PS Class _JIP3_2^^S COFmiGHT DEPOSm SEANCES WITH CARLYLE SEANCES WITH CARLYLE BY EUPHEMIA MACLEOD, M. A. Author of "My Rose and Other Poems." Boston The Four Seas Company 1919 Copyright, 1919, hy The Four Seas Company The Four Seas Press Boston, Mass., U. S. A. ©CU530780 DEDICATEX) TO THE CARLYLE CLUB LONDON CONTENTS Page Upheaval . . . . . . . . . . . ii Ships and Babies i6 Poisonous Gas 20 Has the Dog a Soul? 25 Dogs of War 34 Eagles 39 France 44 Edith Cavell 49 Pragmatism 53 Love 59 Unity 69 Finality 79 SEANCES WITH CARLYLE Seances With Carlyle I. UPHEAVAL I WAS awakened about three in the morning by the sound of a gentle rain on the roof. The musical patter, patter came with an insistence that drove sleep away, and every now and again a larger drop fell with an impatient tap. By degrees I realized that a voice was trying to make itself heard through the rhythm of the shower, and straining my ears I caught a petulant, "Well?" coincident with the splash of an uncommonly large drop. "Well?" I replied meekly and interrogatively. "Don't keep me waiting in this infernal shower!" the voice said with some asperity. "No, no," I said hastily, "what is it?" "It is this. 1 want you to take down a few notes for me. They won't allow me pen and ink here, nor II 12 Seances With Carlyle an inch of paper, and, by Heaven, I have something to say!" "Yes? Well, tell me." "There are several things. Could you spare me a few mornings?" "Why, yes, I am generally awake about this hour." "Thank you. Then there are some things that I want you to transmit from me to this greed- encumbered world which i-s sinking into wreck and dissolution, with its sombre-faced poor and its pandemoniacal round of foolish pleasures, which can only be purified by Deucalian Deluges ! By-the-bye," he broke off— "Have you any idea who I am?" "Carlyle?" I ventured. "Great Scott ! How did you know?" "Oh, I happen to have read some of your books," I said carelessly. "Indeed! And what has that to do with your knowing my voice? But never mind. I hope you can take down intelligently what I tell you. Can you spell?" I admitted that I was unfashionable enough to spell with some correctness. "Then let us begin. I have so much to say about so many things that it is not easy to know where to Upheaval 13 start; but, as you say you can give me any number of mornings — " "I didn't," I interposed. " — any number of mornings," he repeated calmly — "it does not matter very much where we begin. Suppose we start on Chaos." "Just as you like," I said sulkily. "Now, what shall we call it?" "Anything you like," I answered with dignity. "Oh, I wasn't really asking your opinion, I was only thinking aloud." "Indeed?" I was very much offended, and it was only my curiosity and a feeling of pity for the old man that kept me from flatly refusing to take his notes at all. "I shall call it Upheaval. Take that down — Up- heaval. And now don't interrupt me or you'll make me lose my thread." I gulped down a sharp reply, and transcribed the following : UPHEAVAL What night of pitchy darkness, of lurid red of the nether fires, spreads over the Earth ? What shocks of 14 Seances With Carlyle strange thunder reverberate across the murky heavens? Is not this the Day of the ReveaHng of the Hearts of Men? What are the-se brave souls who leave this contaminated Earth, joyous and unafraid? What are those others who also pass, they too unafraid, but sinister, cruel, cunning and dishonoured ? Their wild-booming cannon hurl fierce defiance not alone at the enemy, but at nuns and little children; they silence not alone the guns of their foes, but the song of praise and the voice of prayer in old historic churches; they break down not alone the defences of their opponents, but priceless works of art and the triumphs of the days of peace; they destroy not alone ramparts and barricades, but the faith of the world in honour and decency among men! An upheaval? Nay, more, a tumultuous engulfing of the hard-won morality of mankind into Nature's waste, inorganic Deep, where it sinks down, and yet down, in formless welter and horror. But Nature can- not rest in chaos; from her furnace fires that belch forth blinding clouds of confusion, will presently arise an intense and purifying flame which will forever separate the light from the darkness, the Right and True soul's imperative from all falsehood and vain boastings. upheaval i5 As I remarked some eighty odd years ago : "It is with man's Soul as it was with Nature; the beginning of Creation is — Light. Till the eyes have vision, the whole members are in bonds. Divine moment, when over the tempest-tost Soul, as once over the w^ld-weltering Chao-s, it is spoken : "Let there be Light ! Even to the greatest that has felt such moment, is it not miraculous and God-an- nouncing; even as, under simpler figures, to the simplest and least. The mad primeval discord is hushed; the rudely- jumbled conflicting elements bind themselves into separate Firmanents ; deep silent rock- foundations are built beneath ; and the skyey vault with its everlasting Luminaries above; instead of the dark wasteful Chaos, we have a blooming fertile. Heaven-encompassed World." II. SHIPS AND BABIES 3 A. M. — I hear the kitchen clock strike incisively, and then the sweet-toned cuckoo on the stairs echo it with an apologetic cadence for being heard at that unearth- ly hour. My conscience said, "You ought to wake up." And my reason said, "For goodness sake, go to sleep !" And then I remembered — Carlyle was due ! "Are you ready?" I heard almost instantly. "Yes !" I answered sleepily. "What is it to be this morning?" "What would you say now to gas ?" "Coal gas?" "No, poisonous gas!" "But that is since your day," I objected. "Of course it is. Everything is since my day: — everything that I want to talk about now," he ex- plained. "But, on second thoughts, I shall keep poisonous gas for another time : — it keeps bottled, you know. Do you remember," he continued reminiscent- i6 Ships and Babies i7 ly, "what I said in eighteen hundred and something about the machinery of war? But of course you don't. I said/' he went on impressively : "He of the red coat, I say, is a success and no failure ! He will veritably, if he gets orders, draw out a long sword and kill me. No mistake there. He is a fact and not a shadow. Alive in this Year Forty- three, able and willing to do his work. In dim old centuries, with William Rufus, William of Ipres, or far earlier, he began ; and has come down safe so far. Catapult has given place to cannon, pike has given place to musket, iron mail-shirt to coat of red cloth, salt-petre ropematch to percussion cap, equipments, circumstances, have all changed, and again changed; but the human battle-engine in the inside of any or each of these, ready still to do battle, stands there, six feet in standard size.'' And I said a good deal more which I shall not repeat this morning. It all seems to be rather tame now, though it had a ringing sound then. But in these days of dum-dum, or damn-damn bullets; of Geneva Conventions, buried fathoms deep in the debris of civiHzation ; of scraps of paper, carrying honour to the winds ; and of Heaven knows what breaking of treaties and fouling of the fair earth with deeds of the nether- i8 Seances With Carlyle most pit ; — what words can a poor devil of the forties find to voice his state of mind ! A ship, a veritable giant of a ship, one that could carry the whole village of Craigenputtoch in its well- built frame, crosses the ocean. All that art could do to make it lovely to the eye, all that commerce could do to provide it with comforts and luxuries, has been lavished on this immense vessel. And it carries a goodly cargo, merchandise of price, and gold, and precious stones, and hundreds of living souls; — men and women and babes. The sea bears this priceless freight safely over its mountainous waves, and the heavens look kindly on the giant Thing. It nears its native shores, and sud- denly — it is no more! Merchandise, men, women, babes, one hurtling and scattered mass. A stealthy blow, swift, and dreadful, and unseen, has shattered the strong craft, and with her, the faith of man in man. Where is our soldier "six feet in standard size", who fights an honourable enemy, he, too, "Six feet in standard size" ? These babes, who do not reach to our soldier's knee, who fights them, and with pitiless and deadly destruction, dooms them to the cold, sucking deep? And fights them how? Unarmed as them- Ships and Babies 19 selves, and if it may not be man to man, at least man to babe, in open, if unequal fight? No! But with deadly stealth and cruel craft what hound of hell chases the innocent quarry through the silent deep, whetting its death-belching jaws on the bones of "The least of these" ? What daemon vivens, what incarnate devil, feeds on the bodies of innocent babe-s? And the skies do not fall, and the sea does not vomit forth its curse, for the End is not yet. But Mene, mene flames in the starry blue above, lighting up the blood-murked blue beneath. And the mark of Cain is on the brow of a mighty nation ! III. POISONOUS GAS When I am at home, that is, in my city boarding house, and I read myself to sleep according to the custom of my forefathers, I know at just what point it is no longer safe to leave the gas turned up. When the solid blocks of fact and of philosophy begin to totter, and fantastic domes of thought crown the most sedate statements, when the happenings of the day and the expectations of the morrow overflow their channels and inundate the printed page, I know I must rou-se myself and turn off the gas! " But out here in the country, in cousin Lucia's luxurious home, it is a comfort to know that a few volts of electricity more or less will not affect the general account book; and so when I am deliciously sleepy, I simply close my eyes in the full blaze of the electric light, and snuggle into the pillows. I had read the war new-s until I had a confused idea that the Russians had occupied Turkey and that the Turks had won a victory over the Austrians. "Something seems to be wrong," I said to myself, 20 Poisonous Gas 21 "I must turn oif the gas!" and then consciousness murmured vaguely, "Not at Mr«. Smith's." And the next thing I knew the sun was peeping tentatively through the slats, and the electric light over my bed looked at me with a sickly and reproachful eye. I turned it oflF. "Gas!" "No, electric light !" "I mean, take it down, this morning's subject, — Gas." "Aren't you a bit early?" "Nothing is too early for this dis-organic, hell-ridden world," said Carlyle in his old-time style. "How can I rest till I have disburdened my mind of this abhorrent brutishness ? — It makes me nervous," he continued, "to have you sharpen your pencil while I am waiting to begin; please get it ready the night before. Now, start :"— POISONOUS GAS In this all-edacious and all-feracious year of nine- teen hundred and sixteen, I would proclaim aloud that there is a power and an infernal weapon of warfare that must forever be condemned to exclusion from the glorious, fateful battlefield of this God's world! 22 Seances With Carlyle It is the weapon, called by what name, made of what material, you will, that inflicts on its victim, not a swift death-torture, for which the soldier is prepared in this barbaric age of machine guns and shrapnel, not a quiet euthanasia from the loss of blood from a clean wound, but a silly, vengeful and unnecessary torture, prolonged and lasting in its effect. Kill your man, if you must kill him, but for heaven's sake, do not torture him ! What manner of spirit dwells in you, ye gas-shooters and fiery bomb-throwers? Has the American Iroquois of the sixteenth century reincarnated in your cultured brains; has his fierce enjoyment of torture wedded with your chemical engineering ; and is their offspring this ghoulish monstrosity that defiles loathing Europe to-day ? What is this moaning and gasping? Who are these livid, living corpses that groan in unspeakable tortures? What new horror is upon this horror-drenched earth? What choking nightmare has taken possession of all these stalwart men and boys? What man-made Sirocco, what devil-born waste and miasmatic misuse of good, serviceable chlorine and of right royal flesh and blood is there here? And who art thou, O Man, who comest as a breath of murk and Poisonous Gas 23 slime ? Who, not daring to face thy foe in equal fight, yet dar'st, O foolish one ! tempt the very heavens above and the depths beneath to do thee battle? For thee — behold the abyss and nameless annihilation — or worse ! But the old laissez-faire management of the world will soon be a thing of the past. Too long has Right- eousness paused with bated breath while Evil worked its deeds of violence! If the gates of Hell are not to prevail against her, she must be up and doing ! Now is no time for the turning of the other cheek, it is the day of the whip of cords and of the driving of the sacrilegious barterers of man's honour from the temple of the world! Think ye that these apostles of Dreadfulness under- stand soft speech and gentle ways? Nay! They but mock at honour, and call it inefficiency. Will you have your sons tortured and racked by this lung-consuming poison? There is only one way to stop it; and that is to drive back their poisonous gas on these who have generated it. Are there not chemists and to spare among the allied Nations who can manufacture a like product, or one that will bring weight to bear, and roll back the sulphurous fumes, that the death-dealer may know himself for what he is, and breathing deep of his 24 Seances With Carlyle own emanations, may repent and save his deluded soul at the price of his hell-tortured body? Then, and only then, will the grave voice of the Hague Convention pierce his battle-deafened ears! Then, and not till then, will he cry "PeccaviT IV. HAS THE DOG A SOUL? "Woof! woof! woof!" Thus cousin Lucia's deep-voiced Dane addressed the rising sun. A veritable chanticleer is Cnut. He can hear the tread of a hobo half a mile away; and I believe the great creature never sleeps, for however unearthly the hour, the faintest approaching steps echo through the megaphone of Cnut's throat: — woof! woof! woof! The Dane, having got the sun out of bed and having hurled insulting remarks at the matutinal tramp, subsides; and the Pekinese who sleeps at my feet, or on them, lifts up his small voice in support of hi-s friend. "Fairy ! Lie down !" I command. Fairy obeys the letter of my behest, and making a stepping stone of my solar plexus, curls himself up with his silken head un- der my chin. Carlyle had evidently been aroused by the com- motion. "Two fine dogs !" he announced. 25 26 Seances With Carlyle "Two naughty dogs!" I retorted. A plaintive whine and an affectionate propitiatory lick betoken that I have hurt the feelings of a friend. Carlyle looked at me reproachfully. "Some people think that animals have no feelings!" Fairy never pays any attention to him and he did not evince any gratitude now. He settled himself com- fortably in the hollow of my arm and went off to sleep again. "And some people think they have no souls," con- tinued Carlyle. "Have they?" I asked vaguely. "Have they?" he thoundered. "Have they? Why do they feel and suffer? What do you suppose they're made of?" "Flesh and blood." "Oh yes !" he sneered. "Flesh and blood ! Just a machinery of flesh and blood makes Cnut guard his master's property at the risk of getting microbes in his teeth when the great Unwashed approach too near! It's unthinking flesh and blood that creates in that ball of fluff you call Fairy a love and loyalty that you cannot match ! Humph !" "But, how do you know they have souls?" 1 asked weakly. Has the Dog a Soul? ^7 "How do you know they have not?" "I don't know anything about it — I have often wished they had," I added. "Wishing won't alter the facts of the Universe. Lots of people wish animals hadn't souls." "For gracious sake! Why?" "Oh, don't get excited ; the souls are not affected by Ihem." "What difference can it pos-sibly make to them if a poor animal has a soul or not?" "Affects their religious susceptibilities." "Religious fiddlesticks !" "Just so. Now, let us get to work. Head it. — Has the dog a Soul? You see," he explained, "I must use the interrogative form; that suggests that I am open to conviction and does not offend the vanity of my reader; a plain simple statement of fact would rouse his none too latent obstinacy." HAS THE DOG A SOUL? In the early days of the world, before Philosophy had set Mind on its unsteady throne of Mumbo- Jumboism and Pride, the kingly qualities of a man were courage and good faith with his friends, and he 28 Seances With Carlyle was esteemed by his fellows for his keenness of eye and ear and for his swiftness of foot, attributes which he shared with the creatures about him, and in which they commonly surpassed him. In those days Man, probably rash and ill-advised and presumptuous of old as now, had however not yet grounded his dwelling place as the Centre of the Universe, nor raised himself to the Cro^Ti of Creation; and although he doubtless did not know himself for the sorry bit of creation he often is, at least he did not tell himself that the torpid earth, waiting every Spring, swart and sweating, for its flooding miracle of gorgeous iridescent green, and spreading before his half -unsee- ing eyes its panorama of renaissant beauty was wont to put on this rainbow garment in his honour ; nor did he imagine that the World, this whirling ball of mud and chemicals and unimaginable life, scudding before the winds of Time, existed for his pleasure alone and for his profit and his lust; he did not dream that the sun, moon and stars bowed down as they wheeled their ordered flight about his abiding place, which he knew not yet for the footstool of the Highest. Alas ! When he learned this thrilling thing, that the Foot of the Highest rested on his familiar ways and walks, he forgot in his exaltation that the Throne of the Highest Has the Dog a Soul? 29 was built far above these low-set paths, and that, as the Heavens are High above the Earth, so are the thoughts of the Almighty high above the vain imagin- ings of His creatures ; and forgetting this, undiscerning man made his own devising-s, unveracious and phanta-sm-ridden, the measure and archetype of the Universe. No longer did he walk softly, and see in created things such divine mystery that, knowing not the Creator, he must needs worship the creature. Like a beggar on horseback, man forgot his lowly origin, and became puffed up with his own consequence, lording it insolently over everything less important than him- self, and, as he became more and more convinced of the measureless reach between the lower animals and himself, he was wont to arrogate to his manship the nature of a miniature god, with all the appurtenances thereof, among which appurtenance-s he reckoned a Saturnian savagery and a Jovian despotism. A nouveau-riche in spiritual experience, he felt that Heaven had condescended to him, not of Its own graciousness alone, but because of his transcendent value in the scheme of things. And when, in the fulness of time, peace and truth came to dwell on Earth, the world would none of 30 Seances With Carlyle them, and only a few childlike souls beheld the vision of the true God, and remembering one who cared for the sparrows and the lilies, exalted mercy. Most men regarded mercy as a womanish attribute, and even those who professed to worship the Man who was meek and lowly in heart, despised gentleness and ex- tolled tyranny, so that the world wa-s in a pretty state of dumb tears and miserable serfdom; and, if the bondsman was but the chattel of his overlord, to be broken for a whim and tortured wantonly at the will of his master, how much more was the poor, defenceless brute at the mercy of overlord and serf alike! And human souls, hag-ridden with cruelty, wreaked their fury on helpless creatures, because they were helpless, and excused themselves — if they excused themselves at all — on the ground that the creatures had no souls. Into this state of affairs stepped "a grown man with the heart of a child." About the year 1200, St. Francis of Assisi, following in all literalness the way of his Master, talked of Righteousness and of the beauty of his Lady Poverty, and he told how the greatest joy was the child of the greatest gentleness. "Brother Wolf" trusted him, and the birds were his "little sisters", to whom he preached of the love of their Creator. To Italy, embroiled in feuds between its ancient Has the Dog a Soul? 31 houses, feuds between city and city, feuds here and feuds there, came this Man of Peace, Hke some rare heavenly flower, springing from the arid groimd of selfishness about him. His very uniqueness won for him an audience, and because in the heart of every man there is an unquenchable spark of the Divine, he found followers among the nobles, the merchants, and the peasants. But this Soul, all fire and sweetness, passed to its reward, and although its influence was still strong, something of its aims and ideals was forgotten; and kindness to dumb creatures, being the latest moral acquisition of the race, — and a mere shadow of an acquisition at that, was the first thing to go. We have the psychologists for this: that in the realm of morals, the last thing you gain is the first thing you lose. So while the tenderness of the Man lingered around his followers, it did not reach, as his own per- sonal compassion had, to his "little brothers and sisters." St. Francis, Thou Man of Peace, thou Champion of holy Poverty and of holier Pity! The times are ripe for thee here and now. Come, thou bare- footed saint, robed in brown sackcloth; walk through the broad corridors and well equipped operating rooms of our 32 Seances With Carlyle Institutes of Science — built, ten to one, with money ground out of the poor. Thy sensitive ear is tortured, thine impassioned soul is ablaze with god-like anger. Who are these who batten on the agonies of thy "little brothers and sisters"? There lie-s Brother Dog, fastened with cruel clamps, the noble soul of him terrified — as thine or mine would be — by the uplifted, threatening knife which has already severed his quiver- ing nerves and the strong forceps which have torn his already lacerated flesh with implacable thrust and tweak. Here canst thou not lift thy voice, Francis of the silver tongue; these are no simple-hearted Christians of the 13th century, intent, at least, on saving their own souls. That man with the tweezers, does he know he has a soul or a conscience? Little recks he of such impediments. A brain he knows he has, and an intellect, and the dog, too, has, he knows, a brain, — for him to prick and prod with these same tweezers. The dog has sensation, too — as a mere incidental — but what has he of the white coat and the tweezers to do with that ? The dog has no soul ! Lift up thy voice, St. Francis, — but not within these walls ! I laid down my pencil. I had never before dared to address a word to Carlyle when the morning effusion Has the Dog a Soul? 33 was over. But now I forgot myself. A vision of Fairy, timid and oversensitive, held in the clamp of a vivisectional machine, his dear soft paws that I loved, stretched, taut and helpless, his poor little heart beating in terror, smote upon me, and I cried in anguished protestation. "But I don't see the connection. Why should an animal be tortured just because it has no soul?" He glowered at me for a moment. "Why indeed?" he said, and vanished through the window. V. DOGS OF WAR "You remember our conversation of yesterday morning?" "I do. It kept me awake till all hours, and that is why you had to knock over Cousin Lucia's new Belgian grey chair before you could wake me." "It was the wind," said Carlyle. Then he plunged abruptly into his subject. "I want to talk about dogs again, — dogs of war. I wrote about them somewhere in the fifties as perhaps you know." "I recollect the passage quite well." He looked gratified. "Then there is no need to refer to it. But, talking of dogs ; you know, of course, that you cannot judge every dog by Cnut or Fairy, so you must treat impersonally any derogatory remarks that I may have to make of the species. Now then, Title : — DOGS OF WAR Every schoolboy knows that kunos, the Greek word for dog, by changing according to orthographical cus- 34 Dogs of War 35 torn its ku for the English cy, gives us our word cynic. There he is, the cynic, with his snarling lip raised to expose the canine tooth below it, biting and snapping at the friendly hand that brings him his daily portion of sunrise and toil, of twilight and rest. There is no pleasing him. Ignore him, and he is filled with the rage of making his presence felt, and becomes an insatiable, ravening wolf to the unwary lamb who dares to paddle in the stream of life and call it pure after the cynic has fouled it with his restless feet. There is no office so petty, so blighting, as that of the cynic; he is the Arch-priest of the Prince of Dark- ness, drowning with his horrid incantations the song of praise and goodwill, stifling the aspirations of the gentle, hardening the heart of the aggressor. Woe to the nation into whose soul has entered the spirit of cynicism! Lost to faith and just dealing, owning no compelling duty beyond self-interest, no higher deity than temporal and material Might; how can it hope to march in the vanguard of those nations who, whatever their faults, are pressing toward a King- dom of the Spirit? Without honour itself, how can it love honour in others? Will not the honourable opposition of another nation be a reeking in its nostrils and an abomination in its sight? And will it not fall 3^ Seances With Carlyle from one wickedness to another, until it cry from the depths of its abasement, "Evil be thou my good !" — The old fable tells us of the dog in the manger, who, although he could not eat the hay himself, would not allow the hungry horse to touch a wisp of it. The psychology of this state of mind is curious, if not edifying; it resembles the state of mind of the cynic, who, because he is not happy himself, cannot bear to see anyone else so. If the dog-in-the-manger man does not care for mashed potatoes, he is personally aggrieved if his wife has them for the children. The fact that four plump mealy ones in their jackets lie beside his own plate does not at all allay his irritation ; the paramount fact is that some one is enjoying some- thing that he cannot, or will not, enjoy. O the petty soul of the man! While the Sons of the Morning chant the birth of new worlds, and the ancient coeval stars dip and rise to their native rhythm ; while the cycles of creation on his own planet are sweeping on moment by moment ; he who should stand aghast at the stupendous panorama, and hold his breath for very awe, is expending that breath in peevish futility, because, forsooth, he cannot make his individual inclinations the measure of the conduct of all men ! Dogs of War 37 And woe to the nation that seeks the gratification of its own lust for power or for pre-eminence at the ex- pense of its sister nations ; that would force its ideals and its culture on a recalcitrant world, as Mohammed forced the true faith of Allah on recalcitrant Christian and Heathen alike ! What over-riding of Rights, and implacable vengeance on a liberty-loving people ! What burnings and slayings ! What devilish delight in sheer unavail- ing cruelty wreaked on those whose ideals, being ideals of the spirit, are a reproach to dog-in-the-mangerism and Dagon Worship! What deeds of Antichrist and of the nethermost Gehenna ! What bluster and raging of the elements of Hell, while all the time the still small voice of Jehovah breathes with the breath of the springing flowers and vibrates from the undying stars ! But to return to our dogs. I should like to say a word about the bull dog. What friend so faithful as a bull dog of pure breed, and what foe so to be dreaded ! A gentleman to the tips of his sturdy paws ; gentle and docile with those he loves, but forbidding enough in all conscience to the evil-doer. No bluster and false bravado about him, — all that he leaves to the lesser breeds, he does his work quickly, and he does it well. Let once those solid teeth close on the offender 38 Seances With Carlyle and his punishment is sure. Unlock those jaws? Never ! Slow to wrath is our bull dog, contemptuous of the barking and snapping of the whole crew of curs, but quick to deal out justice to a dog twice his size; those tense muscles, that compact frame, were not made to tamper with. Let the bully, no matter what his size, beware, for our bull dog knows neither fear nor defeat. Well for the nation of his make! Well shall it be with it in the day of trial ! Scars it may receive, and many an ugly gash from those who hate because they fear it ; but no loosening will there be of its hold until the offender bite the dust at his feet. Yet in the day of victory it will remember mercy. Right royally it knows to mete out punishment to the aggressor, right royally, too, to extend clemency to its fiercest foe, and right royally, be sure, to stand by its friends in their hour of need, not counting the cost, seeking neither gain or glory, but fighting the good fight because there is nothing else to do. Long live such a nation ! And long live its King ! VI. EAGLES Cousin Lucia makes the most delicious Welsh rare- bit of anyone I know. I am afraid I had over-indulged in this bonne bouche, for I had the most awful night- mare. A heavy golden eagle, of the very species I had been reading about as I fell asleep, settled on my chest and began flapping his immense wings as he prepared to tear my heart out. However, Fairy, assuming the proportions of a lion, chased him round the room, and having forced him into a corner, sat on him. With a sigh of relief, I turned over and went to sleep again. "Was it Welsh rarebit, or was it really an eagle?" "Oh, it was certainly an eagle, I saw its wicked eyes !" I sat up to emphasize my statement and saw Carlyle looking at me quizzically. "At least," I amended, "I thought it was an eagle, but I see it was really Cousin Lucia's chafing-dish and my own greediness." "Exactly," he returned in an uncomplimentary tone ; 39 40 Seances With Carlyle "and you will permit me to say that you made an incorrect inference." "Dear me/' I broke in testily, "this is no way to wake a person in the morning, arguing and fault- finding ! Could you not try to be soothing sometimes ?" "All the same you did make a false inference. Because eyes are wicked, it does not at all follow that they belong to an eagle. A tiger may have fierce eyes, or a weasel, or an ill-tempered man. You have been guilty of a double fallacy, for an eagle may have a benign and pensive eye. The Washington eagle of North America, for instance, which has been known to be tamed, becoming quite a friendly soul, though to its own undoing, I grant you. For a noted one which was kept in captivity for some years showed signs of losing the richness of its plumage, and his owner, wishing to preserve the specimen for a museum, dosed him on several occasions with a strong poison, against which, however, the bird's stomach was ap- parently proof." "I do not know of anything more treacherous than a treacherous human being !" I exclaimed indignantly. "I suppose not," said Carlyle grimly. "But let us get to work. As you have mentioned eagles, we may as well take them for a subject," Eagles 41 "It was you who talked about them," I reminded him. '7 only dreamt of one." "That has nothing to do with the subject," he announced sententiously. "Take it down — Eagles." EAGLES Crouching through the spectral primitive forests, his tomahawk gleaming in the light of the moon, see the North American Indian steal to the scalping of his enemies ! He i« the leader of his tribe and he carries a pole fledged with the feathers of his brother, the great eagle, than which he can think of no finer symbol for the qualities he loves, — strength and untameable freedom of spirit, swift vengeance without vocifera- tion, and an aloofness not to be infringed. Look at the Roman legions, marching to their world- wide conquest! What lead-s them on? A solitary Eagle borne aloft! Gone are its retinue of wolf and minotaur, horse and bear ; for Gaius Marius will have none of them. Naught but the Eagle hatched in the high mountain eyries, above the dulling mists and the clamour of mankind, may represent that fell, dominant race, merciful, despite its cruelty, to its tributaries, because mercy is profitable to the Empire, but utterly ruthless to the unconquerable. 42 Seances With Carlyle In this topsy-turvy world of blatant consequentiali- ties and timid virtues, where Might has long paraded in the plucked feathers of Right, what fitter emblem of the nations than the Eagle! See him watch from his lofty nest as the osprey dives into the sea and flashes upward into the sunshine bearing his silvery- scaled prey! A shadow passes between the osprey and the sun. It is the swift eagle hovering over him, and forcing him to drop the fruits of his toil, which he sees snatched as it falls and borne to that immense nest on the windy pinnacle. Well for the osprey and the heron that every eagle is not a winged highway robber or a deep sea marauder! Well for the tumultuous, seething Earth that every eagle-bannered nation is not of the Earth earthy ! Lawfully may an eagle fight for the lives of its young and the defence of its eyrie, aloft in the deep azure heavens. It would be but a poor scrawny simulacre of an eagle that, seeing its home invaded, could droop its wings and hide behind the cavernous rocks, or with propitiating, un-eagle-like quailing seek clemency from its fierce foe. In no work on natural history will you find an eagle of such monstrous cowardice, and assuredly not on mountain height or rock-bound coast. Eagles 43 Lawfully may an eagle- fostered people fight for its sacred rights and the rights of the oppressed, which, being of eagle-heart, it holds equally dear with its own. Nay, it would be but a scrawny nation, and one which any bird were shamed to represent, could it feel its feathers plucked and not spread its wings and shriek defiance at the malefactor. This brave avenger, pursuing the arch-criminal to his undoing, is no nation of everlasting infamy to be looked on with indignant abhorrence. Such is the portion of a people lost to decency and honour, forget- ful of the noble eagle qualities that its standard should symbolize, and imitating only the ferocity of the bird of prey, a people steeped in hate and all manner of agonizing and stifling brimstone exhalations, which choke the fair aspirations of the spirit. But a royal-hearted people, led by a right royal eagle, and fashioned after its noblest pattern, a people generous and unafraid, what praise can measure their deserving! Into the far star-bespread blue we see them mount in white purity of intention, barred with the blood red stripes of their slain ! VII. FRANCE! Cousin Alex, with his feet on the fender and Fairy on his knee, was holding forth on the War. **By Jove!" he finished, "they're a fine lot of fellows, these Frenchies. Who would have believed they had it in them?" "Why Alex," remonstrated Cousin Lucia in her gentle way, "You know that the French have always been brave from away far back — Oh, I never could remember history! But you know, — Charlemagne and Rollo and all those heroes of olden days." "Of course we all knew they'd be brave," said Alex warmly, "but it'-s their confounded grit and staying power that surprises me. I thought they were all fire and dash and could accomplish wild spectacular feats while other people were wondering how to begin. But this holding out, through all the misery and discom- fort, in the face of hunger and devastated homes! I tell you what, they're plucky !" he ended enthusiastical- ly. "Yes!" agreed Cousin Lucia heartily. "And the 44 France 45 Belgians ! How brave they have been too. I remem- ber from my Caesar in school that the Belgians were part of the tribe of the Nervii, they were related to them at least, and the Nervii were the greatest fighters of Gaul, and Gaul is now France, so there must be some connection, I suppose, though I don't know much about the in-between history. Anyway," she wound up "everybody is being so brave in this war, that the Allies all seem like one brave nation, you can't make comparisons !" Cousin Alex leaned over to give his wife an af- fectionate pat, and Fairy, scenting a romp, jumped down and frisked about, and grave subjects were banished. Cousin Alex, who has no voice, and not much ear, and who never could learn French, «at down at the piano and thundered out the Marseillaise, till the shut- ters rattled with, "Allong Zong Fong!" "Gracious, Alex!" pleaded Cousin Lucia, "The neighbors will think we run a Chinese laundry !" I put my fingers in my ears and fled, laughing, pursued by Fairy who looked on it all as an amuse- ment got up especially for him. I slipped into bed to enjoy the luxury of a new 46 Seances With Carlyle magazine, and Fairy settled on my pillow and was soon faintly snoring. It seemed to me that I had scarcely turned off the light and settled into a comfortable sleep when there was a rap-tap on the window, and a reproving voice broke my slumbers with : "Do you know that it is after four o'clock, and our appointment was for three?" I turned sleepily without opening my eyes. "It's only three by the old time !" Carlyle said nothing, and I sat up guiltily, deter- mined to be honest in spite of my drowsiness. "Or perhaps it's five, I never remember which way it goes. It's Lucia who remembers for the house- hold." "Of course it's Lucia who remembers !" he answered disagreeably. "Lucia spoils you all. What was that row I heard going on in the music room last night? I noticed you disappeared." "Oh, that was only Alex singing, 'AUong Zong Fong! '" "And what may that be?" asked Carlyle contemp- tuously. "Alex thinks it's the Marseillaise/' I answered demurely. "Humph!" he snorted. "However, that suggests a France 47 subject for this morning. You needn't look for your writing pad on the table ; it has fallen on the floor, and your pencil has rolled under the bed. Now, since you are ready at last, take down the title — France!'* FRANCE! Like some incarnate spirit in prison, France has hewed on the granite walls of materialism, and the tappings of her hammer have been heard afar off. But never trumpet blast by Jerichoan wall-s pealed with the thunder-shaking reverberation of the great trumpet calls of Honour, Freedom, Chivalry, which have wakened the sleeping -soul of France, and broken down her barriers, making of them but a cobwebbery and a vanishing phantasma. Her young men and maidens, with moisture and with fire in their eyes, dedicate their fresh lives to her, not with loud-flaunting, "Je le jure!" but soberly, and in earnest indomitable truth. Her old men, no longer tottering, since their country calls, uphold the hand-s of their stalwart sons, and her mothers and grandmothers, bearing — who knows? — almost the heaviest share of the burden, march, face forward, to the coming re- generation of the world and the triumph of the things of the Spirit ! 48 Seances With Carlyle There is no theatricality and no languescent waver- ing, for, with hearts initiated into the "Divine depth of Sorrow," they meet the dark days that engloom the world. Their grief is too real for outcry, their courage too great for bluster, their faith in France too sure for sentimentalizing or inertia! Not by outbursts of noble sentiment, but with far other ammunition, shall the fight for Liberty be won. But think not that the Nation is steeped in moody- silent, grim-taciturn humour. It knows that autumnal withering and the deadness of winter are but preparing the summer's blooming. For Time's seedfield is not sleeping, and She knows that the nation that has sowed broadcast its measure of dragon's teeth, has a harvest awaiting it which, whatever crops up, will be vastly unlike her own, sown with passionate Patriotism and watered with the gentle dews of Mercy. The "Art of Daring" is Hers, and the silent joy which is the fruit of true Daring and righteous Anger ! O glorious France! Right chivalric and long- enduring, enter into thy Kingdom of the Spirit! — Carlyle's eyes were alight with enthusiasm and moist with his own emotion. He turned away from me, and vanished into the Dawn. VIII. EDITH CAVELL Cousin Lucia had presented me with a framed picture of that noble woman, Edith Cavell. I fell asleep again last night with my light burning, and this morning when I awakened, the reflector shed the full blaze of the electricity on the glass of my picture, irradiating it. This is one of the best pictures I have seen of Edith Cavell; and I mused on the tender strength in the girl's face and on her tragic death. "A fine woman!" I started. Before I could reply, Carlyle continued: 'The faith of a saint and the nerve of a soldier!" "Yes, indeed!" I said, "and the motherliness and self -forget fulness of a true woman." "Thank God for the true women! This Earth is teeming with them, and we knew it not. But let calamity befall, and there is your true woman ready to do labour and service, and, if need be, doughty deeds." "Thousands of our women have gone as nurses; and it would be hard to find a woman at home who is not doing something for the war," I answered proudly. 49 50 Seances With Carlyle "Just so," agreed Carlyle, "just so ; and that is as it should be. Was woman made to be a cumber er of the ground, a doll- faced nonenity, a soulless, luxury- loving hanger-on of civilization? By no means! Let her arise and shew herself the helpmeet she was meant to be! While I am on this subject," he continued ex- citedly, "turn that light away from my eyes and take down a few notes for me. Head them, EDITH CAVELL. There could not be a better heading." EDITH CAVELL In the circumambient medium of trivialisms and egoisms, of crudities and cruelties, is there not the nucleus of a new Star — not an orb of tinsel and tin that shines to the flicker of every tallow dip, but a flaming Sun that extinguishes equally the tallow dip of the cynic and the electric cluster of the politician. A Star that moves swiftly through the murk of Nothing and No-Worth and False-Worth, illuminating with Heaven-lit rays the dark comers of this Hell-spotted planet and playing in magnetic flashes around its pris- matic, radiant heights, evolving of its benign influence a nobler Hell, and a far nobler and gentler Heaven, than you, O Master Keep-em-down, and you, O Cap- tain Laissez-Faire have ever imagined I Edith Cavell 51 A Star? A Co6mic force? Be it what it will so that it sweep away all luridity and murkiness and miasmatic effluvia from the soul's atmosphere! Feminism, call it, or Woman's Influence, or Equal Rights, it matters not. Let it but unsettle the old centre of gravity of our Mammon-ridden planet, till the impregnable rock-barriers of self-interest totter, and righteousness and altruism are discovered, vener- ablest and most-enduring of God's creations ! If the world is to be a God's-world, if the "cruel habitations" are to be destroyed, and the "Desert blossom as the rose," then must each faithfully do his duty by thi-s Earth, which is no mean Eaith; nay a right royal one, and crying for right royal duty and service. Woman has, Alas ! too long spent her time over the embroideries of life, very beautiful and pleasant and right in their place, but in nowise of such indubitable value as the homespun garments of Civic Equity, the plain fine linen of the Righteousness of the Ten Com- mandments. But woman is new forgetting her gewgaws and her pleasant trivialities; the embroidery frame has given place to the bandage roller, and knitting needles twinkle through fingers that a couple of years ago were fettered 52 Seances With Carlyle in idleness. Even the woman "whose price is above rubies" has learned new task-s, has practised new feats of endurance. Her eyes have indeed looked on strange sights, her reluctant ears have heard unwonted sounds. Necessity and self-devotion have steadied her nerves to bear tremendous strain and have made her brain quick to think and her heart strong to carry out the most difficult projects. Edith Cavell was such a woman. She rose to the heights of patriotism and Christian duty. And her reward — was that of the prophets before her. There is something specially stirring about the martyrdom of this noble girl. The brutal ferocity that attended it, the maddened haste of the powers of evil to sweep from the Earth one whose unfaltering courage and unwaver- ing faith proclaimed the righeousness of her deeds. They have slain her "in all the lustihood of her young powers." For the slayer there remain obloquy and darkness. For her it is "Eternity and Day" ! IX. PRAGMATISM It is one thing to awaken in the early dawn and lie sleepily and snugly under the blankets, with the im- mensity and majesty of the Universe forgotten, and a sense of coziness and at-home-ness pervading your being, just because your feet feel the soft, warm weight of a little brown dog upon them ; it is something quite different to waken to the sound of an imperious voice, ordering you to sit up and write intelligently, and set- ting your dog barking and frisking, and with his em- phatic paws punctuating the tender parts of your anatomy, as if to pound out any sleep that might be lurking there. Carlyle had an irritating way of looking in the early morning as if he were about to say "J'ai failli aitendre!" And I certainly was not awakened like Montaigne, to the sound of a gentle flute. However, there was something bracing about the old man, and when he poked his head unceremoniously in at the window and uttered one sharply interrogative word — "Pragmatism?" — I answered briskly, '']\i?X what I feel like." 53 54 Seances With Carlyle "Why should you feel like it?" His uncomplimentary tone stung me to reply, "You are not the only person who has raged over laissez- faire and long-winded nothings." He looked at me in mild surprise. "No, no, of course not. But most of you people en- dure all woes but your own with such beautiful Christ- ian patience and fortitude !" "Not as beautifully nor as patiently as you might think. If you have been reading up Pragmatism, you will see that we are becoming quite practical, even in our philosophy." "Ah, yes ! That brings me to my subject. It is not new, you know," he added, in an explanatory paren- thesis, "I wrote about it before you were born. Don't let that dog chew the corner of your writing-pad; take a clean page and head it — 'Pragmatism'." PRAGMATISM Maddest and miserablest of men is he who will not work ! Be a man's ideals never so high, his imaginings never so exalted, yet are all his philosophies and moralities but a" rudderless bark on a shoreless sea, unless behind them there is the Will of a Man, the activity of an earnest being, who feels what he speaks. Pragmatism 55 and speaks because he feels; and who proves by his deeds that his feeling and speaking are no shallow dilettante-ing — with the vital sorrows of the world. Did the creation of the world take place some six million years ago, and does this flowering planet bid fair to become ere long a lifeless whirler in space, as dead and stark as the spectral moon? — Not so. Our Earth is not yet created. But thank God Who gives such power and dynamic intelligence to man, it is being created day by day. In spite of wars and tumults and corroding evils numberless, it is a more heavenly world than it was yesterday ; to-morrow it will be nearer still to the divine pattern. The Man of War may desolate its pleasant fields and mar its age-old walls. But the man who has produced a spineless cactus can literally make its deserts "to blossom as the rose", and can from arid barrenness create food for beasts and humankind. The brain and the will and the strength of the Man all focussed on one idea. Here is intellect in fruitful action! Here is your true Pragmatism ! More than ever comes to the world to-day the old trumpet call to put into practice our fine theories of Christianity and Humanitarianism, or to discard them forever! Are they workable, — workable for us? 56 Seances With Carlyle Then let us hold by them, and live by them. Are they above us, and out of touch with the exigencies of our modern civilization ? Then, at least let us honour and revere them by letting them alone ! Let us not take the words of High Heaven upon our lips, while our selfish hearts and our indolent wills shrink from their obedience ! Dost thou believe, O stricken Earth! that "of such is the Kingdom of Heaven"? See to it then, that thy factories teem not with these "little ones", shorn of the glory of their morning sun, bowed and decrepit with the withering of age and indifference ere the earthly dews have watered their tender shoots ! Dost thou believe, too, O Earth ! that "not a sparrow falleth to the ground without your Father"? That "God is the Creator of all flesh" ? Then, what of these vivisection clamps and sharp-pointed steel prongs and twisters? This inhuman and wanton mangling of quivering flesh and nerve, that reeks in the sight of Heaven ? Dost thou, O Earth! believe in purity, while thy great ones batten and fatten on thy White Slave Traf- fic; in health and cleanliness, while thy slums are coated with filth and infested with the White Plague ; in disinterestedness, while dishonest business backing Pragmatism 57 and moneyed greed crush the upright man and enrich the rogue with fortunes filched from widows and orphans ? O thou sad and stricken Earth, racked and much tormented, on thy walls and on thy palaces is engraven, in blazing letters of famine, blood and agony, the con- demnatory, Mene, Mene! Awake, thou troubled, sleeping Earth, from thy nightmare of chaotic ravings and helpless fever toss- ings! "Suit the action to the word!" Philosophies aplenty thou hast and to spare; live out the best of them, however haltingly ; only — live them ! Thy feet will grow surer, thy progress swifter, step by step. There is no other way! Search not the depths nor the heights for that which i'S within thee, O Man, co-creator of the World! Let not our Earth pass to its final goal along an uncertain path, crushing the tender wayside flowers and blighting the delicate springing things that freshen its wearisome way. Will of Man, and Brain and Heart of Man, terrestrial trinity, guide to perfectness and gladness the destinies of this Earth, which is your sacred charge! To- morrow and Heaven may be yours ! To-day and Earth are alone securely your own! 5^ Seances With Carlyle Carlyle paused for breath, and then continued re- miniscently, "Away back in the early thirties I wrote : "Conviction, were it never so excellent, is worthless until it converts itself into Conduct. Nay, properly, Conviction i-s not possible till then; inasmuch as all Speculation is by nature endless, formless, a vortex amid vortices; only by a felt indubitable certainty of Experience does it find any centre to revolve round, and so fashion itself into a system. Most true is it, as a wise man teaches us, that 'Doubt of any sort cannot be removed except by Action.' On which ground too let him who gropes painfully in darkness or uncertain light, and prays vehemently that the dawn may ripen into day, lay this other precept well to heart, which to me was of invaluable service : 'Do the duty which lies nearest thee', which thou knowest to be a Duty ! Thy second Duty will already have become clearer. . . . "I too could now say to myself: Be no longer a Chaos, but a World, or even Worldkin. Produce ! Produce ! Were it but the pitifulest infinitesimal frac- tion of a product, produce it in God's name! 'Tis the utmost thou hast in thee; out with it then. Up, up! Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy whole might. Work while it is called to-day, for the Night cometh wherein no man can work." X. LOVE We had been up until past midnight, celebrating good old Saint Andrew's Day in hospitable Scotch fashion ; though, by-the-by, Cousin Lucia, nee O'Grady, claims the Saint for the "Ould Sod". Be that as it may, twenty staunch "Hielanders" together with their good wives and a few young friends, had met to commemo- rate the thirtieth of November. The soiree had wound up with "Annie Laurie" and "Auld Lang Syne", sung in full chorus as we held hands in a grand circle and almost dislocated our arms with the emphatic swing with which we beat time. After this violent exercise, we had set out for home through a blinding Fall bliz- zard, — young Donald Macpherson and bonnie Jeannie Ross far ahead of us older ones. A hot drink, a blazing grate fire, and the "rough male kiss of blankets" made an agreeable prelude to a deep sleep, all the deeper from a subconscious sense of security against the howling wind without. I had hardly sounded the delicious depths of this slumberous comfort, when I became aware, with some degree of 59 6o Seances With Carlyle vexation, that the fire was going out and the wind was whistling more keenly than ever. Suddenly, shriller than any bagpipe, it tore away the remaining shreds of sleep with ^^^^^m and above its din I heard Carlyle, apparently suffering from a cold, and trying to sing in a funny, -sentimental voice, " 'Her brow is like the snaw drift, Her neck is like the swan.' " I coughed discreetly. "Oh, I don't mind you in the least", said the philoso- pher, "and I am not ashamed of a little sentiment either; we Scotch are quite given to that sort of thing when we get started, 'Douglas tender and true', you know, and all that." I wanted to go to sleep again, so I was not very sym- pathetic. He regarded me half -contemptuously, though he evidently wished to win me to good humor, and he pro- ceeded with unaccustomed mildness. Love 6i "Buried in feather pillows and Scotch wool blankets, you listen to the tempest without, and say to yourself, 'Winter has come', but for me there is to-day no Win- ter, but Eternal Spring; for my mind is dwelling in the fair Spice-Country of Romance." He sighed, and resumed — **My title for this morn- ing's talk is Love. Write it legibly — you have been careless in that regard lately." I shook my fountain pen crossly, and I fear I made an inkspot on Cousin Lucia's new green rug; but I wrote in a firm round hand — LOVE "Heaven revealing itself on Earth!" Thus spake Teufelsdrockh before you were born; thus I, to-day, with a deeper insight than that poor devil could hope for, repeat — "Heaven revealing itself on Earth!" My eyes are blinded with a dazzling effulgence, in my ears rings the seraphic chiming of a thousand paradisic bells, and I breathe the incense of flower-filled Spring. What is Love? Who can define this transcendent magnetic force, this "Universal spiritual Electricity," that floods the world with mystic dancing lights and flaming bursts of skyey colour, that sheds a warm glow over the bleak fields of life, and brings Hope and 62 Seances With Carlyle Courage where Desolation had spread its cavernous gloom ? Canst thou lay bare the power that holds the planets on their course, or spell the mazes of the wandering stars ? And wouldst thou interpret this invincible, Dynamic Love ! It can be guessed at only through its workings, and strange and amazing enough these often are! Yet, of truth, through It, the step that once dragged wearily across the lonely plains of Despair is buoyant, the shoulders, bowed by care and struggle, lift themselves square to the now-possible task, and the downcast eyes are raised to the stars. In the serene solitude of a holy oneness, in the 6ure- ness of an understanding where words are intruders. Soul touches Soul, and Coruscations of mysterious flame irradiate the Universe. Apart, — nameles-s forebodings overhang; heavy sinkings of heart sap the strength ; no phantasmal hap- pening but appears possible ; the Soul struggles hope- lessly in a sinister web of gloom; it beats it-s futile wings to traverse immeasurable space; it would break free and be with its Beloved ; its wild tormentings fret the walls of its frail tabernacle until it all but pierces through, leaving it tenantless. Thus the Soul, in its finitude, striving to compass Infinity, may come to sad grief. Sometimes it kindles Love 63 a reverberating, volcanic explosion, threatening to dis- integrate the Heaven-saturated Soul with pyrotechnic convulsions, whose darting tongues of supernal fire lap its Soul-mate in the devouring element, threatening to consume it also. How tremendous and how ungovernable, withal, is this Heaven-born force ! Does Fate mock us glamour- stricken mortals with scorching naphtha-fire, illuminat- ing a magic vision, inaccessible as the stars of the sky, and evanescent, intangible, almost without reality, lur- ing from the safe depths of Silence and Insensitiveness, into raw Aliveness and morbid Apprehensiveness, whence the Soul is whirled, disoriented and amazed on a shoreless sea of passionate Unrest? Or has a challenge come from Life itself, calling on all strong Things to come forth and do battle for the greater glory of their Being? Are, after all, these searing furnace-fires but blessed, purifying flames which devour the grosser tissue, leaving for the gar- ment of the Soul fine-spun meshes of translucent gold, through which pours the rich, prismatic radiance of Truth ? Are the breathless tossings to and fro but the beating of vibrant, penetrating Light? Is the wide, billowing sea of unrest but the buoyant element which M Seances With Carlyle supports the strong swimmer, while it swallows up the timorous? Methinks it may be so. While the Rose-goddess revels in largess of incense- breathing petals flung on the Morning, and -shadowy visions rise and dissolve to the celestial fingering of a thousand unheard harps, bearing to the inward ear the tones of the beloved voice, how the Soul is thrilled and carried out of itself, until it, too, bids fair to be dissolved in celestial ec-static bliss ! All doubts have vanished, evil is non-existant, the Universe is kindly, sympathetic, entrancing; it is a circumambient sea of mystic delight and royal splendour, in whose lambent depths, Soul to Soul, as liquid Star to liquid Star, may flow, merging in a tremendous Oneness with each other and with All Things. So great and so essentially real is this Oneness, that the faintest suggestion of a shadow on its Perfection overcasts the Soul with impenetrable clouds of gloom. The Empyrean, penetrated erstwhile with joy, if flecked with the veriest speck, shows to the glory-pos- sessed eye, as a vast enclosing prison, filled with dark- ness that can be felt. The mellifluous, flowing airs are changed to frenzied, scorching blasts, in which the once flowerful Universe shrivels and passes away, and the undone Soul sinks into Nothingness and Night and Love 65 Everlasting Silence, deeper than tlie Silence of Des- pair ! In this Gehenna of Inarticulateness, the bewildered Soul is impotent. Happy indeed if its Alter Ego pos- sess a potency to break the evil spell, and let in the light of Day on the insensate Stygian gloom. Then once more Blessedness fills the Heights and the Depths ; once more the Heart sings with the Sons of the Morn- ing! The Phoenix arises from her funeral pyre, spreading her jewelled pinions in the flashing sun, and the world renews its apparel of glamour and dream. But unhappy indeed if the mephitic poison has per- meated both Souls, and neither can bring help to the other. What is there then to look forward to but Fury-swept delirium, ever increasing in futile violence and lawlessness ? — Chaos and Torment. Was the Soul created to be at the mercy of these awful and inimical Forces ? By High Heaven, No ! Tremendous though the upheaval be, though all the hellish crew jeer and sling their pit- forged darts, yet somewhere in the Centre of the Storm, in the innermost sanctuary of the Soul, is Quiet. Let but the Soul look within, and ap- prehend itself; gradually the outer ravings become less vociferous; the infernal glare fades; the "Still, small Voice" is heard, speaking with Authority ; and the un- 66 Seances With Carlyle holy rout vanishes ! So is Order restored in the Soul, and once more it is visited by Paradisic dreams, and of its own inherent strength gives Strength to its hap- less fellow- Soul. Let no one dare to love or to be loved, if the door of his Holy of Holies hangs on rusty hinges. There must be ever a shelter for himself and for his Beloved, ready to open at the faintest touch. The hinges need no costly, fragrant oil to make them turn at need. The plain, sanctified oil of Obedience to the Highest is the only anointment which can eflfect an entrance to this impregnable inner stronghold. As poor Teufelsdrockh, after many tossings, dis- covered, — "Obedience is our universal duty and des- tiny; wherein who so will not bend must break; too early and too thoroughly we cannot be trained to know that Would, in this world of ours, is as mere zero to Should, and for most part as the smallest of fractions even to Shall. . . . Wouldst thou rather be a peasant's son that knew, were it never so rudely, there was a God in Heaven and in Man; or a duke's son that only knew there were two and thirty quarters on the family-coach?" Strange it is that the smallest infraction of law in the rare and fine things brings unbearable penalties. Love 67 Physical transgression brings penalties indeed, and doubtless hard to be borne ; but spiritual penalties fall upon the vital and tenderest parts of the Soul, and are not at all to be borne. Is Glory always nearest to Darkness? Is Life, of all things, most akin to Death? The full-blown rose, with its golden heart open to the sunshine, shall be scattered to the winds, while the tight, green-sheathed bud, folded within itself, out- braves the rudest gust. The gorgeous-hued butterfly courts death at every flutter, and has at best but a few days to live ; the comfortable, somnolent chrysalis may exist for months in its hidden chamber. What is the mystery? It cannot be that fullness of Life is closest to No-Life and Nothingness. Plentitude of Being cannot blaze sky- rocket- wise into vain stars and falling meteors that go out in blackness. If Life of one kind dies, a higher Life must take its place. This seems to be our reasonablest Hope, and, in fact, the only reason- able Hope that can overflow the gloom of Despondency with Light that cannot fail. He Who calls the stars by name, and numbers the sands of the seashore; who plunges the Earth into darkness, and awakens it in the morning with a trum- pet peal of colour, will not leave us to perish in our folly! He, who has created us with hearts of love, 68 Seances With Carlyle will carry our love to its consummation in the Eterni- ties ! So be it ! With a deep sigh Carlyle turned from my window; and I heard, fading off into the darkness, the Twenty- third Psalm, sung to the tune of Arnold. The storm had died down, and I fell into a peaceful sleep, with Fairy lying at my feet and keeping them warm with his soft little body. XI. UNITY In my room there is a miniature book-case, which be- longed to Cousin Lucia when she was a Httle girl. It is filled with a child's story-books and with simple books of devotion in pretty scarlet and bright blue bindings. A drenching rain storm had lasted all after- noon; so no one had gone to the Post Office for the new magazines. There was not a single thing left to read ; and, after poking in vain through Cousin Alex's store for something to while away the evening, and glancing for the third time over the latest news of the Labour Strikes and the Russian Revolution, in sheer ennui, I turned to the little white-enamelled book-case with its gay-coloured volumes. I looked at pictures in Hans Anderson^ and re-read The Jabberwocky, and then I came across a little Elucidation of the Psalms. I fingered its soft blue morocco binding and gilt-edged India paper; and almost mechanically I slid into my long chair by the grate fire, and escaped from the murky, thunderous atmosphere of Strikes and Revolu- tions into a quiet haven of peace and beauty. 69 70 Seances With Carlyle "Behold, how good and joyful a thing it is, brethren, to dwell together in unity ! "It is like the precious ointment upon the head, that ran down unto the beard: even unto Aaron's beard, and went down to the skirts of his clothing. "Like as the dew of Hermon : which fell upon the hill of Zion. "For there the Lord promised His blessing: and Hfe forevermore/' As I read, I could see Aaron, standing under a bril- liant eastern sky, in the robe of the ephod of gorgeous blue, with its border of vari-coloured pomegranates and golden bells, his breast-plategleamingwithprecious stones, and bearing above his forehead the inscription Holiness to the Lord; while the fragrant holy oil, which none dared use save the Priest at the Altar, poured over him its rich perfume, which was to the waiting people a very literal "odour of sanctity." How far re- moved it all was from the beating of policemen, the smashing of machinery, the pulling down of rulers! To dwell together in unity ! How full life would be of unmarred colour and glory, how sweet with dignity and mutual respect ! I fell asleep torn with the pain and the unrest of the Unity 71 world, but finding comfort in the hope that beauty and peace would one day triumph over squalor and disor- der. When I awoke, the grey dawn was beginning to be touched with silvery gold, and the sweet breath of wet pine trees blew in at the open window. "Heaven be thanked, every night has its morning !" There was Carlyle, looking as if he had slept badly, and was glad to see the daylight appear. "How much longer," he continued, "will mankind linger in darkness, and draw the veil of perpetual Night over the face of the Morning!" I thought of my newspaper reading of the evening, and said nothing. "Our discourse this morning will be on Unity; take that for a heading." "I am ready : Unity " He began. UNITY In this God's world, with its wild-whirling eddies and mad foam-oceans; in these days of Revolutions and of Labour- Strikes, where "human faces gloom discordantly, disloyally, on one another," is there any balm for the wounds of the World; any sweet-smelling fragrance to purify its stench-filled nostrils; any still. 72 Seances With Carlyle small Voice to make itself heard through the din, and proclaim with tranquil conviction; — Lo! Here is the pass-word to Peace; here is the solution of the infinite questioning that vexes Humanity? Can this chaotic Untidiness of Spiritual Rubbish, this Litter of FooHshness, this Pandemonium of low Self- seeking, this ghoulish, wide-sounding Carmagnole, ever come to aught but sad, disastrous mischief? Through the hoarse Carmagnole, can any note of sweetness prevail? Can the unpruned vine of lawless, undisciplined self-seeking, with its sour, acrid fruit, be, by any known process, lopped, and being fertilized with noble Altruism, trained to bear full- juiced, mellow fruit, translucent with sunny World-thirst-quenching nectar, and beautiful with the bloom of fair words and kind deeds? Can the dry bones of Phariseeism and Scepticism be bleached in the heart-searching rays of Reality, and clothed upon with warm living tissue, into which shall be breathed the life of the Awful Spirit? Phariseeism and Scepticism obstruct the ways of Pleasantness, and choke the springing flowers along the quiet paths of Peace. And Industrialism moves, re- lentless and fateful, like some impending Juggernaut, gazing corporate-eyed and all unseeing at the victims in its path. Yet, if it move not, the destroyer and the Unity 73 doomed, and all innocent inhabiters of the Earth will cease to be. Industrialism provides luxuries for the many and necessities for all; and, if any lack these necessities, the causes are not very far to seek. It is not against Industrialism it-self, that we must wage war, but against the Industrial Spirit, which sees in the Worker, be he even a little child, only so much avail- able Machinery for turning brain and muscle into gold, by some fiendish alchemy, which sucks the very Machinery itself into one fell giant Crucible, and grinds it to an unrecognisable travesty of what its Maker designed it to be. What lack of Imagination there is everywhere! What sheer, unmitigated inability to put oneself in an- other man's place ! It is hard for the rich man to en- ter into the trials of the poor; and it is, on the other hand, absolutely impossible for the average man of the labouring class to form the slightest conception of the needs of the man of wealth or education. The ideal of comfort of the ordinary day-labourer is three good square meals a day, his pipe, a glass of something whenever he feels like it, and the movies or a third- rate theatre in the evening. Grand opera would only bore him; Wagner could not hold a candle to the crudest popular-song writer; and it would be a verit- 74 Seances With Carlyle able martyrdom for him to wade through ten pages of solid reading; his highest flights in literature only reach the level of the Sunday Supplement. Transport our labourer into the circumstances of the man he envies. What happens? The changeling may now be burdened with the digestion of a dyspep- tic; he has lost his three square meals, in fact he has not found even one meagre meal to his liking; the polished floors and soft rugs are inconvenient fal-de- lals, on which muddy booths may not tread; the books in the library are dry and meaningless; and all the appointments of the house are unhomelike; his new garments are distasteful and the necessity of suiting them to the occasion is irksome, while a stiff collar is the crowning abomination of this new life, — No, he is not happy, this is not what he wanted! What, then, can he want? He does not know; certainly not the confining formalities of wealth; like the hero of the old song, "A little more bacon and greens", perhaps. This is just what, in a vague way, he does want; this, and the power to look down on those who now look down on him, as he thinks. What waste-bickering state of things is this? How hopeless and futile the means we take to set these things right! Verily, "a man's life consisteth not in Unity 75 the abundance of things that he possesseth;" but will universal Dog- in-tlie- Manger ism allow this verity place? "Nay," says business-like Dog-in- the- Manger- ism "Doth God say ? But hear ye rather my command- ments, which I thunder from my throne of Self- Con- ceit, set fast on its foundations of Stupidity and False Pride! Would ye be as gods, free to take what ye will, free to destroy all that ye cannot enjoy or under- stand, free to glut your Hatred and Revenge to the uttermost Farthing's worth, free to play the damnable Kill- Joy to your Heart's content? Hearken unto me, and be ye wise ! "Thou shalt have no higher god than Self. "Thou shalt know no law but the Satisfaction of Self. "Thou shalt covet all that thou dost not possess. "Thou shalt despise all that thou dost not under- stand. "Thou shalt hate thy Neighbor as thou lovest Thy- self. "This do, and thou shalt live to the full, and thy name shall be feared from the rising of the sun to the going down of the same." "And my immortal Soul, O, all-powerful Dog-in- the-Mangerism ?" — "To hell with thine Immortal Soul !" 7^ Seances With Carlyle Just so. For thou art no Divinity, for all thy vaunt- ed strength and thy miswisdom, Dog-in-the-Manger- isms, but a very Demon, battening on the folly of Men; and he who follows the Devil can have but one end ! As I said a quarter of a century ago : "Men's hearts ought not to be set against one another; but set with one another, and all against the Evil Thing only. Men's souls ought to be left to see clearly; not jaundiced, blinded, twisted all awry, by revenge, mu- tual abhorrence, and the like." With deep soul-loath- ing and dismay does the Seeing Man look upon the mess into which our Civilization has got itself. At every street corner one hears of the sorrows of war, truly horrible, indeed, and terrible past belief, and in a fair way to arouse us from our lethargy of Self-Com- placency and to teach us that Life means more than feasting, and Death more than dying. But there are other horrors, grim, and silent-bound, hell-infested, devil-ridden. The Social Service worker knows of these, and knows, too, of the multitudinous wheels within wheels that must be set in motion to run the least of these horrors out of existence. What the world needs is the concerted action of all those who are of the Kingdom of Light. Through the length and breadth of the Earth are the tens of thou- Unity 77 sands who have not bowed the knee to Baal ; there are good souls waiting in out-of-the-way places for some one to direct their energies ; there are whole scattered armies of doughty spiritual soldiers, only waiting for a strong Captain to co-ordinate their forces and lead them against the minions of the Evil One. Are not his forces organized to the last degree, and of a solid- arity unknown to the Seekers after Righteousness? There must be a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull all together, if we are to shake the foundations of the Gates of Evil. We need a ringing Voice, crying in the Wilderness of our Inanition and Timidity, galvan- izing us into one compact, Heaven-directed Force, which shall tower above the devil- fathered propensities of poor human nature, and lift it into the Divine Thing it was meant to be. When there is Unity among the Servants of the Highest, when they are marshalled un- der the banner of God-given Reason and Divine Charity, then the Gates of Hell shall fall before their concerted tread, as the walls of Jericho fell to the marching of the hosts of Israel. Then, surely, a cure will be found for the universal Social Gangrene, which is of the Devil's inoculating, and by no means an in- tegral part of the Body Politic. The custom of Praying has fallen into desuetude, 7^ Seances With Carlyle • though there are indications of its revival; faint stir- rings of Faith among the Nations, that the trough of the Sea of our Torment and Disillu-sionment is still in the hollow of His Hand Who hurled this whirling planet of ours into space, and Who calls all the Stars by name, so that not one of them faileth. Let, then, the man who believes that Prayer is a Force, which, though as silent as Gravitation, is yet more powerful than the harnessed Lightning, pray, and turn this Spiritual disintegrating and revivifying Current on the dark places of the Earth, praying with all the might of his manhood, with Hand and Heart and Brain and Soul: Thy Kingdom Come! The sun, which had risen behind a heavy cloud, now burst in full splendour over the hill tops, irradiating the cloud with far-darting splashes of rose-crimson and deep daffodil. The intense blue of the upper sky was reflected in the river, rippled by the morning breeze ; I drew in a deep delicious whiff of the sweet-scented air of the dawn, and turned to speak to Carlyle. He had gone. XII. FINALITY Cousin Lucia is bound for Australia, and Alex and she will be tremendously missed by us all ! We saw them off yesterday in great state. Cousin Sandy's boy, a strapping lad of fourteen, insisted upon accompany- ing us on his motor cycle, and the ne'er-do-weel, who had filled his pockets with rice and confetti, made us the gazing stock of the wharf. He said that Cousin Lucia looked like a bride, in her pretty grey travelling dress, and that, as Uncle Alex couldn't take his eyes off her, every one would think that they were on their wedding trip anyway. But we forgave his pranks for they helped to carry things off. Lucia is the family favourite, and it is not easy to let her go to the other side of the world, knowing that she was never coming back. To-morrow, I shut up the house and return to Mrs. Smith's boarding establishment. I do not look for- ward to the change, but I shall settle down as usual, I suppose. In any case, the life seems gone out of this place, and if it were not for Fairy I should feel deso- 79 ^ Seances With Carlyle late indeed. Fairy has hunted in every corner for his beloved friend, whining and scratching doors, to the detriment of the paint, and at last he has cuddled under the bedclothes and is giving an occasional whimpering moan in his sleep. I did not know that I, too, had fallen asleep, but it must be so, for I realize that I am waking to the sound of Carlyle's voice at the window. There is something homelike in it; I am getting rather fond of the gruff x)ld man. He sounds sad this morning; it must be an echo of my own mood. There is no preliminary pas- sage of arms, and he plunges almost at once into his subject. "This house feels chilly this morning." "It is," I admit. "Lucia is a fine woman." Fairy arouses at the name, and utters a lonesome wail. Carlyle gives him a kindly glance, and settles himself on the window seat. "So this is my last morning !" "Oh !" I exclaimed with a sudden sinking of heart. ^'Are all my friends going at once? Will you not visit me in Town?" "The Town," he solemnly declares, "is a congeries Finality 8i of brick-and-mortar shells, in which the unhappy dwel- lers are encased, away from the free airs of Heaven. I have breathed the pure atmosphere of the upper sky so long that these stuffy tabernacles of gloom and stale air are more than I can stand. So we must take fare- well of each other this morning. You have irritated me considerably, it is true, by your careless writing and by your reprehensible habit of sharpening your pencil just as I am ready to begin ; but on the whole we have managed very well, and I must confess that I shall miss you. However, there is nothing so foolish as prolonged leave-taking, so we shall consider our farewells said, and proceed to work. Title : Finality" "Good-bye,*' I said regretfully, "y^s, I have it down, — Finality." FINALITY Finality f It exists not; though — mysterious para- dox — the moments are filled with nothing less. The everlasting hills cry out against it ; but the sands of the Sea and the fruitful soil tell of the wearing down of the adamantine mountains ; while they tell, too, that the mountain which has lost its place and its name, has not ceased to be; its pulverized atoms support the immensity of the heaving ocean or feed the roots of 82 Seances With Carlyle the patriarchal oak-tree. The oak in its turn dies, and the last acorn it has dropped to the ground, which has been trampled into the soil, also dies, and in its dying sends down rootlets to feed on the dust of the ancient hills, and puts forth tentative leaves to claim their share of sun and air and moisture ; and so well do roots and leaves do their task, so resolute is the sapling in casting off its dead foliage and clothing itself year by year in vigorous chlorophyll-filled leafage, that, through this continual process of Finality and Re-creation, it grows into a monarch of trees, umbrageous and good to look upon, its roots carpeted with the primro-se and the jonquil, its branches filled with the vocal wind and the songs of birds. When the old oak is cut down. Finality hangs heavy on our hearts; if we live to see the new tree grow up, we exclaim with fervent con- fidence, "Nothing ends V The oat-crop, germinating in the dark earth, is fit food for neither man nor beast ; but after the seed has disintegrated, and sent up its little spears of green, and the green field has become clothed in pale glistening stubble, what neighing at mangers, what lively gallops across country proclaim that the harvest is gathered in! What plates of porridge and bowls of brose are being filled in every cottage kitchen! Finality 83 The grain has lost its enclosing sheath, has fed on it- self and died; — here is Finality, and of a very thorough sort. Yet the farmer's boy, plodding about the field, knows that the oat-crop has come from that bushel or so of grain which his master sowed in the Spring; and that the brown acres will be sown afresh from this new supply, to be harvested in its turn ; and so on, unceasingly, through the cycle of the years. Finality has slipped through our fingers; Continuity stares at us from all sides ; the Miracle and the Para- dox are Everywhere ; we cannot escape them. Greece decays ; Carthage is in ruins ; Rome is over- run by the Northern tribes, as they pour South, to be in their turn distributed and re-distributed over the face of Europe. But, though the Old Civilizations have ceased to be, they are not dead, for their spirit has been carried forward into the New. The Fall of Constan- tinople fermented the Revival of Learning, and the known world was flooded with Greek Literature and Greek Art, with its strong, appealing beauty, and its grave pagan dangers. The Down- fall of Germany will probably give an immense impetus to chemical engin- eering and to sanctified research of every description ; and the pendulum will swing from Horror and Abom- ination, along an ascending arc of decent Humanity. 84 Seances With Carlyle Lastly, at some not- too- far distant Day, the Overthrow of Materialism and Mammon, will, we pray, set free the imprisoned forces of the Spirit, and a Spiritual Reign of Equity and Understanding will cover the Earth "as the waters cover the Sea." No more Reigns of Terror and Lords of Misrule! A new Tree of Life shall overshadow the Nations, a new and spiritual Ig- drasil, with its roots deep in the soil of the dead Past, and its luxuriant foliage spreading as a covert for the Sons of Men, its waving branches proclaiming the Finality of Dearth and Woe, and the Everlastingness of Spiritual Life. Do we meet a Friend after our own hearts? With what outpouring joy we hail this Voice that proclaims our ideals ; how our wearied hearts quicken their beat, as we clasp hands with the Man whose words are co- significative with our own ! He whose aims are reverent and real and whose life is an inspiration to our halting attempts to tread the World- forsaken Path of Uprightness, becomes to us some sort of Divinity ; and we feel that to this relation- ship, at least, there can be no Finality ; for is it not the Union of two Souls in the World-Task of creating, if not a New Heaven, at least a New Earth, when the Downtrodden may once more move as Men, and where Finality S5 all Creatures may raise grateful hearts that they are alive ? Happy they, who being united in such Godlike purpose, can stand shoulder to shoulder, without breach or coldness, until, for one of them, "the Shadow-s flee away." But, how often can two work together disinterested- ly, year in and year out, for any cause, be it the Noblest they know? To Brutus, Cassius has "an itching palm"; to Cassius, Brutus is "a hot friend cooling." In this World of Inadequacies and Shortcomings, the rift in the lute makes shrill piping, sooner or later, in most partnerships. The Accuser of the Brethren carries his calumnies, not only before the High Throne, but also into the hearts of the Co- Workers with the Eternal. He sows the Dragon's teeth from which spring Schisms and Dissensions, and, while the Right- eous slay one another, he strengthens his Gates of Evil. Shall we, then, crush our Man of divine Gold be- cause, as he stumbles, we discover that his feet are as much clay as our own? Break off relations with him? We cannot. We may alter these relations; the inter- changes of Affection and Esteem may be replaced by cold Aversion or life-consuming Hate; but, having once had dealings with him, he will pursue us, and, unless the cells of our memory be blotted out forever. 86 Seances With Carlyle he will invade our thoughts and trouble our emotions, be it but the faintest flicker of remembrance. May we renew our early intimacy with him, if it be broken off? By no means. We may establish other relation-s, — closer or more distant, — than before; but renew the old ones, — never ! We are not the men we were yes- terday; he, too, has changed. As I once said, "A man, be the Heavens ever praised, is sufficient for himself; yet were ten men, united in Love, capable of being and of doing what ten thousand singly would fail in. Infinite is the help man can yield to man." Gather then your ten men ; sworn to fight manfully in any Cause whatsoever, provided it be for the overthrow of Mammon and his crew ; armed and armoured, not with glaive and buckler, but with the swift sword of Justice, and the impenetrable shield of Consciousness of Right. What a flood of Spiritual Strength were let loose over this Materialistic World ! Surely here is something that will last ! Of two, one may fail; but of ten, are there not nine left? Nay, of ten lepers who were cleansed, but one returned to give glory, and — he was a Samaritan! Nothing lasts but Eternal Truth, Eternal Justice, and — ^though this is the secret of the few — Eternal Love! Even strong personal Love feels the strain of Time Finality 87 and of the nerve- wearing daily happenings. How sad a Finality comes to it, when the light of the eyes, which may still shine for Strangers, dies out at the approach of the Once-Loved; when the sound of the step, which in past days brought a thrill of pure joy, brings dread or indifference! And what more sad than the struggle against Finality and Death, when Love, like a broken-winged moth, bereft of its glisten- ing down, halts and flutters weakly from flower to flower of desire, striving to keep alive some semblance of its old-time glory and vigour; shutting its eyes to the unworthiness of its object ; and cherishing any poor remnant of sympathy and nobleness to be found there ! Of the Love that never fails, and is met by its Equal in Love, I hardly dare to speak. With that ambrosial joy we escape from the loud dust-whirlwind of An- tagonisms and Dispraise, which sweeps around the outer world, into the quiet confidence of a perfect un- derstanding, where our faults are forgiven, and our virtues are magnified. We know that Here is no Finality. The Filaments of this Love, slender and strong, that bind Heart to Heart as one, cannot be broken, even by puissant Death. The sorrows borne together; the joys shared in blissful freedom from care, are imperishable memories, shining luminous-effulgent 88 Seances With Carlyle akmg the padiway of ^bc years tbat lead frcm labour and battle, on, tfarongb inrisiUe hosts of Archdemoiis and Archangds, to Eterr.^' ?ei:e! Fairy 6tirred, ir.i .r .-^cei iiis cx)ld nose into my neck. I lodced op, — Cartrle was gone. ► LIBRARY