^^cf^bil>itc(l fr i)c]iartiiH'iit I 6. Borrow may at the ( weeks. 7. Theloa 8. Books ' with an (*i, i 9. When i must be reph 10. Ai)])lic! eases of sick] 11. r,ooks 1 rei)laeeyes, on quittinfi the serviri' of the Department, must return all books in their possession behmjiinu to the Library. Final payment of their salaries will be withhehl by the Disbursing Otheer until he is satistied that all bo(dcs eharged against them at tlie Library liave l)een returned. 16. For infrinueuieuts of any of the above rules the Lilirarian is authorized to susinud or reliise the issui- ol' books to the eulliable jiersous. By order of tlie Secretan' : GEO. M. LOCKWOOD, Chief Clerk. (13599— 10 M.) ^en the hours n 9 a. m. till i authorized to jred to tile with le Department, the name of the pwed; of works lers are strictly {whether of the lan two weeks, idditioual two the Catalogue a borrower, it :sou, except in examined and I weeks without rrnvfrmj} ^^AOr^A ,^.'>^tMf^^ 'mm JuUJAdsySQydfifei m^mm'^w'^mE^^^'' 'Ml^^^j',^^^ .A. ■'! 'f' 'AavO./^' in' 'nHAAi^' rm J* TWT j^^P^^^vvv^tTm Jam Ja^^TaTh .f^Nrnmimm 1 ^' COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. COMPANIONS MY SOLITUDE. By ARTHUR HELPS, II AUTHOR OF "friends IN COUNCIL," " REALMAH,'' "CASIMIR MAREMMA." From the Seventh London Edition. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1870. ^^<^w ju'i 5 li^07 ?3r£2S of JOHN WILSON AND SON, Cambridge. COMPANIONS OF MY .'-■•'■'■;'" '".T r '"- >''X. SOLITUDE. ^^ € CHAPTER I. TT 7HEN in the country, I live much alone ; and, ^ ^ as I wander over downs and commons and through lanes with lofty hedges, many thoughts come into my mind. I find, too, that the same ones come again and again, and are spiritual companions. At times they insist upon being with me, and are resolutely intrusive. I think I will describe them, that so I may have more mastery over them. Instead of suffering them to haunt me as vague faces and half-fashioned resemblances, I will make them into distinct pictures, which I can give away, or hang up in my room, turning them, if I please, with their faces to the wall ; and in short be free to do what I like with them. 6 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Ellesmere will then be able to deride them at his pleasure ; and so they will go through the alembic of sarcasm ; Dunsford will have something more to approve, or rebuke ; Lucy something more to love, or to hate. Even my dogs and my trees will be the better for this work, as, when it is done, they will, perhaps, have a more disengaged attention from me. Faithful, steadfast creatures, both dogs and trees ; how easy and chai-ming is your converse with me com- pared with the eager, exclusive, anxious way in which the creations of my own brain, who at least should have some filial love and respect for me, insist upon my attention ! It was a thoroughly English day to-day, sombre and quiet, the sky coming close to the earth, and everything seeming to be of one color. I wandei'ed over the downs, not heeding much which way I went, and driven by one set of thoughts which of late have had great hold upon me. I think often of the hopes of the race here, of what is to become of our western civilization, and what can be made of it. Others may pursue science or art, and I long to do so too ; but I cannot help thinking of the state and fortunes of large masses of mankind, and hoping that thought may do some- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. *j thing for them. After all my cogitations, my mind generally returns to one thing, the education of the people. For want of general cultivation how greatly individual excellence is crippled. Of what avail, for example, is it for any one of us to have sur- mounted any social terror, or any superstition, while his neighbors lie sunk in it ? His conduct in refer- ence to them becomes a constant care and burden. Meditating upon general improvement, I often think a great deal about the climate in these parts of the world ; and I see that without much husbandry of our means and resources, it is difficult for us to be any thing but low barbarians. The difficulty of living at all in a cold, damp, destructive climate is great. Socrates went about with very scanty cloth- ing, and men praise his wisdom in caring so little for the goods of this life. He ate sparingly, and of mean food. That is not the way, I suspect, that we can make a philosopher here. There are people who would deride one for saying this, and would contend that it gives too much weight to worldly things. But I suspect they are misled by notions borrowed from Eastern climates. Here we must make prudence one of the substantial virtues. One thing, though, I see, and that is, that there is a quantity of misplaced labor, of labor which is not 8 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. consumed in stern contest with the rugged world around us, in the endeavor to compel Nature to give us our birthright, but in fighting with " strong delu- sions " of all kinds ; or rather in putting up obstacles which we laboriously knock down again, in making Chinese mazes between us and objects we have daily need of, and where we should have only the shortest possible line to go. As I have said else- where, half the labor of the world is pure loss, — the work of Sisyphus rolling up stones to come down again inevitably. Law, for example, what a loss is there ; of time, of heart, of love, of leisure ? There are good men whose ininds are set upon improving the law ; but I doubt whether any of them are prepared to go far enough. Here, again, we must hope most from gen- eral improvement of the people. Perhaps, though, some one great genius will do something for us. I have often fancied that a man might play the part of Brutus in the law. He might simulate madness in order to ensure freedom. He might make himself a great lawyer, rise to eminence in the profession, and then turn round and say, " I am not going to enjoy this high seat and dignity ; but intend hence- forward to be an advocate for the people of this country against the myriad oppressions and vexa- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 9 tions of the law. No Chancellorships or Chief-Jus- ticeships for me. I have only pretended to be this slave in order that you should not say that I am an untried and unpractical man, — that I do not under- stand your mysteries." This, of course, is not the dramatic vv^ay in w^hich such a thing would be done. But there is greatness enough in the world for it to be done. If no lawyer rises up to fill the place which my imagination has assigned for him, we must hope that statesmen will do something for us in this matter, that they will eventually protect us (though, hitherto, they never have done so) from lawyers. There are many things done now in the law at great expense by private individuals which ought to be done for all by officers of the State. It is as if each individual had to make a road for himself whenever he went out, instead of using the king's highway. Many of the worst things in the profession take place low down in it. I am not sure that I would not try the plan of having public notaries with very extensive functions, subjecting them to official con- trol. What exclamations about freedom we should hear, I dare say, if any large measure of this kind were proposed ; which exclamations and their con- lO COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. sequences have long been, in my mind, a chief ob- stacle to our possessing the reality of freedom. What difference is it whether I am a slave to my lawyer, or subject indirectly to more official control in the changing of my piX)perty? I do not know a meaner and sadder portion of a man's existence, or one more likely to be full of impatient sorrow, than that which he spends in waiting at the offices of lawyers. It is to be observed that all satire falls short when aimed against the practices in the Law. No man can imagine, not Swift himself, things more shame- ful, absurd, and grotesque than the things which do take place daily in the Law. Satire becomes merely narrative. A modern novelist depicts a man ruined by a legacy of a thousand pounds, and sleep- ing under a four-legged table because it reminded him of the days when he used to sleep in a four-post bed. This last touch about the bed is humorous, but the substance of the story is dry narrative only. These evils are not of yesterday, or of this country only ; I observe that the first Spanish colonists in America write home to the Government begging them not to allow lawyers to come to the colony. At the same time, we must not forget how many COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. II of the evils attributed solely to the proceedings of lawyers result from the want of knowledge of busi- ness in the world in general, and its inaptness for business, the anxiety to arrange more and for longer time than is wise or possible, and the occasional trusting of affairs to women, who in our country are brought up to be utterly incompetent to the manage- ment of affairs. Still, with all these allowances, and taking care to admit, as we must, if we have any fairness, that notwithstanding the element of chican- ery and perverse small-mindedness in which they are involved, there are many admirable and very high-minded men to be found in all grades of the law (perhaps a more curious instance of the power of the human being to maintain its structure unim- paired in the midst of a hostile element, than that a man should be able to abide in a heated oven) — admitting all these extenuating circumstances, we must nevertheless declare, as I set out by saying, that Law affords a notable example of loss of time, of heart, of love, of leisure.* * Many of the adjuncts and circumstances of the Law are calculated to maintain it as a mystery : I allude to the un- couth form and size of deeds, the antiquated words, the unusual kind of handwriting. Physicians' prescriptions may have a better effect for being expressed mysteriously, but legal matteis cannot surely be made too clear, eveu in the merest minutiae. 12 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. Well, then, as another instance of misplaced labor, I suppose we must take a good deal of what goes on in schools and colleges, and, indeed, in parliaments and other assemblages of men, not to speak of the wider waste of means and labor which prevails in all physical works, — such as buildings, furniture, decorations ; and not merely waste but obstruction, so that if there were a good angel attendant on the human race, with power to act on earth, it would destroy as fast as made a considerable portion of men's productions, as the kindest thing which could be done for man and the best instruction for him. The truth is, we must considerably address our- selves to cope with Nature. Here again, too, we come to the want of more extended and general cul- tivation, for otherwise we cannot fully enjoy or profit by scientific discovery. At present a man in a civil- ized country is surrounded by things which are greater than he is ; he does not understand them, cannot regulate them, cannot mend them. This ignorance proceeds in some respects from division of labor. A man knows how to make a pin's head admirably, but is afraid to handle or give an opinion upon things which he has not daily knowl- edge of. This applies not only to physical things, but to law, church, state, and the arts and sciences generally. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 13 After all, the advancement of the world depends upon the use of small balances of advantage over disadvantage ; for there is compensation every whei'e and in every thing. No one discovery resuscitates the vs^orld ; certainly no physical one. Each new good thought, or word, or deed, brings its shadow with it ; and, as I have just said, it is upon the small balances of gain that we get on at all. Often, too, this occurs indirectly, as when moral gains give physical gains, and these again give room for further moral and intellectual culture. Frequently it seems as if the faculties of man were not quite adequate as yet to his situation. This is perhaps more to be seen in contemplating individuals, than in looking at mankind in general. The individual seems the sport of circumstance. When Napoleon invaded Russia (the proximate cause of his downfall), though doubtless there were very adverse and unfortunate circumstances attend- ant upon that invasion, yet, upon the whole, it gave a good opportunity for working out the errors of the man's mind and system. The circumstances were not unfair, as we may say, against him. Most prosperous men, perhaps I should say most men, have in the course of their lives their campaign in Russia, — when they strain their fortune to the utter- 14 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. most, and often it breaks under them. I did not mean any thing like this when I said that the indi- vidual seems the sport of circumstance. Neither did I mean that small continuous faults and mis- doings have considerable effect upon a man, such as the errors and vices of youth, which are silently put down to a man from day to day, like his reckoning at an inn. But I alluded to those very unfortunate concurrences of circumstances, which most men's lives will tell them of, where a man, from some small error or omission, from some light carelessness, or over-trust, in thoughtless innocence or inexperi- ence, gets entangled in a web of adverse circum- stances, which will be company for him on sleepless nights and anxious days throughout a large part of his" life. Were success in life (morally or physically) the main object here, it certainly would seem as if ■ a little more faculty in man were sadly needed. A similar thing occurs often to the body, when a man, from some small mischance or oversight, lays the beginning of a disease which shall depress and enfeeble him while he sojourns upon earth. And it seems, when he looks back, as if such a little thing would have saved him ; if he had not crossed over the road, if he had not gone to see his friend on that particular day, if the dust had not been so COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 1 5 unpleasant on that occasion, the whole course of his life would have been different. Living, as we do, in the midst of stern gigantic laws, which crush every thing down that comes in their way, which know no excuses, admit of no small errors, never send a man back to learn his lesson and try him again, but are as inexorable as Fate, — living, I say, with such powers above us (unseen, too, for the most part), it does seem as if the faculties of man were hardly as yet adequate to his situation here. Such considerations as the above tend to charity and humility; and they point also to the existence of a future state- As regards charity, for example, a man might extend to others the ineffable tenderness which he has for some of his own sins and errors, because he knows the whole history of them ; and though, taken at a particular point, they appear very large and very black, he knew them in their early days when they were play-fellows instead of tyrant demons. There are others which he cannot so well smooth over, because he knows that in their case inward proclivity coincided with outward tempta- tion ; and, if he is a just man, he is well aware that if he had not erred here he would have erred there ; 1 6 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. that experience, even at famine price, was necessary for him in those matters. But, in considering the misdoings and misfortunes of others, he may as well begin, at least, by thinking that they are of the class which he has found from his own experience to contain a larger amount of what we call ill-fortune than of any thing like evil disposition. For time and chance, says the Preacher, happen to all men. Thus I thought in my walk this dull and dreary afternoon, till the rising of the moon and the return from school of the childi'en with their satchels com- ing over the down warned me, too, that it was time to retuj-n home ; and so, trying not to think any more of these things, I looked at the bare beech- trees, still beautiful, and the dull sheep-ponds scat- tered here and there, and thought that the country even in winter and in these northern regions, like a great man in adversity and just disgrace, was still to be looked at with hopeful tenderness, even if, in the man's case, there must also be somewhat of respectful condemnation. As I neared home I com- forted myself, too, by thinking that the inhabitants of sunnier climes do not know how winning and joyful is the look of the chimney-tops of our homes in the midst of what to them would seem most des- olate and dreary. CHAPTER II. T SUPPOSE it has happened to most men who observe their thoughts at all, to notice how some expression retui-ns again and again in the course of their meditations, or, indeed, of their business, form- ing as it were a refrain to all they think, or do, for any given day. Sometimes, too, this refrain has no particular concern with the thought or business of the day ; but seems as if it belonged to some under- current of thought and feeling. This, at least, is what I experienced to-day myself, being haunted by a bit of old Spanish poetry, which obtruded itself, sometimes inopportunely, sometimes not so, in the midst of all my work or play. The words were these : — " Quan presto se va el placer. Como despues de acordado Da dolor; Como, al nuestro parecer, Qualquiera tiempo pasado Fu^ mejor." 2 l8 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. How quickly passes pleasure awaji How after being granted It gives pain ; How in our opinion Any past time Was better (than that we passed in pleasure). It was not that I agreed with the sentiment, ex- cept as applied to vicious pleasure, being rather of Sydney Smith's mind, that the remembrance of past pleasure is present pleasure ; but I suppose the words chitned in with reflections on the past which formed the under-current of my thoughts, as I went through the wood of beeches which bounded my walk to-day. A critique had just been sent me of some literary production, in which the reviewer was very gracious in noticing the calmness and moderation of the author. " Ah, my friend," thought I to myself, " how differently you would write if you did but know the man as I do, and were aware what a fierce fellow he is with all his outward smoothness, hardly ruling at times thoughts which are any thing but calm and moderate, yet struggling to be just, and knowing that violence is always lost ! " From that I went on to consider how intense is the loneliness for the most part of any man who endeavors to think, — like the Nile wandering on COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 19 through a desert country, with no tributary streams to cheer and aid it, and to be lost in sympathy with its main current. In politics, for example, such a man will have too affectionate a regard for the people to be a democrat ; he would as soon leave his own children without guidance ; and, on the other hand, he will have too great a regai'd for merit and fitness to be an aristocrat. He will find no one plank to walk up and down consistently ; and will be always looking beyond measures which satisfy other men ; and seeing, perhaps, that as regards politics themselves, greater things are to be done out of them than in them. I was silent in thought for a moment, and then my refrain came back again — "Qi:alquiera tiempo pasado Fu^ mejor." And in a moment I went back, not to the pleasures, but to the ambitious hopes and projects of youth. And when a man does reflect upon the ambitions which are as characteristic of that period of life as reckless courage or elastic step, and finds that at each stage of his journey since, some hope has dropped oft" as too burdensome, or too romantic, till at last it is enough for him only to cai'ry himself at all upright in this troublesome world, — what 20 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. thoughts come back vipon him ! How he meditates upon his own errors and shortcomings, and sees that he has had not only the hardness, oiliness, and imperturbability of the world to contend with, but that he himself has generally been his worst antagonist. In this mood, I might have thrown myself upon the mound under a green beech-tree that was near, the king of the woods, and uttered many lamenta- tions ; but instead of doing any thing of the kind, I walked sedately by it ; for, as we go on in life, we find we cannot afford excitement, and we learn to be parsimonious in our emotions. Again I mut- tered, " Qiialquiera tiempo pasado Fue mejor." And I threw forward these words into the future, as if I were already blaming any tendency to un- necessary emotion. I entered now into another vein of thought, con- sidering that kind Nature would not allow a man to be so very wise, nor for the sake of any good he might do to others, permit him to forfeit the benefit he must derive from his own errors, failures, and shortcomings. You may mean well, she says, and you might expect that I should give you any ex- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 21 traordinary furtherance, and not suffer you to be plagued with drawbacks and errors of your own, that so you might do your work undisturbed : but I love you too well for that. I sacrifice no one child for the benefit of the rest. You all must learn humility. I felt the truth of these words, and thereupon gave myself up to more cheerful thoughts. How much cheerfulness there is, by the way, in humility ! I listened to the cuckoo in the woods, hearing his tiresome but welcome noise for the first time in the year, and I looked out for the wild flowers that were just beginning to show themselves, and thought that, from the names of flowers, it is evident that, in former days, poets and scholars must have lived in the countiy and looked well at Nature. Else how came all these picturesque and poetical names, " Love in idleness," " Venus's looking-glass," and such like } But as the shades of evening came on in the wood, my thoughts went away from these simple topics ; the refrain, too, " Qiian presto se va el placer," sounded in my ears again ; and I passed on to meditations of like color to those in the former part 22 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITDDK of my walk. In addition to the othei" hindrances I alhided to before, this also must come home to the mind of many a man of the present generation : how he is to discern, much more to teach, even in small things, without having clear views, or distinct convictions, upon some of the greatest matters, — , upon religious questions for instance? And yet I suppose it must be tried. Even a man of Goethe's immense industry and great intellectual resources, feared to throw himself upon the sea of biblical criticism. But, at the same time, how poor, timid, and tentative must be all discourse built upon in- ferior motives ! Ah, if we could but discern what is the right way and the highest way ! These doubts which beset men upon many of the greatest matters, are the direct result of the lies and falsification of our predecessors. Sometimes when we look at the frightful errors which metaphorical expressions may have introduced, I do not wonder that Plato spoke in the hardest manner of Poets. But man cannot narrate without metaphors, so much more does he see in every transaction than the bare circumstances. When I was at Milan and saw the glory of that town, the Last Supper, by Leonardo da Vinci, I could not help thinking, as my way is, many things COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 23 not, perhaps, very closely connected with that grand work, but which it suggested to my mind. At first you may be disappointed in finding the figures so much faded, but soon, with patient looking, much comes into view ; and after marvelling at the inexpressible beauty which still remains, you find to your astonishment that no picture, no print, per- haps no description, has adequately represented what you can still trace in this work. Not only has it not been represented, but it has been utterly misrepresented. The copyist thought he could tell the story better than the painter, and where the outlines are dim, was not content to leave them so, but must insert something of his own which is clearly wrong. This, I thought, is the way of most translation, and I might add, of most portrait paint- ing and nearly all criticism. And it occurred to me that the written history of the world was very like the prints of this fresco ; namely, a clear ac- count, a good deal of it utterly wrong, of what at fii'st hand is considerably obliterated, and which, except in minds of the highest powers of imagina- tion, to be a clear conception can hardly be a just one. And then, caiTying my application still further to the most important of all histories, I thought how 24 COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. the simple majesty of the original transaction had probably suffered a like misconception, from the fading of the material narrative, and still more from the weak inventions of those w^ho could not repre- sent accurately, and were impatient of any dimness (to their eyes) in the divine original. I often fancy how I should like to direct the in- tellectual efforts of men ; and if I had the power, how frequently I should direct them to those great subjects in metaphysics and theology which now men shun. What patient labor and what intellectual power are often bestowed in coming to a decision on any cause which involves much worldly property. Might there not be some great hearing of any of the intellectual and spiritual difficulties which beset the paths of all thoughtful men in the present age ? Church questions, for example, seem to require a vast investigation. As it is, a book or pamphlet is put forward on one side, then another on the other side, and somehow the opposing facts and arguments seldom come into each othei-'s presence. And thus truth sustains great loss. My own opinion is, if I can venture to say that I have an opinion, that what we ought to seek for is a church of the utmost width of doctrine, and with COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 2$ the most beautiful expression that can be devised for tliat doctrine, — tlie most beautiful expression, I mean, in words, in deeds, in sculpture, and in sacred song ; which should have a simple, easy grandeur in its proceedings that should please the elevated and poetical mind, charm the poor, and yet not lie open to just cavilling on the part of those somewhat hard, intellectual worshippers who must have a reason for every thing ; which should have vitality and growth in it ; and which should attract and not repel those who love truth better than any creature. Pondering these things in the silence of the downs, I at last neared home ; and found that the result of all my thoughts was that any would-be teacher must be contented and humble, or try to be so, in his ef- forts of any kind ; and that if the great questions can hardly be determined by man (divided too as he is from his brother in all ways) he must still try and do what he can on lower levels, hoping ever for more insight, and looking forward to the knowledge which may be gained by death. CHAPTER III. ' I ^0-DAY, as the weather was cold and boister- ous, I could only walk under shelter of the yew hedge in my garden, which some gracious predeces- sor (all honor to him !) planted to keep oft' the dire north-west winds, and which, I fear, unless he was a very hardy plant himself, he did not live long enough to profit much by. Being so near home, my thoughts naturally took a domestic turn ; and I vexed myself by thinking that I had received no letter ffom my little boy. This was owing to the new post-office regulations, which did not allow letters to go out from country places, or be delivered at such places, on a Sunday. Oh those Borgias, said I to myself, how much we have to blame them for ! To be sure, I know pretty well what the letter would be. " I hope you are well papa and I send you my love and I have got a kite and Uncle George's dog is very fierce. His name is Nero which was a Roman em- peror nearly quite white only he has got two black COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 2'J spots just over his nose And I send my love to mam- ma and the children and I am your own little boy and affectionate son, " Leonard Milverton." Not a very important, certainly not a very artistic, production this letter, but still it has its interest for the foolish patei'nal mind, and I should like to have received it to-day. It is greatly owning to those Borgias that I have not received this letter. Most of my neighbors imagine that their little petitions were the cause of these post-office regulations ; but I beg to go somewhat further back, and I come to Pope Alexander the Sixth, and lay a great deal of blame on him. The pendulous folly of mankind oscillates as far in this direction as it has come from that ; and an absurd Puritan is only a correlative to a wicked Pope. From such reflections, I fell to considering Puri- tanism generally, and I am afi'aid I came to a differ- ent conclusion from that which would have been popular at any of the late public meetings ; but then I console myself by an aphorism of Ellesmere's, who is wont to remark, " How exactly proportioned to a man's ignorance of the subject is the noise he makes about it at a public meeting." Knowledge brings 28 COMPANIONS OF 31 T SOLITUDE. doubts and exceptions and limitations which, though occasionally some aids to truth, are all hindrances to vigorous statement. But to go back to what I thought about Puritan- ism ; for I endeavored to methodize my thoughts, and the following is the course they took. What are the objects of life, as far as regards this world ? Its first wants, I answer, namely, food and raiment. What besides.? Marrying and the rearing of children ; and, in general, the cultivation of the affections. So far Puritans would agree with us. But suppose all these things to be tempered with gayety and festivity : what element of wickedness has necessm'ily entered } None that I can perceive. Self- indulgence takes many forms ; and we should bear in mind that there may be a sullen sensuality as well as a gay one. But the truth is, there is a secret belief amongst some men that God is displeased with man's happi- ness ; and in consequence they slink about creation, ashamed and afraid to enjoy any thing. They answer, we do not object to rational pleas- ures. But who, my good people, shall exactly define rational pleasures .'' You are pleased with a flower ; to cultivate flowers is what you call a rational pleas- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 29 ure : there are people, however, to whom a flower is somewhat insipid, but they perhaps dote upon music, which, however, is unfortunately not one of your rational pleasures, — chiefly, as I believe, because it is mainly a social one. Why is there any thing nec- essarily wrong in social pleasures? Certainly some of the most dangerous vices, such as pride, are found to flourish in solitude with more vigor than in society ; and a man may be deadly avaricious who has never even gone out to a tea-party. Once I happened to overhear a dialogue some- what similar to that which Charles Lamb, perhaps, only feigned to hear. I was travelling in a railway- carriage with a most precise looking, formal person, the Arch-Quaker, if there be such a person. His countenance was very noble, or had been so, before it was frozen up. He said nothing ; I felt a great respect for him. At last his mouth opened. I lis- tened with attention ; I had hitherto lived with foolish, gad-about, dinner-eating, dancing people ; now I was going to hear the words of retired wisdom ; when he thus addressed his young daughter sitting opposite, " Hast thee heard how Southamptons went lately } " (in those days South-western Railway shares were called Southamptons) ; and she replied with like gravity, giving him some information that 30 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. she had picked up about Southamptons yesterday evening. I leant back rather sickened as I thought what was probably the daily talk and the daily thoughts in that family, from which I conjectured all amuse- ment was banished save that connected with intense money getting. Well, but, exclaims the advocate of Puritanism, I do not admit that my clients, on abjuring the pleasures of this world, fall into pride, or sullen sensuality, or intense money getting. They only secure to themselves more time for woi"ks of charity and for the love of God. You are an adroit advocate, and are careful, by not pushing your case too far, to give me the least possible room for reply. They secure to themselves more time for these good works you say. Do they do them.? But the truth is, in order to meet your remark and to extract the good there is in it, I must begin by saying that Puritanism, as far as it is an abnegation of self, is good, or may be so. But this is most surely the case, when it turns its sufferings and privations to utility. It has always appeared to me that there is so much to be done in this world, that all self-inflicted sufterinof which cannot be COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 31 turned to good account for others, is a loss, — a loss, if you may so express it, to the spiritual world. The Puritanism which I object to is that which avoids some pleasure, and exhausts in injurious comment and attack upon other people any leisure and force of mind which it may have gained by its abstinence from the pleasure. I can understand and sympathize with the man who says, " I enjoy festivity, but I cannot go to the feast I am bidden to, to-night, for there are sick people who must be first attended to." But I do not love the man who stays away from the feast and employs his leisure in delivering a sour discourse on the wickedness of the others who are invited to the feast, and who go to it. Moreover, this censoriousness is not only a sin, but the inventor of many sins. Indeed the manu- facture of sins is so easy a manufacture, that I am convinced man could readily be persuaded that it was wicked to use the left leg as much as the right ; whole congregations would only permit themselves to hop ; and, what is more to our present point, would consider that when they walked in the ordi- nary fashion they were committing a deadly sin. Now, I should not think that the man who were to invent this sin would be a benefactor to the human race. 32 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. You often hear in a town, or village, a bit of do- mestic history, which seems at first to militate against what I have been saying, but is in reality very consistent with it. The story is of some poor man, and is apt to run thus : He began to frequent the ale-house ; he sought out amusements ; there was a neighboring fair where he first showed his quarrelsome disposition ; then came worse things ; and now here he is in prison. Yes, I should reply, he frequented, with a stealthy shame, those places which you, who would ignore all amusement, have suffei'ed to be most coarse and demoralizing. All along he had an exaggerated notion of the blame that he was justly liable to from his first steps in the downward path ; the truth unfortunately is, that you go a long way to make a small error into a sin, when you miscall it so. I would not, therefore, have a clergyman talk of the ale-house as if it were the pit of Acheron. On the contrary, I would have him acknowledge that, considering the warmth and cheerfulness to be found in the sanded parlor of the village inn, it is very natural that men should be apt to frequent it. I would have him, however, go on to show what frequenting the ale-house mostly leads to, and how the laborer's home might be made to rival the ale-house ; and I would have him help to COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 33 make it so, or, in some way, to provide some sub- stitute for the ale-house. The evils of competition ai'e very considerable, and many people in these times hold up competition as the great monster evil of the age. I do not know how that may be ; but I am sure that the competition there is in the way of puritanical demonstration is very injurious to sincerity. This competition is the child of fear. A. is afraid that his neighbor B. will not think well of him, because he (A.) does or per- mits something which C, another neighbor, will not allow in his house. Surely this is little else than mere man-worship. It puts one in mind of the story of that congregation of the Church of England, who begged their clergyman to give them longer sermons, — not that they wei'e fond of long dis- courses, — but that they might not alwa3'S be out of church before some neighboring congregation of Wesleyans or Independents. Returning to the imaginary advocate for Puritan- ism who said that it secured more time for works of charity and for the love of God. I do not know whether other people's observation will tally with mine ; but, as far as I have obsei'ved, it appears to me that charity requires the sternest labor and the most anxious thought ; that, in short, 3 34 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. it is one of the most difficult things in the world, and is not altogether a matter for leisure hours. This re- mark applies to the more serious functions of charity. But, we must remember, that the whole of charity is not comprised in carrying about gifts to one another, or, to speak more generally, in remedying the mate- rial evils suffered by those around us, else life would indeed be a dreary affair ; but there are exquisite little charities to be performed in reference to social pleasures. Then, as to the love of God, I do not venture to say much upon so solemn a theme ; but it does oc- cur to me that we should talk and think very humbly about our capacity in matters so much above us. At any rate, I do not see why the love of God should withdraw us largely from our fellow-man. That love we believe was greatest in Him who graced with His presence the marriage feast at Cana in Galilee ; who was never known to shun or ignore the exist- ence of the vicious ; and to whom, more than to all other teachers, the hypocrite seems to have been particularly odious. But there is another very important consideration to be weighed by those who are fearful of encourag- ing amusements, especially amongst their poorer brethren. What are the generality of people to do, or COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 35 to think of, for a considerable portion of each clay, if they are not allowed to busy themselves with some form of recreation ? Here is this infinite creature, man, who looks before and after, whose swiftness of thought is such, even among the dullest of the species, as would perhaps astonish the brightest, who are apt to imagine that none think but themselves ; and you fancy that he can be quite contented with providing warmth and food for himself and those he has to love and cherish. Food and warmth ! Content with that ! Not he : and we should greatly despise him if he could be. Why is it that in all ages small towns and remote villages have fostered little malignities of all kinds.'' The true answer is, that people will back- bite one another to any extent rather than not be amused. Nay, so strong is this desire for something to go on that may break the monotony of life, that people, not otherwise ill-natured, are pleased with the misfortune of their neighbors, solely because it gives something to think of, something to talk about. They imagine how the principal actors and sufferers concerned in the misfortune will bear it ; what they will do ; how they will look ; and so the dull by- stander forms a sort of drama for himself. He would, perhaps, be told that it is wicked for him to go to such an entertainment : he makes one out for- him- self, not always innocently. 36 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. You hear clergymen in country parishes denounc- ing the ill-nature of their parishioners : it is in vain ; the better sort of men try to act up to what they are told, but really it is so dull in the parish that a bit of scandal is welcome to the heart. These poor people have nothing to think about ; nature shows them comparatively little, for art and science have not taught them to look behind the scenes, or even at the scenes ; literature they know nothing of; they can- not have gossip about the men of the past (which is the most innocent kind of gossip), in other words, read and discuss history ; they have no delicate handi- work to amuse them ; in short, talk they must, and talk they will, about their neighbors, whose goings on are a perpetual puppet-show to them. But, to speak more gravely, man, even the most sluggish-minded man, craves amusement of some kind ; and his wiser and more powerful brethi"en will show their wisdom, or their want of it, in the amusements they contrive for him. We need not be afraid that in England any art or innocent amusement will be cultivated too much. The genius of the people, though kindly, is severe. And that is why there is so much less danger of their being injured, if any one is, by recreation. Cyrus kept the Lydians tame, we are told, by allowing them to cultivate music ; the Greeks were perhaps pre- « COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 37 vented from becoming dominant by a cultivation of many arts ; but the Anglo-Saxons, like the Romans, can afford to cultivate art and recreations of all kinds. Such pursuits will not tame them too much. To contend, occasionally, against the bent of the genius, or the circumstances of a people, is one of the great arts of statesmanship. The same thing which is to be dreaded in one place is to be cultivated in another ; here a poison, there an antidote. The abo\e is what I thought in reference to Puri- tanism during my walk this evening : then, by a not uneasy diversion of mind, I turned to another « branch of small persecutions, — small do I call them .'' perhaps they are the greatest that are endured, cer- tainly the most vexatious. I mean all that is per- petuated by the tyranny of the weak. This is a most fertile subject, and has been nearly neglected. Weak is a relative term : whenever two people meet, one is comparatively weak and the other strong ; the relation between them is often supposed to imply this. Taking society in general, there is a certain weakness of the kind I mean, attributable to the sick, the spoilt, the ill-tempered, the unfortunate, the aged, women, and the clergy. Now I venture to say, there is no observant man of the world who has lived to the age of thirty who has not seen numerous instances of severe tyranny • 38 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. exercised by persons belonging to one or other of these classes ; and which tyranny has been estab- lished, continued, and endured, solely by reason of the weakness, real or supposed, of the persons ex- ercising it. Talking once with a thoughtful man on this subject, he remarked to me, that, of course, the generous suffered much from the tyranny I was speaking of, as the strength of it was drawn from their strength. It might be compared to an evil government of a rich people, in which their riches furnished forth abundant armies wherewith to op- press the subject. In quiet times this tyranny is very great. I have often thought whether it was not one very consider- able compensation for rude hard times, or times of dire alarm, that domestic tyranny was then probably less severe : and among the various forms of domes- tic tyi'anny, none occupies a more distinguished place than this of the tyranny of the weak over the strong. If you come to analyze it, it is a tyranny exercised by playing upon the good-nature, the fear of respon- sibility, the dread of acting selfishly, the horror of giving pain, prevalent among good and kind people. They often know that it is a tremendous tyranny they are suffei-ing under, and they do not feel it the less because they are consenting parties. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 39 Meditating sometimes upon the results of this tyranny, I have thought to myself, what is to stop it? In a state of further developed Christianity, unless, indeed, it were equally developed in all minds, there may be only more room for this tyr- anny. And then this strange, but perhaps just idea came into my mind, that this tyranny would fall away in a state of clearer knowledge such as might accompany another state of being ; for then, the secrets of men's hearts not being profoundly concealed by silence, or by speech, it would be seen what the sufferers thought of these t}'rannous proceedings ; and the tyrants would shrink back, abashed at the enormity of their requisitions, made visible in the clear mirror of another's mind. A common form of this tyranny is where the t}'- rant uses a name of great potency, such as that of some relationshijD, and having performed few or none of the duties, exacts from the other side a most oppressive tribute, — oppressive, even if the duties had been performed. There is one reason for putting a limit to the sub- serviency of the strong to the weak, which reason, if fully developed, might do more at times to pro- tect the strong from the weak than any thing I know. Surely the most foolish strong person must 40 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. occasionally have glimpses that he or she cannot sacrifice himself or herself alone : that, in dealing with another person, you are in some measure rep- resenting the outer world ; and ought (to use an official phrase) to govern yourself accordingly. We see this in managing children : and the most weakly indulgent people find that they must make a stop somewhere ; with some perception, it is to be hoped, that the world will not go on dealing with the chil- dren as they (the indulgent persons) are doing ; and, therefore, that they are preparing mischief and discomfort on one side or the other for parties who are necessarily to be brought in contact. The soft mud carried away by the encroaching sea cannot say, — " I, the soft mud, am to be the only victim to this element ; and after I am gone it will no more encroach." No, it means to devour the whole land if it can. Ah, thought I to myself, how important are such considerations as those I have had to-day, if we could but rightly direct them ; how much of the health and wealth of the -^^^orld depend upon them ! Even in those periods when " laws or kings" could do predominant good or predominant ill, the mis- eries of private life perhaps outweighed the lest ; COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 41 but now, as civilization advances, the tendency is to some little amelioration of great political dan- gers ; while, at the same time, from more refine- ment, more intricacy of affairs, more nervous devel- opment, more pretence of goodness, more resolve to have every thing quite neat and smooth and safe, the miseries which the generality of men make for themselves do not tend to decrease, unless kept down by a continual growth of wise and good thoughts and just habits of mind. When we talk of "The ills that laws or kings can cause or cure," our thoughts refer only to the functions of direct and open government ; but the laws which regulate the intercourse of society, public opinion, and, in short, that almost impalpable code of thought and action which grows up in a very easy fashion between man and man, and is clothed with none of the ordinary di'ess of power, may yet be the subtlest and often the sternest despotism. It is a strange fancy of mine, but I cannot help wishing we could " move for returns," as their phrase is in Parliament, of the suffering caused in any one day, or other period of time, throughout the world, to be arranged under certain heads ; and we should then see what the world has occasion to fear most. 42 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. What a large amount would come under the heads of vinreasonable fear of others, of miserable quarrels amongst relations upon infinitesimally small sub- jects, of imaginary slights, of undue cares, of false shames, of absolute misunderstandings, of vumeces- sary pains to maintain credit or reputation, of vex- ation that we cannot make others of the same mind with ourselves ! What a wonderful thing it would be to see set down in figures, as it were, how ingen- ious we are in plaguing one another ! My own pri- vate opinion is, that the discomfoi^t caused by injudicious dress, worn entirely in deference, as it has before been remarked, to the most foolish of mankind, in fact to the tyrannous majority, would outweigh many an evil that sounds, very big. Tested by these perfect returns, which I imagine might be made by the angelic world, if they regard human affairs, perhaps our every-day shaving, severe shirt collars, and other ridiculous garments, are equivalent to a great European war once in seven years ; and we should find that women's stays did about as inuch harm, t. e., caused as much suffering, as an occasional pestilence, — say, for instance, the cholera. We should find perhaps that the vexations arising from the income-tax were nearly equal to those caused amongst the same class of suff^erers by COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 43 ^ the ill-natured things men fancy have been said be- hind their backs ; and perhaps the whole burden and vexation resulting from the aggregate of the respective national debts of that unthrifty family, the European race, — the whole burden and vexa- tion, I say, do not come up to the aggregate of annoyances inflicted in each locality by the one ill- natured person who generally infests each little village, parish, house, or community. There is no knowing what strange comparisons and discoveries I should in my fancy have been led to, — perhaps that the love, said to be inherent in the softer sex, of having the last word, causes as much mischief as all the tornadoes of the Tropics ; or that the vexation inflicted by servants on their masters by assuring them that such and such duties do not belong to their place, is equivalent to all the suflerings that have been caused by mad dogs since the world began. But my meditations were sud- denly interrupted and put to flight by a noise, which, in describing afterwards in somewhat high-flown terms, I said caused a dismay like that which would have been felt if, neglectful of the proper periods in history, the Huns, the Vandals, and the Visigoths, in fact the unruly population of the world, had combined together and rushed down upon some quiet, orderly cathedral town. 44 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. In short, the children of my neighbors returning from school had dashed into my field, their main desire being to behold an arranged heap of stones and brick-bats, which, after being diligently informed of the fact several times by my son Leonard, I had learnt was a house he had lately built. There is a sort of freemasonry among children ; for these knew at once that this heap of stones was a house, and danced round it with delight as a great work of art. Now, do you suppose, to come back to the original subject of my meditations to-day, that the grown-up child does not want amusement, when you see how greedy children are of it? Do not imagine we grow out of that; we disguise ourselves by various solemnities ; but we have none of us lost the child-nature yet. I was glad to see how merry the children could be, though looking so blue and cold, and still more pleased to find that my presence did not scare them away, and that they have no grown-up feeling as yet about ti'espassing : I fled, however, from the noise into more quiet quarters, and broke up the train of reflections of which I now give these out- lines, hoping they may be of use to some one. CHAPTER IV. "A /rUCH retrospect is not a very safe or a very wise thing : still thei'e are times when a man may do well to look back upon his past life, and endeavor to take a comprehensive view of it. And whether such retrospect is wise or not, it cannot be avoided, as our reveries must sometimes turn upon that one life, our own, respecting which we have a great number of facts very interesting to us, and thoroughly within our ken. The process is curiously different from that pursued by Alnaschar in the Arabian Nights, who with an imaginary spurn, alas, too well interpreted by a real gesture, disposed at once of all his splendid fortunes gained in reverie. In this progress of retrospection many find that the spurn is real as well as the fatal gesture which real- ized it, only both have been administered by the rude world instead of by themselves ; the fragments of their broken pottery lie around them ; and, going back to fond memories of the past, they have to reconstruct the original reverie, — the dream of their youth — the proud purpose of their manhood — how fulfilled ! 46 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Walking up and down amidst the young fir-trees in the little plantation to the north-east of the garden, and, occasionally, with all the interest of a young planter, stopping in front of a particular tree, and inspecting this year's growth, I got into such a train of retrospect as I have just spoken of; and from that, by a process which will be visible to the reader, was soon led into thoughts about the future. I pictured to myself a descendant of mine, a man of dilapidated fortune, but still owning this house and garden. The few adjoining fields he will long ago have parted with. But he loves the place, hav- ing been brought up here by his sad, gentle mother, and having lived here with his young sister, then a rapturous imaginative girl, his companion and delight. Through the smallness of their fortune, and consequently the narrow circle of their acquaint- ances, she will have married a man totally unfit for her ; the romance of her nature has turned some- what sour ; and, though occasionally high-minded, she is very peevish now, and is no longer the com- panion that she was to her brother. He just remem- bers his father pacing with disturbed step under these trees which I am now walking about. He recollects before his father's death, how eagerly the fond wife used to waylay and open large packets, COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 47 which she would not always bring to the dying man's bed. He now knows them to have been law papers ; and when he thinks of these things, he vitters harsh words about the iniquity of the law in England ; and says something about law growing in upon a fallen estate like fungus upon old and failing wood. These things are now long past : they occurred in his childhood. His mother is dead, and lies in that quiet churchyard in the wood, where, if I mistake not, one of his ancestors will also have found a peaceful resting-place. The house has fully par- taken of the falling fortunes of its successive owners. The furniture is too old and worn for any new comer to be tempted to occupy the house ; and the little garden is let to a market-gardener. Strawber- ries will grow then on the turf where I am now walking, and which John, after mowing it twice in the week, and having spent all his time in its vicin- ity, from working-day morning till working-day night, comes to look at on a Sunday, and, with his hands in his pockets and himself arrayed in a waist- coat too bright almost to behold, surveys intently, as if it were one of the greatest products of human invention. And John need not be ashamed of this single-minded delight in his work, for, though it is 48 COMPANIONS OF 31 Y SOLITUDE. nothing remarkable in England, the whole conti- nent of Europe does not probably afford such a well-shaven bit of grass ; and, as for our love of gardens, it is the last refuge of art in the minds and souls of many Englishmen ; if we did not care for gardens, I hardly know what in the way of beauty we should care for. Well, this has all ceased by that time to be pleasure-garden, and I fear to think of the j^rofane cabbages which will then occupy this trim velvety little spot. I hope that poor John, from some distant place, will not behold the pro- fanation. I have lingered on these details ; but I must now bring my distant descendant nearer to us. He will live in some lai-ge town, getting his bread in a humble way, and will sometimes steal down here, pretending to want to know whether anybody has applied to take the tumble-down place. This is what he says to his wife (for, of course, being so poor, this foolish Milverton has married), but she understands him better than to be deceived by that. He has just made one of these excvirsions, having, for economy's sake and a wish to avoid the neigh- bors, got out at a station ten miles off (our cathedral town), and walked over to his house. It is evening, and he has just arrived. Tired as he is, he takes a COMPANIONS OF M7 SOLITUDE. 49 turn round the garden, and after a long-drawn sigh, which I know well the words for, he enters the house. The market-gardener lives in it, and his wife takes care of the master's rooms. She has lighted a fire : the smoke hardly ascends, but still there is warmth enough to call out much of the latent dampness of the apartment. The things about him are somewhat cheerless certainly, but he would not wish them to be otherwise. They would be very inharmonious if they were. During his meagre supper he is entertained with an account of the repairs that must be looked to. The water comes in here, and part of the wall has fallen down there ; and farmer Smith says (the coarse woman need not have repeated the very words) that if Mr. Milverton is too poor to mend his own fence, he, farmer Smith, must do it himself. Patiently the poor man appears to attend to all this, but is thinking all the while of his pale mother, and of his wondering, as a child, why she never used to look up when hoi'se or man went by, as she sat working at that bay window, and getting his clothes ready for school. At last the market-gardener's wife, little attended to, bounces out of the room ; and her abrupt departure rouses my distant descendant to think of ways and means. And here I cannot help, as if I were present 50 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. at the reverie, breaking in and saying, "Do not cut down that yew-tree in the back garden, the stately well-grown one which was an ancient tree in my time." But no, upon second thoughts, I will say nothing of the kind. " Cut it down, cut them all down, dear distant descendant, rather than let little tradesmen want their money, or do the least dis- honorable thing." Apparently the present question of ways and means is settled somehow, for he rises and j^aces about the room. In a corner thei^e lies an aged Parliamentary report, a remnant from my old library, the bulk of which has long been sold. It is the report of a Select Committee upon the effect on prices of the influx of Californian gold. There are some side-notes which he takes to have been mine ; and this makes him think of me — not very kindly. These are his thoughts : This ancestor of mine, I see he busied himself about many worldly things ; it is not likely that, taking an interest in such affairs, he would not have cared to have some hand in managing them ; I conjecture that indeed, if only from one saying of his, that the bustle of life, if good for little else, at least keeps some sadness down at the bottom of the heart ; and yet I do not find that our estate prospered COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 51 much under him. He might now, if he had been a prosperous gentleman, have bought some part of Woodcot chase (which was sold in his time and is now all building-ground), and I should not have been in this cursed plight. " Distant descendant, do not let misfortune make you, as it so often does make men, ungenerous." He feels this and resumes. I wonder why he did not become rich and great. I suspect he was very laborious. (" You do me full justice there.") I sup- pose he was very versatile, and did not keep to one thing at a time. ("You do me injustice there ; for I was always aware how much men must limit their efforts to effect any thing.") In his books he some- times makes shrewd worldly remarks which show he understood something of the world, and he ought to have mastered it. " Now, my dear young relative, allow me to say that last remark of yours upon character is a very weak one. Admitting, for the sake of argument, that what you urge in my favor be true, you must know that the people who write shrewdly are often the most easy to impose upon, or have been so. I almost suspect, without, however, having looked into the matter, that Rochefoucauld was a tender lover, a warm friend, and, in general, a dupe (hap- 52 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. py for him) to all the impulses and affections which he would have us imagine he saw through and had mastered. The simple write shrewdly : but do not describe what they do. And the hard and worldly would be too wise in their generation to write about what they practise, even if they perceived it, which they seldom do, lacking delicacy of imagination." Perhaps (he continues) this ancestor of mine had no ambition, and did not care about any thing but that unwholesome scribbling (" ungracious again, distant descendant ! ") which has brought us in but little produce of any kind. Dear distant kinsman, now it is my turn to speak : now listen to me ; and I will show you the family failing, not a very uncommon one, which has re- duced us by degrees to this sad state ; for we, your ancestors, look on and suffer with you. I am afraid we must own that we were of that foolish class of men who never can say a hearty good word for themselves. You might put a Mil- verton in the most favorable position in the world, you might have made him a bishop in George the Second's time, or a minister to a Spanish king in the seventeenth century, and still he would have contrived to shuffle awkwardly out of wealth and dignities, when the right time came for self-assertion, COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 53 and for saying a stout word for his own cause, or for that of his kith and kin. " Vox faucibus hcesit ; " the poor, simple fellow was almost inaudible ; and, muttering something, was supposed to say just that which he did not. I foresaw, therefore, that unless some Milverton were by good fortune to marry into a sturdy, pushing family (which would be better for him than any amount of present fortune) it was all over with the race, as far as worldly prosperity is concerned. And so it seems to be. If you feel that you are free from this defect, I will insure you a fortune. Talk of cutting down the yew-tree ; not a stick of the plan- tation need be touched, and I already see deep belts of new wood rise round newly-gained acres. Only be sure that you really can stand up stoutly for yourself. I see what you are thinking of — that passage in Bacon (and it pleases me to find that you are so far well-read, though you have sold the books) where he says that there are occasions when a man needs a friend to do or say for him what he never can do or say so well, or even at all for himself. True : but, my simple-minded relative, have you lived to the age of twenty-seven, and not discovered that Phoe- nixes and Friends are creatures of the least prolific 54 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. nature? Not that, adopting your misanthropic mood, I would say that there are no such creatures as friends, and that they are not potent for good. A man's friend, however, is ill, or travelling, or pow- erless ; but good self-assurance is always within call. You are mute : you feel then that you are guilty too. Be comforted ; perhajDS there is some island of the blest where there will be no occasion for pushing. Once this happened to me, that a great fierce obdurate crowd were pushing up in long line towards a door which was to lead them to some good thing ; and I, not liking the crowd, stole out of it, having made up my mind to be last, and was leaning indolently against a closed-up side door : when, all of a sudden, this door opened, and I was the first to walk in, and saw arrive long after me the men who had been thrusting and struggling round me. This does not often happen in the world, but I think there was a meaning in it. But now no more about me. We have to think what is to be done in your case. You labor under a retiring disposition, you are maiTied, and you wish to retrieve the family for- tunes. This is a full and frank statement of your case, and there is no doubt that it is a very bad one, requiring wise and energetic remedies. First, you COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 55 must at once abandon all those pursuits which de- pend for success upon refined appreciation. You must seek to do something which many people de- mand. I cannot illustrate what I mean better than by telling you what I often tell my publisher, when- ever he speaks of the slackness of trade. There is a confectioner's shop next door, which is thronged with people : I beg him (the publisher) to draw a moral from this, and to set up, himself, an eating- house. That would be appealing to the million in the right way. I tell him he could hire me and oth-ers of his " eminent hands " to cook instead of to write, and then, instead of living on our wits (slender diet indeed !), we ourselves should be able to buy books, and should become great patrons of literature. I did not tell him, because it is not wise to run down authors in the presence of publishers, what I may mention to you, that many of us would be much more wisely and wholesomely employed in cooking than in writing. But this is nothing to you. What I want you, dear distant kinsman, to perceive, is, that you must at once cultivate something which is in general demand. Emigrate, if you like, and cultivate the ground. Cattle are always in some demand, if only for tallow. It is better to provide the fuel for the lamp than those productions which 56 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. are said to smell most of it. I cannot enter into details with you ; because I do not foresee what will be the flourishing trades in your time. I can only give you general advice. One of the great aids, or hindrances, to success in any thing lies in the temperament of a man, I do not know yours ; but I venture to point out to you what is the best temperament, namely, a combination of the desponding and the resolute, or, as I had bet- ter express it, of the apprehensive and the resolute. Such is the temperament of great commanders. Secretly, they rely upon nothing and upon nobody. There is such a powerful element of failure in all human affairs, that a shrewd man is always saying to himself, what shall I do, if that which I count upon does not come out as I expect. This foresight dwarfs and crushes all but men of great resolution. Then be not over-choice in looking out for what may exactly suit you ; but rather be ready to adopt any opportunities that occur. Fortune does not stoop often to take any one up. Favorable oppor- tunities will not happen precisely in the way that you have imagined. Nothing does. Do not be dis- couraged, therefore, by a present detriment in any course which may lead to something good. Time is so precious here. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. ^ij Get, if you can, into one or other of the main grooves of human affairs. It is all the difference of going by railway, and walking over a ploughed field, whether you adopt common courses, or set up one for yourself. You will see, if your times are any thing like ours, very inferior persons highly placed in the army, in the church, in office, at the bar. They have somehow got upon the line, and have moved on well with very little original motive power of their own. Do not let this make you talk as if merit were utterly neglected in these or any professions : only that getting well into the groove will frequently do instead of any great excellence. My sarcastic friend, Ellesmere, whom you will probably know by repute as a great Chief Justice, or Lord Chancellor, says, with the utmost gravity, that no man with less than a thousand pounds a year (I wonder whether in your times you will think that a large or a small income) can afford to have private opinions upon certain important subjects. He ad- mits that he has known it done upon eight hundred a year ; but only by very prudent people with small families. But the night is coming on, and I feel, my dear descendant, as if I should like to say something more solemn to you than these worldly maxims. 58 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Whatever happens, do not be dissatisfied with your worldly fortunes, lest the speech be justly made to you which was once made to a repining person much given to talk of how great she and hers had been. " Yes, madam," was the crushing reply, " we all find our level at last." Eternally that fable is true, of a choice being given to men on their entrance into life. Two ma- jestic women stand before you : one in rich vesture, superb, with what seems like a mural crown on her head and plenty in her hand, and something of tri- umph, I will not say of boldness, in her eye ; and she, the queen of this world, can give you many things. The other is beautiful, but not alluring, nor rich, nor powerful ; and th6re are traces of care and shame and sorrow in her face ; and (marvel- lous to say) her look is downcast and yet noble. She can give you nothing, but she can make you somebody. If you cannot bear to part from her sweet, sublime countenance, which hardly veils with sorrow its infinity, follow her : follow her, I say, if you are really minded so to do ; but do not, while you are on this track, look back with ill-con- cealed envy on the glittering things which fall in the path of those who prefer to follow the rich dame, and to pick up the riches and honors which fall from her cornucopia. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 59 This is in substance what a true artist said to me only the other day, impatient, as he told me, of the complaints of those who would pursue art, and yet would have fortune. But, indeed, all moral writings teem with this remark in one form or other. You cannot have inconsistent advantages. Do not shun this maxim because it is common-place. On the contrary, take the closest heed of what observant men, who would probably like to show originality, are yet constrained to repeat. Therein lies the marrow of the wisdom of the world. Such things are wiser than proverbs, which are seldom true except for the occasion on which they are used, and are generally good to strengthen a resolve rather than to enlighten it. These latter words of mine fall upon an inatten- tive ear ; for my distant descendant, who has been gradually becoming more composed during the pro- gress of this moral essay, at last falls quite asleep. Perhaps the great triumph of all moral writings, including sermons, is that at least they have pro- duced some sweet and innocent sleep. Poor fellow ! I now see how careworn he seems, though not without some good looks, which he owes to his great-great-great-grandmother, of whom, as he lies there, he puts me much in mind. He ought 6o COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. to thank me for those good looks, and to admit that winning some beauty for the family is at least as valuable as that Woodcot chase which he thinks I ought to have laid hold of. But our unfair de- scendants never think of any thing in our favor : this gout and that asthma and those mortgages are all remembered against us ; we hear but little on the other side. Sleep on, dear distant progeny of mine, and I will keep the night watches of your anxious thought. CHAPTER V. 'nr^HESE companions of my solitude, my reveries, take many forms. Sometimes, the nebulous stuff out of which they are formed, comes together with some method and set purpose, and may be compared to a heavy cloud, — then they will do for an essay or moral discourse ; at other times, they are merely like those spoi'tive disconnected forms of vapor which are streaked across the heavens, now like a feather, now like the outline of a camel, doubtless obeying some law and with some design, but such as mocks our observation ; at other times again, they arrange themselves like those fleckered clouds, where all the heavens are regularly broken up in small divisions, lying evenly over each other with light between each. The result of this last- mentioned state of reverie is well brought out in conversation : and so I am going to give the reader an account of some talk which I had lately with my friend EUesmere. Once or twice before I have used this name EUes- mere as if it were familiar to others as to myself. It is to be found in a book edited, as it appears, by 62 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. a neighboring clergyman, named Dvmsford, who was obliging and laborious enough to set down some conversations in which he, Ellesmere, and myself took part ; and which he called Friends in Council. There is no occasion to refer to this book to under- stand Ellesmei"e : a man soon shows himself by his talk, if he does by any thing. Moreover the average reader will find the book a somewhat sober, not to say dull affair, embracing such questions as slavery, government, management of the poor, and such like. The reader, however, who is not the average reader, may perhaps find something worth agreeing with, or diflfering from, in the book. I flatter myself that last sentence is very skilful. The poor publisher, or rather his head man, com- plains sadly that not even the usual amount of ad- vertisement, not to speak of pufiing, is allowed to him ; the good clergyman having a peculiar aversion to such modes of dealing, and believing that good books, if there were such things, should be sought after, and not poked in the faces of purchasers like Jews' penknives at coach doors. By this delicate piece of flattery, for each reader will secretly conclude that he is above the average and hasten to buy the book, I shall have done more than in:.ny puffs direct. Therefore beat ease, man of business, the avenues to COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 63 thy shop will be thronged, I can utter this prophecy with the more confidence as the shop in question is in the high road to the Great Exhibition. Well, my friend Ellesmere was with me for a day ; we were lounging about the garden ; the great black dog which I always let loose when Ellesmere is here, to please him, was slowly following us to and fro, hanging out his large tongue, and wishing we would sit down, but still not being able to resist following us about ; when Ellesmere suddenly interrupted something I was saying with these words, " The question between us almost comes to this : you want a sheep-dog. I am satisfied with a watch-dog: Rollo will do for me ; and, as you see, he is content with my approbation." This abrvipt speech requires some explanation. I had been talking about some matters connected with statesmanship, and stricturing, perhaps too severely, some recent acts of government, in which, as I said, I detected some of the worst habits of modern jDolicy — a mixture of rashness and indecision — meddling and doing nothing — spending, as I added, most of the powder for the flash in the pan. Then I went on to deplore, that always statesmanship appeared to come upon the stage too late. Is notliing ever to be done in time? * * Written in 1850. 64 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. A good deal of what I said is true, I think, but ought to be taken " cum grano," as they say ; for men who have lived a good deal in active life, and are withdrawn from it, are ajDt to comment too severely on the conduct of those who are left behind. They forget the difficulty of getting any thing done in this perplexed world, and their own former difficulties in that way are softened by distance. It was well that Ellesmere interrupted me. The conversation thus proceeded. Milverton. Yes, that is the point. I confess I should like something of the sheep-dog in a ruler. I think we, of all nations, can bear judicious inter- ference and regulation ; we should not be cramped by it. Ellesjnere. In a representative government is the folly of the governed to find no place .'* Milverton. Yes, but, my good friend, you need not be anxious to provide for that. Folly will find a place even at the side of princes. That was the thing symbolized by great men's jesters. But, putting sarcasm aside, Ellesmere, J don't mean to blame present men so much as present doctrines and systems. Some of the men in power, or likely to be, in this country, are very honest, capable, brave COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 6$ men, full of desire to do good. But they have too little power, or rather, they meet with too much obstruction. Now, it is not wise to swathe a creat- ure up like a foreign baby, and then say, Exert yourself, govern us, let there be no delay. Ellesmere. The amount of obstruction is over- estimated. If a ruling man wanted to do any thing good, I think he could do it, though I do admit that there are large powers of obstruction to be encountered. Milverton. I do believe you are right. A states- man might venture to be greater and bolder than his position or apparent power quite warrants. And if he were to fall, he would fall — and there an end. Ellesmere. And no such great damage either. Milverton. But to return to your watch-dog and sheep-dog. There are two things very different demanded from statesmen : one, carrying on the routine of office ; the other, originating measures, setting the limits within which private exertion should act. You do not mean to contend, Ellesmere, that it would not have been wise for a government to have interfered with railway legislation earlier and more efficiently than it did. Ellesmere. No, — few jDeople know better than I do the immense loss of time, money, labor, tem- 5 66 COMPANIONS OF 3fY SOLITUDE. per, and happiness which might have been saved in that matter. Milverton. Now^ look again on Sanitary meas- ures. Consider the years it has taken, and, for aught I know^, may yet take, to get a Smoke Prohi- bition Bill passed. If such a thing is wise and possible, let us have it ; if not, tell us it cannot be done. I have taken instances in physical things just as they occurred to me : 1 might have alluded to higher matters which are left in the same way, to see what will happen, to wait for the breezes, perhaps the storms, of popular agitation. Ellesmere. People in authority are as fearful of attacking any social evil as men are of cutting down old trees about their houses. There is always some- thing, however, to be said for the old trees. Milverton. It would mostly be better, though, to cut them down at once, and begin to plant some- thing at the proper distance from their houses. Ellesinere. Well, Milverton, there is one thing you must remember, and that is, that intelligent men writing or talking about government are apt to fancy themselves, or such men as themselves, in power; and so are inclined to be. very liberal in assigning the limits of that power. Let them fancy some of the foolish people they know in this imagi- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 67 nary position of great power ; and then see how the intelligent men begin to shudder at the thought of this power, and to desire very secure limits for it, and very narrow space for its exercise. Milverton. Intelligent public opinion will in these days prevent vigorous action in a minister from hardening into despotism. Bllesjnere. Please repeat that again, my friend. "Intelligent public opinion?" Were those the words? did I catch them rightly? Milverton. You did. There is such a thing, EUesmere. It is not the first opinion heard in the country ; it is not always loud on the hustings ; but surely there are a great number of persons in a country like this, who try to think, and eventually form intelligent public opinion. EUesmere. I am afraid they are not a very active body. Milverton. Not the most active ; but they come in at some time. Ellesniere. I do not wish to be impertinent, but do any of these people who ultimately (ultimately, I like that word), form intelligent public opinion, live in the country? I can imagine a retired wisdom in some Court in London, say Pump Court for instance, but I cannot fancy the blowsy wisdom of the country. 68 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Milverton. Now, Ellesmere, do not be pro- voking. Ellesmere. I am all gravity again ; but just allow me to propound one little theory, namely, that it is when the retired wisdom of town is reviv- ified by country air (on a visit) that it is apt to develop itself into — what is it? — oh — " intelligent public opinion." Milverton. Now, as you have had your joke, I will proceed. I have a theory that the tempera- ment and habits of mind of individual statesmen have a good deal to do with government. I do not yet believe that we are all compounded into some great machine of which you can exactly calculate the results. Ellesmere. What is your pet temperament for a statesman "^ Milverton. That is a large question : one thing I should be inclined to say, with respect to his habit of mind, — he should doubt till the last, and then act like a man who has never doubted. Ellesmere. Cleverly put, but untrue, after the fashion of you maxim-mongers. He should not act like a man who has never doubted, but like a man who was in the habit of doubting till he had received sufficient information. He should not con- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 69 vey to you the idea of a man who was given to doubt, or not to doubt ; but of one who could wait till he had inquired. Milverto7t. Your criticism is just. Well, then, another thing which occurs to me respecting his habits of mind is, that he should be one of those people who are not given to any system, and yet who have an exceeding love of improvement and disposition to regulate. Elles7Jiere. That is good. I distrust systems. I find that men talk of principles ; and mean, when you come to inquire, rules connected with certain systems. Milverton. This enables me to bring my notions of govermnent interference to a point. It should be a principle in a statesman's mind that he should not interfere so as to deaden private action : at the same time he should be profoundly anxious that right and good should be done, and consequently not fear to undertake responsibility. He should not be en- trapped, mentally, into any system of policy which held him to interfere here, or not to interfere there ; but he should be inclined to look at each case on its own merits. This is very hard work. Systems save trouble, — the trouble of thinking. Ellesjnere. There is some sense in what you say. If we talk no more about statesmanship (and to tell yo COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. the truth I am rather tired of the subject), our dia- logue will end like the dialogues in a book, where, after much sham stage-fighting, the author's opinion is always made to prevail. By the way, I dare say you think that the nursery for Statesmen is Literature ; and that in these days of railways, a short line from Grub Street to Downing Street (a single set of rails, as no one will want to return) is imperatively needed. Milverton. No, I do not. I think that good Lit- erature, like any other good work, gives notice of material out of which a statesman might choose. To make a good book, my dear friend, is a very hard thing, I suspect. I do not mean a work of genius. Of course such are very rare. But to give an account of any transaction ; to put forward any connected views ; in short to do any mere literary work well ; it requires many of the things which tend to make a good man of business, — industry, for instance, method, clearness, resolve, power of adaptation. Ellesmere. Yes, no doubt : foreign nations seem to have profited so much from calling literary men to their aid, that — Milverton. That is an unjust sneer, Ellesmere. Some of the writings of the men to whom I know you allude, do not fulfil the condition of being good books ; are full of false antitheses, illogical conclu- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 71 slons, vapid assei'tlons, and words arranged accord- ing to prettiness, not to meaning. Such books are beacons ; they tell all men, the people who wrote us are sprightly fellows, but cannot be trusted, they love sound more than sense, pray do not trust them with any function requiring sense rather than sound. But you are not to conclude because some men make use of Literature, perhaps the only way open to them of carrying their views into action, that they could not act themselves. Napoleon was always writing early in life ; Ctesar indited books, even a grammar ; a whole host of captains and statesmen in the sixteenth century wez'e writers. Follow Cer- vantes, Mendoza, Sidney, Camoens, Descartes, Paul Louis Courier, to the field, and come back with them — if you ever do come back alive, you individual clothed with horsehair and audacity ; and then follow them to their studies and see whether they cannot give a good account of themselves in both departments. Ellesmere. Pistol is come back again on earth, or Bombastes Furioso, neither of whose characters sits well upon you. But, my friend, we are wont in law to look to the point at issue ; we were talking of statesmen, not of soldiers. Milverton. Machiavelli — Ellesmere. That worthy man I 72 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Milverton. Caesar again ! Lorenzo de' Medici, James the First of Scotland, Milton, Bacon, Grotius, Shaftesbury, Somers, St. John, Temple, Burke. And were I to rack my brains, or my books, I could no doubt make an ample list. Ellesmere. Good, bad, and indifferent : here they come, altogether. Alilverton. And have there been no bad states- men amongst those who had no tincture of letters.'' JSIIestnere. One or two, certainly. Milverton. You know, Ellesmere, I have never talked loudly of the claimsof literary men, and have always maintained that for them, especially when they are of real merit, to complain of neglect, is for the most part absurd. A gi-eat writer, as I think Mr. Carlyle has well said, creates a want for himself — a most artificial one. Nobody wanted him before he appeared. He has to show them what they want him for. You might as well talk of Leverrier's planet having been neglected in George the Second's time. It had not been discovered : that is all. There may be misunderstandings as to the nature of literary merit, as indeed of all merit, which may prevent worldly men from making due use of it in worldly affairs. For instance, I should say that diplo- matic services are services peculiarly fit to be per- COMPANIONS OF MT SOLITUDE. 73 formed by literary men. They are likely to be more of cosmopolites than other men are Their variqus accomplishments serve them as means of attaching others in strange countries. Their observations are likely to be good. One can easily see that a great deal of their habitual work would come into play in such employments. And there is an appearance of hardship in not giving, at least occasionally, to men who are particularly shut out from most worldly ad- vantages, those offices which they promise to be most fitted for. Ellesmere. It would improve many a literary man greatly to have, or to have had, some real business. Milverton. No doubt. Indeed, I have always thought it is a melancholy thing to see how shut up, or rather I should say, how twisted and deformed a man becomes by surrendering himself to any one art, science, calling, or culture. You see a person become a lawyer, a physician, a clergyman, an author, or an artist ; and cease to be a man, a whole- some man, fairly developed in all ways. Each man's art or function, however serviceable, should be attached to him no more than to a soldier his sword, which the accomplished military man can lay aside, and not even remind you that he has ever worn such a thing. 74 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Ellesmere. An idea strikes me ; I see how literary men may be rewarded, literature soundly encour- aged, and yet the author be injured the least possible by his craft. Hitherto we have given pensions for what a man has written. I would do this : I would ascertain when a man has acquired that lamentable facility for doing second-rate things which is not uncommon in literature as in other branches of life, and then I would say to him, I see you can write, here is a hundred a year for you as long as you are quite quiet. Indeed, I think pensions and honors should generally be given to the persons who could have done the things for which such rewards are given, but who have not done them. I would say to this man, You have great pai"liamentary influence, you did not use it for mere party purposes ; there is a peerage for you. You, turning to another man, might have become a great lawyer, or rather a law- yer in great place : you had too much — Milverton. Modesty — Ellesmere. Pooh, nonsense ! modesty never did anybody any harm. No, let me go on with my speech. You had too much honesty, or scrupulous- ness, to escape being thrown out for the borough of which (as a lawyer to get on in the highest offices must please a constituency as well as under- COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 75 stand his business) was fatal to you. Here, how- ever, is a baronetcy for you. Here, you, Mr. Milverton, you might have written two books a year (dreadful thought !), you have not always inflicted one upon us. Be Guelphed, and consider yourself well off. Keep yourself quiet for several years, and we may advance you further. Oh ! what a patron of arts and letters is lost in me ! Now this dog can bark and make a horrible noise to distinguish himself; he does not do it — that is why I like you so much, my dear Rollo (at that instant, unluckily, Rollo, taking heed of EUes- mere's comical gestures, and seeing that something was addressed to him, began to frisk about and bark). Oh, dear me! I see one can't praise or encourage any creature without doing mischief. Milverton, You have not to reproach yourself for having done much in this way. Ellesmere. Too much, — sadly too much. But here comes John with a solicitous face, to get your orders about planting the trees which came last night, and which ought to have been put in early this morning. Attend to them : they are your great works ; some of them may live to a remote pos- terity : and while you are about it, my good fellow, do put in something which will produce eatables. ^6 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Those fir-cones are very pretty things, but hard to eat. Remember that a certain learned gentleman, who hopes to live to a good old age, is very fond of mulberries ; and if some trees were put in now, he might have something good to eat when he comes into the country, and be able to refresh himself after delivering judicious opinions on all subjects. So we separated, I to my trees, and Ellesmere to take the dog out for a walk. CHAPTER VI. T RESOLVED to-day to go out into the neighbor- ing pine-wood alone, to con over some notes which I am anxious to read by myself, with only an occasional remark from a wood-pigeon, or what may be gained from the gliding, rustling squirrel. There is scarcely any thing in nature to be compared with a pine-wood, I think. I remember once when, after a long joui'ney, I was approaching a city ennobled by great works of art, and of great renown, that I had to pass through what I was told by the guide- books was most insipid country, only to be hurried over as fast as might be, and nothing to be thought or said about it. But the guide-books, though very clever and useful things in their way, do not know each of us personally, nor what we secretly like and care for. Well, I was speeding through this " un- interesting" country, and now there remained but one long dull stage, as I read, to be gone through before I should reach the much-wished-for city. It was necessary to stay some time (for we travelled vetturino fashion) at the little post-house, and I walked on, promising to be in the way whenever 78 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. the vehicle should overtake me. The road led through a v^rood, chiefly of pines, varied, however, occasionally by other trees. Into this wood I strayed. There was that almost indescribably soothing noise (the Romans would have used the word " susurrus"), the aggregate of many gentle movements of gentle creatures. The birds hopped but a few paces off", as I approached them ; the brilliant butterflies waved hither and thither before me ; there was a soft breeze that day, and the tops of the tall trees swayed to and fro po- litely to each other. I found many delightful rest- ing-places. It was not all dense wood ; but here and there were glades (such open spots, I mean, as would be cut through by the sword for an army to pass) ; and here and there stood a clump of trees of different heights and foliage, as beautifully ar- ranged as if some triumph of the art of landscape had been intended, though it was only Nature's way of healing up the gaps in the forest. For her heal- ing is a new beauty. It was very warm, without which nothing is beau- tiful to me ; and I fell into the pleasantest train of thought. The easiness of that present moment seemed to show the possibility of all care being driven away from the world some day. For thus COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 79 peace brings a sensation of power with it. I shall not say what I thought of, for it is not good always to be communicative ; but altogether that hour in the pine-wood was the happiest hour of the whole journey, though I saw many grand pictures and noble statues, a mighty river and buildings which were built when people had their own clear thoughts of what they meant to do, and how they would do it. But in seeing these things there is, so to speak, something that is official, that must be done in a set way ; and, after all, it is the chance felicities in minor things which are so pleasant in a journey. You had intended, for instance, to go and hear some great service, and there was something to be done, and a crowd to be encountered ; and you open your window and find, as the warm air streams in, that beautiful sounds come with it ; in truth your win- dow is not far off from an opening in one of the ca- thedral windows, and there you stay drinking in all the music, being alone. You feel that a bit of good fortune has happened to you ; and you are happier all the day for it. It is the same thing in the journey of life : pleasure falls into no plan. I think I have justified my liking for a pine-wood ; 8o COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. and though the particular wood I can get at here is but a poor thing as compared with the great forests I have been thinking of, yet, looked at with all the reminiscence of their beauties, its few and mean par- ticulars are so wrought upon by memory and fancy, that it brings before me a sufficient picture, half seen, half recollected, of all that is most beautiful in sylvan scenery. To my wood then I wandered ; and, after pacing up and down a little, and enjoying the rich color of the trunks of the trees, I sat down upon a tree that had been lately felled, and read out my notes to my- self. Here they are. They begin, I see, with a little narration ; which, however, is not a bad be- ginning. It was a bright winter's day ; and I sat upon a garden-seat in a sheltei-ed nook towards the south, having come out of my study to enjoy the warmth, like a fly that has left some snug crevice to stretch his legs upon the unwontedly sunny pane in Decem- ber. My little daughter (she is a very little thing about four years old) came running up to me, and when she had arrived at my knees, held up a strag- gling but pretty weed. Then, with gx"eat earnest- ness, and as if fresh from some controversy on the COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. Si subject, she exclaimed, " Is this a weed, Papa ; is this a weed ? " " Yes, a weed," I replied. With a look of disappointment she moved off to the one she loved best amongst us ; and, asking the same question, received the same answer. " But it has flowers," the child replied. " That does not signify ; it is a weed," was the inexorable answer. Presently, after a moment's consideration, the child ran off again, and meeting the gardener just near my nook, though out of sight from where I sat, she coaxingly addressed him. " Nicholas dear, is this a weed?" " Yes, miss, they call it ' Shepherd's purse.' " A pause ensued : I thought the child was now fairly silenced by authority, when all at once the little voice began again, " Will you plant it in my garden, Nicholas dear? do plant it in my garden." There was no resisting the anxious entreaty of the child ; and man and child moved off together to plant the weed in one of those plots of ground which the children walk about upon a good deal, and put branches of trees in and grown-up flowers, and then examine the roots (a system as encourag- ing as other systems of education I could name), and which they call their gardens. 6 82 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. But the child's words " Will you plant it in my garden ? " remained upon my mind. That is what I have always been thinking, I exclaimed : and it is what I will begin by saying. And, indeed, dear reader, if I were to tell you how long I have been thinking of the subject which I mean to preface by the child's fond words ; and how hopeless it has at times appeared to me to say any thing worth hearing about it ; and how I have still clung to my resolve, and worked on at other things with a view of coming eventually to this, you would sympathize with me already, as we do with any man who keeps a task long in mind and heart, though he execute it at last but poorly, and though it be but a poor task, such as a fortune for himself, or a tomb for his remains. For we like to see a man persevere in any thing. Without more preface, then, I will say at once that this subject is one which I have been wont to call " the great sin of great cities" — not that in so calling it, I have perhaps been strictly just, but the description will do well enough. For what is the thing which must so often diminish the pride of man when contemplating the splendid monuments of a great city, its shops, its public buildings, parks, equipages, and above all, the wonderful way in COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 83 which vast crowds of people go about their affairs with so little outward contest- and confusion? I im- agine the beholder in the best parts of the town, not diving into narrow streets, wandering sickened and exhausted near uncovered ditches in squalid sub- urbs, or studiously looking behind the brilliant sur- face of things. But what is it which on that very surface, helping to form a part of the brilliancy (like the prismatic colors seen on stagnant film), conveys at times to any thoughtful mind an impres- sion of the deepest mournfulness, a perception of the dark blots upon human civilization, in a word, some appreciation of the great sin of great cities ? The vile sewer, the offensive factory chimney, the squal- id suburb tell their own tale very clearly. The girl with hardened look, and false iinprinted smile, tells one no less ominous of evil. In fact I do not know any one thing which con- centrates and reflects more accurately the evils of any society than this sin. It is a measure of the want ' of employment, the uncertainty of employment, the moral corruption amongst the higher classes, the want of education amongst the lower, the relaxation of bonds between master and servant, employer and employed ; and, indeed, it expi-esses the want 84 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. of prudence, truth, light, and love in that commu- nity. In considering any evil, our thoughts maybe classed under three heads, — the nature of it, the causes of it, the remedies for it. Often the discussion of any one of these great branches of the subject involves the other two ; and it becomes difficult to divide them without pedantry. But in general, we may, for convenience, attend to such a division of the subject. I. The Nature. The nature of the evil in this case is one which does not require to be largely dwelt upon ; and yet several things must be said about it. One which occurs to me is the degradation of race. Thousands ujDon thousands of beautiful women are by it con- demned to stei'ility. As a nation, we should look with exceeding jealousy and alarm at any occupation which claimed our tallest men and left them without offspring. And, surely, it is no light matter, in a national point of view, that any sin should claim the right of consuming, sometimes as rapidly as if they were a slave population, a considerable number of the best-looking persons in the community. How slight, however, is the physical degradation COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 85 compared with the mental degradation caused by this sin : and here I do not mean only the dishonor of the individuals, but the large social injury which the mere existence of such a thing causes. For it accustoms men to the contemplation of the greatest social failures, and introduces habitually a low view of the highest things. We are apt to look at each individual case too harshly ; but the whole thing is not looked at gravely enough. This often happens in considering any great social abuse ; and so we frequently commence the remedy by some great injustice in a particular case. In appreciating the nature of this evil, the feelings of the people concerned with it are a large part of the subject. On the one side are shame, pride, dejection, restlessness, hopelessness, and a sense of ill-usage resulting in a bitter effrontery, a mean heartlessness, and a godless remorse. As a mere matter of statesmanship such a class requires to be looked to as pre-eminently dangerous. On the other side is often the meanness without the shame ; and a permanent coarseness and unholiness of mind is inflicted upon the sex that most requires refinement and spirituality in the affections. To return, however, to a consideration of the feel- ings of the poor women ; it may be noticed that they 86 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. have an excessive fear of being left alone with their own recollections, which is, no doubt, a great obstacle to their being reclaimed. Withal there is something very grand though sad, that one of the main obstacles to outward improvement lies in the intensity of shame for the wrong-doing, in a diniib but profound remorse. You may see similar feelings operating very variously among the greatest men whose sjDiritual state is at all known to us. Poor Luther exclaims, " When I am assailed with heavy tribulations, I rush out among my pigs, rather than remain alone by myself. The human heart is like a millstone in a mill ; when you put wheat under it, it turns and grinds and bruises the wheat to flour ; if you put no wheat, it still grinds on, but then it is itself it grinds and wears away." Certainly the Gospel seems especially given to meet these cases of remorse, and to prevent despair (not the tempter but the slave driver to so many crimes) from having an unjust and irreligious hold, not so much on men's fears as on their fancies — especially their notions of perfection as regards themselves. For I doubt not but that men and women much lower down in the scale of cultivation and sensibility than we imagine, are haunted by a sense of their own fall from what they feel and think they ought to have been. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 8*/ II. The Causes. The main cause of this sin on the woman's part is want, — absolute want. This, though one of the most grievous things to contemplate, has at the same time a large admixture of hope in it. For, surely, if civilization is to make any sufficient answer for itself, and for the many serious evils jt promotes, it ought to be, that it renders the vicissitudes of life less extreme, that it provides a resource for all of us against excessive want. Hitherto we have not succeeded in making it do so, but it is contended, and with apparent justice, that it acts better in this respect than savage life. At any rate, to return to the main course of my argument, it is more satis- factory to hear that this evil is a result, on one side at least, of want rather than of depravity. The next great cause is in the over-rigid views and opinions, especially as against women, ex- pressed in reference to unchastity. Christianity has been in some measure to blame for this ; though, if rightly applied, it would have been the surest cure. " Publicans and sinners ! " Such did He prefer before the company of Pharisees and hypocrites. These latter; however, have been in great credit 88 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. ever since ; and, for my part, I see no end to their being pronounced for ever the choice society of the world. The virtuous, carefully tended and carefully brought up, ought to bethink themselves how little they may owe to their own merit that they are vir- tuous, for it is in the evil concurrence of bad dispo- sition and masterless opportunity that crime comes. Of course, to an evil-disposed mind, opportunity will never be wanting; but, when one person or class of persons is from circumstances peculiarly exposed to temptation, and goes wrong, it is no great stretch of charity for others to conclude that that person, or class, did not begin with worse dis- positions than they themselves who are still without a stain. This is very obvious ; but it is to be obsei'ved that the reasoning powers which are veiy prompt in mastering any simple scientific proposi- tion, experience a wonderful halting in their logic when applied to the furtherance of charity. There is a very homely proverb, about the fate of the pitcher that goes often to the water, which might be an aid to charity, and which bears closely on the present case. The Spaniards, from whom I dare say we have the proverb, express it prettily and pithily. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 89 " Cantarillo que muchas vezes va a la fuente, O dexa la asa, o la frente." "The little pitcher that goes often to the fountain, either leaves the handle or the spout behind some day." The dainty vase, which is kept under a glass case in a drawing-room, should not be too proud of re- maining without a flaw, considering its great advan- tages. In the New Testament we have such matters treated in a truly divine manner. There is no pal- liation of crime. Sometimes our charity is so mixed up with a mash of sentiment and sickly feel- ing that we do not know where we are, and what is vice, and what is virtue. But here are the brief stern words, " Go, and sin no more ; " but, at the same time, there is an infinite consideration for the criminal, not however as criminal, but as human being : I mean, not in respect of her criminality, but of her humanity. Now, an instance of our want of obedience to these Christian precepts has often struck me in the not visiting married women whose previous lives will not bear inspection. Whose will ? Not merely all Christian people, but all civilized people, ought to set their faces against this excessive retrospection. But if ever thei'e were an occasion on which men 90 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. (I say men, but I mean more especially women) should be careful of scattering abroad unjust and severe sayings, it is in speaking of the frailties and delinquencies of women. For it is one of those things where an unjust judgment, or the fear of one, breaks down the bridge behind the repentant ; and has often made an error into a crime, and a single crime into a life of crime. A daughter has left her home, madly, ever so wickedly, if you like ; but what are too often the demons tempting her onwards and preventing her return.'' The uncharitable speeches she has heard at home ; and the feeling she shares with most of us, that those we have lived with are the sharpest judges of our conduct. " Would you, then," exclaims some reader or hearer, " take back and receive with tenderness a daughter who had erred?" "Yes," I reply, "if she had been the most abandoned woman upon earth." A foolish family pride often adds to this uncharit- able way of feeling and speaking which I venture to reprehend. Our, care is not that an evil and an unfortunate thing has happened, but that our family has been disgraced, as we call it. Family vanity mixes up with and exasperates rigid virtue. Good COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 91 heavens ! if we could but see where disgrace really lies, how often men would be ashamed of their riches and their honors ; and would discern that a bad temper, or an irritable disposition, was the greatest family disgrace that attached to them. A fear of the uncharitable speeches of others is the incentive in many courses of evil ; but it has a peculiar effect in the one we are considering, as it occurs with most force just at the most critical period, — when the victim of seduction is upon the point of falling into worse ways. Then it is that the un- charitable speeches she has heard on this subject in former days are so many goads to her, urging her along the downward path of evil. What a strange desperate notion it is of men, when they have erred, that things are at the worst, that nothing can be done to rescue them ; whereas Judas might have done something better than hang himself. But if we were all so kind, exclaims some rigid man, we should only encourage the evil we wish to subdue. He does not see that the first step in evil, and the abandonment to it as a course of life, pro- ceed mostly from totally different motives, and are totally different things. One who dwelt on a secure height of peace and virtue, has fallen sadly and come down upon a table-land plagued with storms C)Z COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. and liable to attacks of all kinds, and from which there is no ascent to the height again, but which is still at an immense distance above a certain abyss ; and we should be very cautious of doing any thing that might make the foolish, dejected, pride-led person plunge hopelessly down into the abyss, in all probability, to be lost forever. Before quitting the subject of the family, I must observe that, independently of any harshness of remark which a young person may have been accus- tomed to hear on matters connected with our present subject, the ill-management of parents must be taken into account as one of the most common causes of this sin. It is very sad to be obliged to say this, but the thing is true, and must be said. We must not, however, be too much discouraged at this, for the truth is, that to perform well any one of the great relations of life is an immense difficulty ; and when we see on a tombstone (those underneath can now say nothing to the contrary) that the de- funct was a good husband, father, and son, we may conclude, if the words were truthful, that we are passing by the mortal remains of an Admirable Crichton in morality. And these relations are the more difficult, as they are not to be completely ful- filled by an abnegation of self, in other words, by a COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 93 weak giving way upon all points ; which is the ruin of many a person. I am not, however, going, in this particular case, to speak of the spoiling of children in the ordinary sense, but rather of the contrary defect ; which, strange to say, is quite as common, if not more so. Of necessity the ages of parents and children are separated by a considerable interval ; the particular relation is one full of awe and authority ; and the effect of that disparity of years, and of that natural awe and authority, may easily, by harsh or ungenial parents, be strained too far ; other persons, and the world in general (not caring for the welfare of those who are no children of theirs, and besides using the just courtesy towards strangers) , are often tolerant when parents are not so, which puts them to a great disadvantage ; small matters are often needlessly made subjects of daily comment and blame ; and, in the end, it comes that home is sometimes any thing but the happy place we choose to make it out, in songs and fictions of various kinds. This, when it occurs, is a great pity. I am for making home very happy to chil- dren if it can be managed ; which, of course, is not to be done by weak compliances, and having no fixed rules. For no creature is happy, or even free, as Goethe has pointed out, except in the circuit of 94 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. law. But laws and regulations having once been laid down, all within those bounds should be very kind at home. Now listen to the captious queru- lous scoldings that you may hear, even as you go along the streets, addressed by parents to children ; is it not manifest that in after life there will be too much fear in the children's minds, and a belief that their father and mother never will sympathize with them as others even might — never will forgive them ? People of all classes, high and low, err in the same way ; and, in looking about the world, I have sometimes thought that a thoroughly judicious father is one of the rarest creatures to be met with. Another cause of the frailty of women, in the lower classes, is in the comparative inelegance and uncleanliness of the men in their own class. It also arises from the fondness which all women have for inerit, or what they suppose to be such, so that their love is apt to follow what is in any way distin- guished ; and this throws the women of any class cruelly open to the seductions of the men in the class above. For women are the real aristocrats ; and it is one of their greatest merits. Men's intel- lects, even some of the brightest, may occasionally be deceived by theories about equality and the like, COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 95 but women, who look at reality more, are rarely led away by nonsense of this kind. A cause of this sin of a very different kind, and applying to men, is a dreadful notion which has occasionally been adopted in these latter ages, namely, that it is a fine thing for a man to have gone through a great deal of vice — to have had much personal experience of wickedness ; in short, that knowledge of vice is knowledge of the world, and that such knowledge of the world is eminently useful. That is not the way in which the greatest thinkers read the world ; they tell us that " The Gods approve the depth and not the tumult of the soul." Self-restraint is the grand thing, is the great tutor. But let us not talk insincerely even for a good end, as we may suppose ; and therefore do not let us deny that every evil carries with it its teachings. An in- dulgence in dissipation teaches that dissipation is a fatal thing ; and the man who learns that, very often does not learn any thing more. But the excellence of particular men must greatly consist in their appre- ciating truths without having to pay the full experi- ence for them ; so that in those respects they have a great start of other men. However, whether these theories of mine be true or not, there can be no 96 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. doubt, I think, that indulgence of any kind is a thing which requires no theory to support it ; and I do not think it will be found that the men of consummate knowledge of the world have gained that knowledge by vice ; but rather, as all other knowledge is gained, by toil and truth and love and self-restraint. And these four things do not abide with vice. Probably, too, a low view of humanity which vice gives, is in itself the greatest barrier to the highest knowledge. One great source of the sin we are considering is the want of other thoughts. Here puritanism comes in, as it has any time these two hundred years, to darken and deepen every mischief. The lower or- ders here are left with so. little to think of but labor and vice. Now, any grand thought, great poetiy, or noble song, is adverse to any abuse of the pas- sions — even that which seems most concerned with the passions. For all that is great in idea, that in- sists upon men's attention, does so by an appeal, expressed or implied, to the infinite within him and around him. A man coming from a great repre- sentation of Macbeth is not in the humor for a low intrigue: and, in general, vice, especially of. the kind we are considering, seizes hold not of the pas- sionate, so much as of the cold and vacant mind. COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 97 On this account education and cultivation are to be looked to as potent remedies. Tlie pleasures of the poor will be found to be moral safeguards rather than dangers. I smile sometimes when I think of the preacher in some remote country place implor- ing his hearei's not to give way to backbiting, not to indulge in low sensuality, and not to busy them- selves with other people's affairs. Meanwhile what are they to do if they do not concern themselves with such things.'' The heavy ploughboy, who lounges along in that listless manner, has a mind which moves with a rapidity that bears no relation to that outward heaviness of his. That mind will be fed ; will consume all about it, like oxygen, if new thoughts and aspirations are not given it. The true strategy in attacking any vice, is by putting in a virtue to counteract it ; in attacking any evil thought, by putting in a good thought to meet it. Thus a man is lifted into a higher state of being, and his old slough falls off him. With women, too, there is this especial danger, that fiction has hitherto been apt to tell them that they are nothing if they are not loved, and to fill their heads with the most untrue views of human life. Fiction must try and learn that she is only Truth with a mask on, so that she may speak truer 7 '98 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. things sometimes with less offence than Truth herself. Fiction must not represent love as always such a very fine thing, or as tending invariably to felicity, thus ignoring the trials of wedded life, and of affection generally, — as if life were cut into two parts, one all shade, the other all light. We cannot school Love much ; but sometimes he might be induced to listen to reason. And at any rate, all would agree that much mischief may be done by unsound repre- sentations of human life in this very important respect. But, our antagonist may say, these very fictions are amusement, and so far of use as furnishing some food for the mind. Yes : and I am not prepared to say that bad fictions, or almost any thing, may not be better than nothing for the mind. But when continuous cultivation is joined to education (which should be the object for statesmen and governing people of all kinds), people will not be supposed to be educated at the time of their non-age, and then left sight of and hold of for evermore, as far as re- gards their betters. But it will be seen that we are all so far children, or at least like children in some respects, throughout our lives, that the means of cultivation should be successively offered to us. It is difficult to see the drift of the foregoing: words COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 99 without an example. But what I mean is this, — do not let us merely teach our poor young people to read and write and hear about all manner of arts, sciences, and productions, and then dropping these young people at the most dangerous age, provide no amusements, enable them to carry on no pur- suits, throw open no refinements of life to them, show them no parks, no gardens, and leave them to the pothouse and their sordid homes. Of course they will go wrong if we do. III. The Remedies. As poverty came first among the causes, so to re- move it must come first among the remedies. For this purpose let it be carefully observed what class of persons furnishes most victims to this sin. Try and mend the evils of that class. There will be two kinds of poverty, the one arising from general inadequacy of pay for employment that is pretty constant ; the other from uncertainty of employment at particular periods. Each requires to be dealt with differently. Frequently, though, they are found combined. To meet the first of these evils, more work must be found in the country, or some hands must be re- moved out of it. lOO COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. If emigration is to be adopted, it should be done in a different manner from any that has yet been attempted. But it seems as if something better than, or be- sides, emigration might be attempted. It may seem romantic, but I cannot help hoping that considerable investigation into prices may lead people to ascertain better what are fair wages, and that purchases will not run madly after cheapness. There are everywhere just men who endeavor to prevent the price of laborers' wages from falling be- low what they (the just men) think right. I have no doubt that this has an effect upon the whole la- bor-market, Christianity coming in to correct politi- cal economy. And so, in other matters, I can conceive that private persons may generally become more anxious to put aside the evils of competition, and to give, as well as get, what is fair. But many things might be done to enable the wages of the poor to go further : and surely the glory of a state, and of the principal people in it, should be that men make the most of their labor in that state. Improvement of dwellings is one means.* * Many a workwoman earns but 75. a week. She has to pay 35. or 35. 6d. for one miserable apartment Take her COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. loi Improvements in the representation and transfer of property are other great means to this end. It may seem that I have wandered far from the subject (the great sin of great cities) to questions of currency and transfer of property. But I am per- suaded that there is the closest connection between subjects of this kind. The investment of savings is surely a question of the highest importance. But it is not that only which I mean. All manner of facil- ities should be given to the poor to become owners of property ; and wherever it could be managed, al- most in spite of themselves, they should be made so : that is, by putting by portions of their wages when it is manifestly possible for this to be done, as in the case of domestic sei'vants, or where the em- ployed are living with, or in some measure under the guidance of, their employers. Much is being attempted by various benevolent persons in ways of this kind ; and the greatest atten- tion should be paid to these experiments. food at 35. or 2s. 6d., and there will remain 15. a week to provide for clothing, sickness, charity, pleasure, and mis- cellaneous expenditure of all kinds. It is easy to see that any sudden mishap, such as sickness, must wreck such a person's means; and also that where lies the chief room for making these means go further, is in the expenditure for lodgings, which now consumes about half her earnings. I02 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. There are various things whicli the state could do in these matters ; but it would require a very wise and great government : and how is such a thing to be got? In the act of rising to power, men fail to obtain the knowledge and thought, and especially the pur- pose, to use power. There is some Eastern proverb, I think, about the meanest reptiles being found at the top of the highest towers. That, as applied to gov- ernment, is ill-natured and utterly untrue. But people who are swarming up a difficult ascent, or maintain- ing themselves with difficulty on a narrow ledge at a great height, are not employed exactly in the way to become great philosophers and reformers of mankind. Constitutional governments may be great blessings, but nobody can doubt that they have their price. There are, however, excellent men in high places amongst us at the present moment ; but timidity in attempting good is their portion, especially by any way that has not become thoroughly invincible in ar- gument. I suppose that any man who should try some very generous thing as a statesman, and should fail, would be irretrievably lost as a statesman. Meanwhile socialism is put forward to fill the void of government : and if government does not make exertion, we may yet have dire things to encounter. By government in the foregoing sentence I mean not COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. 103 only what we are In the habit of calling such, but all the governing and directing persons in a nation. Some of them are certainly making great efforts even now, and there lies our hope. But, supposing that the supply of workmen and workwomen could be better adapted to the demand ; and that means could be found to provide in some measure for neutralizing the ill effects of the un- certainty of employment (which two things, though very difficult, are still not beyond the range of hu- man endeavor and accomplishment), there would yet remain many, very many, individual cases of utter and sudden distress and destitution amongst young women, which form the chief causes of their fall. Now, how ai'e these to be averted? There should be some better means of intercom- munication between rich and poor than there is at present. It seems as if the priests of all religions might perform that function, and that it should be considered one of their most important functions. It should be done, if possible, by some persons who come amongst the poor for other purposes than to relieve their poverty. At the same time, there might be an administrative officer of high place and power in the government, who should be on the alert to I04 COMPANIONS OF MY SOLITUDE. suggest and promote good offices of the kind I have just alluded to. In reality the Minister of educa- tion (if we had one) would be the real minister for destitution, as doing most to prevent it ; and various minor duties of a humane kind might devolve upon hiiTi. Any one acquainted with the annals of the poor will tell how familiar such words are to him as the following, and how true on inquiry he has found them. " Father fell ill of the fever " {the fever the poor girl may well say, for it is the fever which want of air and water, and working in stifling rooms, have brought upon many thousands of our workmen) ; " mother and I did pretty well in th' a real pleasure as he becomes more and more absorbed in this descriptive wooing song. 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Pleasure ; On a Pebble ; Spring ; Color ; Windows ; Windows, con- sidered from inside ; A Flower for your Window ; A Word on Early- Rising ; Breakfast in Summer ; Anac- reon ; The Wrong Sides of Scholar- ship and No Scholarship ; Cricket ; A Dusty Day ; Bricklayers, and An Old Book ; A Rainy Day ; The East Wind ; Strawberries ; The Waiter : The Butcher; A Pinch of Snuff; Wordsworth and Milton ; Specimens of Chaucer ; Peter Wilkins and the Flying Woman ; English and French Females ; English Male Costume ; English Women Vindicated ; Sunday in London ; Sunday in the Suburbs ; A Human Being and a Crowd; The Cat by the Fire ; Put up a Picture in your Room ; A Gentleman-Saint ; The Eve of St. Agnes; A "Now," descriptive of a cold day ; Ice, with Poets upon it; The Piano-forte; Why Sweet Music produces Sadness ; Dancing and Dancers ; Twelfth Night; Rules in Making Presents; Romance of Commonplace ; Aniiable- ness Superior to Common Intellect; Life After Death, — Belief in Spirits ; On Death and Burial ; On Washer- women ; The Nightmare ; The Flor- entine Lovers ; Rhyme and Reason ; Vicissitudes of a Lecture ; The For- tunes of Genius; Poets' Houses; A Journey by Coach ; Inexhaustibility of the Subject of Christmas. "'The Seer' is a capital companion in the traveller's pocket, and by the bachelor's coffee-cup, and whenever one wishes a nibble at the good things of the library at home. No one can behold the face of Nature without finduig a smile upon it, if he looks there through the eyes of 'The Seer.' " — Boston Daily A dvertUer, " A collection of delicious essays, thoroughly imbued with the characteristics of the writer's genius and manner, and on topics especially calculated to bring out all the charms of his genial spirit and develop all the niceties of his fluent diction, and worthy of being domesticated among those choice family books which while away leisure hours with agreeable thoughts and fancies." — E. P. Whipple. " ' The Seer ' is one of the best specimens of the modem essayist's dealing with the minor pleasures and domestic philosophy of life, and is a capital anti- dote for the too exciting books of the hour ; it lures us to musing, and what Hazlitt calls 'reposing on our sensations.' " — H. T. Tuckerman. Sold everywhere. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers. ROBERTS BROTHERS, Boston. Leigh Hunt's Writings, THE BOOK OF THE SONNET. Compris- ing an Essayon the Cultivation, History, and Varieties' of the species of poem called the Sonnet, with a Selec- tion of English Sonnets, now first published from the original MSS. of Leigh Hunt. An Essay on American Sonnets and Sonneteers, with a Selection of Sonnets, by S. Adams jL>ee. In two volumes. i6mo. Cloth, gilt top. Price, $3.00. "The genuine aroma of literature abounds in every page of Leigh Hunt'3 delicious Essay on the Sonnet. His mind shows itself imbued with a rich knowledge of his subject, and this, illumined by the evidence of a thorough and unaffected liking tor it, makes him m^i^s^WA^" —London Saturday Review. " As a collection of Sonnets, it is not only the fullest ever made, but by far the best, even excelling the dainty little collection by Dyce, . . . and Hunt's exhaustive and every way admirable introductory essay is, after all, much the best part of the work. Its pages are steeped in thoughtful scholarship on this special theme, and sparkle with genial and veracious criticism." — R. H. Stod- dard. "A greater verbal epicurean than Leigh Hunt never lived. He luxuriated over niceties of expression and revelled in a delicious image or apt phrases ; he was always seeking the beautiful in neglected fields of literature ; and to renew his acquaintance with the memorable sonnets of Italian and English poets was simply a labor of love. He therefore wrote an essay giving the history of the sonnet, and defining its conditions and possibilities, expatiated on the special merits of each renowned writer in this sphere, and indicated the most striking examples of success in artistic and effective construction or eloquent feeling as thus embodied and expressed." — H. T. Tiicker^nan. " Whether Leigh Hunt was a man of genius, or only of surpassing talent, is a question which we willingly leave to the critics who find tweedledee differ- ent from tweedledum in kind as well as degree. We are content with the fact that he has some virtue which makes us read every book of his we open, and which leaves us more his friend at the end than we were before. Indeed, it would be hard not to love so cheerful and kindly a soul, even if his art were ever less than charming. But literature seems to have always been a gay sci- ence with him. We never see his Muse as the harsh step-mother she really was : we are made to think her a gentle liege-lady, served in the airiest spirit of chivalric devotion ; and in the Essay in this ' Book of the Sonnet ' her aspect is as sunny as any the poet has ever shown us. " The Essay is printed for the first time, and it was written in Hunt's ol« age ; but it is full of light-heartedness, and belongs in feeling to a period a' least as early as that which produced the ' Stories from the Italian Poets.' It is one of those studies in which he was always happy, for it keeps him chiefly in Italy; and when it takes him from Italy, it only brings him into the Italian air of English sonnetry, — a sort of soft Devonshire coast, bordering the rug- geder native poetry on the south." — IV. D. Howells, in Atlantic Monthly. Sold everywhere. Mailed, postpaid, by the Publishers- ROBERTS BROTHERS, Bostout Jean Ingelow's Prose Story Books. In 4 vols. 16mo, uniformly bound. STUDIES FOR STORIES FROM GIRLS' LIVES. Illus- trated, Price, $1.50. " A rare source of delight for all who can find pleasure in really good works of prose fiction. . . . They are prose poems, carefully meditated, and exquisitely touched in by a teacher ready to sympathize with every joy and sorrow." — Athenceutn. STORIES TOLD TO A CHILD. Illustrated. Price, $L25. " This is one of the most charming juvenile books ever laid on our table. Jeanlngelow, the noble English poet, second only to Mrs. Browning, bends ea.^ily and gracefully from the heights of thouiiht and fine imagination to commune with the minds and hearts of children ; to sympathize with their little joys and Borrows; to feel for their temptations. She is a safe guide for the little pilgrims; for her paths, though ' paths of pleasantness,' lead straight upward." — Grace Greenwood in '■'■The Little Pilgrim." A SISTER'S BYE-HOURS. Illustrated. Price, $L25. •' Seven short stories of domestic life by one of the most popular of the young authors of the day, — an author who has her heart in what she writes, — Jean Ingelow. And there is heart in these stories, and healthy moral lessons, too. They are written in the author's most graceful and affecting style, will be read with real pleasure, and, when read, will leave more than momentary impressions." — Brooklyn Union. MOPSA THE FAIRY. A Story. With Eight Illustrations. Price, $1.25. "Miss Ingelow is, to our mind, the most charming of all living writers for children, and ' Mop.AftfftWAA^ 'f\f\r^f)f\f\r\f\f^/^f\f\^'^^^hh ^^^ ^^;AA'^a.^.'^Aa ,mm0^^^'''. ri.i.lAT.iMMJAie ;ARi^e?*i mmmMmi 'I^^Pfl^^ '^^^^.^■^^^A'^^C^^^^'^H ^..i*?^W^ T/^AW^f' ^,hf\^^P^^^f\»^^^f\^^f\fs!(Nf\(^^ i^f^A^^p^ftp\ A * .N ^ ^ ^mhi^^N^m: LIBRARY OF CONGRESS '^^^^ cioss; n ^'^ csL