 
herself  that  the  child  was  burnt,  she  began  to  pray  to  God,  and  then 
betook  herself  to  her  daily  occupations.  When  she  was  arrested,  she 
confessed  all  calmly,  ana  said  she  had  merely  performed  her  duty 
to  God  and  her  conscience,  and  that  she  did  not  regret  what  she  had 
done. 

These  solitary  crimes  occur  firequently,  and  from  time  to  time  we 
find  them  told  in  the  newspapers.  It  is  useless  to  enumerate  them 
all ;  I  content  myself  with  one  remarkable  case.  One  of  the  modes 
of  religious  suicide  that  is  most  widely  spread  among  the  sectaries  is 
crucifixion.  A  dozen  years  ago  a  sectary  in  Siberia,  having  long 
studied  the  Bible,  ended  by  discovering  that  to  save.one*s  soul  it  was 
necessary  to  endure  the  same  sufferings  as  Jesus  Christ.  Wishing  to 
die  on  the  cross,  he  cut  down  a  tree,  made  a  cross,  fastened  it  up 
against  the  wall  of  his  hut,  and  then,  having  provided  nails  and  a 
hammer,  set  himself  to  perform  the  diflScult  operation.  He  first  nailed 
his  feet,  and  then  his  left  arm,  and  then,  as  he  could  not  nail  the  right 
arm,  he  drove  a  nail  into  the  cross  and  impaled  his  hand  upon  it.  In 
this  situation  his  neighbors  found  him  next  day,  took  him  down,  and 
carried  him  half  dead  to  the  hospital. 

m. 

The  interesting  sect  of  "  Negators "  offers  to  us  the  spectacle  of 
another  spjecies  of  religious  pessimism.  The  doctrines  of  this  sect 
push  the  idea  of  Nihilism  and  of  negation  to  their  extremest  limit. 
The  members  lead  a  life  of  vagabondage,  and  pass  the  larger  portion 
of  their  existence  in  prison.  Government  thinks  their  doctrines  dan- 
gerous to  public  safety,  and  subjects  them  to  the  most  rigorous  punish- 
ments. Let  us  take  as  a  type  of  this  sect  a  certain  merchant  named 
Shishkin.  In  his  search  for  truth  he  four  times  changed  his  sect,  and 
finally  became  persuaded  that  all  religion  was  error  and  lying.  He 
addicted  himself  to  the  study  of  the  sacred  Scriptures,  and  tnought  he 
perceived  that  they  were  not  in  accord  with  human  nature,  and  then 


MYSTICAL  PESSIMISM  IK  BVSSIA.  637 

he  came  to  repudiate  all  ideas  of  God  and  religion,  as  well  as  all 
human  institutions,  all  authority,  covemment,  and  society.  He  was 
promptly  arrested  and  imprisoned,  and  all  his  property  confiscated. 
He  refused  to  justify  himself  or  to  avail  himself  of  legal  help  for  his 
defence,  persisted  in  his  opinions,  and  continued  to  preach  in  the 
prison.  Here  is  a  curious  specimen  of  his  answers  to  the  juge  cTin- 
stntciion: 

Judge :  "  Who  are  you?  " 

Prisoner  ;  '*  Don't  yon  see  Pm  a  man  ?    Aie  70a  blind  ? '' 

J.:  "What  is  your  religion?'' 

P«  *  **  I  have  none." 

J.  :  "  What  God  do  you  believe  in  ?  '^ 

P.  :  **  I  don't  believe  in  any  Gk>d.  God  belongs  to  yon,  to  you  people.  It  was  you 
who  invented  Him.     I  don't  want  Him." 

J. :  "Do  yon  worship  the  DevU  then  ?"  (with  some  irritation). 

P. :  "I  worship  neither  God  nor  Devil,  because  I  have  no  need  of  prayer.  The 
Devil  is  also  an  invention  of  yours.  Qod  and  the  Devil  are  yours,  as  well  as  the 
Czar,  the  priests,  and  Government  officials.  You  are  all  children  of  the  same  £Eiiher. 
I  am  not  one  of  you,  and  I  vrish  to  know  nothing  of  you." 

Each  for  himself  say  these  sectaries ;  there  is  neither  right,  nor  duty, 
nor  social  or  political  or  religious  hierarchy.  Man,  abandoned  to  his 
natural  instincts,  without  hindrance  from  government,  will  be  irresist- 
ibly impelled  towards  truth  and  equity.  They  deny,  without  excep- 
tion, all  rights  of  property,  and  recognize  no  form  of  social  organiza- 
tion. For  them,  marriage,  the  family,  social  duties,  do  not  exist ;  they 
live  in  a  fantastic  world  of  liberty  without  limit,  and  despise  all  that 
surrounds  them. 

For  example,  if  any  one  asked  Shishkin  for  anything  whatever,  he 
would  give  it  them  at  once ;  only  it  absolutely  must  be  something 
useful,  food,  clothes,  or  money  for  vital  needs,  &c.  But  he  would  not 
give  a  halfpenny  foif  tobacco,  wine,  or  such  like  things.  "  I  should 
prefer  to  throw  the  money  out  of  the  window  rather  than  help  you  to 
poison  yourself  with  tobacco,"  he  answers  to  those  who  ask  him  for 
money  to  indulge  that  habit.  If  any  one  thanks  him,  he  answers, 
"  What  a  stupid  word  1  You  have  received  what  you  wanted ;  you 
have  eaten ;  well,  now  go." 

These  sectaries  are  advocates  of  all  that  is  natural ;  they  never 
shave  or  cut  their  hair,  they  drink  no  spirits  and  do  not  smoke,  so  as 
not  to  spoil  the  natural  beauty  of  the  intellectual  faculties.  They 
dream  of  a  life  in  which  each  should  work  for  himself,  satisfying  his 
wants  with  the  productions  of  the  earth,  and  making  for  himself  all 
necessary  articles.  What  is  over  ought  to  be  given  to  those  who  are 
in  want.  They  entertain  a  profound  hatred  for  all  compulsory  work, 
under  all  forms.  They  never  go  into  service,  even  if  threatened  with 
death ;    and  they  employ  no  servants.    When  Shishkin  was  in  prison 


538  TffE  lIMASr  MAGAZINE, 

tliey  shaved  him  and  tried  to  compel  him  to  work ;  but  he  utterly 
refused,  saying,  ^'  You  have  taken  me  by  force.  I  did  not  ask  you  to 
shut  me  up.  So  now  you  ought  to  feed  me  and  to  work  for  me."  It 
was  of  no  use  to  flog  him,  to  chain  him  to  a  wheelbarrow,  to  shut  him 
up  in  a  dungeon,  to  give  him  only  bread  and  water — it  had  no  effect. 
He  remained  immovable. 

These  sectaries  do  not  allow  of  the  exchange  of  products  or  df  tcade. 
"  If  you  want  anything  and  I  can  give  it  you,  take  it.  When  I  in  my 
turn  want  anything,  you  will  give  it  me."  They  preach  free  love,  and 
do  not  recognize  marriage.  They  consider  women  to  be  independent 
beings,  equal  to  men,  free  to  choose  lovers  and  occupations  according 
to  taste.    They  replace  the  word  wife  by  friend. 

A  man,  a  woman,  and  a  child  were  brought  before  a  judge  accused 
of  belonging  to  the  sect  of  Negators. 

"Is  this  your  wife?"  asked  the  judge.  ''No,  she  is  notmy  wi^"  "Bntyoo 
live  with  her  ?  "  "  Tes ;  hat  she  is  not  mineb  She  is  her  own.**  ^  Is  this  your  hus- 
band ? ''  "  No ;  he  is  not  my  husband,"  answered  the  woman.  *'  But  how  is  it, 
then  ?''  asks  the  judge,  astonished.  ^  I  need  him  and  he  needs  me.  that  is  all ;  bat 
we  each  belpng  to  ourselves,"  answered  the  woman.  *'And  this  little  girl,  is  she 
yours? "  continues  the  judge.  "  No.  She  is  of  our  blood,  bnt  she  does  bdong  to  ns 
but  to  herself."  '*  But  are  yon  mad,  then  ?  "  cried  the  magistrate,  out  of  patience. 
"  This  cloak  that  yon  are  wearing,  is  that  yours?  "  *'  No,  it  is  not  mine,"  answered 
the  sectary.  '*  Why  do  you  wear  it  then  ?  "  '*  I  wear  it  because  yon  have  not  taken 
it  from  me.  This  cloak  was  on  the  hack  of  some  one  else,  now  it  is  on  mine,  perhaps 
to-morrow  it  will  be  on  yonrs.  How  can  you  expect  me  to  know  to  wh<mi  it  belongs  ? 
Nothing  belongs  to  me  but  my  thought  and  my  reason."    And  so  on. 

The  words  "  faith,"  "  power,"  "  law,"  "  usage,"  inspire  them  with 
profound  horror.  Under  no  pretext  do  they  have  recourse  to  the  pro- 
tection of  the  magistrate,  preferring  to  suffer  with  patience.  To 
appeal  to  the  law  for  protection  would  be  to  recognize  it,  to  submit  to 
social  institutions ;  but  to  submit  to  law  is  to  destroy  one's  individu- 
ality, which  should  rest  for  its  support  only  on  the  individual  con- 
science and  personal  convictions. 

It  must  DC  added  that  they  do  not  believe  in  the  life  of  the  other 
world  and  the  rewards  of  the  future  life.    They  hold  that  man  is 
immortalized  only  in  posterity,  in  behalf  of  which  he  spends  his  moral         ' 
and  physical  force. 


IV. 


About  twenty-five  years  ago  a  new  naystical  sect  appeared  in  Boa- 
sia,  called  the  "  Jumpers  "  {Prigoony).  The  Caucasus  and  the  neigh- 
boring countries  serve  as  the  place  of  exile  to  which  Government  sends 
hardened  and  recalcitrant  dissenters,  fearing  their  demoralizing  inflo* 
ence  on  the  masses  of  the  Eussian  people.    There  are  to  be  met  r^ 


I 


MYSTICAL  PESaiMlSM  tN  BVB&IA,  63fi 

resentatives  of  all  the  Russian  secta — Molokanes,  Skoptsys,  Vaga- 
bonds, &c.  There,  because  at  so  great  a  distance  firom  the  centre  of 
goyemment,  and  because  the  whole  country  is  in  a  semi-savage  con- 
dition, the  sectaries  find  greater  liberty  to  arrange  their  lives  accord- 
ing to  the  precepts  of  tbeir  relision,  and  they  take  advantage  of  this 
to  carry  on  an  active  propaganda  among  the  natives  and  the  Russian 
colonists.  It  was  among  this  population  of  sectaries  that  the  new  sect 
of  Prigoony  arose  and  carriea  fanaticism  and  religious  ecstasy  to  the 
highest  point  It  soon  invaded  several  villages  and  attracted  a  num- 
ber of  people  to  its  doctrine.  Its  principal  apostle  called  himself  Ood, 
and  taught  chiefly  that,  since  the  end  of  the  world  was  at  hand,  all 
must  prepare  for  it  by  repentance  and  purification  from  past  sin  by 
confession  to  the  elect  of  God.  The  enthusiasm  aroused  by  this  teach- 
ing was  such  that  the  new  disciples  left  their  work  ana  devoted  all 
their  time  to  prayer,  and  to  listening  to  sermons  and  instructive  dis- 
courses. The  principal  dogma  of  this  sect  is  the  descent  of  the  Holy 
Spirit  upon  believers.  This  descent  takes  place  only  upon  the  elect 
during  religious  meetings,  and  takes  place  continually  only  upon  two 
or  three  persons  in  eacn  meeting.  Habitually  it  occurs  only  at  the 
end  of  a  meeting  when  all  have  been  suitably  prepared  by  praver. 
The  signs  of  His  presence  are  chiefly  an  unusual  pallor  of  the  race, 
quickened  breath,  then  a  swaying  of  the  whole  body,  then  the  per- 
sons begin  to  tap  rhythmically  with  their  feet,  and  then  follow  jump- 
ings  and  violent  contortions,  and  in  the  end  they  fall  heavily  to  the 
ground. 

All  this  does  not  always  follow  in  the  same  order.  Some  of  the 
believers  sway,  and  then,  springing  on  the  benches,  begin  to  jump. 
Others  fall  from  the  benches  to  the  floor,  and  there  remain  stretched 
out  for  a  whole  hour  or  more.  Others  march  round  the  table  with 
theatrical  stride  shaken  by  hysteric  sobs.  And  while  twirling  in  their 
places^  throwing  themselves  about,  falling  on  the  ground,  or  raising 
themselves,  again,  they  retain  a  fixed  look  of  great  solemnity  and 
seriousness  imprinted  on  their  faces.  The  meeting  ends  with  a 
fraternal  greeting,  the  teachers  and  apostles  embracinff  each  other  and 
then  retiring  to  the  opposite  sides  of  the  room.  Then  the  brothers 
and  sisters  come  to  them  successively,  throw  themselves  on  the  ground 
three  times  before  them  and  embrace  them  three  times.  This  frater- 
nal greeting  lasts  sometimes  an  hour  or  two,  and  the  number  of  kisses 
each  brother  and  sister  receives  reaches  a  hundred  or  more. 

The  Prigoonys  and  many  other  Russian  sects  found  their  teaching 
on  the  free  exposition  of  tne  Old  and  New  Testaments,  and  consider 
themselves  the  only  true  Christians.  A  pessimist  view  of  this  world 
as  plunged  in  sin  and  irreligion,  and  an  austere  asceticism,  are  the 
essentid^  features  of  their  faith.    They  eat  no  pork,  even  abstain  from 


MO  TMJS  LlBBAUr  MAGAZINE, 

every  other  meat,  do  not  smoke,  do  not  drink.  The  most  innocent 
pleasures— dancing,  singing,  &c. — ^are  severely  forbidden.  All,  young 
and  old,  spend  their  time  in  prayer,  reading  psalms,  pious  conversa- 
tion, and  religious  ecstasy.  All  religious  ceremonial  is  forbidden,  such 
ceremonies  as  baptism,  marriage,  and  burial  being  performed  without 
the  help  of  clergy  in  the  presence  of  the  whole  community.  The 
Bible  is  read,  a  discourse  delivered,  a  prayer,  and  that  is  all. 

This  sect  of  Prigoony,  which  has  spread  so  rapidly  in  Southern 
Russia,  is  divided  into  two  groups,  distinguishable  by  the  degree  of 
their  mysticism  and  religious  ecstasy.  One  is  called  '*  Children  of 
Sion,"  and  its  members  live  in  solitary  houses,  and,  while  waiting  for 
the  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  they  scourge  themselves  pitilessly 
to  the  accompaniment  of  desperate  jumps,  cries,  and  savage  bowlings. 
When  their  strength  is  spent  they  fall,  rending  their  clothes  and  tear- 
ing out  their  hair.  If  the  Spirit  lingers  long  the  Children  of  Sion 
seek  to  hasten  His  coming  by  imposing  on  themselves  all  sorts  of 
penances.  They  begin  by  fasting  together,  and  go  without  food  for 
five  or  six  days,  letting  their  women  and  children  die  of  hunger. 
They  are  convinced  that  the  end  of  the  world  and  the  kingdom  of 
heaven  are  at  hand.  This  kingdom  will  be  called  the  kingdom  of 
Sion  and  will  last  a  thousand  years.  Its  head  will  be  Jesus  Christ, 
who  will  reiffn  together  with  the  prime  founder  of  the  sect,  Roudo- 
metkin.  Each  believer  has  a  right  to  two  wives,  who  will  accompany 
their  husband  to  the  kingdom  of  Sion. 

The  founder  of  the  sect,  followed  by  twelve  apostles  and  several 
women,  who  bore  the  title  of  queens,  went  from  village  to  village 
preaching  this  religion.  The  humble  disciples  received  him  with 
respect,  and  during  his  stay  solemn  prayers  were  offered  up  and  scenes 
from  the  sacred  story  were  represented.  In  moments  of  anger,  when 
he  was  displeased  with  his  apostles,  Roudometkin  threatened  to 
abandon  his  flock  and  fly  away  to  heaven.  Their  faith  in  him  was 
so  profound  that  the  crowd  cast  themselves  at  his  feet,  begging  him 
not  to  leave  them,  till  he  agreed  to  stay.  At  last,  Roudometkin  one 
day  crowned  himself,  in  the  village  of  Nikitino,  king  of  the  Christians, 
putting  on  a  crown  prepared  for  the  solemnity.  The  people^^  weakened 
with  fasting,  dancing,  and  excitement,  rejoiced,  saying  that  at  last 
their  "  spiritual  king  "  was  on  the  throne  which  belonged  to  him,  and 
determined  to  erect  a  column  in  remembrance  of  the  event ;  but  the 
police  interfered  and  forbade  the  execution  of  the  project. 

The  other  variety  of  the  sect  of  the  Jumpers  is  represented  by  the 
group  of  Communists.  This  group  is  less  mystical  than  the  former; 
but  is  considered  to  be  much  more  dangerous  to  social  and  political 
order,  because  its  teaching  is  founded  on  the  principles  of  Communism. 
like  the  "  Children  of  Sion,"  the  Communists  consider  themselves 


1 


MYSTICAL  PESSIMISM  IN  RUSSIA.  541 

the  only  true  Christians,  the  elect  i)eople  of  God,  chosen  to  spread 
the  religion  of  Christ  on  earth.  Like  the  others,  they  expect  the 
immediate  coming  of  the  millennium,  a  kingdom  in  which  tney  will 
occupy  a  first  place.  Dancing,  convulsions,  jumpings,  to  the  point  of 
delinum  and  complete  exhaustion,  form  the  biilk  of  their  religious 
services.  Besides  these,  those  present  at  the  meetings  choose  a  young 
man  of  five-and-twenty  and  a  girl  of  eighteen  to  represent  Christ  and 
the  Virgin.  After  prayer,  the  congregation  approach  this  Christ  and 
Virgin  one  by  one,  kneel  on  the  ground  before  them,  and  ask  pardon 
for  their  sins. 

The  founders  of  this  sect,  the  best  known  of  whom  is  the  peasant 
Maxime  Popoflf,have  imparted  to  their  disciples  the  following  princi- 
ples of  social  organization.  Each  village  is  to  be  an  independent 
commune,  divided  into  fraternal  groups,  inhabiting  a  separate  house. 
These  houses  are  to  be  built  by  and  at  the  expense  of  tne  commune. 
All  property  of  every  sort  belongs  to  the  "  fraternal  confederation," 
and  each  brother  has  a  right  to  an  "  equal "  part.  As  to  personal 
property  none  of  the  brothers  has  any  right  to  it.  In  each  group  a 
man  is  chosen  to  have  charge  of  the  clothes  and  shoes  of  the  whole 
group,  and  a  woman  to  see  to  the  quantity  of  the  bread  and  other 
food,  and  to  superintend  its  distribution  in  sufficient  quantities.  The 
commune  is  governed  by  certain  elected  members,  such  as  the  judge, 
the  master,  the  preacher,  &c.  All  field  work  and  housework  is  done 
in  turn  by  the  groups,  under  the  direction  of  head  men  chosen  before- 
hand. Each  commune  has  a  school,  which  all  the  children  are  obliged 
to  attend. 

Such  were  the  fundamental  principles  of  the  social  organization  of 
the  sect  of  Communists.  Its  founder,  Popoff,  a  rich  man,  gave  up  all 
his  property  to  the  commune,  and  by  that  attracted  a  numoer  of  dis- 
ciples to  his  side.  But  the  police,  alarmed  by  the  communistic  ten- 
dencies of  this  sect,  soon  arrested  Popoff,  kept  him  some  time  in 
prison,  and  then  exiled  him  to  one  of  tne  most  distant  provinces  of 
Siberia,  whence  he  never  returned.  The  disciples  endeavored  to 
organize  themselves.  They  elected  twelve  apostles,  at  whose  feet  they 
ofiered  up  all  their  goods,  and  made  a  common  purse.  But  this  com- 
munistic enthusiasm  did  not  last  long ;  the  brethren  had  not  reached 
the  level  of  Communist  principles  in  the  broad  sense  of  the  word,  and 
thev  split  up  into  small  groups  bound  by  common  interests,  spiritual 
ana  material,  and  by  the  duty  of  mutual  help. 

Several  villages  now  exist  in  the  Caucasus,  the  inhabitants  of  which 
belong  to  this  sect,  and  keep  more  or  less  to  the  Communist  organiza- 
tion. Their  fanatical  enthusiasm,  on  the  one  hand,  and  their  material 
well-being  and  prosperity,  on  the  other,  act  as  a  contagion  on  the  sur- 
rounding populations ;  and  the  Qovemment  takes  severe  measures  to 


642  THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

put  an  end  to  their  dangerous  propaganda,  and  entirely  forbids  their 
migration  from  one  place  to  another,  exiles  them  to  distant  provinces. 
But  all  this  only  widens  the  spread  of  the  sect,  the  fanatical  agents  of 
which  go  from  village  to  village  haranguing  the  people,  predicting 
the  end  of  the  world,  declaring  that  every  one  ought  to  prepare  for  it 
and  to  repent,  and  during  their  fits  of  excitement  they  jump,  sing 
strange  hymns,  tear  their  clothes,  and  finish  by  falling  senseless. 

There  are  in  Russia  a  great  variety  of  other  sects,  wnich  are  not  less 
curious  and  strange,  but  this  is  a  brief  description  of  some  religious 
sects  taken  haphazard.  The  facts  here  marshalled  would  seem  to 
prove,  to  a  certain  degree,  that  an  unhealthy  mental  fermentation  is  at 
work  among  the  Russian  people,  which,  at  this  critical  moment,  may 
reach  proportions  menacing  to  the  State  and  to  existing  civilization, 
and,  by  its  noxious  influence  on  the  civilized  classes,  may  give  a  quite 
novel  turn  to  the  social  and  intellectual  movement  which  is  taking 
place  in  Russian  society. — 'N.  Tsakni,  in  The  Contemporary  Review. 


THE  EXTRAORDINARY  CONDITION  OF  CORSICA. 

Most  Frenchmen,  and  a  good  many  other  people,  get  their  knowl- 
edge of  Corsica  fix>m  Golorriba.     M^rim^e  places  the  date  of  his  story 
about  1816,  and  writes  as  if  he  thought  that  the  state  of  things  which 
he  paints  was  fast  dying  out.     Ajaccio  has  become  a  winter  health- 
resort,  and  as  Corsicans  make  a  point  of  making  things  pleasant  for 
strangers,  no  tourist  has  the  least  idea  of  what  kind  of  country  he  is 
living  in,  and  what  sort  of  things  are  going  on  under  his  nose.     The 
French  Government,  and  especially  the  department  of  the  Procureur 
G^n^ral,  does  know,  and  it  is  a  scandal  tnat  the  Republic  has  made 
no  serious  eflfbrt  to  cope  with  a  state  of  things  which  would  disgrace  a 
Turkish  vilayet^  but  yet  are  carried  on  with  impunity  in  a  French 
Department.    The   Temps  newspaper,  the  editor  of  which  seems  to 
have  had  some  idea  of  wnat  was  going  on,  sent  a  special  correspondent, 
M.  Paul  Bourde,  to  Corsica  in  the  spring  of  last  year,  and  he  has  con- 
tributed the  result  of  his  experiences  in  a  series  of  letters  to  that 
journal.    He  has  been  careful  only  to  report  on  matters  which  he  ha 
personally  investigated  or  which  he  learned  on  trustworthy  evidence 
and,  as  he  savs,  has  con8e(^uently  left  out  much  that  was  curious,  bul 
wliat  he  discloses  is  startlmg  enough.     The  letters  are  interesting  as 
showing  the  extraordinary  state  in  which  Corsica  is,  socially  and  polil 
ically,  and  also  how  very  little  the  most  complicated  and  most  oemo 
cratic  institutions  can  protect  the  individual  against  the  influence  of « 
clicjue  in  power.    A  somewhat  similar  state  of  things  exists  in  the 


THE  EXTBAORDINABT  CONDITION  OF  CORSICA,  M3 

rural  commune  in  Italy,  and  has  been  vividly  described  by  Madame 
Galleti  de  Cadilhac  in  Our  Home  by  the  Adriatic^  a  work  which  has 
created  a  great  sensation  in  Italy;  bnt  the  social  condition  of  the 
Italian  Commune  but  faintly  reflects  that  of  the  Corsican  Commune, 
though  they  have  many  features  in  common.  In  both  the  concentra- 
tion of  all  local  authority  in  the  hands  of  a  clique  or  clan  makes  the 
manipulation  of  the  electorate  easy,  and  we  propose  to  show  in  the 
following  paper  by  what  iniquitous  dodges  this  is  managed.  In  one 
respect  Italy  has  the  advantage  of  Corsica,  for  there  brigandage  is  a 
thing  of  the  past,  and  only  occasional  instances  occur ;  but  in  Corsica 
in  the  spring  of  1887  there  were  upwards  of  600  bandits  at  large  I 

The  most  remarkable  fact  about  Corsica,  says  M.  Bourde,  is  a  social 
relationship  which  somewhat  resembles  that  of  the  ancient  Soman 
Patron  ana  Client.  About  fifteen  families  have  under  their  control  a 
certain  number  of  electors  who  vote  as  they  wish.  One  of  these  Cor- 
sican patrons  with  whom  M.  Bourde  stayed  thus  explained  his  rela- 
tions with  his  clients. 

"  In  my  flunily,  oat  of  four  farothen  one  only  is  married,  and  we  have  thns  avoided 
the  partition  of  the  property.  One  of  my  brothers  manages  it,  and  I,  as  eldest,  have 
the  political  direction.  I  give  np  my  life,  and  I  may  almost  say  our  6>rtnne,  to  the 
interests  of  onr  cUents,  and  they  in  retnni  give  ns  their  votes.  Oar  property  is  scat- 
tered over  about  a  dozen  'oommnnes,'  and  divided  np  into  numerous  small  holdings, 
let  to  about  fifty  tenants  on  very  easy  terms,  and  we  are  not  very  strict  about  exact- 
ing the  rent.  These  people,  whose  very  existence  depends  upon  us,  are  devoted  to  us, 
and  this  giyes  us  the  disposal  of  about  two  hundred  votes.  We  allow  other  tenants 
whose  lands  intermingle  with  ours  to  pasture  their  beasts  on  our  stubbles  and  uncul- 
tivated lands,  and  as  we  have  already  a  nudeus  of  supporters,  this  gives  us  about 
three  hundred  more  votes,  and  to  these  you  can  add  those  also,  who  either  from  rela- 
tionship or  firom  halnt,  vote  as  we  wish  them.  There  is  no  individual  independence 
in  Corsica.  Every  one  seeks  to  belong  to  a  clan,  in  order  to  be  able  to  count  on  the 
inflnence  of  his  clan  when  he  may  be  in  want  of  it  We  have  also  some  supporters 
who  side  with  us  because  they  hate  our  rivals,  but  the  number  of  these  increases  and 
diminishes  with  the  growth  or  decrease  of  our  influence." 

Soon  after  this  conversation  a  man  rode  into  the  courtyard  with  a 
small  barrel  of  wine.  The  host  received  him  cordially,  installed  him 
in  the  kitchen  and,  returning,  said  to  M.  Bourde,  ^^  i  ou  were  asking 
about  the  relationship  of  the  patron  and  client ;  an  instance  has  just 
happened.  That  man  has  come  fifty  kilometres  to  bring  me  a  barrel 
of  wine.  I  don^t  want  it,  but  he  wants  thirty  francs,  and  therefore  he 
naturally  comes  to  the  patron." 

The  patron  gets  out  of  the  clan  what  is  precious  to  a  Corsican, 

Sower,  in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word.  He  governs  his  clan  like  a 
espotic  being.  He  looks  after  their  interests,  and  they  support  him 
ana  one  another  in  everything.  Here  is  an  instance  of  the  power  of  the 
clan.  In  July  1880  a  jury  was  sitting  to  decide  on  the  amount  to  be 
paid  for  lands  taken  by  the  railway  from  Bastia  to  Finmorbo.      The 


544  Tff£  LIBMABY  MAGAZINE. 

jury  had  been  selected  by  a  majority  directed  by  M.  de  Casabianca, 
and  it  deliberated  in  the  presence  of  M.  de  Casabianca,  a  banister 
chosen  by  the  Company.  It  was  therefore  a  real  jury  of  the  clan,  and 
acted  accordingly.  M.  B.  claimed  compensation  for  a  vineyard  meas- 
uring 16  ares  and  99  centiares.  '  MdUe.  V.  for  one  of  about  the  same 
si^e.  M.  B.  was  an  enemy  of  the  clan ;  he  got  2000  francs,  a  fair 
price.  Mdlle.  V.  was  a  friend ;  she  got  18,000  francs.  MM.  A.  were 
relations;  they  got  85,000  francs  for  a  little  over  a  hectare  of  land  and 
brushwood;  and  M.  de  S.,  for  less  than  a  hectare,  46,000  francs  I  And 
no  one  saw  anything  peculiar  in  this  except  a  proof  of  the  influence 
of  the  clan  of  M.  de  Casabianca.  His  adversaries  made  the  most  of  it, 
however,  and  agitated  to  such  a  purpose,  that  next  year  they  got  a 
majority  on  the  Conseil  G^n^ral.  Here  was  a  grand  opportunity  to 
apply  the  rules  of  equity  I  The  new  jury  assembled  in  Janaarv  1887, 
and  what  did  they  do?  Compensation  was  claimed  for  about  tnirteen 
hectares  of  land.  The  Company  oflfered  81,000  francs.  The  jury  gave 
446,105  francs  I  Only  this  time,  to  shut  the  mouths  of  the  opposite 
party,,  they  gave  both  parties  what  they  asked.  "It  would  never  do," 
said  one  of  them  to  M.  Bourde,  ''  to  give  our  friends  less  than  M.  de 
Casabianca's  jury  did,  people  would  say  we  were  bad  patrons." 

The  two  forces  which  regulate  affairs  in  Corsica  are  the  influence 
of  certain  great  families  and  political  patronage.  The  first  has  been 
explained.  The  second  we  will  proceed  to  explain.  The  local  jour- 
nals are  full  of  announcements  of  the  appointments  of  Corsicans  to 
posts  under  the  Government,  even  the  most  insignificant  being  reported. 
Tho  Corsicans  hate  agriculture,  and  those  who  are  able,  employ 
Italians  (called  Lticquois)  to  do  all  the  heavy  work.  This  dislike  of 
agriculture  turns  their  tnoughts  to  getting  some  posts  under  Govern- 
ment. Every  small  official  has  some  of  the  power  which  is  dear  to 
the  heart  of  every  Corsican,  inasmuch  as  it  gives  him  the  opportunity 
of  helping  his  friends  and  annoying  his  enemies. 

Corsica  was  Legitimist  under  the  Eestoration,  Orleanist  under  the 
Monarchy  of  July,  and  Bonapartist  under  the  Empire.  Each  of  these 
regimes  seems  to  have  known  how  to  keep  the  Corsican  vote  by  tak- 
ing advantage  of  the  national  peculiarities,  and  choosing  several  heads 
of  clans  upon  whose  recommendation  all  nominations  were  made.  In 
return  for  which,  the  Government  got  the  votes  of  the  clans  and  car- 
ried their  candidates.  For  the  first  time,  under  the  Bepublic  Corsica 
systematically  returns  opposition  candidates ;  when  it  adopts  the  sys- 
tem of  its  predecessors.  Government  candidates  will  be  agam  returned. 
In  fact  no  Corsican  cares  a  button  about  politics  in  the  ordinary  sense 
of  the  word.  What  he  wants  is  to  get  a  majority  on  the  Conseil 
General,  or  to  get  one  of  his  own  party  made  Mdire  for  this  opens  a 
wide  field.      Once  in  the  mairiej  a  man  can  have  the  management  of 


THE  EXTBAOBDINABT  CONDITION  OF  CORSICA.  545 

the  communal  property,  get  off  paying  taxes,  get  a  certificate  of  pau- 
perism to  avoia  paying  fines,  in  fact  help  himself  and  his  friends,  and 
oppress  his  enemies.  Therefore  during  the  first  few  months  of  the 
year,  while  the  electoral  lists  are  being  made  up,  Corsica  is  in  a  state 
of  excitement.  The  procedure  is  that  a  Commission,  presided  over 
by  the  Mayor,  draws  up  the  lists,  and  there  is  an  appeal  from  their 
decisions  to  the  Juge  de  Paix.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  is  the  Juge 
de  Paix  who  really  draws  them  up.  Ima^ne  what  an  opportunity  to 
serve  his  clan  I  Many  Corsicans,  like  Italians,  pass  the  summer  in  the 
hills  and  the  winter  by  the  sea.  If  they  are  "friends,"  they  manage 
to  get  a  vote  in  both  Communes ;  if  "  enemies,"  probably  in  neither. 
In  the  Commune  of  St.  Florent  there  are  about  200  electors,  of  whom 
only  about  120  generally  vote,  the  rest  being  fishermen  or  sailors. 
The  elections  are  usually  decided  by  about  5  votes.  In  1881,  the 
Juge  de  Paix  put  down  the  names  of  six  Cantonniers  who  did  not 
reside  in  the  Commune  at  all,  on  the  pretext  that,  as  their  foreman 
lived  there,  they  ought  to.  The  Cour  de  Cassation  annulled  this 
decision  on  the  24th  of  May,  but  the  cantonniers  had  been  able  to  vote 
at  the  elections  in  April,  which  was  all  that  was  wanted.  The  next 
year  they  were  put  down  again,  and  again  the  Court  of  Appeal  struck 
them  oflf.  After  this  the  cantonnier  dodge  seems  to  have  been  played 
out.  Corsicans  are  always  being  worried,  if  they  do  not  belong  to 
the  proper  clan,  by  all  sorts  of  unscrupulous  dodges  to  keep  them  out 
of  their  rights.  No  wonder  that  not  only  do  they  believe  justice  can- 
not be  got  from  their  courts,  but  also  that  they  sometimes  take  the 
law  into  their  own  hands  and  declare  themselves  in  vendetta. 

Sometimes  the  Juge  de  Paix  himself  gets  mixed  up  with  it.  Here 
is  a  case  from  the  records  of  the  Court.  Antoine  Leonetti,  a  shoe- 
maker at  Ciamanacce,  and  Bartoli^  Juge  de  Paix  at  Zicaro,  "differed" 
as  to  politics,  as  the  indictment  diplomatically  puts  it.  Accompanied 
by  a  friend,  the  Judge  was  returning  to  Zicaro  on  the  4th  of  Novem- 
ber,  1882,  when  suddenly  two  reports  came  from  the  bushes  at  the 
side  of  the  road,  and  two  balls  struck  the  earth  at  their  feet ;  as  every 
one  carries  his  gun  in  Corsica,  the  Judge  and  his  friend  returned  the 
fire,  but  without  result.  A  witness  said  that  he  had  seen  one  Leonetti 
at  the  time  and  place  of  the  attempt,  and  although  this  witness  was 
got  out  of  the  way,  Leonetti  was  found  guilty,  and  sentenced  to  six 
months*  imprisonment.  M.  Bartoli,  fearing  the  vengeance  of  the  clan 
Leonetti,  got  himself  transferred  to  H^rauTt,  but  unfortunately  he  was 
obliged  to  come  back  to  give  evidence;  as  the  custom  is  in  Corsica 
under  such  circumstances,  he  took  care  to  be  always  attended  by  an 
escort  of  his  friends.  On  the  9th  of  May  he  was  going  to  Ciamanacce 
with  his  usual  guard,  one  Molloni  walking  50  yards  in  fix>nt  as  a 
Fcout,  when  he  was  fired  at  and  wounded  from  behind  a  tree.    The 


546  THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 

escort  fired  a  volley  after  the  attempted  mardeier;  it  was  Felix 
Leonetti,  brother  of  Antoine ;  he  eficaped,  and  remained  in  the  bush 
tv^o  years.  After  this,  the  Judge  seeing  he  would  never  be  able  to 
come  back  to  Corsica,  negotiated  a  truce  with  the  Leonetti,  and  Felix 
gave  himself  up  a  prisoner.  At  the  trial  the  witnesses  who  had 
deposed  to  the  facts  at  the  instruction  could  remember  nothing  at  aJl 
about  it,  and  the  jury,  refusing  to  re-open  a  vendetta  which  had  been 
happily  settled,  acquitted  the  prisoner  (17th  June,  1886). 

The  Corsicans  have  a  proverb  which  says  "  tlh  maire  doit  maurir 
dans  son  icharpe^  which  means  that  once  in  office,  everything  which 
helps  to  keep  your  adversaries  out  and  yourself  in  is  justifiable.  To 
be  sent  to  prison  for  an  electoral  fraud  committed  in  the  interests  of 
the  clan  is  considered  as  a  misfortune,  not  a  crime.  No  less  than  899 
persons  were  prosecuted  for  offences  of  this  sort  in  1884-85. 

Here  is  a  way  of  retaining  the  mayoralty  when  the  majority  is 
known  to  have  passed  to  one's  enemies: —  1st  Act  (9th  January, 
1881).  The  "  bureau  "  was  discovered  putting  into  the  ballot  box  a 
packet  of  false  bulletins.  Assessors  conaemned  to  fifteen  days'  impris- 
onment  but  subsequently  let  off.  Snd  Act  (6th  March,  1881).  'Under 
the  presidency  of  the  same  assessors  the  ballot  box  was  found  to  con- 
tain more  voting  papers  than  there  were  voters. — 3rd  Act  (7th  May, 
1882).  Under  the  same  presidency  the  friends  of  the  Mayor  came 
first  thing  in  the  morning  to  vote,  and  at  ten  o'clock  the  voting  was 
declared  to  be  over,  and  the  other  party  found  the  door  shut. — 4th  Act 
(1st  October,  1882).  The  Mayor,  who  was  to  have  presided,  resigned 
on  the  morning  of  the  election,  and  it  could  not  oe  held. — Sth  Act 
(4th  March,  1883).  The  Conseiller  Gdn^ral,  who  was  to  have  preside, 
said  he  was  ill,  and  the  election  had  to  be  again  postponed. 

Thus  the  minority  contrived  to  keep  themselves  in  power  for  two 
years;  the  sixth  time  they  had  managed  to  doctor  the  lists  so  as  to 
give  themselves  the  majority,  and  therefore  offered  no  obstacle  to  the 
holding  of  the  election.  However  a  report  having  got  about  that  some 
strange  names  had  been  placed  on  the  list,  the  Mayor's  enemies  asked 
to  see  the  new  list.  This  was  refused  them,  so,  in  Corsican  fashion, 
they  determined  to  take  the  law  into  their  own  hands,  and  armed  with 
loaded  guns,  posted  themselves  at  the  entrance  of  the  "mairie"  to 
prevent  any  strangers  voting.  An  unfortunate  villager  from  Corte 
appeared.  "  Come  on,"  called  the  Mayor,  "  don't  be  afraid."  "  If  you 
stir  a  step  you  are  a  dead  man,"  shouted  a  voice  from  the  crowd.  He 
tried  to  pass.  "Fire! "  said  the  voice,  and  he  fell  pierced  with  balls. 
^^  A  stupid  business,  and  badly  carried  out,"  said  a  Corsican  to  M. 
Bourde.  "  They  should  have  shot  the  Mayor.  Eight  of  our  party 
were  found  guilty,  encluding  the  Conseiller  G^n^ral.  This  d^i]^n* 
issed  us." 


THE  EXTBAOBDINABY  CONDITION  OF  COBSICA.  647 

Another  Mayoi,  one  Bartoli  of  Polneca,  became  quite  celebrated  for 
the  vigor  with  which  he  acted.  Three  times  he  got  the  elections  post- 
poned, and  the  fourth  (September  28th,  1884)  he  aud  eighty  of  his 
partisans  barricaded  themselves  in  the  mairie,  and  the  other  party 
tried  to  set  fire  to  the  building,  but  were  beaten  off  by  the  fusillade. 
A  Gommissaire  de  police  from  France  with  some  gendarmes  was  sent 
to  take  charge  of  tne  next  election.  They  ingeniously  tried  to  entice 
him  away  by  raising  a  false  alarm  of  a  fight  outside.  He  rushed  out  to 
see  what  was  the  matter,  and  the  Mayor  s  friends,  who  had  been  wait- 
ing their  opportunity,  flew  to  the  ballot  box.  Alas,  for  their  hopes! 
He  had  taken  it  with  him  under  his  arm. 

The  Mayor  who  has  conducted  his  campaign  successfully,  imme- 
diatelv  begins  to  enjoy  the  fruits  of  victory.  He  nianages  his  com- 
munal property,  and  manages  so  that  his  friends  get  the  benefit. 
Take  the  right   of  pasture.     At  Casamaccioli  in  1886,  thirty-four 

S artisans  of  the  Mayor  and  thirty-seven  enemies  put  their  names 
own.  The  Mayor's  friends  possessed  more  beasts  than  the  other 
party ;  but  they  paid  87  francs  55  centimes,  the  others,  1002  francs 
80  centimes,  in  fact,  if  you  are  an  enemy  you  pay  as  much  as  you 
can ;  if  a  friend,  little  or  nothing :  one  result  of  this  mismanagement 
is  that  all  the  Communes  are  very  poor.  You  hardly  ever  find  more 
than  a  mule  track  when  once  you  get  oflT  the  great  roads  made  by  the 
State,  for  there  is  no  money  to  make  them.  The  taxes  are  not 
collected  equitably,  on  the  some  principles.  At  this  same  Casamac- 
cioli in  1886,  the  village  property  being  divided  in  almost  equal 
shares  between  the  two  parties,  fifty-six  friends  paid  ISl  francs, 
forty -one  enemies  504  francs  12  centimes. 

If  you  are  a  friend  of  the  Mayor  he  will  give  you  any  certificate 
you  wish  for ;  if  an  enemy,  none.  For  example,  a  friend  wants  a  sum 
of  money.  The  Mayor  gives  a  certificate  tnat  in  the  month  of  Jan- 
uary 1887  he  lost  4600  francs'  worth  of  beasts.  The  gendarmerie 
came  to  inquire  and  found  that  he  had  never  possessed  any  cattle  at  all  I 
(Commune  de  Bartelicaocia).  Another  friend  wants  some  money  and 
happens  to  have  a  daughter  aged  thirty-five.  The  Mayor  sends  in 
papers  to  state  that  she  is  a  new -bom  child ;  a  sum  of  money  is 
awarded  to  him  (Commune  d'Ajaccio).  Another  man,  who  looks  well 
into  the  future,  thinks  that  he  would  like  his  new-born  child  to  get 
off  his  military-  service,  so  the  Mayor  does  not  enter  his  birth  in  the 
register  at  all.  AH  this  explains  a  letter  which  a  Corsican  notary 
once  wrote  in  answer  to  the  Credit  Foncier,  which  had  been  making 
some  enquiries  as  to  a  loan :  "  One  of  the  children  is  of  age,  and  the 
other  can  be  if  you  wish  it."  A  man  is  so  worried  and  harrassed  at 
every  point  by  his  adversaries,  that  it  is  small  wonder  if  he  will  risk 
anything  for  a  moment's  revenge  upon  them,  which  not  only  explains 


548  THE  LIBEABY  MAGAZINE. 

the  prevalence,  but  also  the  peculiar  nature  of  Corsica.  Out  of  every 
five  crimes  of  violence,  four  arise  from  fights  and  quarrels,  and  hardly 
any  are  committed  with  a  view  to  robbery.  No  doubt  the  reason  for 
this  is  the  absence  of  anv  sort  of  law,  upon  which  the  people  think 
they  can  dejjend,  and  to  wnich  they  can  look  for  protection.  Theoret- 
ically the  French  system  of  judicature  is  established  in  the  island, 
but  the  influence  of  the  clan  pervades  it  root  and  branch,  except  per- 
haps in  the  highest  courts. 

How  can  a  Corsican  expect  to  get  justice  from  a  Juge  de  Paix  or 
from  a  jury  of  th^  opposite  clan?  Little  wonder  that,  persecuted  out 
of  his  senses,  he  takes  the  law  into  his  own  hands.  Owing  to  this 
absence  of  any  trust  in  the  administration  of  justice,  the  gravest 
results  oflen  follow  &om  very  small  causes.  A  dog  killed  in  a  vine- 
yard has  caused  a  strife  between  the  Bocchini  and  the  Tafani  which 
has  already  resulted  in  the  death  or  wounding  of  eleven  persons  I  It 
has  also  given  the  Corsicans  the  idea  that  a  man  who  has  taken  the 
law  into  his  own  hands  is  not  a  criminal,  but  an  unlucky  person,  nn 
hommv  dans  h  malheur^  and  they  are  ready  to  feed  him  and  protect 
him  when  he  takes  to  the  woods,  in  1887  exactly  as  they  did  in  1816. 

And  so  it  comes  about  that  Corsica  has  600  bandits,  and  that  there 
is  no  law  to  speak  of.  How  can  there  be,  when  a  year  has  never 
passed  without  several  witnesses  who  happen  to  have  spoken  the 
truth  being  killed  by  the  clan?  A  case  happened  on  the  29th  of 
April  last  at  Mezzana.  Here  again  is  a  terrible  example  of  Corsican 
manners.  On  the  1st  of  January,  1885,  three  young  men  were  going 
to  church.  Mariotti  bet  Orsini  a  bottle  of  wine  that  he  would  throw 
him  in  a  wrestling  match.  One  Olanda  held  the  stakes.  A  quarrel 
arose  as  to  the  victor,  and  Orsini  seizing  a  dagger  (the  *^  stylet "  of 
Colonibd)  from  the  belt  of  Nicola'i,  a  bystander,  stabbs  Olanda  in  the 
stomach  and  kills  him.  Orsini  and  Nicolai  are  arrested.  The  former 
is  condemned  to  a  few  months'  imprisonment,  and  there  being  no 
charge  against  the  latter,  he  is  rcleasea.  Now  enter  Olanda  _p^e,  and 
observe  his  method  of  reasoning,  which  is  thoroughly  Corsican.  Orsini 
has  been  punished,  but  if  Nicolai*  has  been  released,  it  must  have  been 
through  favor;  he  therefore  administers  to  him  eleven  stabs,  to  teach 
him  to  keep  his  stylet  better  concealed.  The  Nicolai  and  the  Olanda 
are  therefore  in  vendetta ;  Nicolai  wounds  another  son  of  Jerome 
Olanda,  Denys.  The  two  Olanda  attack  three  Nicolai,  and  kill  one 
known  as  "  il  Moro."  Denys  Olanda  is  arrested,  but  before  the  trial 
his  father  gives  notice  that  he  will  not  leave  a  single  witness  alive  who 
gives  evidence  against  his  son,  and  he  particularly  specifies  the  widow 
of  "  il  Moro."  However,  at  the  trial,  excitement  and  her  desire  for 
vengeance  were  too  much  for  her,  and  she  made  a  passionate  appeal  to 
the  jury  for  justice.     Only  two  days  afterwards  Olanda  joere  snot  her 


THE  EXTRAORDINARY  CONDITION  OF  CORSICA.  549 

as  she  was  retuming  home,  and  tried  to  kill  her  little  daughter,  who 
was  only  saved  by  jumping  over  a  precipice,  where  her  fall  was  broken 
by  some  trees.  The  village  was  so  terrified  that  no  one  dare  dig  the 
mother's  grave.  Afterwaras  Olanda  was  slain  in  turn  by  the  gen- 
darmerie. 

A  state  of  vendetta  is  so  well  recognized,  that  a  mayor  has  been 
known  to  issue  a  decree  in  the  following  terms:  Art.  I.-No  person  is 
allowed  to  carry  arms  within  the  boundaries  of  the  Commune  of  Levi  a. 
— Art.  II.  An  exception  will  be  made  in  favor  of  those*  persons  who 
are  well  known  to  be  in  a  state  of  antagonism. 

Even  at  Ajaccio,  although  it  is  usual  to  leave  arms  at  the  octroi^ 
those  who  may  possibly  want  them  are  allowed  to  carry  them  into  the 
town.  Quarrels  are  never  confined  to  single  persons,  they  alwiys 
take  in  whole  families  and  go  on  for  years,  even  for  centuries,  iu 
Casinea,  for  example,  the  inhabitants  are  still  divided  into  Neri  and 
Bianchij  a  quarrel  which  was  in  full  swing  in  the  sixteenth  century, 
and  in  which  the  Casabiancas  were  even  then  mixed  up.  There  are 
persons  who  never  go  to  their  own  doorstep  without  having  first  care- 
fully reconnoitred.  If  they  have  to  travel,  they  do  so  with  an  escort 
of  friends,  some  in  front  as  scouts,  and  some  behind  as  a  rear-guard, 
and  all  armed  with  double-barreled  guns. 

In  order  to  find  the  Corsica  of  Colomba  in  all  its  glory  it  is  necessary 
to  go  into  the  mountains  of  Corte,  and  above  all  into  the  arrondisse- 
ment  of  Sartine.  Here,  out  of  8000  male  inhabitants,  4400  have 
charges  of  various  sorts  against  them — murder  or  misdemeanors  I 
They  do  not  care,  and  live  in  freedom,  practically  out  of  all  legal  juris- 
diction. It  was  here  that  a  Tafani,  by  killing  a  dog  in  the  vineyard, 
began  the  famous  vendetta  with  the  Rocchini.  In  consequence  of 
this  no  less  than  eighty  members  of  the  two  families  have  taken  to 
the  woods  and  become  bandits,  seven  persons  have  been  killed,  four 
wounded,  one  driven  into  exile,  and  many  threatened  with  death. 
The  exile  was  a  certain  Dr.  B.,  with  whose  flight  an  unfortunate 
French  official  got  mixed  up.  He  was  at  Porto  Vecchio  and  wanted 
to  go  to  Bonifticcio,  but  wnen  he  went  to  take  his  place  in  the  Dili- 
gence, he  found  the  greatest  difficulty  in  getting  one,  all  sorts  of  ob- 
jections being  raised.  However  he  presented  himself  the  next  morn- 
ing, and  was  much  astonished  to  fina  that  he  was  apparently  the  only 
passenger,  as  he  had  been  told  that  all  the  places  were  taken.  Ofl'tliey 
started,  but  outside  the  town  the  Diligence  stopped,  and  eight  armed 
men  surrounded  it;  three  got  into  the  coupe  and  the  rest  into  the 
intSrieur  with  the  official.  He  naturally  supposed  that  they  were  go- 
ing out  shooting,  and  addressed  them  in  a  firiendly  manner  on  that 
hypothesis;  but  none  answered  a  word,  and  the  five  men,  all  preserv- 
ing the  same  grave  demeanor,  eyed  him  suspiciously,  which  was  not 


550  TBK  LIMA  i?  r  ^fA  GA  ZIKE. 

reassuring.  The  Diligence  soon  came  to  a  spot  where  the  road  ran 
between  nigh  banks  covered  with  brushwood,  and  again  stopped. 
Another  band  of  armed  men  had  surrounded  it,  and  were  conferring  in 
low  tones  with  the  escort.  A  posse  of  skirmishers  was  then  deta(med 
to  search  the  pass,  and  presently  a  series  of  whistles  announced  that 
the  road  was  clear,  and  the  Diligence  proceeded.  This  was  repeated 
whenever  it  approached  a  dangerous  bit  of  roady  and  the  official 
asserts  that  at  one  of  the  halts  there  could  not  have  been  less  than 
sixty  men  round  the  carriage.  He  was  a  little  scared  by  hearing  one 
of  his  fellow-passengers  remark  that  his  having  no  luggage  was  very 
suspicious,  and  he  hurriedly  explained  who  he  was  and  why  he  was 
travelling.  This  seemed  to  satisfy  them,  but  when  just  outside  Boni- 
faccio  they  got  down  and  took  leave  of  him,  he  was  not  sorry  to  see 
the  last  of  them;  especially  when  he  saw  that  the  third  man  in  the 
coupe  between  the  boov-guards  was  Dr.  B.,  who  was  leaving  his  native 
village  in  Corsican  fashion.  It  must  be  remembered  that  this  occurred 
in  November  1886. 

Out  of  the  twenty  newspapers  published  in  the  island  not  one  has 
mentioned  this  vendetta,  one  reason  being,  according  to  one  of  the 
editors,  patriotism;  another,  that  the  editor  is  in  the  habit  of  receiv- 
ing a  letter  to  say  that  he  has  no  doubt  heard  of  the  misfortune  which 
has  happened  to  the/amtife  5.,  and  that  it  is  hoped  he  will  not  add  to 
their  annoyance  by  publishing  any  details  I  Ana  he  knows  what  that 
means ! 

What  country  is  there  except  Corsica  in  which  the  following  con- 
versation could  take  place?  The  Procureur  of  the  Republic  of  Sar- 
tfene  was  going  out  snooting,  when  he  perceived  at  the  bottom  of  a 
ravine  a  man  busy  casting  balls,  who  called  out  to  him  : 

"  Hullo,  M.  le  Procureur  I  "  •*  Oh,  it's  you,  Nicolai  Baritone !  " 
"  Can  you  tell  me  how  my  case  is  getting  on  ?  It  doesn't  seem  to 
progress  much."  "  How  can  it  get  on  ?  As  long  as  you  are  at  lib- 
erty, none  of  the  witnesses  will  come  forward  and  give  evidence. 
You  ought  to  give  yourself  up."  "  We'll  see  about  that  when  I  am 
tired  of  the  woods,  M.  le  Procureur." 

In  fact,  as  we  have  said  before,  a  sort  of  halo  surrounds  a  bandit, 
and  his  compatriots  even  hide  the  exactions  which  he  imposes  on 
them.  It  is  easy  to  imagine  what  a  curse  the  presence  of  600  bandits 
in  the  country  is  to  Corsica.  As  the  law  is  powerless,  the  bandit 
takes  its  place.  "  He  has  a  bandit  in  his  service,"  is  a  local  expres- 
sion which  reveals  a  great  deal.  If  you  take  a  bandit  under  your  pro- 
tection his  gun  is  at  your  disposal.  If  you  can't  collect  a  debt,  he 
does  it  for  you,  and  no  one  controverts  his  arguments.  If  you  have  a 
lawsuit  about  a  piece  of  land,  the  bandit  will  show  your  opponent  that 
he  is  clearly  in  the  wrong.     In  fact  the  bandit  is  the  great  social  arbi- 


trator.  For  example,  last  ^ear  a  duel  was  going  to  take  place  just 
outside  Ajaccio.  The  bandits,  knowing  their  protector  was  m  danger, 
appeared,  and  put  a  stop  to  it. 

A  French  Company  established  some  large  vineyards  near  Sar- 
t^ne  ;  but  this  did  not  suit  the  shepherds  upon  whose  pastures  they 
encroached,  and  at  their  request  their  friends  the  bandits  boycotted 
the  vineyards,  and  ten  gendarmes  had  to  be  sent  to  protect  workmen  ; 
but  when  they  had  gone  away,  the  bandits  appeared  again,  and  one 
fine  day  ninety  workmen  arrived  at  Sartfene,  having  had  notice  to  do 
no  more  work  under  pain  of  death.  However,  now  the  Company  is 
prosperous ;  but  they  nave  made  friends  of  the  mammon  of  unright- 
eousness and  taken  the  bandits  into  their  pay.  It  is  now  the  shep- 
herds who  are  kept  oflF  by  the  bandits  I 

As  to  political  influence,  every  one  in  Corsica  will  tell  you,  with- 
out being  ashamed  of  it,  that  the  municipal  council  of  Loggi  was 
imposed  on  the  Commune  b^  the  bandits  Simeoni  and  Giansillo,  that 
at  Mansi  the  bandit  Manani  has  done  the  same  thing,  and  that  the 
Mayor  of  Pigna  would  not  be  in  thj^t  position  were  it  not  that  the 
bandit  Alessandri  is  his  uncle  ! 

The  only  thing  to  be  said  for  Corsican  bandits  is  that  except  in  a 
few  instances  they  are  not,  like  their  Greek  confrhres^  brigands.  They 
take  to  the  woods,  not  to  make  money,  but  to  avoid  justice  and  satisfy 
revenge.  However,  in  the  present  state  of  the  country  it  will  be  no 
wonder  if  they  take  to  brigandage  as  well.  Indeed,  in  the  month  of 
November  1886,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  while  thirty  guests 
were  sitting  at  table  d'hfite  in  the  Hotel  Bellevue  at  Ajaccio,  five  ban- 
dits entered  the  house  and,  putting  a  pistol  to  the  head  of  the  proprie- 
tor's wife,  demanded  8000  francs.  Tne  husband  borrowed  a  revolver 
and  rushed  with  the  cooks  to  his  wife's  assistance  and  after  a  brisk 
exchange  of  shots  the  bandits  fled.  This  is  getting  perilously  near 
brigandage. 

The  most  celebrated  bandits  of  Corsica  are  two  brothers,  Jacques 
and  Antoine  Bonelli,  known  as  the  Bellacasia.  They  live  in  the 
gorge  of  Pentica  in  the  centre  of  the  island,  near  the  town  of  Bocog- 
nano,  which  is  an  excellent  strategical  position,  as  it  has  only  one 
entrance,  and  persons  approaching  it  can  be  seen  some  distance  off. 
In  the  midst  of  wild  mountains,  the  valley  itself  is  fertile,  and  sup- 
ports the  flocks  and  herds  of  the  Bellacasia,  who  live  there  like  true 
kings,  as  they  are.  They  tax  the  adjoined  villages,  and  come  when- 
ever they  like  to  the  town  of  Bocognano,  where  there  are  gendarmerie 
barracks.  They  have  built  themselves  houses ;  they  have  married 
their  daughters,  and  as  their  political  influence  is  large,  they  have 
obtained  good  posts  for  their  sons-in-law,  and  in  fact  live  tranquil,  hon- 
ored and  respected  lives.    Antoine  took  to  the  woods  in  1848  in  con- 


662  rai:  LIBBABY  MAOAZIHrE. 

sequence  of  a  quarrel  with  the  Mayor  of  the  Commune,  one  of  the 
causes  being  that  the  Mayor  would  not  marry  a  sister  of  his,  who 
could  not  produce  her  certincate  of  birth.    Consequently.  Antoine  and  ] 

Jacques  lay  in  wait  for  him,  and  fired  four  barrels  into  him.  At  the 
same  time  Antoine  fell  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  one  Casati,  and 
one  night  he  and  three  other  bandits  appeared  at  her  father's  house 
and  demanded  his  daughter.  The  terrified  girl  hid  herself;  but  they 
managed  to  get  hold  of  the  father,  whom  they  gagged  and  carried  off 
to  their  cave  and  kept  on  bread  and  water.  The  ^ancl  of  the  young 
lady,  Jean  Baptiste  Marcangeli,  went  with  two  friends  to  release  him, 
but  managed  it  so  badly,  that  they  were  caught,  gagged,  and  kept  on 
bread  and  water  in  the  cavern  too.  Marcangeli  got  his  liberty  on 
promising  to  give  up  the  girl  to  Antoine,  but  no  sooner  was  he  free 
than  he  forgot  his  promise,  and  married  her  on  the  30th  of  April,  1860. 
On  the  27th  of  June  Antoine  killed  him  and  demanded  the  hand  of 
the  widow.  Soon  after  they  committed  another  murder,  because 
obstacles  were  raised  to  the  marriage  of  another  sister.  It  was  after 
this  that  they  settled  in  the  valley  of  fentica.  Several  expeditions 
have  been  sent  against  them.  In  September  1886,  one  consisting  of 
no  less  than  120  soldiers  and  70  gendarmes  was  despatched ;  but  they 
went  off  to  the  house  of  a  Mayor  who  was  a  fnend  of  theirs,  and 
stayed  there  quietly  till  the  expedition  had  gone  home  again.  The 
Bellacasia  are  a  nearer  approach  to  a  bandit  in  a  story  than  any  in  i 

the  island.  They  are  supposed  to  have  a  cave  of  which  no  one  knows 
the  entrance.  They  are  hospitable  to  strangers  who  are  properly 
introduced,  and  they  occasionally  give  large  boar  hunts  to  their  friends. 
As  we  have  said  before,  the  state  of  Corsica  is  a  disgrace  to  France, 
but  the  remedy,  according  to  M.  Bourde,  is  simple,  namely,  to  make 
no  special  laws,  but  to  apply  vigorously  and  without  fear  or  favor  the 
existing  law.  With  the  tribunals  in  the  hands  of  one  family,  a  Corsi- 
can  is  UQi  to  be  blamed  for  having  no  belief  in  justice.     There  must  j 

be  a  Prefet  and  a  Procureur  G^n^ral  who  are  absolutely  independent, 
and  the  Government  must  cease  only  to  use  its  influence  with  the  clan 
in  order  to  get  a  deputy  to  vote  the  right  way.  The  financial  aspect, 
too,  is  a  serious  one  for  France.  In  no  year  has  Corsica  ever  paid  its 
expenses.  Indeed,  it  is  said  to  have  cost  since  the  beginning  of  the 
century  more  than  a  milliard  of  fiancs  (£49,000,000).  No  wonder, 
when  no  one  belonging  to  the  right  clan  ever  pays  any  fines  or  taxes. 
Every  one  carries  a  gun,  but  few  get  a  license.  In  France  1  in  every  97 
inhabitants  takes  one  out.  In  Corsica,  1  in  every  8801  In  1885  tnere 
was  owing  to  the  Treasury  1,000,691  francs  for  fines,  &o.  It  only  got 
in  79,093  francs  I  These  facts  speak  for  themselves. — Charles  Sumner 
Maike,  in  Murray^ 8  Magazine, 


r 


THE  CHBIST/A!^  ELEMENT  IN  ENGLISH  POETRY.  553 

THE  CHEISTIAN  ELEMENT  IN  ENGLISH  POETRY* 

Fob  nearhr  a  hundred  years  after  Christianity  was  carried  from 
Rome  to  England,  all  the  literary  work  was  done  by  the  foreign 
priests,  and  poor  enough  work  it  was.  They  should  have  preserved  to 
posterity  wnat  would  now  be  deemed  invaluable — the  Anglo-Saxon 
myths,  songs,  legends,  and  traditions.  The  earliest  dawn  of  English 
poetry  came  in  Csedmon,  an  inmate  of  the  monastery  of  Whitby.  He 
died  in  680.  He  was  only  a  poor  native  cowherd,  being  attached  to 
the  monastery  in  that  relation.  His  call  to^poesy  came  to  him,  he 
claimed,  in  a  night  vision  from  heaven.  .  At  once  he  began  singing 
the  praises  of  the  Creator  of  the  world,  of  man  and  heaven.  He  com- 
posed many  poems  on  Bible  historv,  and  in  the  one  on  the  Fall  of  Man^ 
are  passages  and  descriptions  whicn  might  have  given  impulse  to  parts 
of  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  It  is  a  significant  fact  that  our  poetry 
started  out  saturated  with  Bible  teachings,  as  if  that  beginning  were 
to  set  the  gauge  of  all  that  was  to  follow. 

After  CiBdmon,  there  was  little  poetic  genius  manifested  by  the 
English  race  for  half  a  thousand  years.  The  poems  of  Wace  and 
Layamon,  of  Ormin  and  Guilford,  with  those  of  their  contemporaries, 
were  largely  on  Christian  themes  or  paraphrases  of  the  Bible.  One 
other  element  of  strength  in  English  poetry  is  apparent  from  the  first 
— the  way  it  has  always  sought  inspiration  from  nature,  and  become 
the  interpreter  to  duller  sensibilities  of  the  glories  of  the  meadow  and 
wood,  of  mountain  and  lake,  of  sky  and  storm  and  life.  These  two 
elements,  Christianity  and  nature,  have  had  most  to  do  in  making  our 
grand  poetry  what  it  is.  Before  John  Langland  wrote  Piers  Plough- 
man  the  words  of  the  Norman-French,  its  spirit  and  awakening 
influences  had  enlarged  the  vision  of  early  English  writers  so  that 
their  themes  were  more  varied ;  but  none  attained  a  place  that  was 
lasting.  Piers  Ploughman  may  justly  be  called  a  Protest  before 
Protestantism.  Many  of  the  purer  teachings  of  our  Master  especially 
as  pertaining  to  personal  duties  and  relations,  are  put  into  this  poem. 

A  contemporary  of  the  author  of  Piers  Ploughman  was  Geoffrey 
Chaucer,  justly  ranked  among  the  few  great  English  poets.  His 
greatest  work,  the  one  on  which  his  reputation  rests,  the  Canterbury 
Talesj  grows  out  of  a  supposed  pilgrimage  by  a  large  party  to  the 
shrine  of  Thomas  k  Becket.  The  spirit  and  sentiment  of  all  the  Tales 
are  above  the  church  life  and  practices  of  that  day.  A  monk,  a  nun 
and  a  friar,  of  very  questionable  conduct,  are  sharply  criticised,  while 
a  poor  parson,  that 

"  Christ'e  goBpel  truly  would  preach,'' 

^Read  before  the  Alpha  Chapter  of  the  Conyocation  of  Boston  Uniyersily,  Decem- 
ber 6, 1887. 


S54  Tnt:  LTBBARr  MAGA^IKE. 

is  most  lovingly  and  tenderly  depicted  ov  the  poet.  Through  all  this 
long  poem,  the  vices  and  sins  of  churcn  and  society  are  condemned, 
while  the  Christian  virtues  are  as  surely  commendea.  It  is  surmised 
that  Chaucer  depicts,  m  the  poor  parson,  the  sentiments  he  entertained 
for  the  lay  preachers  whom  Wiclif,  Chaucer's  contemporary,  sent  out 
to  preach  the  pure  gospel  among  the  masses  of  England.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  say  now  the  poet  was  influenced  in  his  writings  by  the 
reformer;  but  that  his  hard  hits  against  the  general  imperfections  and 
corruptions  of  church  life  had  pungency  added  to  them  by  the  excite- 
ment raised  by  Wycliffe,  can  be  little  doubted. 

The  minor  poets,  filling  the  space  from  Chaucer,  two  hundred  years, 
to  Spenser,  mixed  much  of  Christian  ethics  with  their  sentiments  of 
other  nature.  There  were  poems  of  war,  of  love,  and  satire;  transla- 
tions from  the  French,  Latin  and  Italian;  but  the  purely  English  pro- 
ductions were,  many  of  them,  filled  by  the  spirit,  imperfect  as  it  waa, 
of  the  better  church  teachings  of  that  age. 

If  the  great  poets  before  the  Beformation  were  truer  to  the  New 
Testament  teachings  than  the  contemporary  church,  the  poets  who 
have  sung  since  that  time  have  all  of  them  been  Protestant  in  their 
sentiments.  Spenser  wrote  fifty  years  after  the  Beformation  in  Eng- 
land, being  the  first  one  after  that  event  who  form  the  list  of  the 
giants.  He  inclined  toward  Puritanism,  though  partaking  little  of  its 
austerity  of  feeling  and  conduct.  His  two  great  poems,  the  Shqplterd^s 
Calendar  and  Faerie  Qaeen^  while  reaching  far  over  much  of  the  field 
of  human  thought  and  imagination,  each  has  in  it  many  noble, 
Christian  sentiments.  His  Protestantism  is  distinctly  shown  in  the 
fifth  month  of  the  Calendar,  in  which  he  draws  a  comparison  between 
the  pastoral  spirit  and  methods  of  a  Protestant  and  a  Catholic,  clinch- 
ing nis  argument  by  the  tale  of  the  Fox  and  the  Kid,  in  which  the 
former,  the  Catholic  priest,  captures  and  devours  the  Kid,  the  Pro- 
testant. No  less  than  three  out  of  the  twelve  parts  of  the  Calendar 
treat  of  the  burning  church  questions  of  that  epoch.  Spenser's  jPbenV 
Queen  was  primarily  in  praise  of  Queen  Elizabeth ;  but  many  of  his 
characters  are  allegorical.  The  first  book  is  of  Holiness,  the  second 
of  Temperance,  the  third  of  Chastity.  These  three  books  are  the 
strongest  of  all  his  poetical  productions,  and  these  principles  are 
clearly  founded  on  the  New  Testament.  Una,  the  Lady  of  the  first 
book,  is  the  true  Church.  The  whole  moral  sentiment  of  the  Faerie 
Queen  is  of  a  high  order  for  those  years,  and  clearly  shows  the 
Christian  spirit  of  the  author.  More  than  Chaucer,  but  uke  him  and 
all  the  great  poets,  Spenser  drew  much  on  the  fancies  and  myths  of 
the  ancient  and  medieval  world.  It  is  a  necessity  of  poesy  that  it 
range  widely  for  its  themes  and  expressions.  The  English  poetry, 
whue  using  material  from  all  these  fields,  has  had  a  truer  relation  to 


TBE  CHttlSTtAN  £LEM^KT  11^  El^GLtSff  POETBT.  665 

the  Master's  teachings,  as  Protestantism  has  been  able  to  get  closer  to 
the  spirit  of  those  teachings  than  Catholicism.  In  Italy  and  France 
the  poetry  has  always  been  under  the  spell  of  the  Vatican ;  in  Eng- 
land, never. 

In  the  Elizabethan  age,  there  were,  besides  Spenser  and  Shake- 
speare, a  host  of  lesser  poets.  Some  of  these  wrote  with  their  poesy 
deeply  imbued  with  Christianity,  as  Southwell,  the  Catholic  poet, 
whose  two  longest  pieces,  written  in  prison,  were  St,  Peter^s  Complaint 
and  Mary  Magdalene^s  Tears,  His  short  poem,  The  Burning  Bahe^ 
depicts  most  sweetly  the  Child  Jesus  as  the  world's  propitiation.  Sir 
Jonn  Davis  wrote  a  long  poem  on  the  Immortality  of  the  Sonl,  a 
pioneer  in  that  field.  John  Donne,  Dean  of  St.  Paul's,  produced  among 
other  kinds,  some  strong,  religious  poems.  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  while 
awaiting  his  doom  in  prison,  could  write  verses  of  Christian  nope  and 
warning.  Giles  Fletcher's  only  poem  of  length  was  Christ s  Victory 
and  Triumph, 

The  drama  rose  in  England  from  rude  miracle-plays,  carried  on  for 
several  hundred  years  under  the  direction  of  the  priests.  Gradually, 
in  the  sixteenth  century,  it  changed,  first  to  moral  plays,  and  later, 
toward  the  end  of  that  century,  to  those  laying  claim  to  no  other  prin- 
ciples than  such  as  are  of  general  literature  and  of^  the  legitimate 
drama  ;  that  is,  of  comedy  and  tragedy.  The  real  drama  of  that  age 
attained  its  place  in  such  themes  as  the  one  by  George  Peele,  treating 
of  David  and  Absalom.  Christopher  Marlowe,  the  greatest  of  the 
dramatists  before  Shakespeare,  was  atheistical,  yet  in  his  works  has 
some  of  the  pure  teachings  of  Christianity. 

The  "  myriad-minded  Shakespeare  "  is  so  fully  English,  that  along 
with  other  glories  of  his  genius  the  spirit  of  Christianity  has  a  large 
place.  He  is  said  to  be  so  obscure  in  his  teachings  as  to  leave  it 
impossible  to  say  whether  he  was  Catholic  or  Protestant.  But  care- 
ful searching  for  his  religious  views  shows  that  the  petted  dramatist 
of  the  Protestant  Elizabeth  put  many  pure  Christian  sentiments  into 
his  writings.  Of  course,  Shakespeare  is  too  great  an  artist  to  ascribe 
constantly  the  teachings  and  beliefs  of  Protestanism  to  the  characters 
of  his  plays  representing  times  long  before  the  Eeformation.  Hence, 
in  his  historical  works  tnere  are  references  to  purgatory,  penances  and 
the  like,  as  we  should  expect ;  but  through  the  plays  which  are  not 
historical,  there  are  everywhere  the  great  truths  of  the  Bible  which 
are  common  alike  to  Protestant  and  Catholic.  The  Bible  is  drawn 
upon,  from  Genesis  to  the  end  of  the  New  Testament,  for  references, 
truths  and  pictures.  Falstaff  says  to  his  prince :  "  Dost  thou  hear, 
Hal  ?  Thou  knowest  in  a  state  of  innocency  Adam  fell."  The  atone- 
ment was  doubtless  believed  in  by  Shakespeare,  for  in  Richard  Third, 
Clarence  says  to  the  man  who  has  been  sent  to  take  his  life : 


556  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

"  I  charge  joa  as  jon  hope  to  have  redemption 
By  Christ's  dear  blood,  shed  for  oar'grieTous  sins, 
That  thou  depart  and  lay  no  hands  on  me/' 

Shakespeare  puts  orthodox  views  of  the  joidgment  into  his  plays, 
thus: 

"Why,  he  shall  never  wake  till  the  great  judgment  day." 

He  believed  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul : 

"  And  for  my  soul,  what  can  it  do  to  that, 
Being  a  thing  immortal  as  itself?  " 

In  Hamlet's  soliloquy  there  are  no  more  questionings  about  death 
and  hereafter  than  would  naturally  come  to  a  Dane  yet  half  barbarian. 
See  how  true  is  Shakespeare's  picture  of  mercy : 

"  It  is  an  attribute  to  God  himself; 
And  earthly  power  doth  there  show  likest  €k»d^ 
When  mercy  tempers  justice.    .    .    . 

We  do  pray  for  mercy, 
And  that  same  prayer  doth  teach  us  all  to  render 
The  deeds  of  mercy." 

After  the  dramatists,  whose  influence,  on  the  whole,  was  not  deeply 
Christian,  but  tending  toward  looseness,  came  the  greatest  of  all  Eng- 
lish poets,  John  Milton.  His  greatest  poem.  Paradise  Lost^  was  the 
product  of  long  deliberation,  the  one  vast  toil  and  travail  of  his  life. 
He  chose  the  scriptural  theme  in  preference  to  many  others  which 
crowded  upon  his  consideration  and  imagination.  It  was  not  composed 
till  twenty  years  after  its  conception.  He  felt  that  through  that  poem 
he  was  to  be  a  preacher  of  righteousness  to  the  English  nation.  He 
knew  that  to  Englishmen  a  Bible  theme  would  be  a  popular  one.  So 
true  was  his  judgment  that  Englishmen  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic 
find  it  the  masterpiece  of  their  language.  All  are  familiar  with  that 
wonderful  work — its  stately  movement,  its  vivid,  strong  pictures,  its 
pathos  and  fierce,  deep  passion,  its  exquisite  delineation  of  feeling  and 
sentiment,  its  clear  statement  of  theology — till  skeptical  scientists  of 
the  present  think  they  state  current  belief  in  Genesis  by  quoting  Par- 
adise  Lost.  The  deep-moving  tide  of  religious  life  in  the  middle  of  the 
seventeenth  century,  which  was  able  to  give  birth  to  Paradise  Lost^ 
shows  that  this  was  foremost  in  the  Englishman's  thoughts.  For  half 
a  liundred  years  England  had  stood  at  the  head  of  European  Protest- 
antism ;  her  diplomacy  and  arms  were  successful ;  her  generals  and 
admirals  of  the  noblest;  her  yoemanry  for  recruiting  armies  and 
navies  brave  and  sturdy;  her  constitutional  history  was  crandly 
unfolding ;  riches  were  flowing  in  upon  her  from  every  sea  and  conti- 
tinent ;  but  the  mightiest  force  in  all  the  national  movement  was  that 
of  the    Christian  religion  and  the  life  from   the  Bible.     Paradise 


THE  CHBISTIAN  ELEMENT  IN  ENGLISH  POETRY.  567 

Regained  was  the  necessary  complement  of  Paradise  Lost,  and  ivhile 
inferior  to  the  latter  poem,  was  the  expression  of  the  theology  and 
Bible  knowledge  of  the  English  people  of  that  epoch,  as  understood  and 
interpreted  by  Milton.  His  other  and  earlier  poems  are  as  truly  of  the 
same  Puritan  faith. 

Andrew  Marvell  was  eminently  a  Christian  poet ;  and  another  con- 
temporary of  Milton,  the  witty  author  of  Hudibras,  saw  through  the 
forms  to  discern  so  fully  the  spirit  and  simplicity  of  Christianity,  that 
this  brilliant  burlesque  on  'the  affected  manners  and  habits  of  the  Puri- 
tans is  sure  to  remain  forever  an  English  classic. 

Dryden's  dramatic  powers  were  not  of  a  low  order,  but  his  produc- 
tions in  that  line  are  rather  loose,  even  for  the  age  of  Charles  II. ;  his 
biting  satire,  however,  was  cast  in  moulds  shaped  by  Bible  scenes  and 
language.  His  defence  of  the  Church  of  England  against  dissenters 
brought  out  some  strong  poetry ;  and  when  he  became  a  convert  to 
Romanism,  the  Hind  and  Panther  was  produced  in  defence  of  his  new 
faith,  and  is  possibly  among  the  best  of  his  works,  while  Alexander's 
Fea9t  was  written  with  the  judgment  revealed  in  the  Bible  before  his 
eyes.  One  says,  "His  muse  was  a  fallen  angel,  cast  down  for  mani- 
fold sins  and  impurities,  yet  radiant  with  the  light  of  heaven." 

Between  Dryden  and  Pope  were  a  puny  lot  of  poets,  whose  muse 
was  of  a  low  order,  and  wnose  sentiments  were  sometimes  hurtful 
rather  than  helpful  to  the  Christian  life.  Addison's  poetry,  however, 
not  to  be  wholly  obscured  by  his  matchless  essays,  was  sweet,  and  of 
the  true  spirit.  Numbers  of  his  hymns  have  been  kept  in  use  by  the 
Church.  In  the  Tragedy  of  Cato,  the  soliloquv  of  that  Bom  an  states- 
man on  the  immortality  of  the  soul  is  venr  nne  and  true.  Matthew 
Prior  does  not  live  am^ng  the  greatest  English  poets,  but  his  best 
work  had  for  its  subject,  Solomon,  in  which  there  is  high  morality. 
Dean  Swift  was  sharp  in  his  wit,  and  too  poor  a  Christian  to  put  more 
than  a  few  of  the  Master's  heart-truths  into  his  third-rate  poetry. 

Alexander  Pope's  name  suggests  at  once  the  immortal  Essay  on  Man. 
This  is  his  best  known  work,  if  not  his  masterpiece.  Pope's  ill  health 
caused  him  to  excel  in  biting  satire,  yet  his  more  sober  productions 
are  rich  with  Christian  sentiment.  The  Essay  on  Man  has  certain 
philosophical  and  theological  points  which  can  hardly  be  deemed 
sound,  yet  it  is  a  masterly  treatment  of  man  in  certam  relations  as 
seen  in  that  epoch.  Now  and  then  a  rationalistic  and  even  a  pantheis- 
tic cast  is  given  to  it,  and  the  problem,  how  to 

''  Vindicate  the  ways  of  God  with  man,'' 

is  hardly  settled  to  suit  Nineteenth  Century  views.  The  freethinker, 
Bolingbroke,  had  too  much  influence  with  the  impressible  Pope  for 
the  latter  to  be  untrammeled  in  his  productions.    But  how  finely  he 


658  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

could  throw  off  a  short  poem  of  most  exquisite  Christian  sentiment 
is  seen  in  The  Dying  Christian  to  His  Soul : 

^  Vital  gpark  of  heAvenly  tame, 
Qait,  O  qoit  this  mortal  frame." 

But  Pope  and  the  long  line  of  lesser  poets  following  him  were 
tainted  by  the  low  grade  of  morals  of  their  time,  and  much  of  their 
poetry  would  not  stand  the  test  of  pure  consideration. 

Twenty  years  later  than  Pope,  came  better  songs  from  Young  and 
Thomson.  Young's  Night  Thoughts  is  a  poem  which  seems  strange 
from  a  dissipated  courtier,  yet  none  can  read  that  strong  production, 
its  depth  of  feeling,  its  sombre  passages,  its  faithful  delineation  of 
Christian  character  and  principles,  without  concluding  that  Young,  at 
least  at  the  time  of  writing  them,  felt  all  he  expressed.  How  much 
everyone  feels  is  in  his  description  of  time,  wnich  only  the  Bible 
could  fully  teach  I 

"  The  beU  etrikee  one.    We  take  no  note  of  time 
Bat  from  its  loss ;  to  give  it,  then,  a  tongue 
Is  wise  in  man.    As  if  an  angel  spoke 
I  feel  the  solemn  sound. " 

It  points  to  a  change  in  the  religious  feelings  of  the  age,  which  so 
soon  after  Pope  could  produce  the  Night  Thoughts  and  the  Seasons. 
For  through  all  the  latter  poem  runs  a  sweet,  pure  stream  of  Christian 
trust,  linked  as  it  is  with  tne  exquisite  descriptions  of  nature  and  ani- 
mate life.     In  his  Hymn  on  the  Seasons  Thomson  beautifully  says : 

*'  These  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father ;  these 
Are  but  the  Taried  God.    The  roUing  year 
Is  fan  of  thee." 

Young  and  Thomson  seem  to  have  presaged  the  coming  of  a  group 
of  writers  whose  songs  laid  the  foundation,  and  builded  greatly  m  the 
structure  of  the  English  Protestant  hymnology.  These  were  Watts 
and  Doddridge,  the  two  Wesleys,  Anne  Steele  and  a  host  of  others 
belonging  to  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth,  and  reaching  far  into  the 
eighteenth  century.  While  the  religious  life  had  been  most  lamentably 
low  during  this  time,  these  signers,  as  forerunners  of  the  Master^ 
great  coming,  were  preparing  the  wav,  and  furnishing  some  of  the 
means  for  the  wonderful  growth  of  tne  kingdom  of  God,  seen  since 
Methodism  began  its  marvellous  work  for  the  world.  But  a  host  of 
poetical  writers,  though  with  lowly  muse,  were  earlier  still  becominp 
teachers  of  purer  morals  and  nobler  Christian  sentiment.  Shensloni 
and  Akensiae,  Thomas  Gray,  the  author  of  the  Elegy,  Dr.  Johnson^ 
Goldsmith  and  others,  were  doing  valuable  work  for  morals  and  pure 
feeling,  in  an  age  of  filth  and  of  smirching  poetasters.     The  tide  of 


THE  CHRISTIAN  ELEMENT  IN  ENGLISH  POETRY.  559 

purity  rose  higher  and  higher,  since  their  time  almost  no  poet  has 
sought  immortal  fame  along  lines  of  impurity. 

The  average  historian  of  English  literature  is  apt  to  pass  rather 
liffhtlv  over  those  men  whose  songs  and  hymns  have,  for  a  century  and 
a  half,  been  a  moulding  power  in  the  personal  and  religious  life  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race,  and  through  these,  of  national  life;  but  the  philos- 
ophy of  history  which  seeks  the  causes  of  things,  though  they  be  never 
so  subtile,  cannot  ignore  them.  In  those  lyrics  the  religious  life  gave 
expression  of  a  reviving  Christianity,  and  their  use  has  helped  to  carry 
the  tide  onward  yet  as  a  steady  stream.  They  were  the  ballads  of  the 
Church,  and  everyone  knows  the  worth  of  ballads  to  a  nation.  It 
was  the  Augustan  age  of  English  hymnologv.  Many  sweet  singers 
have  risen  since  that  epoch,  but  none  to  sing  the  outer  glories  of  God's 
kingdom  like  Isaac  Watts,  and  none  who  could  sing  the  gospel  of  love 
and  personal  salvation  like  Charles  Wesley. 

William  Cowper  united  an  intense  love  of  nature  with  deep  religious 
sensibilities;  and  if,  at  times,  his  mind  was  clouded  with  his  fatal 
trend  toward  insanity,  his  muse  was  always  true  to  the  light  of  the 
gospel.  He  was  the  most  closely  allied  of  any  of  the  great  poets  with 
the  Methodist  movement,  his  sympathies  and  poesy  touching  all  sides 
of  that  movement,  whether  it  was  represented  by  the  evangelical 
labors  of  the  Wesleys  and  Whitefield,  or  those  of  philanthropy  by 
Clarkson  and  Wilberforce,  or  of  Howard  and  Hannah  More.  His 
greatest  poem,  The  Task^  largely  pervaded  with  the  right  glow  of 
Christian  ethics  and  practice,  has  also  keen  sensibility  of  the  fitness  of 
divine  relations  to  mankind,  and  of  our  humanity's  blessed  relations 
to  the  Heavenly  Father.  Many  of  the  hymns  of  Cowper,  and  of  his 
beloved  companion  and  life-long  friend,  Bev.  John  Newton,  have 
passed  into  the  use  of  the  general  church.  Contemporary  with  Cow- 
per were  many  lesser  lights,  who  wrote  pure,  exalted  hymns  and 
poems.  Rock  of  Ages,  a  gem  of  the  purest  water,  was,  with  its  mes- 
sages to  all  human  hearts  always,  given  to  the  world  in  this  epoch. 
Henry  Kirke  White's  immortal  Star  of  Bethlehem — 

"  When  marshalled  on  the  nishtlv  plain, 
The  glittering  host  beatad  &e  akj" — 

is  an  enraptured,  Methodist  shout  over  one's  own  salvation  in  Christ. 
Qrahame's  Sabbath  and  Sabbath  WaUcSy  and  George  Crabbe's  delinea- 
tion of  humble  parish  life  and  trust  were  among  the  best  products  of 
that  time. 

In  Wordsworth,  as  in  many  other  poets,  there  was  united  an  intense 
love  of  nature  with  pure  New  Testament  truths.  He  was  also  an 
ardent  lover  of  liberty,  being  hopeful  with  others  that  the  French 
Ilevolution  was  the  auspicious  dawn  of  a  better  day  among  the  nations. 


560  THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 

His  most  important  poem,  The  Excursion^  is  richly  penetrated  with 
the  spirit  of  the  lowly  Nazarene.  In  it  he  urges  the  influence  which 
the  external  world  is  mtended  by  the  Divine  Author  to  exert  on  man, 
and  that  good  comes  to  man  out  of  the  evils,  disappointments  and  sor- 
rows to  which  the  human  race  is  subjected.  Benevolence  also  shines 
among  its  deep,  philosophical  reasonings,  while  the  love  of  humanity 
is  everywhere  aglow.  Justice  is  magnified,  and  the  light  of  purity  is 
over  all  his  writings.  Wordsworth's  influence  is  deep,  continuous, 
and  still  a  power  in  the  thinking  wotld. 

Samuel  Taylor  Coleridge  was  an  intimate  friend  and  companion  of 
Wordsworth,  their  poetry,  like  their  lives,  being  most  sweetly.blended. 
Tliough  a  Unitarian  in  earlier  years,  having  even  been  at  one  time  a 
preacher  of  that  belief,  he  became  later,  under  the  influence  of  Words- 
worth, a  sturdy  Trinitarian.  Most  of  his  poems  are  filled  with  a  high, 
mystical  sentiment  of  passion;  yet  here  and  there  in  that  obscure 
region  the  spirit  of  Christianity  most  brightly  shines.  His  Ancient 
Mariner  is  finally  saved  and  shrived  by  the  care  and  mercy  of  heaven. 
In  the  Hymn  in  the  Vale  of  Chamouni^  Coleridge  finds  the  question 
which  he  puts  forth  as  to  who  created  the  mighty  Mont  Blanc,  the 
torrents,  glaciers  and  flowers,  the  birds  and  animals,  to  be  answered 
that  it  is  God ;  then  ends, 

"Earth  with  her  ten  thouBand  voioee  praises  God.'' 

The  third  one,  composing  the  group  of  Lake  poets,  was,  like  Cole- 
ridge, at  first  a  Unitanan ;  but  later  accepted  the  tenets  of  the  State 
Church.  Southey's  poetry  is  not  so  fully  saturated  with  Christian 
sentiments  as  that  of  his  compeers, — partly  owing  to  the  man's  nature 
and  poetic  structure,  and  partly  to  the  subjects  he  selected.  His 
greatest  poem,  The  Curse  of  Kehama^  is  entirely  a  Hindu  theme  with 
East  Indian  surroundings.  But  on  the  whole,  there  is  no  trend  of  op- 
position to  religion,  in  these  poets,  and  others  of  that  time,  the 
spirit  of  personal  liberty  and  national  freedom,  sure  outgrowths  of 
Christianity,  found  forciole  expression.  It  was  the  period  of  the 
French  Eevolution,  of  England's  miffhty  struggle  with  Napoleon,  and 
the  national  unrest  of  the  human  rights  which  later  found  quiet  in  the 
Reform  Bill  of  1832. 

Campbell  and  Scott,  with  others  less  renowned,  were  raising  the 
standard  of  purity  and  nobleness ;  and  there  was  need  of  it,  for  Byron 
was  corning  on  tne  scene.  He  was  the  apostle  of  deep,  misanthropic 
egotism,  and  dark,  foul  passion ;  yet  the  spirit  of  the  age  with  his 
own  better  nature  here  and  there  show  themselves  in  his  poetry,  with 
flashes  of  pathos  and  righteousness,  whose  light  was  kindled  by  the 
Bible.     Alongside  of  Byron,  came  Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  who  proteased 


THE  CHRIST  JAN  ELEMENT  IN  ENGLISH  POETRY.  061 

himself  a  skeptic  while  yet  at  Eton,  and  was  expelled  from  Oxford  at 
nineteen  for  avowed  atheism,  and  much  of  his  poetry  is  tainted  with 
the  errors  of  his  philosophy.  His  private  life  was  brightened  b^  many 
deeds  of  kindness,  and  his  later  poetry  was  also  less  clouded  with  his 
atheism.  Yet  on  the  whole,  the  influence  of  his  great  genius  was 
opposed  to  the  teachings  of  Christianity. 
Bishop  Heber's  one  great  hymn, 

"  From  Gieenlaad's  icy  mountains, 
From  India's  coral  strand," 

has  made  him  immortal,  and  been  a  world-wide  inspiration  for  the 
cause  of  missions.  Pollock's  Course  of  Time  is  strong  in  his  own 
theological  notions,  yet  has  exerted  a  great  influence  among  manj 
classes  of  English  readers.  James  Montgomery's  whole  poetry  is 
alive  with  the  spirit  of  Christ,  and  many  of  his  hymns  have  been  pre- 
served in  the  hymnology  of  the  Church.  A  host  of  small  poets 
flourished  during  the  early  part  of  the  Nineteenth  Century,  prominent 
among  them  being  Leign  Hunt  and  John  Wilson — both  sweet,  kind 
and  pure.  Mra.  Heman's  poems  are  rich  in  womanly  trust  and  faith, 
while  John  K^ble's  Christian  Year  has  some  most  exquisite  Christian 
sentiments,  with  the  whole  tone  pure  and  elevating.  Other  poets, 
sweet,  pure,  religious,  have  written  things  which  a  Christ-loving  age 
will  not  permit  to  die.  Many  hymns  of  exalting  spirit  have  become 
the  heritage  of  the  common  Church. 

Possibly  the  greatest  poet  in  England,  in  the  later  nineteenth  cen- 
tury is  Alfred  Tennyson.  Many  of  his  themes  are  from  the  Arthur- 
ian legends;  but  into  them  all  his  poetry  the  spirit  of  the  Galilean  is 
blended.  The  one  searching  for  the  Holy  Grail  can  alone  be  successful 
whose  character  has  no  taint  of  evil  or  sin.  His  whole  Arthurian 
Idyls  form,  according  to  Dean  Alford,  "  a  great  connected  poem,  deal- 
ing with  the  highest  interests  of  man — King  Arthur  being  typical  of 
the  higher  soul  of  man,  as  shown  in  the  the  King's  coming,  his  found- 
ation of  the  Bound  Table,  his  struggles,  disappointments  and 
departure."    Says  the  dying  Arthur : 

"  More  things  are  wronght  by  prayer 
Than  thia  world  dreams  of.     .... 
For  what  are  men  better  than  sheep  or  goats. 
That  nourish  a  blind  life  within  the  brain, 
If,  knowing  Qod,  they  lift  not  hands  of  prayer? '' 

All  Tennyson's  productions  are  replete  with  rich  Christian  senti- 
ments. There  is  a  vast  difference  in  respect  to  the  principles  of 
Christianity  in  the  poet  laureate  of  Queen  Victoria  and  those  of  Queen 
Anne  or  the  Georges.  Tennyson  embodies  in  Locksley  Hall  the  hope 
of  Christianity  among  the  nations,  when 


662  THE  LIBBAMY  MAGAZINE, 

"  TIm  war  dram  throbbed  no  longer,  and  the  battle  flafs  are^  Airled 
In  the  Parliament  of  man,  the  Federation  of  the  world. 
Then  the  common  sense  of  meet  shall  hold  a  fretfhl  realm  in  awe, 
And  the  kindly  earth  shall  slumber,  lapt  in  uniTersal  law." 

The  sftine  may  be  said  of  the  two  Brownings.  The  wife,  Elizabeth 
Barrett  Browning,  was  a  poetic  woman  soul,  who,  above  all  others  of 
her  sex  in  this  century,  has  had  feminine  insight  into  the  spirit  of  our 
Christian  civilization.  Saddened  by  early  personal  sorrows,  but  bright- 
ened later  by  ahappy  marriage  and  motherhood,  her  poetry  is  full  of  the 
spirit  of  New  Testament  teachings.  Robert  Browning,  in  all  he  has 
written,  and  it  is  much,  has  deeply  implanted  the  principles  of  Chris- 
tianity. Some  of  his  themes,  as  Ghriatmas  Eve^  and  Easter  Day^  are 
distinctly  of  the  Church,  and  his  treatment  of  them  is  with  a  deep, 
kindly,  fervent  spirit. 

Many  other  English  poets  have  flourished  during  this  epoch ;  but 
with  an  exception  or  two  their  muse  is  true  to  that  highest  force  of 
inspiration — ^tlie  Bible.  Not  that  their  themes  are  all  religious,  but 
when  they  are  chosen  relating  to  that,  they  are  truly  and  purely  treated. 
There  is  more  of  the  Christian  spirit  in  present  poetry  than  ever  before. 

American  poetry  has  the  inestimable  advantage  of  not  having 
attained  greatness  until  the  Christian  spirit  so  prevailed  in  western 
civilization,  that  it  has  never  resorted  to  coarseness,  as  was  the  fate  of 
much  of  the  English  poetry  till  later  generations.  No  nation  save  the 
Hebrew  has  been,  in  its  whole  field  of  poetry,  so  pure  and  exalted  in 
sentiment.  The  stem  struggle  of  early  settlement,  the  colonial  period, 
and  the  contest  for  freedom  with  the  mother  country,  had  all  to  be 
passed  before  the  tender  plant  of  poesy  could  flourish  jn  luxuriance, 
what  poetry  was  produced  in  those  periods,  and  in  the  years  of 
national  formation,  if  it  lacked  great  genius,  was  in  its  spirit  emi- 
nently of  the  Bible.  Its  puritanical  origin  caused  it  to  be  largely  of 
the  Old  Testament,  yet  its  teachings,  on  the  whole,  were  pure  and 
ennobling.  But  before  the  middle  of  this  century,  America  had  a 
poetry  of  which  it  had  no  need  to  be  ashamed. 

The  Constitutional  period  following  the  Revolution  was  also  unfruit- 
ful, and  possibly  owing  to  that  no  outspoken,  or  even  latent,  French 
infideUty  tinged  our  early  poetry.  What  of  worth  has  come  from  that 
epoch  is  pure.  But  those  were  being  trained  in  childhood  and  youth 
during  that  time  who  were  to  lay  the  foundations  of  our  noble  poetry. 
Trumbull  and  Allston,  with  a  few  others,  were  already  busy,  and  their 
muse  was  such  as  to  be  honored  in  a  Christ-loving  age.  Soon  Fitz- 
Green  Halleck  and  his  poetical  associate,  Joseph  Bodman  Drake,  began 
to  bring  the  dawn  of  America's  bright  day  of  poesy.  The  songs  of 
these  men  are  of  the  purest  character.  The  temper  of  the  readincr 
public  would  not  have  permitted  anything  but  the  pure  and  elevatco. 


TBE  CHRISTIAN  ELEMENT  IN  ENGLISH  POETRT.  563 

The  close  of  the  last  century  and  the  earlier  years  of  this  one  saw 
the  birth  of  those  who  have  taken  noblest  position  in  American  poetry. 
Bryant,  bom  in  the  last  century,  is  among  those  whose  genius,  says 
Wilson,  was  "  habitually  pious  in  the  felt  omnipresence  of  the  Creator." 
His  poetry  overflows  with  natural  religion ;  with  what  Wordsworth 
calls  "  the  religion  of  the  woods."  Thanatopsis  closes  with  the  well- 
known  sentiment  that  we  should  so  live  that  when  the  summons  comes 
to  die,  we  shoiild, 

^  Sustained  and  soothed 
By  «n  nn&ltering  trnst,  approach  thy  grave 
Like  one  who  wraps  the  drapery  of  his  couch 

Ahoat  him,  and  lies  down  to  pleasant  dreams.*' 

• 

Another  of  those  given  by  the  last  century  was  Mrs.  Sigoumey, 
whose  deep,  womanly  soul  gave  full  poetical  response  to  the  claims  of 
Christianity,  as  interpreted  in  this  age.  Many  of  her  hymns  have 
found  a  permanent  place  in  the  hymnology  of  the  Church,  and  her 
piety  a  warm  place  in  American  regard.  Bev.  John  Pierpont  was 
another  whose  poetry,  while  in  tenets  he  was  a  Unitarian,  breathes 
the  spirit  of  the  New  Testament.  He  began  life  in  1785,  yet  lived  to 
be  a  chaplain  in  our  war  of  1861-5. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  while  his  poetry  is  not  as  distinctly  relig- 
ious in  its  teachings  as  most  of  his  contemporaries,  has  nothing  in  it 
to  outrage  the  feelings  of  a  nineteenth  century  Christian.  The  hope 
for  the  soul,  express^  in  the  Chambered  Nautilus^  is  an  outburst  of 
the  spirit  of  that  book  in  which  life  and  immortality  are  brought  to 
light.  One  weat  genius,  Edgar  Allan  Poe,  too  much  like  Byron, 
gloomy  and  dissipated,  had  gone  out  in  darkness,  yet  leaving  brilliant 
proof  of  what  he  might  have  accomplished  had  his  life  continued  with 
a  less  tainted  blood.  As  it  is,  no  one  need  be  shocked  by  reading 
Poe's  poetry. 

Very  early  in  this  century  Longfellow  was  bom,  and  in  its  first 
third  began  to  attract  notice.  His  poems  are  among  the  household 
treasures  of  the  American  home,  their  sweet,  gentle  spirit  being  an 
outgrowth  from  the  American  development  of  Christian  civilization 
in  this  land  of  churches.  Bibles  and  Sunday  Schools.  His  most  pre- 
tentious drama.  The  Divine  Tragedy  embodies  in  it  the  gospel  narra- 
tive. His  JSaxelsior  and  Psalm  of  Life  are  redolent  with  faith  and 
prayer.  The  'same  may  be  said  of  his  other  great  poems,  as  The 
Spanish  Student^  Evangeline^  Hiawatha^  and  indeed  all  that  Longfel- 
low has  written.  Possibly  he  more  truly  represents  the  Christian 
spirit  of  America  than  any  other  of  our  poets. 

A  man  who  attracted  attention  about  the  same  time  as  Longfellow 
— John  G.  Whittier — is  a  worthy  contemporary  of  that  great  genius. 
They  occupy  foremost  places  in  the  great  school  of  American  poets. 
Possibly  his  Quaker  blood  and  training  aid  his  poetic  soul  in  being 


564  TEH  LIBBAR  Y  MA  GA  ZINK 

80  true  to  Christian  purity  and  spirit.  More  than  any  other  Ameri- 
can poet,  he  embodiea  the  abolition  sentiment,  which  was  a  palpable 
outgrowth  of  Christianity.  All  through  his  works,  whether  Voices 
of  Freedom^  Songs  of  Labor ^  National  Lyrics,  or  poems  in  other  fields, 
the  sweet,  childlike  trust  of  the  Christian  soul  is  apparent. 

Alongside  of  Whittier,  in  his  patriotism  and  love  of  freedom,  but 
of  genius  greatly  different,  stands  James  Bussell  Lowell.  His  poetry, 
whether  satire  at  which  he  so  excels,  or  rippling  Yankee  fun,  or  of 
the  sober  muse,  is  everywhere  full  of  the  Christian  sentiment.  That 
sentiment  may  be  hidden  under  uncouth  New  England  phraseology, 
but  it  has  sturdy  New  England  piety  to  inspire  it. 

Since  this  group  of  great  souls  in  our  poetry  has  mostly  ceased  to 
sing,  no  others  seem  to  have  arisen  who  can  smg  in  as  exalted  notes. 
Yet  a  considerable  number  of  singers  have  arisen,  whose  poetry  is 
rich,  pure,  and  of  exalted  Christian  sentiment.  Some  notes  have  been 
discordant,  but  mostly  they  voice  the  spirit  of  Christ.  Kathrina^  by 
J.  G.  Holland,  is  a  masterly  story  of  a  skeptic's  conversion  to  Christ. 
The  Pacific  slope  has  given  birth  to  some  of  these ;  the  Southern 
States  have  vied  with  the  Northern  ones,  while  women  have  been 
touched  by  the  fine  frenzy,  as  well  as  men.  And  now  America  awaits 
a  great  poet. 

This  age— especially  since  the  war  of  1861-5 — ^has  been  prolific  in 
hymn-writers.  Bay  ralmer  and  a  few  others  wrote  mostly  before 
that  epoch ;  but  those  writing  since  then  are  legion.  Can  the  nation 
sing  the  songs  of  Zion  better  since  the  awful  curse  of  slavery  is  lifted 
from  us  ?    Dr.  Palmer's 

**  My  faith  looks  up  to  thee, 
Thon  Jjamb  of  Calwury/' 

is  high  among  the  best  songs  of  the  Christian  Church.  The  touching 
prayer-song  of  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Pay  son  Prentiss, 

''  More  love  to  thee,  0  Christ,  more  love  to  thee," 

will  be  sun^  as  long  as  men  and  women  are  found  who  hunger  and 
tliirst  after  nghteousness.    So  of  the  hymn, 

'*  What  a  friend  we  have  In  Jesas." 

Along  with  hymn-writers  has  arisen  a  class  of  composers,  whose 
adaptations  to  the  words  and  spirit  of  the  hymns  have  been  of  great 
worth  to  the  cultivation  of  the  deep,  hearty  aspects  of  our  personal 
relations  to  God,  True  poetry  of  the  lyric  class  can  be  assisted  in  its 
interpretation  to  the  human  soul  by  well-adapted  music. 

A  general  survey  of  the  poetical  productions  of  the  Anglo-Saxon 
race  shows  that  the  grand  trend  of  it  all  has  been  steadfastly  toward 
the  deeper,  sweeter  spirit  of  God's  word.     Never  was  there  so  pure 


CtJRIOSItlES  OP  CttESS.  565 

and  almost  universal  trend  that  way  as  at  the  present  time.  The  race 
in  its  poetry,  as  in  its  government,  science,  history,  philosophy,  and 
indeed  in  every  element  of  its  civilization,  stands  nobly  by  the  religion 
which  has  made  it  great.  Room  for  epics  is  being  formed,  as  Chris- 
tianity grapples  with  one  after  another  of  our  heathen  inheritances, 
and  overthrows  them,  as  it  has  done  with  abject  superstition, 
Romanism  and  slavery.  We  wait  the  great  epic  poet  who  shall  sing 
of  these  victories,  as  Milton  did  of  the  fall  andf  restoration  of  man. — 
M.  V.  B.  Knox,  Ph.  D. 


CURIOSITIES  OP  CHESS. 


The  game  of  Chess  has  found  its  way  to  us  from  the  far  East,  and 
is  not  akin  to  any  Greek  or  Roman  game  of  chance.  Although  its 
votaries  are  comparatively  few,  chess  may  claim  to  have  been  univer- 
sal, and  its  board  and  men  have  long  formed  what  has  been  called  a 
common  alphabet,  the  factors  of  a  language  understood  and  enjoyed 
by  men  as  widely  separated  as  the  palanquin-bearer,  who  reflects  how 
he  may  best  deliver  a  crushing  mate  to  a  pebble  King  on  squares 
traced  on  Indian  sand,  and  the  Icelandic  bishop  who  sits  within  his 
walls  of  solid  snow,  and  with  a  block  of  ice  for  taole,  whiles  away  the 
tedium  of  a  polar  night.  Let  us  briefly  trace  some  of  the  many 
sources  from  which  writers  have  sought  to  derive  its  history  and 
origin. 

There  does  not  seem  to  be  much  to  choose  between  the  claim  of  one 
Xerxes,  a  Babylonian  philosopher  in  the  reign  of  Evil-Merodach,  and 
that  of  Chilo,  the  Spartan,  one  of  the  seven  sages  of  Greece.  Some 
have  ventured  to  ascribe  the  honor  to  Palamedes,  prince  of  Euboea, 
who  flourished  at  the  sie^e  of  Troy,  and  who  may,  therefore,  have  had 
ample  leisure  for  the  elaboration  of  a  mimic  siege.  We  find  from 
more  than  one  authority  that  the  game  may  have  been  invented  as  a 
last  resource  by  a  general  whose  soldiers  were  on  the  brink  of  mutiny. 
It  is  said  that  Pyrrhus,  king  of  Epirus,  turned  it  to  good  account  at 
such  a  crisis;  and  that  a  Chinese  mandarin,  some  nineteen  hundred 
yeai-s  ago,  was  able  thus  to  soothe  his  troops,  when  they  had  become 
clamorous  for  home,  and  to  reconcile  them  to  their  winter-quarters  by 
proposing  this  amusement  for  their  vacant  hours,  until,  with  the 
return  of  spring,  they  could  take  the  field  again,  better  fitted  by  their 
friendly  contests  for  the  stern  realities  of  war.  If,  however,  we  are  to 
believe  Chaucer,  it  was 

Athalns  that  made  the  game 

First  of  the  chew—flo  was  hia  name — 


566  TS£  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE. 

an  assertion  supported  by  Cornelius  Agrippa,  who  tells  us  that  Atta- 
ins, king  of  Asia,  was  an  inventor  of  games.  Finally,  a  manuscript 
in  the  Harleian  collection  gives  us  to  understand  that  Ulysses  (tne 
crafty  one)  was  first  in  this  field.  So  many  have  been  these  claim- 
ants, that  Herodotus  gravely  records  the  fact  that  the  people  of  Lydia 
did  not  profess  to  have  taken  any  part  in  the  planning  of  boara,  or 
moves,  or  men. 

We  are  prepared  to  find  in  a  game  of  which  the  true  source  is  as 
uncertain  as  was  that  of  the  river  Nile,  that  there  have  been  different 
methods  and  manners  of  conducting  it.  Thus,  in  the  Hindu  game, 
four  distinct  armies  are  employed,  each  with  their  King,  not  ranged 
in  the  style  of  that  four-handea  chess  which  has  been  to  some  extent 
revived  within  the  last  few  years,  but  shorn  of  their  strength,  so  that 
each  force  consists  of  half  the  usual  number;  and  marked  by  this 
further  peculiarity,  that  each  corps  counts  among  its  fighting-men  a 
King,  an  Elephant,  and  a  Knight,  who  slay,  but  cannot  be  slain.  In 
the  Chinese  game,  which  boasts  the  sounding  title  Choke- Ohoo-Kong^ 
Ki  (the  play  of  the  science  of  war),  a  river  runs  across  the  centre  of 
the  board,  which  their  Elephants  (equivalent  to  our  Bishops),  may 
never  cross;  and  there  is  a  fort,  beyond  whose  limits  their  King  may 
never  pass.  In  the  Persian  game,  the  Ferz  (our  Queen),  advances  one 
step  forward  on  the  opening  move,  in  company  with  its  pawn,  thus  tak- 
ing up  a  position  whence  it  can  review  ana  regulate  the  general  attack. 
.After  this  initial  move,  it  can  only  advance  or  retreat  by  one  step  at 
a  time  in  a  diagonal  course. 

Though,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  vain  to  attempt  a  proof  from  so  " 
many  contradictory  premises,  and  we  must  leave  the  actual  origin  of 
chess  an  open  question,  there  can  be  no  doubt  at  all  that  it  dates  as 
far  back  as  any  intellectual  pastime  that  is  known  to  us.  We  must 
be  content  to  allow  China,  India, -Persia,  and  Arabia  to  contend  for 
the  honor  of  having  rocked  Caissa's  cradle,  satisfied  on  our  part  to 
know  that  the  Queen  of  chess,  grown  to  maturity,  has  held  sway  in 
Europe  for  many  a  long  year.  There  is  in  existence  a  book  upon  the 
subject  written  by  a  Dominican  friar  in  the  year  1200,  and  we  are  told 
on  good  authority  that  in  1070,  a  certain  cardinal,  of  evidently  nar- 
row mind,  wrote  to  Pope  Alexander  II.  to  report  that  he  had  had  occa- 
sion seriously  to  reprove  a  bishop  for  indulging  in  a  game  of  chess. 
The  poor  prelate  pleaded  that  this  was  no  game  of  hazard;  but  his 
superiors  took  a  sterner  view,  and  ordered  him  to  repeat  the  Psalter 
thrice,  and  to  wash  the  feet  of  twelve  poor  persons,  in  penance  for  his 
offence. 

To  times  quite  as  remote  as  these  we  must  refer  some  extremely 
curious  chessmen  which  were  found  in  1881  in  the  island  of  Lewis, 
and  placed  in  the  British  Museum.     It  seems  probable  to  those  who 


CUBI08ITTES  OF  CBES8.  B&t 

understand  such  matters,  that  these  men,  which  are  curiously  carved, 
were  made  from  the  tusks  of  walrus,  about  the  middle  of  the  twelfth 
century,  by  some  of  those  hardy  Norsemen  who  then  overran  the 
greater  part  of  Europe.  The  Hebrides  were  then  subject  to  inva- 
sion by  the  Sea-kings,  and  were  tributaries  to  the  throne  of  Norway 
till  the  year  1266;  we  may  therefore  conjecture  that  these  relics  of 
early  European  chess  were  part  of  the  stock  of  some  Icelandic  trader 
whose  vessel  was  lost  at  sea ;  and  that  these  ivory  men,  which  are  of 
various  sizes,  and  must  therefore  have  belonged  to  several  sets,  were 
washed  ashore,  and  buried  by  the  sand  for  nearly  seven  centuries. 

Hyde  dates  the  culture  of  this  game  on  English  soil  from  the  Con- 
quest, because,  as  he  points  out,  the  Court  of  Exchequer  was  then 
established;  but  there  is  an  earlier  record  which  informs  us  that 
"  when  Bishop  -^theric  obtained  admission  to  Canute  the  Great  upon 
some  urgent  business  about  midnight,  he  found  the  king  and  his 
courtiers  engaged,  some  at  dice,  and  others  at  chess."  From  a  similar 
source,  we  find  that  the  game  was  turned  to  a  very  practical  account 
indeed  in  these  times,  for  when  a  young  nobleman  wished  to  gain  per- 
mission to  pay  court  to  the  lady  of  his  love,  the  fond  parent  commonly 
made  trial  of  his  temper  by  engaging  with  him  over  the  chessboara. 
A  ludicrous  old  print  of  somewhat  later  date  represents  a  garden- 
party  of  six  ladies  and  as  many  gentlemen  groupea  round  a  table,  at 
which  one  of  either  sex  is  standing  in  a  most  striking  attitude  pre- 
tending to  play  at  chess,  while  the  others  amuse  themselves  in  pairs 
with  the  langushing  deportment  of  lovers,  and  seem  less  interested  in 
the  game  than  an  owl  which  sits  upon  a  rail,  with  one  eye  on  the 
board  and  one  upon  the  company;  while  three  rooks  (appropriate 
birds)  are  busy  in  the  background  with  their  own  affairs. 

It  does  not  need  the  pen  of  a  ready  writer  to  prove  to  those  who 
are  real  chess-players,  in  however  humble  a  degree  of  excellence,  the 
pre-eminence  of  chess  among  indoor  games  of  skill.  As  a  test  of 
temper  and  patience,  it  has  peculiar  merits,  though  there  have  been 
some  notable  instances  in  which  these  good  qualities  have  failed.  Is 
it  not  recoitied  for  our  warning  how  "John,  son  to  King  Henry,  and 
Fulco  fell  at  variance  at  chestes,  and  John  brake  Fulco's  hed  with  the 
chest-borde;  and  then  Fulco  gave  him  such  a  blow  that  had  almost 
killed  him? "  and  in  another  chronicle  how  "  William  the  Conqueror 
in  his  younger  yeares  playing  at  chesse  with  the  Prince  of  France,  los- 
ing a  mate,  knocked  the  chesseboard  about  his  pate,  which  was  a 
cause  afterwards  of  much  enmity  between  them  ?  " 

Nor  are  ensamples  lacking  of  the  abuse  of  patience.  The  same 
authority  who  has  written  of  the  fiery  Fulco  gives  us  the  following 
account : 

**  There  is  a  atoiy  of  two  persons  of  distinction— the  one  lived  at  ICadxidi  theoUier 


Bep 


TEE  LIBRARY  MA0A2INK 


at  Rome*— who  played  a  game  of  chesR  at  that  distance.  They  hegan  when  yonng, 
and  though  they  both  liv^  to  a  very  old  age,  yet  the  game  was  not  finished.  One  of 
them  dying,  appointed  his  executor  to  go  on  with  the  game.  The  method  was :  each 
don  kept  a  chessboard,  with  the  pieces  arranged  in  exact  order,  in  their  respective 
closets  at  Madrid  and  Rome  ;  and  having  agreed  who  should  move  first,  the  don  in- 
forms his  playfellow  by  letter  that  he  has  moved  his  King's  pawn  two  moves ;  the 
courier  speedily  returns,  and  advises  his  antagonist  that,  the  minute  after  he  had  the 
honour  to  receive  this,  he  likewise  moved  his  King's  pawn  two  paces ;  imd  so  they 
went  on." 

It  would  doubtless  have  turned  the  brain  of  either  of  these  two 
worthy  dons  if  they  could  have  been  present  on  any  of  the  occasions  in 
recent  times  when  a  game  has  been  begun  and  finished  by  telegraph 
between  places  far  apart  in  the  course  of  a  few  hours.  In  conclusion, 
let  us  lay  before  our  readers  some  words  of  excellent  advice  published 
by  one  Arthur  Saul,  two  hundred  years  ago,  which  all  chess-players 
may  profitably  lay  to  heart : 

**  Do  not  at  no  time  that  thou  playest  at  this  game  stand  singing,  whistling,  knock- 
ing, or  tinkering,  whereby  to  disturbe  the  minde  of  thine  adversary  and  hinder  his 
projects ;  neither  keepe  thou  a-calling  on  him  to  playe,  or  a- showing  of  much  dislike 
that  hee  playeth  not  fast  enough ;  remembering  with  thyselfe  tiiat^ides  that  this  is 
a  silent  game,  when  thy  tume  is  to  play  thou  wilt  take  thine  owne  leasure ;  and  that 
it  is  the  royall  law  so  to  deal  with  another  as  thyself  wonldst  be  dealt  wiihalL" 

— Eev.  a.  Cyril  Pearson,  in  Charnber*$  Journal 


CUEEENT  THOUGHT. 


EUBOPBAN  AGGRESSION'S  IN  JAPAN.— 

Mr.  £.  H.  House,  an  American  Journalist, 
who  has  for  many  years  resided  in  Japan, 
contributes  to  the  New  Princeton  Review, 
a  paper  on  '*  Foreign  Jurisdiction  in 
Japan."  After  presenting  a  long  list  of 
gross  outrages  perpetrated  by  consular 
authorities — especially  by  those  of  Great 
Britain — he  thus  concludes : — 

"  If  it  be  supposed  that  the  evils  here 
depicted  have  been  compensated  by  ad* 
vantages  to  the  aliens  in  whose  behalf  it 
was  first  devised,  and  has  since  been 
twisted  and  tortured  out  of  all  resem- 
blance to  its  early  meaning,  that  idea 
needs  only  a  candid  and  not  too  minute 
scrutiny  to  be  speedily  dissipated.  C!on- 
sular  authority,  in  so  &r  as  it  pretends  to 
satisfy  the  requirements  of  [foreign]  so- 
ciety at  large,  is  a  sheer  imposture.  It 
rests  largely  npion  the  assumption  that 
the  territory  in  which  it  prevails  is  not 
Japanese ;  but  supplies  no  evidence  that 
it  is  anything  else.    In  a  narrow  and  im- 


perfect way,  each  consular  establish* 
ment  may  pcnrform  a  certain  service  for 
the  particular  section  of  the  community 
which  it  represents,  but  its  power  to 
watch  over  the  combined  interests  of  the 
multitude  is  utterly  fictitious.  In  the 
estimation  of  English  ftinctionaries  the 
port  of  Yokohama  may  be  as  completely 
British  as  if  acquired  *  by  cession  or  con- 
quest,' but  it  is  not  so  regarded  by  the 
French  or  the  Germans,  or  any  other  of 
the  representative  officials  there  sta* 
tioned.  They,  with  but  a  solitary  excep- 
tion, are  equally  forward  in  claiming  it  as 
their  own.  Japan  undoubtedly  has  re- 
lations with  seventeen  different  nations ; 
but  to  contend  that  the  open  ports  belong 
to  all  of  these  coi^'ointly,  would  lead 
to  worse  complications  llian  any  yet 
invented.  Each  treaty  provides  ibr  sep- 
arate tribunals,  but  it  can  compel  the 
subjects  of  only  one  power  to  respect 
these  tribunals.  Ko  resident  is  under 
the  control  of  any  consul  but  his  own. 


ctfMEKt  tmmM, 


560 


He  cannot  be  required  to  appear,  even  as 
a  witness,  before  any  consul  but  his  own. 
There  are  in  Yokohama  a  dozen  or  more 
HO -called  courts,  all  conducted  upon  dis- 
crepant, and  sometimes  widely  divergent 
methods,  contradictory  in  purpose,  an- 
ta^nistic  in  procedure,  measuring  out 
justice  according  to  utterly  incongruous 
codes,  all  index>endent  of  one  another, 
and  subordinate  to  no  common  authority. 
If  these  disconnected  institutions  were 
models  of  intelligence,  decorum,  and  in* 
tegrity,  they  would  still  fail  to  furnish  a 
coherent  and  trustworthy  administration 
of  justice.  But  being,  with  rare  excep- 
tions, distinguished  for  nothing  but  igno- 
rance, incompetency,  aud  perverse  hostil- 
ity to  everything  Japanese,  they  offer 
the  strongest  possible  testimony  to  the 
worthlessneas  of  the  system  of  which 
they  constitute  an  integral  part....  . 

"  Equally  inefficient  and  imperfect  is 
the  management  of  the 'whole  circle  of 
foreign  courts ;  yet  their  tenure  is  pro- 
longed by  the  Earopeau  envoys  as  a  means 
of  perpetuating  their  own  i>ower,  and  of 
preserving  indefinitely  to  their  country- 
men the  benefits  of  which  they  have 
constantly  enjoyed  a  disproi>ortionate 
share.  The  Japanese  are  ready  with  a 
code  of  law  which  ia  allowed  by  compe- 
tent critics  to  have  been  compiled  with 
remarkable  skill  and  sagacity,  and  which 
is  in  all  respects  adapted  to  the  exigen- 
cies of  the  situation.  They  ][^ledge  them- 
selves to  avoid  every  appearance  of  rigor 
in  its  gradual  application  to  aliens — the 
total  number  of  whom  is  less  than  2,500 
— and  to  be  guided  by  the  utmost  liberal- 
ity in  affecting  the  ueoessary  transfers  of 
authority.  No  one  disputes  their  inten- 
tion or  their  ability  to  fhlfil  these  prom- 
ises ;  yet  their  proposals  are  harshly  re- 
jected, and  their  plea  for  relief  fh>m  an 
unnecessary  and  ignominious  servility  is 
rudely  denied.  They  are  forced  to  sus- 
pend their  efforts  to  attain  a  position  of 
honor  among  the  nations  ;  for  until  the 
burden  of  treaty  obligations  is  removed, 
no  further  progress  is  possible. 

''They  are  suffering  severely  from  a 
pecuniary  pressure  which  cannot  be 
thrown  off  while  foreign  hands  derange 
their  finances  and  shackle  their  indus- 
triea  The  public  revenue  can  never  be 
secure  while  a  European  envoy  may  issue 
deacMS  «f  his  own  will— as  a  British 


minister  has  done — proclaim  the  abroga- 
tion of  customs-duties  on  a  particular 
commodity,  and  reminding  Englishmen 
that  they,  being  exempt  from  Japanese 
law,  may  safely  refuse  to  pay  the  impost. 
The  resources  of  the  Government  have 
been  impaired,  its  standing  at  home  and 
abroad  has  been  weakened,  and  its  credit 
repeatedly  shaken  by  diplomatic  agen- 
cies ;  and  to  dangers  of  this  description 
it  is  forever  liable  while  the  fatal  treaties 
remain  in  force.  Private  as  well  as  na- 
tional enterprise  is  deadened,  and  the 
productive  energies  of  the  people  are  be- 
numbed. They  base  no  hope  upon  the 
opening  of  the  country,  for  they  know 
that  they  cannot  compete,  upon  their 
own  soil,  with  aliens  wno  are  bound  by 
none  of  the  legal  restrictions  which  they 
are  required  to  obey.  To  unlock  the 
doors,  in  their  defenseless  state,  would 
be  to  surrender  Uie  land  to  spoliation  by 
its  enemies. 

''  These  assertions  are  not  based  upon 
conjecture ;  their  truth  is  attested  by 
bitter  experience.  For  wrongs  inflicted 
upon  a  Japanese  by  a  stranger  redress  can 
be  claimed  only  from  a  consul,  who  in 
most  cases  would  scoff  at  the  idea  of 
considering  any  interest  but  that  of  his 
countrymen.  By  far  the  greater  number 
of  consuls  are  themselves  trading  and 
speculating  adventurers,  and  are  not 
above  making  use  of  their  official  oppor- 
tunities to  extort  plunder  in  every  direc- 
tion. Thus  it  is  that  Japan  can  take  no 
forward  step  in  prosperous  development. 
Foreign  diplomacy  blocks  the  way.  Dur- 
ing her  thirty  years  of  relationship  with 
the  West  her  sorrows  have  been  lightened 
by  no  token  of  friendliness  or  sympathy, 
save  from  a  single  quarter. 

"Through  the  exertions  of  individual 
Americans  who  have  set  their  hearts  and 
hands  to  the  labor  of  re-investing  her 
with  the  inheresit  rights  of  which  she 
has  been  defrauded — and  especially 
through  the  diligent  activity  of  one  just 
minister — citizens  of  the  United  States 
are  now  compelled  to  respect  and  abide 
by  the  spirit  of  her  laws,  although  still 
privileged  to  hold  themselves  free  from 
the  processes  of  her  tribunals.  This, 
however  is  but  a  feeble  and  hesitating  in- 
dication of  good-will.  It  conveys  merely 
the  expression  of  kindly  intention,  and 
contributes  nothing  toward  the  removal 


I 


570 


THH:  UmuBY  MAGA^JNR 


of  Japan's  disabilities.  What  is  wanted 
is  an  unconditional  release  from  the  ties 
which  hold  her  in  political  and  moral  en- 
slavement One  frank  and  ontspoken 
word  from  the  Chief  Magistrate  of  this 
repnblic  wonld  enable  her  to  reclaim  the 
liberties  to  which  she  is  as  honorably  en- 
titled as  the  most  enlightened  of  West- 
em  countries.  Never  has  a  worthy  end 
been  easier  of  attainment.  Not  an  honr 
need  be  wasted  in  fatiguing  official  for- 
malities. The  preparations  were  long 
ago  completed,  and  the  material  i«  at 
hand  in  the  shape  of  a  t^m/tj  at  once 
concise  and  eowywhensive,  which,  though 
now  inoperativOf  requires  only  a  slight 
touch  of  excision,  and  the  President's 
sitai'mannal,  to  give  it  substantial  and 
effective  force.  The  Senate  is  ready  to 
record  its  approval,  and  the  whole  Union 
of  States  would  gladly  join  in  welcoming 
the  noble  little  empire  to  the  community 
of  independent  nations." 

A  Good  Wobd  fob  The  Mormons.— 
It  is  not  often  that  the  Mormons  hear  a 
good  word  about  themselves.  But  in  an 
article  in  the  Forum^  entitled  "  Is  our 
Social  Life  Threatened  ?  "  the  Bight  Rev- 
erend J.  L.  Spalding,  says : 

**  Of  Mor monism,  as  a  national  danger, 
much  that  is  superficial  and  idle  is 
spoken  and  written.  The  Mormons  are 
sober,  industrious,  and  thrifty,  and  their 
acceptance  of  i>olygamy  is  our  only  griev- 
ance against  them.  But  polygamy,  be- 
yond all  question,  we  need  not  fear  at 
all.  Even  among  the  Mormons  it  exists  in 
comparatively  few  instances.  It  is  a 
barbarous  institution,  and  is  found  only 
where  women  are  held  in  the  bondage  of 
ignorance  and  servitude.  No  man  who 
has  regard  for  his  peace  or  comfort  would 
think  of  having  two  wives  in  a  country 
in  which  women  have  become  so  intel- 
ligent and  independent  that  the  only 
sure  way  of  living  happily  with  even  one 
is  to  be  humble  and  obedient  Sensuality 
with  us  we,  may  be  reasonably  certain, 
will  not  take  the  form  of  polygamy.  The 
problem  which  will  present  itself  for  so- 
lution is  not  whether  a  man  shall  have 
one  or  several  wives,  but  whether*  he 
shall  have  one  or  none  at  all,  and  what- 
ever the  future  of  Mormonism  may  be, 
here  in  the  United  States,  it  must  cease 
to  be  polygsunous." 


Judas  Iscabiot.— Kerioth  was  a  towtk 
in  Bouthern  Jndea,  and  ^'Iscariot"  its 
probably  a  Greedzed  transliteration  of 
the  Hebrew  isk-Keriath,  '^  man  of  Kerioth ;" 
so  that  the  word  which  baa  come  to  ]»  « 
term  of  the  utmost  opprobiuuK  was 
originally  an  appellatioD  of  iMiwr.  '*  The 
man  of  Eeriotn"  wonM  appear  to  have 
been  equivalent  to  the  French  "  de 
Kerioth,"  or  Ihe  German  ''  von  Kerioth.^' 
Mr.  Mmeaie  D.  Conway  is  not  satisfied 
wMh  the  representation  which  certain 
old  writers — Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and 
John — have  given  of  this  quondam 
apostle ;  and  in  the  Ncrih  Ameriean  Be- 
view  he  evolves,  partly  from  his  own  inner 
consciousness,  what  is  his  idea  of  "  Jndas 
the  Iscariot,''  as  he  quite  rightly  styles 
him.     He  says : 

*'  There  is  nothing  improbable  in  the 
assertion  that  Judas  protested  against 
Mary's  waste  on  Jesns's  feet  of  ooetly 
ointment  that  might  have  been  sold  for 
the  poor.  He  may  have  given  voice  to 
the  'indignation,"  of  the  other  diadplet. 
This  wonld  show  Jndas  as  a  rather  hard 
type  of  Radical,  no  doubt ;  were  he  is 
New  York  he  would  protest  40HB8t1mDd- 
ing  a  six-million  flatAedra]  amid  sufSsring 
thousands.  It  is  the  misfortune  of  snch 
men  that  they  are  not  always  able  to  ex- 
cept from  their  human  secularism  the 
value  of  a  sentiment  such  as  that  which 
filled  not  only  the  house  of  Simon,  bnt 
the  Christian  world,  with  the  perfume^ 
shed  by  Mary  on  the  weary  feet  of  Jesus. ' 
Mary's  kisses  on  those  feet  may  possibly 
have  suggested  the  tradition  of  her  re- 
prover's treacherous  kisses.  Nevertheless, 
Judas  may  have  so  greeted  Jesus  at  the 
time  of  his  arrest  The  'Hail,  Master' 
and  the  kiss  may  have  genuine.  He 
I  might  so  have  initiated  a  pi^dicted  crisis. 
Jesus  had  kindled  high  hopes  among 
these  humble  and  oppressed  Jews;  nor 
were  his  plans  peaoefhl:  'Te  which 
have  followed  me  shall  sit  upon  twelve 
thrones ; '  'I  came  not  to  send  peace, 
but  a  sword  ; '  '  He  that  hath  none,  let 
him  sell  his  cloak,  and  buy  a  sword;' 
*They  said,  Lord,  here  are  two  swords, 
and  he  said,  It  is  enough.'  That,  in  the 
revolution  to  which  these  sad  other  say- 
ings pointed,  the  Messiah  might  be  slain, 
was  an  idea  no  Jew  could  conceive,  even 
had  Jesus  not  declared  that  no  man  eonld 
take  his  life.    The  disciples  had  showa 


CVBUilNT  TffOVGffT. 


671 


impatience,  and  asked,  *Wfaen  shall 
these  things  be?^  Jesus  had  answered 
them,  'This  generation  shall  not  pass 
away  till  all  these  things  be  accom- 
plished.' Perhaps  Jadas,  with  the  fanat- 
ical fiftith  of  John  Brown,  challenged  a 
collision  with  enormons  odds,  never 
doabting  that  twelve  legions  of  angels 
would  appear,  if  necessary.  He  may  have 
led  the  disciples  to  the  retreat  beyond 
Kedron.  Several  of  the  disciples  were 
armed,and  may  have  shared  Jadas's  hopes. 
Indeed,  John  will  not  admit  that  either 
Judas  or  the  soldiers  had  any  i>ower  over 
Jesus :  the  Lord  advanced  and  said,  *  I 
am  he,'  and  the  officials  all  went  back- 
ward, and  fell  to  the  ground.  But  the 
disciples  were  in  dismay.  The  theory  of 
treachery  is  hardly  consistent  with  the 
subsequent  action  attributed  to  Judas,  so 
far  as  this  has  not  been  shown  myth- 
ical. Where  he  had  looked  to  see  a 
triumphant  Messiah,  he  saw  now  an  in- 
uticent  man — a  beloved  friend  and  teacher 
led  away  under  arrest  to  probable  ex- 
ecution. *When  he  saw  what  he  had 
done' — so  terribly  in  contrast  to  his 
expectation — ^he  repented  of  his  impatient 
action.  He  had  taken  the  metaphors  of 
Jesus  too  literally ;  his  imagination  was 
not  equal  to  all  eventualities ;  but  all  the 
more  can  such  take  to  heart  the  thing 
seen  and  realized.  When  all  the  rest  of 
the  disciples  *  forsook  him  and  fled,' 
when  Peter  denied  him  with  oaths,  Jodas 
alone  seems  to  have  confronted  the  chief 
priests  and  elders,  and  testified  to  the 
innocence  of  Jesus." 


A  New  Lettbb  From  Gkobob  Wash- 
ington.— The  Magazine  of  American  Sis- 
tory  presents  what  purports  to  be  a  letter 
of  George  Washington,  hitherto  unpub- 
lished. The  letter  belongs  to  Seymour 
Van  Santvoord,  Esq.,  of  Troy,  N.  Y.  If 
this  letter  be  indeed  genuine,  it  differs 
widely  in  spelling,  etc,  from  any  other 
written  by  Washington,  which  has  ever 
come  before  us : — 

"  To  the  Minester  Elders  and  Deacons 
of  the  Beformd  Prodistant  Church  of  the 
Town  of  Schenectady 

Glutei  men 

I  sincearly  thank  you  for 
your  Congratulations  on  my  arrival  in 
this  place 

Whilst  I  Join  yon  in  adoring  that  su- 


preme being  to  whome  alone  can  be  attreb- 
uted  the  signel  successes  of  our  Arms  I 
cannot  but  express  gratitude  to  you  Gen- 
telmen  for  so  distinguished  a  testemony 
of  your  Begard 

ICay  the  same  providence  that  has 
hitherto  in  so  Remarkable  a  manner 
Evinced  the  jusUoe  of  our  Ganse  lead  ns 
to  a  speady  and  honourable  peace  aitd 
may  It's  attendant  blessing  soon  Restore 
this  our  Flourishing  phne  to  its  former 
prosperity 

Go.  WashinglQB 

Schenectady 

June  30th  1782" 


The  Fikakcial  Conditiok  of  oirii 
GovEBKMSNT. — By  way  of  preliminary 
to  an  article  on  '*Hinderancee  to  Surplus 
Reduction,"  Mr.  William  M.  Springer 
says,  in  the  Forum : 

**  The  statesmen  of  Europe  are  contin- 
ually busied  with  the  problem  how  to 
devise  the  means  necessary  to  pay  the 
expenses  of  their  respective  govern- 
ments. Their  treasuries  are  peri^ically 
threatened  with  deficits,  and  they  are 
compelled  to  resort  to  loans,  special 
taxes,  and  other  devices  to  meet  the  ab- 
solute wants  of  the  public  service.  In 
our  government  a  different  condition 
exists.  Our  statesmen  are  called  upon 
to  meet  a  large  and  continnally  increase 
ing  suiplus  revenue^  and  to  devise  means 
of  getting  rid  of  it.  O^r  surplus  has 
been  steadily  increasing  during  the  past 
twenty  years.  Until  very  recently  however 
it  could  be  applied  to  the  payment  of  in- 
terest-bearing bonds,  and  thus  to  the  re- 
duction of  the  public  debt.  But  on  May 
1,  1887,  the  bonded  indebtedness  that 
was  payable  was  extinguished,  and  bonds 
can  now  be  di6clia]*ged  only  by  their  pur- 
chase in  the  market,  and  by  paying  such 
premiums  thereon  as  the  holder  may  de- 
mand. About  1230,000,000  of  four  and 
one-half  per  ctnt,  bonds  will  be  due  Sep- 
tember 1,  1891,  while  the  remainder  of 
the  bonded  indebtedness,  nmounting  to 
$742,000,000,  bearing  four  per  cent,  inter- 
est, will  not  be  due  until  1907.  The  four 
and  one-half  per  cent,  bonds  can  be  pui^ 
chased  by  paying  premiums  of  about  8 
per  cent,  while  the  bonds  running  for 
twenty  years  are  worth  about  26  per 
cent,  premium  at  this  time.  The  pur- 
chase of  bonds  bearing  such  high  pre- 


Ara 


T^k  LiMAnr  MAOA^mB, 


miams  is  objectionablei  and  hence  the  ne- 
cessity of  redacing  the  revenue  so  as  to 
meet  only  the  absolute  wants  of  the  gov- 
ernment.'' 


Enemies  I!^  the  Ioe  Box.— T.  Mitch- 
ell Pradden,  M.  D.,  in  the  Popular 
Science  MorUMy^  discourses  upon  ^'Our 
Itse-supply  and  its  Dangers.''    He  says : 

**We  have  been  wont  to  believe  that 
the  fragment  of  ice  which  forms  such  a 
constant  and  pleasing  adjunct  to  our 
glass  of  water  is  the  very  ideal  of  purity. 
Bat  the  common  belief  that,  in  freezing, 
water  purifies  itself  from  all  kinds  of 
contamination,  has  been  shown  to  be 
quite  untrue ;  and,  ungrateftil  as  is  the 
task  of  dispelling  so  pleasing  an  illusion, 
we  shall  do  unwisely  if  we  ignore  the 
revelations  of  modem  science,  and  for 
the  sake  of  a  momentary  mental  quiet- 
ude remain  oblivious  to  a  real  danger 
which  the  indiscriminate  use  of  ice  for 
<lrinklng  purposes  unquestionably  entails. 
Nearly  all  natural  water  contains  consid- 
erable numbers  of  tiny  vegetable  organ- 
isms called  baderia.  So  small  are  they, 
for  the  most  part,  that  thousands  upon 
thousands  of  them,  if  ranged  side  by 
side,  would  scarcely  reach  across  the 
head  of  a  pin.  Most  of  them  afe  not 
only,  so  fkr  as  we  know,  entirely  harm- 
less when  taken  into  the  system  in  mod- 
erate quantities,  but  they  are  among  the 
most  important  factors  contributing  to 
the  cleanliness  and  continued  salubrity 
of  our  surroundings.  Wherever  under 
ordinary  conditions  a  bit  of  organic  mat- 
ter, animal  or  vegetable,  dies,  these  tiny 
structures  appear  and  tear  it  to  pieces, 
atom  by  atom,  using  a  very  small  pro- 
portion as  food,  and  furnishing  the  re- 
mainder in  suitable  innocuous  form  for 
the  nutrition  of  animals  and  other  plants 
in  turn.  There  seems  to  be  at  first  some- 
thing repellent  in  the  thought  that  we 
are  liable  to  unwittingly  consume,  in  our 
drinking-water,  as  we  do  in  much  of  our 
uncook^  food,  such  numbers  of  living 
things.  But  this  feeling  is  largely  due 
to  the  wholly  uqjustifiable  disposition 
which  many  persons  display,  to  class 
them  among  *  bugs  'and  *  worms.'  No- 
body thinks  of  considering  the  consump- 
tion of  fresh  fruits  and  vegetables  as 
anything  uncanny.  And  yet  all  the  veg- 
etftblee  and  fruits  which  we  commonly 


use  as  foods  are  really  made  up  of  vast 
aggregates  of  tiny  living  organisms  called 
cells,  each  one  of  which  is  the  analogue 
of  the  single  organisms  called  badaiii, 
and  under  ordinary  conditions  one  is  just 
as  little  harmful  as  the  other.  The  leaves 
and  fruits  of  some  plants  are  exceedingly 
poisonous,  and  yet  he  who  should  on 
that  account  decline  to  eat  lettuce  or 
peaches  would  be  justly  reckoned  among 
Nature's  weaklings.  The  air  we  breathe 
in  inhabited  regions  always  contains 
considerable  numbers  of  iocferui)  but  they 
are  for  the  most  jart  harmless.  We 
have  learned  a  great  deal  about  ihese, 
our  invisible  Mends  the  hacteria,  within 
the  past  few  years ;  and  as  that  knowl- 
edge has  grown,  we  have  found  out  that 
lurking  among  them  area  few  species, 
not  friends  but  our  most  inveterate  Ibes, 
producing  disease  and  even  death.  The 
fact  is  that,  under  ordinary  fovorable 
sanitary  conditions,  the  bacteria  which 
we  are  liable  to  breathe  or  consume  are 
as  harmless  as  so  much  air.  But  if  we 
insist  upon  drinking  dirty  water  or 
breathing  filthy  air,  we  increase,  as  we 
deserve  U>  do,  our  risk  of  coming  under 
the  influence  of  the  baneful  foima." 


Economizing  the  Rainfall.— Mr. 
Henry  Gannett,  in  Sdenee,  discusses  the 
question  **  Is  the  Rainfall  increasing  upon 
the  Plains?"  His  conclusion,  based  upon 
a  wide  examination  of  records,  is  that "  it 
has  undergone  no  material  change  since 
settlement  began  in  the  region."  He 
makes  the  following  very  nseiul  sugges- 
tion:— 

Experience  has  shown  that  a  much 
smaller  quantity  of  rain  is  essential  thaji 
was  supposed.  To  my  mind,  there  is 
little  more  to  be  said.  If  it  be  found, 
that,  with  an  annual  rainfall  during  the 
growing  season  not  greater  than  ten 
inches,  farming  can  be  carried  on  sucoeM- 
fully,  the  only  question  remaining  is, 
how  the  mistake  could  have  been  made  of 
supposing  that  it  required  a  greatei 
amount.  There  is  no  doubt  that  culti- 
vation adds  greatly  to  the  economy  of  tbe 
rainfall.  The  surface  of  the  plain  in  an 
uncultivated  condition  is  mainly  bare, 
hard  ground,  but  slightly  protected  by 
its  covering  of  grasses.  From  such  n 
surface  the  rain  flows  off  freely,  and  an 
nnnsnally  large  proportion  of  it  finds  its 


CURRENT  THOUGHT. 


573 


way  into  the  streams,  wbile  a  correspond-  1 
ingly  small  proportion  sinl^s  into  the 
ground.  The  farmer,  with  plongh  and 
harrow,  changes  all  this,  and  retains  in 
the  soil  most  of  the  rainfall.  From  year 
to  year  the  supply  in  the  soil  increases, 
so  that  the  suhsoil  becomes  in  time  a 
reservoir  from  which  the  surface  soil  miqr 
iraw  in  times  of  drought.  Futhermore, 
the  scanty  vegetation  offers  little  protec- 
tion against  evaporation,  which  is 
excessive  upon  the  barren  plains ;  but  the 
ampler  mantle  which  cultivation  spreads 
over  the  soil  prevents  its  moisture  from 
disappearing  in  the  atmosphere  with  so 
great  rapidity/' 

The  Noachian  Deluge.— Mr.  An- 
drew D.  White,  late  President  of  Cornell 
University,  in  an  article  in  the  Popular 
Science  MotUhly,  entitled  "New  Chapters 
in  the  Warfare  of  Science,'*  says: 

**  One  of  the  first  evidences  of  the  eom- 
pleteness  of  the  capitulation  of  the  party 
which  set  the  literal  account  of  the  del- 
uge of  Noah  against  the  facts  revealed 
by  geology  has  been  so  well  related  by 
the  eminent  physiologist.  Dr.  W.  B. 
Carpenter,  that  it  may  best  be  given  in 
his  own  words :  '  Tou  are  familiar  with 
a  book  of  considerable  value,  Dr.  W. 
Smith's  Diciiomry  of  the  Bible.  I 
happened  to  know  the  influences  under 
which  that  dictionary  was  framed.  The 
idea  of  the  publisher  and  of  the  editor 
was  to  give  as  much  scholarship  and  such 
results  of  modern  citicism  as  should  be 
compatible  with  a  very  Judicious  con- 
servatism. There  was  to  be  no  objection 
to  geology,  but  the  universality  of  the 
deluge  was  to  be  strictly  maintained. 
The  editor  committed  the  article  Deluge 
to  a  man  of  very  considerable  ability,  but, 
when  the  article  came  to  him,  he  found 
that  it  was  so  excessively  heretical  that 
he  could  not  venture  to  put  it  in.  There 
was  not  time  for  a  second  article  under 
that  head,  and,  if  you  look  in  the  dic- 
tionary, you  will  find  under  that  word 
Deluge  a  reference  to  Flood.  Before 
Flood  came,  a  second  article  had  been 
commis9ioned  from  a  source  that  was 
>)elieved  safely  conservative.  But  when 
the  article  came  in,  it  was  found  to  be 
worse  than  the  first.  A  third  article  was 
then  commissioned,  and  care  was  taken  to 
secure  its* safety.'    If  you  look  for  the 


word  Flood  in  the  dictionary,  you  will 
find  a  reference  to  Nook.  Under  that 
name  you  swill  find  an  article  written  by 
a  distinguiebed  professor  of  Cambridge, 
of  which  I  remember  that  Bishop  Colenso 
said  to  me  at  the  time, '  In  a  very  guarded 
way  the  writer  concedes  the  whole  thing. ' 
Tou  will  see  by  this  under  what  tram- 
mels scientific  thought  has  labored  in 
this  department  of  inquiry.' " 

Photoobaphikg  the  Moon.— The 
Edinbwrgh  Review  has  an  esdiaustive  ar- 
ticle upon  *'  Siderial  Photography,"  in 
which  we  are  told  that : — 

**  Mr.  Warren  De  la  Rue  was  the  first  to 
turn  Archer's  introduction  of  the  collo- 
dion process  to  account  for  astronomical 
purposes.  He  began  his  photographic 
work  towards  the  dose  of  1852  with  a 
thirteen-inch  reflector  of  his  own  con- 
struction which  gave  him  successful 
pictures  of  the  moon,  one  inch  across,  in 
ten  to  thirty  seconds.  Some  taken  later 
with  improved  means  bore  enlargement 
to  eight  inches,  and  clearly  showed  de- 
tails representing  an  actual  area  on  the 
moon's  surface  of  about  two  and  BrhM 
square  miles.  The  immediate  followers 
of  De  la  Bue  in  lunar  photography  were 
two  gifted  Americans,  Dr.  Henry  Draper 
and  Lewis  M.  Rutherfurd  of  New  York. 
The  moon,  as  seen  with  the  naked  eye, 
is  about  one-tenth  of  an  inch  in  diame- 
ter ;  that  is  to  say,  it  is  just  covered  by 
a  disc  of  that  size  held  at  the  ordinary 
distance  for  clear  vision.  One  of  Draper's 
pictures,  taken  with  a  fifteen-inch  sil- 
vered glass  refiector,  September  3, 1863, 
and  subsequently  enlarged,  showed  it  as 
three  feet  across,  or  on  a  scale  of  about 
sixty  miles  to  the  inch.  The  spectator 
was  virtually  transported  to  a  point  six 
hundred  miles  from  the  lunar  surface. 
The  finest  telescope  in  the  world  for  the 
purposes  of  moon-portraiture  is  undoubt- 
edly the  giant  refractor  of  the  Lick  Ob- 
servatory in  California.  With  an  aperture 
of  three  and  a  focal  length  of  fifty  feet, 
it  gives  a  direct  image  of  the  moon  six 
indhes  in  diameter,  negative  impressions 
of  which  may  beenlar^sd  with  advantage 
to  perhaps  twelve  feet.  But  the  third 
lens,  by  which  the  correction  of  this  su- 
perb instrument  can  be  modified  at 
pleasure  to  suit  the  actinic  rays,  has 
yet  to  be  provided;   and  perfect  glass 


574 


THE  LIBRARY  MAGAZINE, 


discs  of  thirty-six  inches  are  not  to  be 
had  for  the  asking.  They  may  be  bespoke 
a  long  time  before  they  are  forthcoming." 

Colonizing  Canada. — It  is  an  undis- 
puted fact  that  the  British  Islands  are 
over-popalated.    They  do  not,  and  prob- 
ably never  will  be  able  to  produce  food 
for  more  than  two-thirds  of  the  present 
population ;  and  for  the  food  which  they 
mast  bay—bcHides  the  numerous  articles 
of  lasury,  which  may  be  considered  as 
necessaries  in  every  civilized  nation,  and 
which  cannot  be  produced  at  home — they 
have,  apart  from  wealth  already  accumu- 
lated, nothing  with  which  to  pay  except 
the    products  of    their    manufactures. 
Moreover,  nearly  all  the  raw  material  for 
textile   manufactures — such    aa    cotton, 
silk,  and  wool — must  be  imported,  and 
paid  for  out  of  the  profits  arising  from 
the  increased  value  given  to  them  by 
manufacturing.     The  great    permanent 
problem  for  the  British  nation  is  how  to 
get  rid  of  the  vast  and  constantly -increas- 
ing population    for  whom   the    Islands 
themselves  cannot  provide  either  food  or 
work.    The  only   feasible  expedient  is 
emigration ;  and  it  is  almost  universally 
admitted  that  the  Government,  as  such, 
must  take  a  part  in  promoting  emigra- 
tion. It  gives  pecuniary  aid  to  the  trans- 
ference of  this  surplus  of  the  overplus  of 
population  to  other  lands  which  are  at 
present  under-peopled,  and  especially  to 
Canada.    A  writer  in  Blackwood's  Maga- 
zine has  formalated  what  he  styles  *'A 
Practical  Plan  for  State-aided   Emigra- 
tion.'*   The   ebsential    features    of  this 
plan — which  is  substantially  the  one  in- 
timated by  the  present  Prime  Minister, 
in  a  speech  delivered  at  Derby,  December, 
19, 1887— are  as  follows  :— 

* '  We  suggest  that  a  formal  agreement 
for  the  expenditure  of  a  considerable  an- 
nual sum  should  be  concluded  for  a  term 
of  not  less  than  ten  years  or  so.  It  is 
hardly  necessary  to  point  out  that  to  se- 
cure the  advent  of  a  large  and  competent 
population  to  develop  its  territory,  Can- 
ada or  any  other  assenting  colony  would 
make  every  effort  to  meet  the  wishes  of 
the  Home  Government  in  arranging  for 
the  comfort  of  the  immigrants.  Ilie  first 
point  to  be  settled  would  be  their  charac- 
ter; and  on  this  two  important  pointa 
mast  be  determined.  Immigration  must 
be  by  fomilies.    The  colony  is  within  ita 


rights  in  refusing  to  take  riff-raif ;  but.  on 
the  other  hand,  the  mother  country  can 
hardly  be  expected  to  export  the  bread* 
winner  alone,  leaving  his  £unily  to  become 
a  burden  on  the  rates.  Secondly,  Great 
Britain  and  her  dependency  must  arrive 
at  an  exact  understanding  of  what  is  to 
constitute  a  bar  to  a  man's  being  selected 
as  an  emigrant.  It  will  be  well  worth 
the  while  of  a  new  country  to  accept 
men  who  may  not  have  had  any  practi- 
cal knowledge  of  farming  or  agriculture 
at  home,  provided  they  are  robust  in 
health,  and  willing  and  anxious  to  work 
on  the  land.  That  class  does  notoriously 
exist  here  in  considerable  numbers ;  it  ia 
a  class  we  may  fairly  ask  our  col<Hiies  to 
accept ;  and  it  should  be  made  plain  that 
they  are  to  be  admitted  as  potential  im- 
migrants. 

''  These  bases  being  established,  the 
question  arises — Can  the  scheme  be  made 
self-sustaining?— that  is,  can  our  surplus 
population  be  put  in  the  way  of  earning 
their  own  bread  without  increasing  the 
burdens  on  the  lax-payer?  It  is  pretty 
well  known  that  the  possibility  of  doing 
this  has  been  repeat^ly  brought  before 
successive  Administrations. 

**Boughly  speaking,  the  principle  ia 
this  : — Take  the  case  of  a  man  and  wife, 
and  four  children,  emigrating  to  the  Can- 
adian  North-West  The  British  Govern- 
ment advances  him  the  sum  of  £120  in  in- 
stalments— that  is  to  say,  so  much  for  his 
railway  and  steamship  fares;  so  much  for 
the  house  and  tools  be  would  find 
erected  and  ready  for  use  on  his  arrivaL 
The  Canadian  Government  grant  him 
160  acres  of  good  agricultural  land  f^ree, 
subject  only  to  a  mortgage  constituting  a 
first  chaige  on  the  property,  which  will 
be  retained  by  the  British  Government's 
representatives  as  security  for  the  repay- 
ment of  the  original  advance.  For  the 
first  three,  four,  or  five  years  the  settler 
might  be  excused  the  payment  of  inter- 
est, as  he  would  require  time  to  establish 
himself,  develop  his  farm,  and  secure  a 
market  for  his  products.  At  the  end  of 
the  term  decided  on,  interest  at  the  rate 
of  6  per  cent,  should  be  charged — a  rea- 
sonable rate  of  interest  in  the  North- 
west, but  which  would  ere  long  recoup 
the  home  Government  for  their  originid 
out-lay  of  money  raised  on  the  secnritj 
of  British  credit  at  3  per  cent.'* 


CURRENT    THOUQHT. 


575 


Abottt  the  JwtJlTS.— The  Right  Rev- 
erend Arthur  Cleyeland  Goze,  EpiBcopal 
Bishop  of  Western  New  York,  not  long 
ago  contributed  to  the  Independent  an 
article  on  "  the  Jesuits  "  which  was  far 
fh>m  satisfactory  to  the  Right  Reverend 
Francis  Silas  Chatard,  Roman  Catholic 
Bishop  of  Vinoennes,  who  replies  to 
Bishop  Goxe  through  the  columns  of  the 
Independent.  Bishop  Chatard  thus  con- 
cludes his  letter  to  Bishop  Coxe : — 

**A8  for  your — I  must  curb  myself  to 
call  it  only  cruel  and  undeserved — tirade 
on  the  Jesuits,  I  can  only  say  that  you 
have  delved  in  the  archives  of  their 
enemies  to  find  charges  against  them. 
Any  one  who  takes  what  was  done 
against  them  during  the  latter  part  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  as  but  little  else 
than  a  fierce  persecution  of  bad  men, 
shows  himself  to  be  a  shallow  student  of 
history.  Even  the  suppression  of  the 
Order  by  the  Pope,  forced  to  it  by  the 
clamor  of  their  enemies,  proves  nothing 
against  them;  for  that  papal  document 
does  not  condemn  them  of  crimes,  con- 
trary to  what  you  assert  I  will  not 
pursue  the  subj ect  further.  If  in  defend  - 
ing  our  theological  teaching  from  attack 
I  have  come  to  the  defense  of  the  Jesuits 
who  have  been  the  foremost  teachers  of 
that  theology,  I  am  glad  of  it,  for 
though  not  having  had  the  honor  of  fre- 
quenting their  schools,  I  have  learned  to 
respect  them  greatly  as  highly  educated, 
pious,  exemplary  men,  an  ornament  and 
protection  to  society.  I  take  for  granted 
you  keep  away  from  these  Rev'd  Fathers, 
and  so  escape  the  influence  of  their  words. 
They  are,  however,  waiting  patiently  for 
your  answer  to  their  challenge.  I  refer 
you,  therefore,  to  them  for  farther  discus- 
sion on  this  subject,  and  to  Mgr.  Cor- 
coran's  article  in  the  lato  issue  of  the 
CaethoHe  Quarieriff.  One  word  more  in 
conclusion.  You  beg^n  your  letter  with 
a  criticism  on  the  Press  of  the  country, 
which  yon  present, '  as  generally  ready  to 
do  the  Jesuits  a  service,  on  political 
motives.'  I  think  you  are  unduly  severe 
on  the  newspapers  of  the  country,  thus 
making  them  oigans  of  the  Jesuits.  This 
will  be  as  new  to  them  as  to  myself. 
What  I  see  in  the  Press  of  America  is, 
generally,  a  love  of  fisdr  play  and  sound 
common  sense.  To  be  sure  the  papers 
abound    with    extraordinary   and   un- 


warranted matter.  But  there  is  a  win- 
nowing process  always  going  on  among 
them,  and  when  excitement  subsides, 
they  ordinarily  reach  the  truth,  and  that 
is  what  we  want.  If  we  make  mistakes, 
they  will  undoubtedly  take  a  special  de- 
light in  waking  up  Homer  when  he  gets 
sleepy.  If  Just  now  yon  have  been  a 
little  indiscreet  in  your  attack,  and  they 
see  it  and  disquiet  you,  you  must  bear  it 
with  equanimity,  as  I  will  try  to  do 
when  my  turn  comes." 

OuB  Public  Schools.— The  Rev.  C.  H. 
Parkhurst,  discusses  in  the  Forum,  the 
question,**  What  shall  the  Public  Schools 
Teach  ?  "    He  says  in  conclusion  : — 

"  The  practical  thing  for  us  to  consider 
is,  that  distinctions  and  schisms  must  be 
kept  out  of  the  schools,  if  they  are  to  be 
kept  out  of  the  country.  Divergencies 
that  begin,  and  that  make  themselves 
felt,  in  the  national  nursery,  will  mag- 
nify themselves  as  the  children  age,  and 
will  destroy  the  oneness  of  the  civil  life 
and  of  the  national  consciousness.  It  is 
to  our  national  detriment  that  rich  child- 
ren and  poor  children  are  not  educated 
together.  The  poor  children,  in  our  cities 
especially,  go  to  the  public  schools;  their 
wealthier  rivals  attend  private  ^diools. 
Beginning  apart,  they  continue  apart  and 
end  apart.  They  never  learn  to  under- 
stand each  other.  Their  discrepant  con- 
ditions are  not  bridged  by  playing  to- 
gether as  boys,  and  it  is,  therefore,  inevit- 
able that  young  discrepancy  should  ripen 
into  adult  antagonism.  Cleavage  lines 
are  persistent.  Young  difierences  keep 
growing  and  broadening.  Boys  who  get 
rubbed  against  each  other  in  sport  will 
not  when  adults  rub  against  each  other 
in  earnest. 

^  Simple  considerations  of  patriotism 
ought  to  preclude  the  study  of  any  lan- 
guage but  English  in  our  common  echools. 
The  study  of  a  foreign  language  perpet- 
uates differences  that  it  is  our  first  busi- 
ness as  Americiins  to  seek  to  efface.  It 
encourages  among  foreign  residents  a 
sense  of  extraneous  affiliations.  It  makes 
it  easy  and  comfortable  for  them  to  be 
among  us  without  being  of  up.  Adult 
Germans,  for  example,  who  settle  among 
us  will  probably  never  be  any  thing  but 
German-Americans ;  but  we  want  to 
tender  to  their  children  no  facilities  for 


576 


THE  LIBBABY  MAGAZINE. 


perpetnating  the  hybridism.    "We  want 
no  mongr^  in  the  second  generation. 

"  This  leads  me,  as  my  last  specifica- 
tion, to  the  matter  .of  parochial  schools. 
It  is  occasion  for  surprise  and  regret  that 
some  Protestants  are  beginning  to  weaken 
OQ  this  question,  and  to  give  ear  to  the 
Cdtholic   demand    that    Mshool    moneys 
shall  be  distributed  among  the  sects,  and 
each  be  allowed    to    manage    ita  own 
schools  on  a  sectarian  basis.    It  is  gen- 
erous, but  it  is  un-American.       It  de- 
spoils public  schools  of  their  true  Ameri- 
canizing function.    Il  lays  the  founda- 
tion for  the  division  of  our  body-i>olitio 
iuto  halves,  a  Protestant    half   and    a 
Catholic  half    It  is  a  lunge  at  nationll 
integrity.    Not  only  would  I  fight  to  the 
last  against  granting  one  dollar  of  school 
tunds  to  Catholic  schools,  but  I  wish  it 
were  feasible  to  require  every  boy  and 
girl,  Catholic  and  Protestant,  to  attend 
only  such  common  schoob  as  are  under 
purely  government  administration.  Cath- 
olics complain  that  government  schools 
are  godless.    If  they  are,  it  is  primarily 
because  Catholics  have  plotted  to  make 
them  so.    We  resist  these    demands  of 
the  CathoUcs,  not  because  we  are  Protes- 
tants, but  because  we  are   Americans ; 
and  as  Americans,  knowing  something 
about  European  history,  we  understand 
perfectly  well  that   Catholicism  is  not 
only  a  matter  of  religion  but  a  matter  of 
politics ;  and  as  a  matter  of  politics  it  is 
anti-American.     Every  true  Catholic  ac- 
cords to  the  Pope  absolute  infallible  su- 
premacy in  all  matters  of  morals,  and 
there  is  no  question  pertaining  to  man  in 
his  relation  with  his  fellow  tnat  cannot 
with    perfect   facility   be    gathered    in 
under  that  category.    We  can  love  Cath- 
olics, and  in  very  many  particulars  ad- 
mire them  and  their  system ;  but  when 
we  regard  their  church  from  the  stand- 
point of  simple  American  patriotism,  we 
can  never  forget  that  a  thorough  Catholic 
accords  his  supreme  earthly  loyalties  to 
the  Pope,  and  that  an  American  Catholic 
is  primarily  a  papal  subject  living  on 
American  soil.  A  Catholic  school,  though 
established    on    American   ground    and 
maintained  by  government  funds,  is  an 
affair  of  Rome,  and  not  of  the  United 
States,  and  the  whole  genius  of  its  dis- 
cipline is  to  enfeeble  civil  allegiance  and 
rhill   the  warm  fiow  of  American  im* 
pulse." 


r     Th£  Stab  Fish   at  D]virKB.-^Mr. 
Halph  Tarr,  in  the  Bwin  Oro8$,  tiins  de- 
scribes the  way  in  which  this  foe  to  our 
edible  bivalves  manages  to  get  the  meat 
out  of  the  shell  of  a  mussel  or  oyster ': — 
*'  I  have  watched  with  much  interest 
the  manner  in  which  the  star-fish  devours 
his  prey.     Place  a  common  mussel  iti  a 
glass  jar  filled  with  sea-wateic  and  some 
sea-weed,  and  hang  him  by  a  string  close 
to  the  glass  wall ;  then  drop  a  stai^fish  Is 
the  water.     It  may  take  many  trials  be- 
fore yon  catch  the  star-fish  in  the  act  of 
eating,  but  have  patience  and  yon  will 
be  rewarded.    The  star-fish  creeps  slowly 
around  his  prison  walls,  crossing  and  re- 
crossing  the  mussel  without  ofiering  him 
violemoe,  but  finally  he  comes  to  a  stop 
directly  over  his  victim,  and  slowly  wraps 
his  arms  around  the  shell.    The  chances 
are    that  the  first   two  or    three  times 
you  try  the  experiment  you  will  come  to 
your  aquarium  in  the  morning  and  find 
an  empty  shell  where  the  night  before 
was  a  living  animal,  while  the  star-fish 
is  crouched  away  in  a  dark  coiner  as  if 
anxious  to  escape  notice.  Take  the  '  star ' 
out  of  the  aquarium  and  look   at  his 
month,  which  is  on  the  under  side  of  the 
body,  and  you  will  wonder  how  he  man- 
aged to  *  get  away '  with  the  shell-pro- 
tected mussel.    The  shell  is  not  crushed ; 
the  month  is  entirely  too  small  to  admit 
the  passage  of  so  large  a  shell,  and  the 
entire  pei^rmanceseemsa  mysteiy.  This 
is  the  marvellousway  in  which  it  is  done. 
After  settling  down  upon  the  shell  and 
inwrappingit  with  the  arms,  the  star-fish 
slowly  protrudes  its  stomach  outside  of 
its  mouth,  and  surrounding  the  shell  goes 
through  the  process  of  digestion  with  its 
stomach  outside  of  its  b^y.    The  star- 
fish by  this  peculiar  power  is  a  great  shell- 
fish   destroyer   and   an  enemy  to   the 
oyster-men.    Sometimes  they  appear  in 
vast  hordes  on  the  oyster-fields,  and  in 
a  single  night  destroy  all  the  oyst^s  in 
the  vicinity.     Oyster-men  have  anatuTsl 
hatred  for  star-fishes,  and  destroy  t'l 
whenever  and  wherever  found.     Sou 
years  ago  these  men  had  the  habit  of  o 
ting  the  star-fish  into  two   parts   r 
throwing  the  pieces  overboard.    Notb 
could  have  been  more  nnwise,  for  e 
portion  grew  into  a  perfect  star-fish,  i 
in  less  than  a  year  there  were  two  in 
viduals  instead  of  due/* 


SFP  2  n  1919