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48p Samuel Jft. Crotljers 
 
 HUMANLY SPEAKING. 
 
 AMONG FRIENDS. 
 
 BY THE CHRISTMAS FIRE. 
 
 THE PARDONER'S WALLET. 
 
 THE ENDLESS LIFE. 
 
 THE GENTLE READER. 
 
 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES: THE AUTO- 
 CRAT AND HIS FELLOW BOARDERS. With 
 Portrait. 
 
 MISS MUFFET'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. Illus- 
 trated. 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 Boston and New York 
 
HUMANLY SPEAKING 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/hurnanlyspeakingOOcrot 
 
HUMANLY 
 SPEAKING 
 
 BY SAMUEL McCHORD CROTHERS 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 
 HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
 
 MDCCCCXII 
 
7 
 
 &3S«S" 
 
 ."ftl 
 
 COPYRIGHT, I912, BY SAMUEL MCCHORD CROTHERS 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published November iqi2 
 
 ©C!.A32859'6 
 
 U**> f 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 HUMANLY SPEAKING .... 
 
 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER . 
 
 THE CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS OF ROME 
 
 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT. 
 
 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS OF EUROPE 
 
 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS . 
 
 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS . 
 
 THE SPOILED CHILDREN OF CIVILIZATION 
 
 ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 TO A CITIZEN OF THE OLD SCHOOL . 
 
 z6 
 
 55 
 
 85 
 
 114 
 
 i43 
 167 
 183 
 196 
 
 The author wishes to express his thanks to the Editors of the 
 • Atlantic Monthly and the Century Magazine for their courtesy 
 in permitting the publication in this volume of certain essays 
 which have appeared in their magazines. 
 
HUMANLY SPEAKING 
 
 HUMANLY speaking, it is impossible." So 
 the old theologian would say when denying 
 any escape from his own argument. His logical 
 machine was going at full speed, and the grim 
 engineer had no notion of putting on the brakes. 
 His was a non-stop train and there was to be no 
 slowing-down till he reached the terminus. 
 
 But in the middle of the track was an indu- 
 bitable fact. By all the rules of argumentation it 
 had no business to be there, trespassing on the 
 right of way. But there it was ! We trembled to 
 think of the impending collision. 
 
 But the collision between the argument and 
 the fact never happened. The "humanly speak- 
 ing" was the switch that turned the argument 
 safely on a parallel track, where it went whiz- 
 zing by the fact without the least injury to 
 either. Many things which are humanly speak- 
 ing impossible are of the most common occur- 
 rence and the theologian knew it. 
 
viii HUMANLY SPEAKING 
 
 It is only by the use of this saving clause that 
 one may safely moralize or generalize or indulge 
 in the mildest form of prediction. Strictly speak- 
 ing, no one has a right to express any opinion 
 about such complex and incomprehensible ag- 
 gregations of humanity as the United States of 
 America or the British Empire. Humanly speak- 
 ing, they both are impossible. Antecedently to 
 experience the Constitution of Utopia as ex- 
 pounded by Sir Thomas More would be much 
 more probable. It has a certain rational coher- 
 ence. If it existed at all it would hang together, 
 being made out of whole cloth. But how does 
 the British Empire hold together? It seems to 
 be made of shreds and patches. It is full of 
 anomalies and temporary makeshifts. Why mil- 
 lions of people, who do not know each other, 
 should be willing to die rather than to be sepa- 
 rated from each other, is something not easily 
 explained. Nevertheless the British Empire ex- 
 ists, and, through all the changes which threaten 
 it, grows in strength. 
 
 The perils that threaten the United States of 
 America are so obvious that anybody can see 
 them. So far as one can see, the Republic ought 
 
HUMANLY SPEAKING ix 
 
 to have been destroyed long ago by political cor- 
 ruption, race prejudice, unrestricted immigration 
 and the growth of monopolies. The only way to 
 account for its present existence is that there is 
 something about it that is not so easily seen. 
 Disease is often more easily diagnosed than health. 
 But we should remember that the Republic is not 
 out of danger. It is a very salutary thing to bring 
 its perils to the attention of the too easy-going 
 citizens. It is well to have a Jeremiah, now and 
 then, to speak unwelcome truths. 
 
 But even Jeremiah, when he was denouncing 
 the evils that would befall his country, had a sav- 
 ing clause in his gloomy predictions. All manner 
 of evils would befall them unless they repented, 
 and humanly speaking he was of the opinion that 
 they could n't repent. Said he: "Can the Ethiopian 
 change his skin or the leopard his spots? then 
 may ye also do good that are accustomed to do 
 evil." Nevertheless this did not prevent him from 
 continually exhorting them to do good, and 
 blaming them when they did n't do it. Like all 
 great moral teachers he acted on the assumption 
 that there is more freedom of will than seemed 
 theoretically possible. It was the same way with 
 
x HUMANLY SPEAKING 
 
 his views of national affairs. Jeremiah's reputa- 
 tion is that of a pessimist. Still, when the country 
 was in the hands of Nebuchadnezzar and he was 
 in prison for predicting it, he bought a piece of 
 real estate which was in the hands of the enemy. 
 He considered it a good investment. "I sub- 
 scribed the deed and sealed it, and called witnesses 
 and weighed him the money in the balances." 
 Then he put the deeds in an earthen vessel, "that 
 they may continue many days." For in spite of the 
 panic that his own words had caused, he believed 
 that the market would come up again. "Houses 
 and vineyards shall yet be bought in this land." If 
 I were an archaeologist with a free hand, I should 
 like to dig in that field in Anathoth in the hope 
 of finding the earthen jar with the deed which 
 Hanameel gave to his cousin Jeremiah, for a plot 
 of ground that nobody else would buy. 
 
 It is the moralists and the reformers who have 
 after all the most cheerful message for us. They 
 are all the time threatening us, yet for our own 
 good. They see us plunging heedlessly to destruc- 
 tion. They cry, "Look out!" They often do not 
 themselves see the way out, but they have a well- 
 founded hope that we will discover a way when 
 
HUMANLY SPEAKING xi 
 
 our attention is called to an imminent danger. 
 The fact that the race has survived thus far is an 
 evidence that its instinct for self-preservation is a 
 strong one. It has a wonderful gift for recovering 
 after the doctors have given it up. 
 
 The saving clause is a great help to those ideal- 
 ists who are inclined to look unwelcome facts in 
 the face. It enables them to retain faith in their 
 ideals, and at the same time to hold on to their 
 intellectual self-respect. 
 
 There are idealists of another sort who know 
 nothing of their struggles and self-contradictions. 
 Having formed their ideal of what ought to be, 
 they identify it with what is. For them belief in 
 the existence of good is equivalent to the obliter- 
 ation of evil. Their world is equally good in all 
 its parts, and is to be viewed in all its aspects 
 with serene complacency. 
 
 Now this is very pleasant for a time, especially 
 if one is tired and needs a complete rest. But after 
 a while it becomes irksome, and one longs for a 
 change, even if it should be for the worse. We 
 are floating on a sea of beneficence, in which it is 
 impossible for us to sink. But though one could 
 not easily drown in the Dead Sea, one might 
 
xii HUMANLY SPEAKING 
 
 starve. And when goodness is of too great speci- 
 fic gravity it is impossible to get on in it or out 
 of it. This is disconcerting to one of an active 
 disposition. It is comforting to be told that every- 
 thing is completely good, till you reflect that that 
 is only another way of saying that nothing can 
 be made any better, and that there is no use for 
 you to try. 
 
 Now the idealist of the sterner sort insists on 
 criticizing the existing world. He refuses to call 
 good evil or evil good. The two things are, in 
 his judgment, quite different. He recognizes the 
 existence of good, but he also recognizes the fact 
 that there is not enough of it. This he looks upon 
 as a great evil which ought to be remedied. And 
 he is glad that he is alive at this particular junc- 
 ture, in a world in which there is yet room for 
 improvement. 
 
 Besides the ordinary Christian virtues I would 
 recommend to any one, who would fit himself 
 to live happily as well as efficiently, the cultiva- 
 tion of that auxiliary virtue or grace which 
 Horace Walpole called " Serendipity." Walpole 
 defined it in a letter to Sir Horace Mann : " It is 
 
HUMANLY SPEAKING xiir 
 
 a very expressive word, which, as I have nothing 
 better to tell you, I shall endeavor to explain to 
 you ; you will understand it better by the deriva- 
 tion than by the definition. I once read a silly 
 fairy tale called ' The Three Princes of Serendip.' 
 As their Highnesses traveled, they were always 
 making discoveries, by accidents and sagacity, 
 of things which they were not in quest of. . . „ 
 Now do you understand Serendipity? " In case 
 the reader does not understand, Walpole goes on 
 to define " Serendipity " as " accidental sagacity 
 (for you must know that no discovery you are 
 looking for comes under this description)." 
 
 I am inclined to think that in such a world as 
 this, where our hold on all good is precarious, a 
 man should be on the lookout for dangers. Eter- 
 nal vigilance is the price we pay for all that is 
 worth having. But when, prepared for the worst, 
 he goes forward, his journey will be more pleas- 
 ant if he has also a " serendipitaceous " mind. 
 He will then, by a sort of accidental sagacity, 
 discover that what he encounters is much less 
 formidable than what he feared. Half of his 
 enemies turn out to be friends in disguise, and 
 half of the other half retire at his approach. After 
 
xiv HUMANLY SPEAKING 
 
 a while such words as " impracticable " and "im- 
 possible " lose their absoluteness and become only- 
 synonyms for the relatively difficult. He has 
 so often found a way out, where humanly speak- 
 ing there was none, that he no longer looks upon 
 a logical dilemma as a final negation of effort. 
 
 The following essays were written partly at 
 home and partly abroad. They therefore betray 
 the influence of some of the mass movements of 
 the day. Any one with even a little leisure from 
 his own personal affairs must realize that we are 
 living in one of the most stirring times in human 
 history. Everywhere the old order is changing. 
 Everywhere there are confused currents both of 
 thought and feeling. 
 
 That the old order is passing is obvious enough. 
 That a new order is arising, and that it is on 
 the whole beneficent, is not merely a pious hope. 
 It is more than this : it is a matter of observation 
 to any one with a moderate degree of " Seren- 
 dipity." 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 IT sometimes happens that a business man who 
 is in reality solvent becomes temporarily em- 
 barrassed. His assets are greater than his liabili- 
 ties, but they are not quick enough to meet the 
 situation. The liabilities have become mutinous 
 and bear down upon him in a threatening mob. 
 If he had time to deal with them one by one, all 
 would be well ; but he cannot on the instant mo- 
 bilize his forces. 
 
 Under such circumstances the law allows him 
 to surrender, not to the mob, but to a friendly 
 power which shall protect the interests of all con- 
 cerned. He goes into the hands of a receiver, 
 who will straighten out his affairs for him. I can 
 imagine the relief which would come to one who 
 could thus get rid, for a while, of his harassing 
 responsibilities, and let some one else do the 
 worrying. 
 
 In these days some of the best people I know 
 are in this predicament in regard to their moral 
 
i IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 and social affairs. These friends of mine have this 
 peculiarity, that they are anxious to do their duty. 
 Now, in all generations, there have been persons 
 who did their duty, according to their lights. 
 But in these days it happens that a new set of 
 lights has been turned on suddenly, and we all 
 see more duties than we had bargained for. In 
 the glare we see an army of creditors, each with 
 an overdue bill in hand. Each demands immedi- 
 ate payment, and shakes his head when we sug- 
 gest that he call again next week. We realize 
 that our moral cash in hand is not sufficient for 
 the crisis. If all our obligations must be met at 
 once, there will be a panic in which most of our 
 securities will be sacrificed. 
 
 We are accustomed to grumble over the in- 
 crease in the cost of living. But the enhancement 
 of price in the necessities of physical life is no- 
 thing compared to the increase in the cost of the 
 higher life. 
 
 There are those now living who can remember 
 when almost any one could have the satisfaction 
 of being considered a good citizen and neighbor. 
 All one had to do was to attend to one's own 
 affairs and keep within the law. He would then 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 3 
 
 be respected by all, and would deserve the most 
 eulogistic epitaph when he came to die. By work- 
 ing for private profit he could have the satisfac- 
 tion of knowing that all sorts of public benefits 
 came as by-products of his activity. 
 
 But now all such satisfactions are denied. To 
 be a good citizen you must put your mind on 
 the job, and it is no easy one. You must be up 
 and doing. And when you are doing one good 
 thing there will be keen-eyed critics who will ask 
 why you have not been doing other things which 
 are much more important; and they will sternly 
 demand of you, "What do you mean by such 
 criminal negligence ? " 
 
 What we call the awakening of the social con- 
 science marks an important step in progress. 
 But, like all progress, it involves hardship to in- 
 dividuals. For the higher moral classes, the saints 
 and the reformers, it is the occasion of whole- 
 hearted rejoicing. It is just what they have, all 
 the while, been trying to bring about. But I con- 
 fess to a sympathy for the middle class, morally 
 considered, the plain people, who feel the pinch. 
 They have invested their little all in the old- 
 fashioned securities, and when these are depreci- 
 
4 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 ated they feel that there is nothing to keep the 
 wolf from the door. After reading a few search- 
 ing articles in the magazines they feel that, so 
 far from being excellent citizens, they are little 
 better than enemies of society. I am not pleading 
 for the predatory rich, but only for the well- 
 meaning persons in moderately comfortable cir- 
 cumstances, whose predatoriness has been sud- 
 denly revealed to them. 
 
 Many of the most conscientious persons go 
 about with an habitually apologetic manner. They 
 are rapidly acquiring the evasive air of the con- 
 scious criminal. It is only a very hardened phil- 
 anthropist, or an unsophisticated beginner in good 
 works, who can look a sociologist in the eye. 
 Most persons, when they do one thing, begin to 
 apologize for not doing something else. They are 
 like a one-track railroad that has been congested 
 with traffic. They are not sure which train has 
 the right of way, and which should go on the 
 siding. Progress is a series of rear-end collisions. 
 
 There is little opportunity for self-satisfaction. 
 The old-fashioned private virtues which used to 
 be exhibited with such innocent pride as family 
 heirlooms are now scrutinized with suspicion. 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 5 
 
 They are subjected to rigid tests to determine 
 their value as public utilities. 
 
 Perhaps I may best illustrate the need of some 
 receivership by drawing attention to the case of 
 my friend the Reverend Augustus Bagster. 
 
 Bagster is not by nature a spiritual genius; he 
 is only a modern man who is sincerely desirous 
 of doing what is expected of him. I do not think 
 that he is capable of inventing a duty, but he is 
 morally impressionable, and recognizes one when 
 it is pointed out to him. A generation ago such 
 a man would have lived a useful and untroubled 
 life in a round of parish duties. He would have 
 been placidly contented with himself and his 
 achievements. But when he came to a city pulpit 
 he heard the Call of the Modern. The multitud- 
 inous life around him must be translated into 
 immediate action. His conscience was not merely 
 awakened : it soon reached a state of persistent 
 insomnia. 
 
 When he told me that he had preached a ser- 
 mon on the text, "Let him that stole steal no 
 more," I was interested. But shortly after, he told 
 me that he could not let go of that text. It was 
 a live wire. He had expanded the sermon into a 
 
6 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 course on the different kinds of stealing. He found 
 few things that did not come under the category 
 of Theft. Spiritual goods as well as material 
 might be stolen. If a person possessed a cheerful 
 disposition, you should ask, " How did he get it?" 
 
 " It seems to me," I said, " that a cheerful dis- 
 position is one of the things where possession is 
 nine tenths of the law. I don't like to think of 
 such spiritual wealth as ill-gotten." 
 
 "I am sorry," said Bagster, "to see that your 
 sympathies are with the privileged classes." 
 
 Several weeks ago I received a letter which 
 revealed his state of mind : — 
 
 " I believe that you are acquainted with the 
 Editor of the ' Atlantic Monthly.' I suppose he 
 means well, but persons in his situation are likely 
 to cater to mere literature. I hope that I am not 
 uncharitable, but I have a suspicion that our poets 
 yield sometimes to the desire to please. They are 
 perhaps unconscious of the subtle temptation. 
 They are not sufficiently direct and specific in 
 their charges. I have been reading Walt Whit- 
 man's * Song of Joys.' The subject does not at- 
 tract me, but I like the way in which it is treated. 
 There is no beating around the bush. The poet 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 7 
 
 is perfectly fearless, and will not let any guilty 
 man escape. 
 
 " l O the farmer's joys ! 
 Ohioans, Illinoisans, Wisconsonese, {Canadians, 
 Iowans, Kansans, Oregonese joys.' 
 
 " That is the way one should write if he ex- 
 pects to get results. He should point to each in- 
 dividual and say, ' Thou art the man.' 
 
 " I am no poet, — though I am painfully con- 
 scious that I ought to be one, — but I have writ- 
 ten what I call, ' The Song of Obligations.' I 
 think it may arouse the public. In such matters 
 we ought to unite as good citizens. You might 
 perhaps drop a postal card, just to show where 
 you stand." 
 
 THE SONG OF OBLIGATIONS 
 
 " O the citizen's obligations. 
 
 The obligation of every American citizen to see that 
 every other American citizen does his duty, and 
 to be quick about it. 
 
 The janitor's duties, the Board of Health's duties, the 
 milkman's duties, resting upon each one of us in- 
 dividually with the accumulated weight of every 
 cubic foot of vitiated air, and multiplied by the 
 number of bacteria in every cubic centimeter of 
 milk. 
 
8 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 The motorman's duties, and the duty of every spry citi- 
 zen not to allow himself to be run over by the 
 motorman. 
 
 The obligation of teachers in the public schools to sup- 
 ply their pupils with all the aptitudes and graces 
 formerly supposed to be the result of heredity and 
 environment. 
 
 The duty of each teacher to consult daily a card cata- 
 logue of duties, beginning with Apperception and 
 Adenoids and going on to Vaccination, Ventila- 
 tion, and the various vivacious variations on the 
 three R's. 
 
 The obligation resting upon the well-to-do citizen not 
 to leave for his country place, but to remain in the 
 city in order to give the force of his example, in 
 his own ward, to a safe and sane Fourth of July. 
 
 The obligation resting upon every citizen to write to 
 his Congressman. 
 
 The obligation to speak to one's neighbor who may 
 think he is living a moral life, and who yet has 
 never written to his Congressman. 
 
 The obligation to attend hearings at the State House. 
 
 The obligation to protest against the habit of em- 
 ployees at the State House of professing ignor- 
 ance of the location of the committee-room where 
 the hearings are to be held ; also to protest against 
 the habit of postponing the hearings after one has 
 at great personal inconvenience come to the State 
 House in order to protest. 
 
 The duty of doing your Christmas shopping early 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 9 
 
 enough in July to allow the shop-girls to enjoy 
 their summer vacation. 
 
 The duty of knowing what you are talking about, and 
 of talking about all the things you ought to know 
 about. t 
 
 The obligation of feeling that it is a joy and a privi- 
 lege to live in a country where eternal vigilance is 
 the price of liberty, and where even if you have 
 the price you don't get all the liberty you pay for." 
 
 I was a little troubled over this effusion, as it 
 seemed to indicate that Bagster had reached the 
 limit of elasticity. A few days later I received a 
 letter asking me to call upon him. I found him 
 in a state of uncertainty over his own condition. 
 
 " I want you," he said, " to listen to the report 
 my stenographer has handed me, of an address 
 which I gave day before yesterday. I have been 
 doing some of my most faithful work recently, 
 going from one meeting to another and helping 
 in every good cause. But at this meeting I had a 
 rare sensation of freedom of utterance. I had the 
 sense of liberation from the trammels of time and 
 space. It was a realization of moral ubiquity. All 
 the audiences I had been addressing seemed to 
 flow together into one audience, and all the good 
 causes into one good cause. Incidentally I seemed 
 
io IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 to have solved the Social Question. But now that 
 I have the stenographic report I am not so cer- 
 tain." 
 
 " Read it," I said. 
 
 He began to read, but the confidence of his 
 pulpit tone, which was one of the secrets of his 
 power, would now and then desert him, and he 
 would look up to me as if waiting for an encour- 
 aging "Amen." 
 
 "Your secretary, when she called me up by 
 telephone, explained to me the object of your 
 meeting. It is an object with which I deeply sym- 
 pathize. It is Rest. You stand for the idea of 
 poise and tranquillity of spirit. You would have 
 a place for tranquil meditation. The thought I 
 would bring to you this afternoon is this: We 
 are here not to be doing, but to be. 
 
 "But of course the thought at once occurs to 
 us, How can we be considering the high cost of 
 the necessaries of life ? It will be seen at once 
 that the question is at bottom an economic one. 
 You must have a living wage, and how can there 
 be a living wage unless we admit the principle 
 of collective bargaining. It is because I believe 
 in the principle of collective bargaining that I 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER n 
 
 have come here to-night to say to you working- 
 men that I believe this strike is justifiable. 
 
 " I must leave to other speakers many interest- 
 ing aspects of this subject, and confine myself to 
 the aspect which the committee asked me to con- 
 sider more in detail, namely, Juvenile Delin- 
 quency in its relation to Foreign Immigration. 
 The relation is a real one. Statistics prove that 
 among immigrants the proportion of the juvenile 
 element is greater than among the native-born. 
 This increase in juvenility gives opportunity for 
 juvenile delinquency from which many of our 
 American communities might otherwise be free. 
 But is the remedy to be found in the restriction 
 of immigration ? My opinion is that the remedy 
 is to be found only in education. 
 
 " It is our interest in education that has brought 
 us together on this bright June morning. Your 
 teacher tells me that this is the largest class that 
 has ever graduated from this High School. You 
 may well be proud. Make your education prac- 
 tical. Learn to concentrate, that is the secret of 
 success. There are those who will tell you to 
 concentrate on a single point. I would go even 
 further. Concentrate on every point. 
 
12 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 " I admit, as the gentleman who has preceded 
 me has pointed out, that concentration in cities 
 is a great evil. It is an evil that should be coun- 
 teracted. As I was saying last evening to the 
 Colonial Dames, — Washington, if he had done 
 nothing else, would be remembered to-day as the 
 founder of the Order of the Cincinnati. The fig- 
 ure of Cincinnatus at the plough appeals power- 
 fully to American manhood. Many a time in after 
 years Cincinnatus wished that he had never left 
 that plough. Often amid the din of battle he heard 
 the voice saying to him, ' Back to the Land ! ' 
 
 " It was the same voice I seemed to hear when 
 I received the letter of your secretary asking me 
 to address this grange. As I left the smoke of the 
 city behind me and looked up at your granite 
 hills, I said, * Here is where they make men ! ' 
 As I have been partaking of the bountiful repast 
 prepared by the ladies of the grange, your chair- 
 man has been telling me something about this 
 community. It is a grand community to live in. 
 Here are no swollen fortunes; here industry, fru- 
 gality, and temperance reign. These are the qual- 
 ities which have given New England its great 
 place in the councils of the nation. I know there 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 13 
 
 are those who say that it is the tariff that has 
 given it that place ; but they do not know New 
 England. There are those at this table who can 
 remember the time when eighty-two ruddy- 
 cheeked boys and girls trooped merrily to the 
 little red schoolhouse under the hill. In the light 
 of such facts as these, who can be a pessimist ? 
 
 "But I must not dwell upon the past; the 
 Boy Scouts of America prepare for the future. I 
 am reminded that I am not at this moment ad- 
 dressing the Boy Scouts of America, — they come 
 to-morrow at the same hour, — but the principle 
 is the same. Even as the Boy Scouts of America 
 look only at the future, so do you. We must not 
 linger fondly on the days when cows grazed on 
 Boston Common. The purpose of this society is 
 to save Boston Common. That the Common has 
 been saved many times before is true ; but is that 
 any reason why we should falter now? 'New oc- 
 casions teach new duties.' Let us not be satisfied 
 with a superficial view. While fresh loam is be- 
 ing scattered on the surface, commercial interests 
 and the suburban greed to get home quick are 
 striking at the vitals of the Common. Citizens 
 of Boston, awake ! 
 
14 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 "Your pastor had expected to be with you 
 this evening, but he has at the last moment dis- 
 covered that he has two other engagements, each 
 of them of long standing. He has therefore asked 
 me to take his place in this interesting course of 
 lectures on Church History. The subject of the 
 lecture for the evening is — and if I am mistaken 
 some one will please correct me — Ulphilas, or 
 Christianity among the Goths. I cannot treat this 
 subject from that wealth of historical information 
 possessed by your pastor ; but I can at least speak 
 from the heart. I feel that it is well for us to turn 
 aside from the questions of the day, for the quiet 
 consideration of such a character as Ulphilas. 
 
 " Ulphilas seems to me to be one of those 
 characters we ought all to know more about. I 
 shall not weary you by discussing the theology 
 of Ulphilas or the details of his career. It would 
 seem more fitting that these things should be left 
 for another occasion. I shall proceed at once to 
 the main lesson of his life. As briefly as possi- 
 ble let me state the historical situation that con- 
 fronted him. It is immaterial for us to inquire 
 where the Goths were at that time, or what they 
 were doing. It is sufficient for us to know that 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 15 
 
 the Goths at that time were pagans, mere hea- 
 then. Under those circumstances what did Ulphi- 
 las do % He went to the Goths. That one act re- 
 veals his character. If in the remaining moments 
 of this lecture I can enforce the lesson for us of 
 that one act, I shall feel that my coming here 
 has not been in vain. 
 
 "But some one who has followed my argu- 
 ment thus far may say, ' All that you have said 
 is true, lamentably true ; but what has it to do 
 with the Advancement of Woman *? ' I answer, 
 it is the Advancement of Woman." 
 
 " How do you make that out ? " I asked. 
 
 Bagster looked vaguely troubled. "There is 
 no such thing as an isolated moral phenomenon," 
 he said, as if he were repeating something from 
 a former sermon ; " when you attempt to remedy 
 one evil you find it related to a whole moral series. 
 But perhaps I did not make the connection plain. 
 My address does n't seem to be as closely rea- 
 soned as it did when I was delivering it. Does it 
 seem to you to be cogent ? " 
 
 "Cogent is not precisely the word I would 
 use. But it seems earnest." 
 
 " Thank you," said Bagster. " I always try to 
 
1 6 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 be earnest. It 's hard to be earnest about so many- 
 things. I am always afraid that I may not give 
 to all an equal emphasis." 
 
 " And now that you have stopped for a mo- 
 ment," I suggested, " perhaps you would be will- 
 ing to skip to the last page. When I read a story 
 I am always anxious to get to the end. I should 
 like to know how your address comes out, — if 
 it does come out." 
 
 Bagster turned over a dozen pages and read in 
 a more animated manner. 
 
 " Your chairman has the reputation of making 
 the meetings over which he presides brisk and 
 crisp. He has given me just a minute and a half 
 in which to tell what the country expects of this 
 Federation of Young People. I shall not take all 
 the time. I ask you to remember two letters — 
 E and N. What does the country expect this 
 Federation to do? E — everything. When does 
 the country expect you to do it ? N — now. Re- 
 member these two letters — E and N. Young 
 people, I thank you for your attention. 
 
 "The hour is late. You, my young brother, 
 have listened to a charge in which your urgent 
 duties have been fearlessly declared to you. When 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 17 
 
 you have performed these duties, others will be 
 presented to you. And now, in token of our con- 
 fidence in you, I give you the right hand of fel- 
 lowship. 
 
 " And do you know," said Bagster, " that when 
 I reached to give him the right hand of fellow- 
 ship, he was n't there." 
 
 We sat in silence for some time. At last he 
 asked, hesitatingly, "What do you think of it? 
 In your judgment is it organic or functional?" 
 
 "I do not think it is organic. I am afraid that 
 your conscience has been over-functioning of late, 
 and needs a rest. I know a nook in the woods of 
 New Hampshire, under the shadow of Mount 
 Chocorua, where you might go for six months 
 while your affairs are in the hands of a receiver. 
 I can't say that you would find everything satis- 
 factory, even there. The mountain is not what it 
 used to be. It is decadent, geologically speaking, 
 and it suffered a good deal during the last glacial 
 period. But you can't do much about it in six 
 months. You might take it just as it is, — some 
 things have to be taken that way. 
 
 " You will start to-morrow morning and begin 
 your life of temporary irresponsibility. You will 
 
1 8 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 have to give up your problems for six months, but 
 you may rest assured that they will keep. You 
 will go by Portsmouth, where you will have 
 ten minutes for lunch. Take that occasion for a 
 leisurely meal. A card will be handed to you 
 assuring you that ' The bell will ring one minute 
 before the departure of the train. You can't get 
 left.' Hold that thought: you can't get left; the 
 railroad authorities say so." 
 
 " Did you ever try it," asked Bagster. 
 
 " Once," I answered. 
 
 " And did you get left ? " 
 
 " Portsmouth," I said, " is a beautiful old town. 
 I had always wanted to see it. You can see a 
 good deal of Portsmouth in an afternoon." 
 
 The predicament in which my friend Bagster 
 finds himself is a very common one. It is no longer 
 true that the good die young ; they become pre- 
 maturely middle-aged. In these days conscience 
 doth make neurasthenics of us all. Now it will 
 not do to flout conscience, and by shutting our 
 eyes to the urgencies and complexities of life pur- 
 chase for ourselves a selfish calm. Neither do we 
 like the idea of neurasthenia. 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 19 
 
 My notion is that the twentieth-century man 
 is morally solvent, though he is temporarily em- 
 barrassed. He will find himself if he is given suf- 
 ficient time. In the mean time it is well for him 
 to consider the nature of his embarrassment. He 
 has discovered that the world is "so full of a num- 
 ber of things," and he is disappointed that he is 
 not as " happy as kings " — that is, as kings in the 
 fairy books. Perhaps " sure enough " kings are not 
 as happy as the fairy-book royalties, and perhaps 
 the modern man is only experiencing the anxieties 
 that belong to his new sovereignty over the world. 
 
 There are tribes which become confused when 
 they try to keep in mind more than three or four 
 numbers. It is the same kind of confusion which 
 comes when we try to look out for more than 
 Number One. We mean well, but we have not 
 the facilities for doing it easily. In fact, we are 
 not so civilized as we sometimes think. 
 
 For example, we have never carried out to its 
 full extent the most important invention that 
 mankind has ever made — money. Money is a 
 device for simplifying life by providing a means 
 of measuring our desires, and gratifying a number 
 of them without confusion. 
 
20 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 Money is a measure, not of commodities, but 
 of states of mind. The man in the street expresses 
 a profound philosophy when he says, " I feel like 
 thirty cents." That is all that " thirty cents " means. 
 It is a certain amount of feeling. 
 
 You see an article marked " $ l .50." You pass 
 by unmoved. The next day you see it on the 
 bargain counter marked " 98 cents," and you say, 
 " Come to my arms," and carry it home. You did 
 not feel like a dollar and a half toward it, but you 
 did feel exactly like ninety-eight cents. 
 
 It is because of this wonderful measure of value 
 that we are able to deal with a multitude of diverse 
 articles without mental confusion. 
 
 I am asked to stop at the department store and 
 discover in that vast aggregation of goods a skein 
 of silk of a specified shade, and having found it 
 bring it safely home. Now, I am not fitted for such 
 an adventure. Left to my own devices I should 
 be helpless. 
 
 But the way is made easy for me. The floor- 
 walker meets me graciously, and without chiding 
 me for not buying the things I do not want, di- 
 rects me to the one thing which would gratify my 
 modest desire. I find myself in a little place de- 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 21 
 
 voted to silk thread, and with no other articles to 
 molest me or make me afraid. The world of com- 
 modities is simplified to fit my understanding. I 
 feel all the gratitude of the shorn lamb for the 
 tempered wind. 
 
 At the silken shrine stands a Minerva who im- 
 parts her wisdom and guides my choice. The silk 
 thread she tells me is equivalent to five cents. 
 Now, I have not five cents, but only a five-dollar 
 bill. She does not act on the principle of taking 
 all that the traffic will bear. She sends the five- 
 dollar bill through space, and in a minute or two 
 she gives me the skein and four dollars and ninety- 
 five cents, and I go out of the store a free man. I 
 have no misgivings and no remorse because I did 
 not buy all the things I might have bought. No 
 one reproached me because I did not buy a four- 
 hundred-dollar pianola. Thanks to the great in- 
 vention, the transaction was complete in itself. 
 Five cents represented one choice, and I had in 
 my pocket ninety-nine choices which I might re- 
 serve for other occasions. 
 
 But there are some things which, as we say, 
 money cannot buy. In all these things of the 
 higher life we have no recognized medium of 
 
ii IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 exchange. We are still in the stage of primitive 
 barter. We must bring all our moral goods with 
 us, and every transaction involves endless dicker- 
 ing. If we express an appreciation for one good 
 thing, we are at once reproached by all the traf- 
 fickers in similar articles for not taking over bod- 
 ily their whole stock in trade. 
 
 For example, you have a desire for culture. 
 You have n't the means to indulge in very much, 
 but you would like a little. You are immediately 
 beset by all the eager Matthew Arnolds who have 
 heard of your desire, and they insist that you 
 should at once devote yourself to the knowledge 
 of the best that has been known and said in the 
 world. All this is very fine, but you don't see 
 how you can afford it. Is n't there a little of a 
 cheaper quality that they could show you? Per- 
 haps the second best would serve your purpose. 
 At once you are covered with reproaches for your 
 philistinism. 
 
 You had been living a rather prosaic life and 
 would like to brighten it up with a little poetry. 
 What you would really like would be a modest 
 James Whitcomb Riley's worth of poetry. But 
 the moment you express the desire the Uni- 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 23 
 
 versity Extension lecturer insists that what you 
 should take is a course of lectures on Dante. No 
 wonder that you conclude that a person in your 
 circumstances will have to go without any poetry 
 at all. 
 
 It is the same way with efforts at social right- 
 eousness. You find it difficult to engage in one 
 transaction without being involved in others that 
 you are not ready for. You are interested in a 
 social reform that involves collective action. At 
 once you are told that it is socialistic. You do not 
 feel that it is any worse for that, and you are 
 quite willing to go on. But at once your social- 
 istic friends present you with the whole pro- 
 gramme of their party. It is all or nothing. 
 When it is presented in that way you are likely 
 to become discouraged and fall back on nothing. 
 
 Now, if we had a circulating medium you 
 would express the exact state of your desires 
 somewhat in this way: "Here is my moral dol- 
 lar. I think I will take a quarter's worth of So- 
 cialism, and twelve and a half cents' worth of 
 old-time Republicanism, and twelve and a half 
 cents of genuine JefFersonian democracy, if there 
 is any left, and a quarter's worth of miscellaneous 
 
24 IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 
 
 insurgency. Let me see, I have a quarter left. 
 Perhaps I may drop in to-morrow and see if you 
 have anything more that I want." 
 
 The sad state of my good friend Bagster arises 
 from the fact that he can't do one good thing 
 without being confused by a dozen other things 
 which are equally good. He feels that he is a 
 miserable sinner because his moral dollar is not 
 enough to pay the national debt. 
 
 But though we have not yet been able ade- 
 quately to extend the notion of money to the 
 affairs of the higher life, there have been those 
 who have worked on the problem. 
 
 That was what Socrates had in mind. The 
 Sophists talked eloquently about the Good, the 
 True, and the Beautiful; but they dealt in these 
 things in the bulk. They had no way of divid- 
 ing them into sizable pieces for everyday use. 
 Socrates set up in Athens as a broker in ideas. 
 He dealt on the curb. He measured one thing in 
 terms of another, and tried to supply a sufficient 
 amount of change for those who were not ashamed 
 to engage in retail trade. 
 
 Socrates draws the attention of Phsedrus to the 
 fact that when we talk of iron and silver the same 
 
IN THE HANDS OF A RECEIVER 25 
 
 objects are present to our minds, " but when any- 
 one speaks of justice and goodness, there is every 
 sort of disagreement, and we are at odds with one 
 another and with ourselves." 
 
 What we need to do he says is to have an 
 idea that is big enough to include all the par- 
 ticular actions or facts. Then, in order to do busi- 
 ness, we must be able to divide this so that it may 
 serve our convenience. This is what Socrates 
 called Philosophy. 
 
 " I am a great lover," he said, " of the processes 
 of division and generalization; they help me to 
 speak and think. And if I find any man who is 
 able to see unity and plurality in nature, him I 
 follow, and walk in his steps as if he were a god." 
 
 Even in the Forest of Arden life was not so 
 simple as at first it seemed. The shepherd's life 
 which " in respect of itself was a good life " was 
 in other respects quite otherwise. Its unity seemed 
 to break up into a confusing plurality. Honest 
 Touchstone, in trying to reconcile the different 
 points of view, blurted out the test question, 
 " Hast any philosophy in thee, Shepherd ? " 
 After Bagster has communed with Chocorua for 
 six months, I shall put that question to him. 
 
THE CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS OF 
 ROME 
 
 YOU here, Bagster ? " I exclaimed, as in the 
 Sistine Chapel I saw an anxious face gazing 
 down into a mirror in which were reflected the 
 dimmed glories of the ceiling. There was an 
 anxiety as of one who was seeking the Truth 
 of Art at the bottom of the well. 
 
 One who is in the habit of giving unsolicited 
 advice is likely to take for granted that his advice 
 has been acted upon, even though experience 
 should teach him that this is seldom the case. 
 I had sagely counseled Bagster to go to the New 
 Hampshire woods, in order to recuperate after 
 his multifarious labors. I was therefore surprised 
 to find him playing truant in Rome. 
 
 My salutation did not at first cause him to look 
 up. He only made a mysterious sign with his 
 hand. It was evidently a gesture which he had 
 recently learned, and was practiced as a sort of 
 exorcism. 
 
ROME 27 
 
 " I am not going to sell you cameos or post 
 cards," I explained. 
 
 When he recognized a familiar face, Bagster 
 forgot all about the Last Judgment, and we were 
 soon out-of-doors and he was telling me about 
 himself. 
 
 " I meant to go to Chocorua as you suggested, 
 but the congregation advised otherwise, so I came 
 over here. It seemed the better thing to do. Up 
 in New Hampshire you can't do much but rest, 
 but here you can improve your taste and collect 
 a good deal of homiletic material. So I 've settled 
 down in Rome. I want to have time to take it 
 all in." 
 
 " Do you begin to feel rested *? " I asked. 
 
 "Not yet. It's harder work than I thought it 
 would be. There 's so much to take in, and it 's 
 all so different. I don't know how to arrange my 
 material. What I want to do, in the first place, 
 is to have a realizing sense of being in Rome. 
 What's the use of being here unless you are here 
 in the spirit ? 
 
 "What I mean is that I should like to feel as 
 I did when I went to Mount Vernon. It was 
 one of those dreamy autumn days when the leaves 
 
28 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 were just turning. There was the broad Potomac, 
 and the hospitable Virginia mansion. I had the 
 satisfying sense that I was in the home of Wash- 
 ington. Everything seemed to speak of Washing- 
 ton. He filled the whole scene. It was a great 
 experience. Why can't I feel that way about the 
 great events that happened down there ? " 
 
 We were by this time on the height of the Jan- 
 iculum near the statue of Garibaldi. Bagster made 
 a vague gesture toward the city that lay beneath 
 us. There seemed to be something in the scene 
 that worried him. " I can't make it seem real," he 
 said. " I have continually to say to myself, ' That 
 is Rome, Italy, and not Rome, New York.' I 
 can't make the connection between the place and 
 the historical personages I have read about. I 
 can't realize that the Epistle to the Romans was 
 written to the people who lived down there. Just 
 back of that new building is the very spot where 
 Romulus would have lived if he had ever existed. 
 On those very streets Scipio Africanus walked, 
 and Caesar and Cicero and Paul and Marcus Au- 
 relius, and Epictetus and Belisarius, and Hilde- 
 brand and Michelangelo, and at one time or an- 
 other about every one you ever heard of And 
 
OF ROME 29 
 
 how many people came to get emotions they 
 could n't get anywhere else ! There was Goethe. 
 How he felt ! He took it all in. And there was 
 Shelley writing poetry in the Baths of Caracalla. 
 And there was Gibbon." 
 
 " But we can't all expect to be Shelleys or even 
 Gibbons," I suggested. 
 
 " I know it," said Bagster, ruefully. " But if one 
 has only a little vessel, he ought to fill it. But 
 somehow the historical associations crowd each 
 other out. When I left home I bought Hare's 
 ' Walks in Rome.' I thought I would take a walk 
 a day as long as they lasted. It seemed a pleas- 
 ant way of combining physical and intellectual 
 exercise. But do you know, I could not keep up 
 those walks. They were too concentrated for my 
 constitution. I was n't equal to them. Out in 
 California they used to make wagers with the 
 stranger that he could n't eat a broiled quail every 
 day for ten days. I don't see why he could n't, but 
 it seemed that the thought of to-morrow's quail, 
 and the feeling that it was compulsory, turned 
 him against what otherwise might have been a 
 pleasure. It 's so with the ' Walks/ It 's appalling 
 to think that every morning you have to start out 
 
30 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 For a constitutional, and be confronted with the 
 events of the last twenty-five centuries. The events 
 are piled up one on another. There they are, and 
 here you are, and what are you going to do about 
 them?" 
 
 " I suppose that there is n't much that you can 
 do about them," I remarked. 
 
 " But we ought to do what we can," said Bag- 
 ster. "When I do have an emotion, something 
 immediately turns up to contradict it. It 's like 
 wandering through a big hotel, looking for your 
 room, when you are on the wrong floor. Here 
 you are as likely as not to find yourself in the 
 wrong century. In Rome everything turns out, 
 on inquiry, to be something else. There 's some- 
 thing impressive about a relic if it 's the relic of 
 one thing. But if it 's the relic of a dozen differ- 
 ent kinds of things it 's hard to pick out the ap- 
 propriate emotion. I find it hard to adjust my 
 mind to these composite associations." 
 
 " Now just look at this," he said, opening his 
 well-thumbed Baedeker: "'Santa Maria Sopra 
 Minerva (PL D. 4), erected on the ruins of Do- 
 mitian's temple of Minerva, the only mediaeval 
 Gothic church in Rome. Begun a.d., 1280; was 
 
OF ROME 31 
 
 restored and repainted in 1848-55. It contains 
 several admirable works of art, in particular Mi- 
 chelangelo's Christ.' " 
 
 " It 's that sort of thing that gets on my nerves. 
 The Virgin and Minerva and Domitian and Mi- 
 chelangelo are all mixed together, and then every- 
 thing is restored and repainted in 1848. And just 
 round the corner from Santa Maria Sopra Mi- 
 nerva is the Pantheon. The inscription on the porch 
 says that it was built by Agrippa, the son-in-law 
 of Augustus. I try to take that in. But when I 
 have partially done that, I learn that the building 
 was struck by lightning and entirely rebuilt by 
 the Emperor Hadrian. 
 
 " That information comes like the call of the 
 conductor to change cars, just as one has comfort- 
 ably settled down on the train. We must forget 
 all about Agrippa and Augustus, and remember 
 that this building was built by Hadrian. But it 
 turns out that in 609 Boniface turned it into a 
 Christian church. Which Boniface ? The Panthe- 
 on was adorned with bronze columns. If you wish 
 to see them you must go to St. Peter's, where they 
 are a part of the high altar. So Baedeker says, 
 but I 'm told that is n't correct either. When you 
 
3 2 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 go inside you see that you must let by-gones be 
 by-gones. You are confronted with the tomb of 
 Victor Emmanuel and set to thinking on the re- 
 cent glories of the House of Savoy. Really to ap- 
 preciate the Pantheon you must be well-posted 
 in nineteenth-century history. You keep up this 
 train of thought till you happen to stumble on 
 the tomb of Raphael. That, of course, is what you 
 ought to have come to see in the first place. 
 
 u When you look at the column of Trajan you 
 naturally think of Trajan, you follow the spiral 
 which celebrates his victories, till you come to 
 the top of the column; and there stands St. Peter 
 as if it were bis monument. You meditate on the 
 column of Marcus Aurelius, and look up and see 
 St. Paul in the place of honor. 
 
 " I must confess that I have had difficulty 
 about the ruins. Brick, particularly in this climate, 
 does n't show its age. I find it hard to distinguish 
 between a ruin and a building in the course of 
 construction. When I got out of the station I saw 
 a huge brick building across the street, which had 
 been left unfinished as if the workmen had gone 
 on strike. I learned that it was the remains of the 
 Baths of Diocletian. Opening a door I found my- 
 
OF ROME 33 
 
 self in a huge church, which had a long history 
 I ought to have known something about, but 
 did n't. 
 
 " Now read this, and try to take it in : * Return- 
 ing to the Cancelleria, we proceed to the Piazza 
 Campo de' Fiori, where the vegetable market is 
 held in the morning, and where criminals were 
 formerly executed. The bronze statue of the phi- 
 losopher Giordano Bruno, who was burned here as 
 a heretic in 1600, was erected in 1889. To the 
 east once lay the Theatre of Pompey. Behind it 
 lay the Porticus of Pompey where Caesar was mur- 
 dered, b.c. 44.' 
 
 "It economizes space to have the vegetable 
 market and the martyrdom of Giordano Bruno 
 and the assassination of Julius Caesar all close to- 
 gether. But they are too close. The imagination 
 has n't room to turn round. Especially as the mar- 
 ket-women are very much alive and cannot con- 
 ceive that any one would come into the Piazza un- 
 less he intended to buy vegetables. Somehow the 
 great events you have read about don't seem to 
 have impressed themselves on the neighborhood. 
 At any rate, you are conscious that you are the 
 only person in the Piazza Campo de' Fiori who 
 
34 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 is thinking about Giordano Bruno or Julius Cse- 
 sar; while the price of vegetables is as intensely 
 interesting as it was in the year 1600 a.d. or in 
 44 B.C. 
 
 "How am I to get things in their right perspec- 
 tive? When I left home I had a pretty clear and 
 connected idea of history. There was a logical 
 sequence. One period followed another. But in 
 these walks in Rome the sequence is destroyed. 
 History seems more like geology than like logic, 
 and the strata have all been broken up by innu- 
 merable convulsions of nature. The Middle Ages 
 were not eight or ten centuries ago; they are 
 round the next block. A walk from the guirinal 
 to the Vatican takes you from the twentieth cen- 
 tury to the twelfth. And one seems as much alive 
 as the other. You may go from schools where you 
 have the last word in modern education, to the 
 Holy Stairs at the Lateran, where you will see 
 the pilgrims mounting on their knees as if Luther 
 and his protest had never happened. Or you can, 
 in five minutes, walk from the Renaissance period 
 to 400 B.C. 
 
 " When I was in the theological seminary I had 
 a very clear idea of the difference between Pagan 
 
OF ROME 35 
 
 Rome and Christian Rome. When Constantine 
 came, Christianity was established. It was a won- 
 derful change and made everything different. But 
 when you stroll across from the Arch of Titus to 
 the Arch of Constantine you wonder what the 
 difference was. The two things look so much 
 alike. And in the Vatican that huge painting of 
 the triumph of Constantine over Maxentius 
 does n't throw much light on the subject. Sup- 
 pose the pagan Maxentius had triumphed over 
 Constantine, what difference would it have made 
 in the picture? 
 
 "They say that seeing is believing, but here 
 you see so many things that are different from 
 what you have always believed. The Past does n't 
 seem to be in the past, but in the present. There 
 is an air of contemporaneousness about everything. 
 Do you remember that story of Jules Verne 
 about a voyage to the moon 1 ? When the voy- 
 agers got a certain distance from the earth they 
 could n't any longer drop things out of the bal- 
 loon. The articles they threw out didn't fall down. 
 There was n't any down; everything was round 
 about. Everything they had cast out followed 
 them. That's the way Rome makes you feel 
 
3 6 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 about history. That which happened a thousand 
 years ago is going on still. You can't get rid 
 of it. The Roman Republic is a live issue, 
 and so is the Roman Empire, and so is the 
 Papacy. 
 
 "The other day they found a ruined Arch of 
 Marcus Aurelius in Tripoli, and began to restore 
 it. New Italy is delighted at this confirmation of 
 its claims to sovereignty in North Africa. The 
 newspapers treat Marcus Aurelius as only a fore- 
 runner of Giolitti. By the way, I never heard of 
 Giolitti till I came over here. But it seems that 
 he is a very great man. But when ancient and 
 modern history are mixed up it 's hard to do any 
 clear thinking. And when you do get a clear 
 thought you find out that it isn't true. You 
 know Dr. Johnson said something to the effect 
 that that man is little to be envied whose patriot- 
 ism would not gain force upon the plain of Mar- 
 athon, or whose feelings would not grow warmer 
 among the ruins of Rome. Marathon is a simple 
 proposition. But when one is asked to warm his 
 enthusiasm by means of the Roman monuments, 
 he naturally asks, 'Enthusiasm over what?' Of 
 course, I don't mean to give up. I 'm faint though 
 
OF ROME 37 
 
 pursuing. But I 'm afraid that Rome is not a good 
 place to rest in." 
 
 " I 'm afraid not," I said, "if you insist on keep- 
 ing on thinking. It is not a good place in which 
 to rest your mind." 
 
 II 
 
 I think Bagster is not the first person who has 
 found intellectual difficulty here. Rome exists 
 for the confusion of the sentimental traveler. 
 Other cities deal tenderly with our preconceived 
 ideas of them. There is one simple impression 
 made upon the mind. Once out of the railway 
 station and in a gondola, and we can dream our 
 dream of Venice undisturbed. There is no doge 
 at present, but if there were one we should know 
 where to place him. The city still furnishes the 
 proper setting for his magnificence. And London 
 with all its vastness has, at first sight, a familiar 
 seeming. The broad and simple outlines of 
 English history make it easy to reconceive the 
 past. 
 
 But Rome is disconcerting. The actual refuses 
 to make terms with the ideal. It is a vast store- 
 house of historical material, but the imagination 
 
3 8 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 is baffled in the attempt to put the material to- 
 gether. 
 
 When Scott was in Rome his friend " advised 
 him to wait to see the procession of Corpus 
 Domini, and hear the Pope 
 
 Saying the high, high mass 
 
 All on St. Peter's day. 
 
 He smiled and said that these things were more 
 poetical in the description than in reality, and 
 that it was all the better for him not to have seen 
 it before he wrote about it." 
 
 Sir Walter's instinct was a true one. Rome 
 is not favorable to historical romance. Its atmos- 
 phere is eminently realistic. The historical ro- 
 mancer is flying through time as the air-men fly 
 through space. But the air-men complain that 
 they sometimes come upon what they call " air 
 holes." The atmosphere seems suddenly to give 
 way under them. In Rome the element of Time 
 on which the imagination has been flying seems 
 to lose its usual density. We drop through a 
 Time-hole, and find ourselves in an inglorious 
 anachronism. 
 
 I am not sure that Bagster has had a more 
 difficult time than his predecessors, who have at- 
 
OF ROME 39 
 
 tempted to assort their historical material. For 
 in the days before historical criticism was in- 
 vented, the history of Rome was very luxuriant. 
 " Seeing Rome " was a strenuous undertaking, if 
 one tried to be intelligent. 
 
 There was an admirable little guide-book pub- 
 lished in the twelfth century called "Mirabilia 
 Urbis Romse." One can imagine the old-time tour- 
 ist with this mediaeval Baedeker in hand, issuing 
 forth, resolved to see Rome in three days. At the 
 end of the first day his courage would ooze away 
 as he realized the extent of his ignorance. With 
 a hurried look at the guide-book and a glance at 
 the varied assortment of ruins, he would try to 
 get his bearings. All the worthies of sacred and 
 profane history would be passing by in swift 
 procession. 
 
 " After the sons of Noah built the tower of con- 
 fusion, Noah with all his sons came to Italy. 
 And not far from the place where Rome now is 
 they founded a city in his name, where he brought 
 his travail and life to an end." To come to the 
 city of Noah was worth a long journey. Just think 
 of actually standing on the spot where Shem, 
 Ham, and Japhet soothed the declining years of 
 
4 o CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 their father ! It was hard to realize it all. And it 
 appears that Japhet, always an enterprising per- 
 son, built a city of his own on the Palatine Hill. 
 There is the Palatine, somewhat cluttered up 
 with modern buildings of the Caesars, but essen- 
 tially, in its outlines, as Japhet saw it. 
 
 But there were other pioneers to be remem- 
 bered. " Saturn, being shamefully entreated by 
 his son Jupiter," founded a city on the Capitoline 
 Hill. One wonders what Shem, Ham, and 
 Japhet thought of this, and whether their sympa- 
 thies were with Jupiter who was seeking to get a 
 place in the sun. 
 
 It is hard to understand the complicated poli- 
 tics of the day. At any rate, a short time after, 
 Hercules came with a band of Argives and 
 established a rival civic centre. In the meantime, 
 Janus had become mixed up with Roman history 
 and was working manfully for the New Italy. On 
 very much the same spot " Tibris, King of the 
 Aborigines" built a city, which must be carefully 
 distinguished from those before mentioned. 
 
 All this happened before Romulus appeared 
 upon the scene. One with a clear and compre- 
 hensive understanding of this early history might 
 
OF ROME 41 
 
 enjoy his first morning's walk in Rome. Rut to 
 the middle-aged pilgrim from the West Riding 
 of Yorkshire, who had come to Rome merely to 
 see the tomb of St. Peter, it was exhausting. 
 
 Rut perhaps mediaeval tradition did not form a 
 more confusing atmosphere than the sentimental 
 admiration of a later day. In the early part of 
 the nineteenth century a writer begins a book on 
 Rome in this fashion : " I have ventured to hope 
 that this work may be a guide to those who visit 
 this wonderful city, which boasts at once the 
 noblest remains of antiquity, and the most fault- 
 less works of art ; which possesses more claims to 
 interest than any other city; which has in every 
 age stood foremost in the world ; which has been 
 the light of the earth in ages past, the guiding star 
 through the long night of ignorance, the fountain 
 of civilization to the whole Western world, and 
 which every nation reverences as the common 
 nurse, preceptor, and parent." 
 
 This notion of Rome as the venerable parent 
 of civilization, to be approached with tenderly 
 reverential feelings, was easier to hold a hundred 
 years ago than it is to-day. There was nothing to 
 contradict it. One might muse on " the grandeur 
 
42 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 that was Rome," among picturesque ruins covered 
 with flowering weeds. But now a Rome that is 
 obtrusively modern claims attention. And it is 
 not merely that the modern world is here, but 
 that our view of antiquity is modernized. We 
 see it, not through the mists of time, but as a 
 contemporary might. 
 
 - When Ferrero published his history we were 
 startled by his realistic treatment. It was as if 
 we were reading a newspaper and following the 
 course of current events. Caesar and Pompey 
 and Cicero were treated as if they were New 
 York politicians. Where we had expected to 
 see stately figures in togas we were made to see 
 hustling real-estate speculators, and millionaires, 
 and labor leaders, and ward politicians, who were 
 working for the prosperity of the city and, inci- 
 dentally, for themselves. It was all very different 
 from our notions of classic times which we had 
 imbibed from our Latin lessons in school. But it 
 is the impression which Rome itself makes upon 
 the mind. 
 
 One afternoon, among the vast ruins of Ha- 
 drian's Villa, I tried to picture the villa as it was 
 when its first owner walked among the buildings 
 
OF ROME 43 
 
 which his whim had created. The moment Ha- 
 drian himself appeared upon the scene, antiquity 
 seemed an illusion. How ultra-modern he was, 
 this man whom his contemporaries called "a 
 searcher out*of strange things " ! These ruins could 
 not by the mere process of time become vener- 
 able, for they were in their very nature novelties. 
 They were the playthings of a very rich man. 
 There they lie upon the ground like so many 
 broken toys. They are just such things as an enor- 
 mously rich man would make to-day if he had 
 originality enough to think of them. Why should 
 not Hadrian have a Vale of Tempe and a Greek 
 theatre and a Valley of Canopus, and ever so 
 many other things which he had seen in his 
 travels, reproduced on his estate near Tivoli? 
 An historian of the Empire says : " The char- 
 acter of Hadrian was in the highest degree com- 
 plex, and this presents to the student a series of 
 apparently unreconciled contrasts which have 
 proved so hard for many modern historians to re- 
 solve. A thorough soldier and yet the inaugurator 
 of a peace policy, a 'Greekling' as his Roman 
 subjects called him, and saturated with Hellenic 
 ideas, and yet a lover of Roman antiquity ; a poet 
 
44 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 and an artist, but with a passion for business and 
 finance; a voluptuary determined to drain the 
 cup of human experience and, at the same time, 
 a ruler who labored strenuously for the well-being 
 of his subjects; such were a few of the diverse 
 parts which Hadrian played." 
 
 It is evident that the difficulty with the histo- 
 rians who find these unreconciled contrasts is that 
 they try to treat Hadrian as an "ancient" rather 
 than as a modern. The enormously rich men who 
 are at present most in the public eye present the 
 same contradictions. Hadrian was a thorough 
 man of the world. There was nothing venerable 
 about him, though much that was interesting and 
 admirable. 
 
 Now what a man of the world is to a simple 
 character like a saint or a hero, that Rome has 
 been to cities of the simpler sort. It has been a city 
 of the world. It has been cosmopolitan. "Urbset 
 orbis " suggests the historic fact. The fortunes of 
 the city have become inextricably involved in the 
 fortunes of the world. 
 
 A part of the confusion of the traveler comes 
 from the fact that the Roman city and the Ro- 
 man world are not clearly distinguished one from 
 
OF ROME 45 
 
 the other. The New Testament writer distin- 
 guishes between Jerusalem as a geographical 
 fact and Jerusalem as a spiritual ideal. There has 
 been, he says, a Jerusalem that belongs to the 
 Jews, but there is also Jerusalem which belongs 
 to humanity, which is free, which is " the mother 
 of us all." 
 
 So there has been a local Rome with its local 
 history. And there has been the greater Rome 
 that has impressed itself on the imagination of the 
 world. Since the destruction of Carthage the mean- 
 ing of the word " Roman " has been largely alle- 
 gorical. It has stood for the successive ideas of 
 earthly power and spiritual authority. 
 
 Rome absorbed the glory of deeds done else- 
 where. Battles were fought in far-off Asia and 
 Africa. But the battlefield did not become the 
 historic spot. The victor must bring his captives 
 to Rome for his triumph. Here the pomp of war 
 could be seen, on a carefully arranged stage, and 
 before admiring thousands. It was the triumph 
 rather than the battle that was remembered. All 
 the interest culminated at this dramatic moment. 
 Rome thus became, not the place where his- 
 tory was made, but the place where it was cele- 
 
46 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 brated. Here the trumpets of fame perpetually 
 sounded. 
 
 This process continued after the Empire of the 
 Caesars passed away. The continuity of Roman 
 history has been psychological. Humanity has 
 "held a thought." Rome became a fixed idea. It 
 exerted an hypnotic influence over the barbarians 
 who had overcome all else. The Holy Roman 
 Empire was a creation of the Germanic imagina- 
 tion, and yet it was a real power. Many a hard- 
 headed Teutonic monarch crossed the Alps at the 
 head of his army to demand a higher sanction for 
 his own rule of force. When he got himself 
 crowned in the turbulent city on the Tiber he 
 felt that something very important had happened. 
 Just how important it was he did not fully real- 
 ize till he was back among his own people and 
 saw how much impressed they were by his new 
 dignities. 
 
 Hans Christian Andersen begins one of his sto- 
 ries with the assertion, " You must know that the 
 Emperor of China is a Chinaman and that all 
 whom he has about him are Chinamen also." The 
 assertion is so logical in form that we are inclined 
 to accept it without question. Then we remem- 
 
OF ROME 47 
 
 ber that in Hans Christian Andersen's day, and 
 for a long time before, the Emperor of China was 
 not a Chinaman and the great grievance was that 
 Chinamen were the very people he would not 
 have about him. 
 
 When we speak of the Roman Catholic Church, 
 we jump at the conclusion that it is the church 
 of the Romans and that the people of Rome have 
 had the most to do with its extension. This theory 
 has nothing to recommend it but its extreme ver- 
 bal simplicity. As a matter of fact, Rome has 
 never been noted for its pious zeal. Such warmth 
 as it has had has been imparted to it by the faith- 
 ful who have been drawn from other lands; as, 
 according to some theorists, the sun's heat is kept 
 up by a continuous shower of meteors falling 
 into it. 
 
 To-day, the Roman Church is more conscious 
 of its strength in Massachusetts than it is near 
 the Vatican. At the period when the Papacy was 
 at its height, and kings and emperors trembled 
 before it in England and in Germany, the Popes 
 had a precarious hold on their own city. Rome 
 was a religious capital rather than a religious 
 centre. It did not originate new movements. Mis- 
 
48 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 sionaries of the faith have not gone forth from it, 
 as they went from Ireland. It is not in Rome that 
 we find the places where the saints received their 
 spiritual illuminations, and fought the good fight, 
 and gathered their disciples. Rome was the place 
 to which they came for j udgment, as Paul did when 
 he appealed to Caesar. Here heretics were con- 
 demned, and here saints, long dead, were canon- 
 ized. Neither the doctrines nor the institutions of 
 the Catholic Church originated here. Rome was 
 the mint, not the mine. That which received the 
 Roman stamp passed current throughout the 
 world. 
 
 In the political struggle for the New Italy, Rome 
 had the same symbolic character. Mazzini was 
 never so eloquent as when portraying the glories 
 of the free Rome that was to be recognized, in- 
 deed, as the mother of us all. The Eternal City, 
 he believed, was to be the regenerating influence, 
 not only for Europe but for all the world. All the 
 romantic enthusiasm of Garibaldi flamed forth at 
 the sight of Rome. All other triumphs signified 
 nothing till Rome was the acknowledged capital 
 of Italy. Silently and steadily Cavour worked to- 
 ward the same end. And at last Rome gathered 
 
OF ROME 49 
 
 to herself the glory of the heroes who were not 
 her own children. 
 
 If we recognize the symbolic and represent- 
 ative character of Roman history, we can begin to 
 understand the reason for the bewilderment which 
 comes to the traveler who attempts to realize it 
 in imagination. Roman history is not, like the 
 tariff, a local issue. The most important events 
 in that history did not occur here at all, though 
 they were here commemorated. So it happens 
 that every nation finds here its own, and rein- 
 forces its traditions. In the Middle Ages, the 
 Jewish traveler, Benjamin of Tudela, found much 
 to interest him. In Rome were to be found two 
 brazen pillars of Solomon's Temple, and there 
 was a crypt where Titus hid the holy vessels 
 taken from Jerusalem. There was also a statue 
 of Samson and another of Absalom. 
 
 The worthy Benjamin doubtless felt the same 
 thrill that I did when looking up at the ceiling 
 of the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore. I was 
 told that it was gilded with the first gold brought 
 from America. The statement, that the church 
 was founded on this spot because of a vision that 
 came to Pope Liberius in the year 305 a.d., left 
 
So CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 me unmoved. It was of course a long time ago; 
 but then, I had no mental associations with Pope 
 Liberius, and there was no encyclopaedia at hand 
 in which I might look him up. Besides, "the 
 church was reerected by Sixtus III in the year 
 432, and was much altered in the twelfth century." 
 But the gold on the ceiling was a different mat- 
 ter. That was romantically historical. It came 
 from America in the heroic age. I thought of the 
 Spanish galleons that brought it over, and of 
 Columbus and Cortes and Alvarado. After that, 
 to go into the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore 
 was like taking a trip to Mexico. 
 
 In the course of my daily walks, I passed the 
 Church of Santa Pudenziana, said to be the 
 oldest in Rome, and recently modernized. It is 
 on the spot where Pudens, the host of St. Peter, 
 is said to have lived with his daughters Praxedis 
 and Pudentiana. This is interesting, but the 
 English-speaking traveler is likely to pass by 
 Pudentiana's church, and seek out the church of 
 her sister St. Praxed. And this not for the sake 
 of St. Praxed or her father Pudens or even of his 
 guest St. Peter, but for the sake of a certain Eng- 
 lish poet who had visited the church once. 
 
OF ROME 51 
 
 Close to the Porta San Paolo is the great 
 tomb of the Roman magnate, Gaiiis Cestius, 
 which was built before the birth of Christ. One 
 can hardly miss seeing it, because it is near one 
 of the most sacred pilgrimage places of Rome, 
 the grave of John Keats. 
 
 Each traveler makes his own Rome ; and the 
 memories which he takes away are the memories 
 which he brought with him. 
 
 in 
 
 As for my friend Bagster, now that he has 
 come to Rome, I hope he may stay long enough 
 to allow it to produce a more tranquilizing effect 
 upon him. When he gives up the attempt to 
 take it all in by an intellectual and moral effort, 
 he may, as the saying is, " relax." 
 
 There is no other place in which one may so 
 readily learn the meaning of that misused word 
 "urbanity." Urbanity is the state of mind adapted 
 to a city, as rusticity is adapted to the country. 
 In each case the perfection of the adaptation is 
 evidenced by a certain ease of rnanner in the 
 presence of the environment. There is an absence 
 of fret and worry over what is involved in the 
 
52 CONTEMPORANEOUSNESS 
 
 situation. A countryman does not fret over dust 
 or mud ; he knows that they are forms of the 
 good earth out of which he makes his living. 
 He may grumble at the weather, but he is not 
 surprised at it, and he is ready to make the best 
 of it. 
 
 This adaptation to nature is easy for us, for we 
 are rustics by inheritance. Our ancestors lived in 
 the open, and kept their flocks and were mighty 
 hunters long before towns were ever thought of. 
 So when we go into the woods in the spring, our 
 self-consciousness leaves us and we speedily make 
 ourselves at home. We take things for granted, 
 and are not careful about trifles. A great many 
 things are going on, but the multiplicity does not 
 distract us. We do not need to understand. 
 
 For we have primal sympathies which are 
 very good substitutes for intelligence. We do 
 not worry because nature does not get on faster 
 with her work. When we go out on the hills on 
 a spring morning, as our forbears did ten thou- 
 sand years ago, it does not fret us to consider 
 that things are going on very much as they did 
 then. The sap is mounting in the trees; the wild 
 flowers are pushing out of the sod ; the free citi- 
 
OF ROME 53 
 
 zens of the woods are pursuing their vocations 
 without regard to our moralities. A great deal is 
 going on, but nothing has come to a dramatic 
 culmination. 
 
 Our innate rusticity makes us accept all this 
 in the spirit in which it is offered to us. It is na- 
 ture's way and we like it, because we are used to 
 it. We take what is set before us and ask no 
 questions. It is spring. We do not stop to in- 
 quire as to whether this spring is an improve- 
 ment on last spring or on the spring of the year 
 400 b.c. There is a timelessness about our enjoy- 
 ment. We are not thinking of events set in a 
 chronological order, but of a process which loses 
 nothing by reason of repetition. 
 
 Our attitude toward a city is usually quite 
 different. We are not at our ease. We are 
 querulous and anxious, and our interest takes a 
 feverish turn. For the cities of our Western 
 world are new-fangled contrivances which we are 
 not used to, and we are worried as we try to find 
 out whether they will work. These aggregations 
 of humanity have not existed long enough to 
 seem to belong to the nature of things. It is ex- 
 citing to be invited to "see Seattle grow," but 
 
54 ROME 
 
 the exhibition does not yield a " harvest of a 
 quiet eye." If Seattle should cease to grow while 
 we are looking at it, what should we do then ? 
 
 But with Rome it is different. Here is a city 
 which has been so long in existence that we look 
 upon it as a part of nature. It is not accidental 
 or artificial. Nothing can happen to it but what 
 has happened already. It has been burned with 
 fire, it has been ravaged by the sword, it has been 
 ruined by luxury, it has been pillaged by bar- 
 barians and left for dead. And here it is to-day 
 the scene of eager life. Pagans, Christians, re- 
 formers, priests, artists, soldiers, honest workmen, 
 idlers, philosophers, saints, were here centuries 
 ago. They are here to-day. They have continu- 
 ously opposed each other, and yet no species has 
 been exterminated. Their combined activities 
 make the city. 
 
 When one comes to feel the stirring of primal 
 sympathies for the manifold life of the city, as he 
 does for the manifold life of the woods, Rome 
 ceases to be distracting. The old city is like the 
 mountain which has withstood the hurts of time, 
 and remains for us, " the grand affirmer of the 
 present tense." 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 STOPPING at some selected spot on the 
 mountain road, the stage-driver will direct 
 the stranger's attention to a projecting mass of 
 rock which bears some resemblance to a human 
 countenance. There is the "Old Man of the 
 Mountains," or the " Old Woman," as the case 
 may be. 
 
 If the stranger be of a docile disposition he 
 will see what he is told to see. But he will be 
 content with the vague suggestion and will not 
 push the analogy too far. The similitude is 
 strictly confined to the locality. It is enough if 
 from a single point the mountain seems almost 
 human. From any other point it will seem to 
 be merely mountainous. 
 
 A similar caution is necessary in regard to the 
 resemblances between a nation and an individual. 
 When we talk of a national character or tempera- 
 ment, we are using an interesting and bold figure 
 
56 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 of speech. We speak of millions of people as if 
 they were one. Of course, a nation is not one 
 kind of person; it is composed of many kinds of 
 persons. These persons are diverse in character. 
 All Scotchmen are not canny, nor all Irishmen 
 happy-go-lucky. Those who know a great many 
 Chinamen are acquainted with those who are 
 idealists with little taste for plodding industry. 
 It is only the outsider who is greatly impressed 
 by the family resemblance. To the more analytic 
 mind of the parent each child is, in a most re- 
 markable degree, different from the others. 
 
 When we take such typical characters as John 
 Bull and Brother Jonathan as representing actual 
 Englishmen or Americans, we put ourselves in 
 the way of contradiction. They are not good 
 likenesses. An English writer says: "As the 
 English, a particularly quick-witted race, tinged 
 with the colors of romance, have long cherished 
 a false pride in their reputed stolidity, and have 
 accepted with pleasant equanimity the figure of 
 John Bull as their national signboard, though he 
 does not resemble them, so Americans plume 
 themselves on the thought that they are dying 
 of nervous energy." 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 57 
 
 There is much truth in this. One may stand 
 at Charing Cross and watch the hurrying crowds 
 and only now and then catch sight of any one 
 who suggests the burly John Bull of tradition. 
 The type is not a common one, at least among 
 city dwellers. 
 
 But when we attribute a temperament to a 
 nation, we do not necessarily mean that all the 
 people are alike. We only mean that there are 
 certain ways of thinking and feeling that are 
 common to those who have had the same general 
 experience. The national temperament is mani- 
 fested not so much in what the people are as in 
 what they admire and instinctively appreciate. 
 
 Let us accept the statement that the English 
 are a quick-witted and romantic people who 
 have accepted with pleasant equanimity the re- 
 putation for being quite otherwise. Why should 
 they do this 1 ? Why should they take pride in 
 their reputed stolidity rather than in their actual 
 cleverness. Here is a temperamental peculiarity 
 that is worth looking into. 
 
 John Bull may be a myth, but Englishmen 
 have been the mythmakers. They have for gen- 
 erations delighted in picturing him. He repre- 
 
58 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 sents a combination of qualities which they 
 admire. Dogged, unimaginative, well-meaning, 
 honest, full of whimsical prejudices, and full of 
 common sense, he is loved and honored by those 
 who are much more brilliant than he. 
 
 John Bull is not a composite photograph of 
 the inhabitants of the British Isles. He is not an 
 average man. He is a totem. When an Indian 
 tribe chooses a fox or a bear as a totem, they must 
 not be taken too literally. But the symbol has a 
 real meaning. It indicates that there are some 
 qualities in these animals that they admire. They 
 have proved valuable in the tribal struggle for 
 existence. 
 
 Those who belong to the cult of John Bull 
 take him as the symbol of that which has been 
 most vital and successful in the island story. 
 England has had more than its share of men of 
 genius. It has had its artists, its wits, its men of 
 quick imagination. But these have not been 
 the builders of the Empire, or those who have 
 sustained it in the hours of greatest need. Men 
 of a slower temper, more solid than brilliant, have 
 been the nation's main dependence. " It 's dogged 
 as does it." On many a hard-fought field men of 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 59 
 
 the bull-dog breed have with unflinching tenacity- 
 held their own. In times of revolution they have 
 maintained order, and never yielded to a threat. 
 Had they been more sensitive they would have 
 failed. Their foibles have been easily forgiven 
 and their virtues have been gratefully recog- 
 nized. 
 
 When we try to form an idea of that which is 
 most distinctive in the American temperament, 
 we need not inquire what Americans actually are. 
 The answer to that question would be a gen- 
 eralization as wide as humanity. They are of all 
 kinds. Among the ninety-odd millions of human 
 beings inhabiting the territory of the United States 
 are representatives of all the nations of the Old 
 World, and they bring with them their ancestral 
 traits. 
 
 But we may' ask, When these diverse peoples 
 come together on common ground, what sort of 
 man do they choose as their symbol *? There is 
 a typical character understood and appreciated 
 by all. In every caricature of Uncle Sam or 
 Brother Jonathan we can detect the lineaments 
 of the American frontiersman. 
 
 James Russell Lowell, gentleman and scholar 
 
60 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 that he was, describes a type of man unknown to 
 the Old World: — 
 
 "This brown-fisted rough, this shirt-sleeved Cid, 
 This backwoods Charlemagne of Empires new. 
 Who meeting Csesar's self would slap his back, 
 Call him ( Old Horse ' and challenge to a drink. ' ' 
 
 Mr. Lowell bore no resemblance to this 
 brown-fisted rough. He would not have slapped 
 Caesar on the back, and he would have resented 
 being himself greeted in such an unconventional 
 fashion. Nevertheless he was an American and 
 was able to understand that a man might be 
 capable of such improprieties and at the same 
 time be a pillar of the State. It tickled his fancy 
 to think of a fellow citizen meeting the imperial 
 Roman on terms of hearty equality. 
 
 " My lungs draw braver air, my breast dilates 
 With ampler manhood, and I face both worlds." 
 
 Dickens, with all his boisterous humor and 
 democratic sympathies, could not interpret Jef- 
 ferson Brick and Lafayette Kettle and the other 
 expansive patriots whom he met on his travels. 
 Their virtues were as a sealed book to him. Their 
 boastful familiarity was simply odious. 
 
 To understand Lowell's exhilaration one must 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 61 
 
 enter into the spirit of American history. It has 
 been the history of what has been done by strong 
 men who owed nothing to the refinements of civ- 
 ilization. The interesting events have taken place 
 not at the centre, but on the circumference of the 
 country. The centrifugal force has always been 
 the strongest. There has been no capital to which 
 ambitious youths went up to seek their fortune. 
 In each generation they have gone to the frontier 
 where opportunities awaited them. There they en- 
 countered, on the rough edges of society, rough- 
 and-ready men in whom they recognized their 
 natural superiors. These men, rude of speech and 
 of manner, were resourceful, bold, far-seeing. They 
 were conscious of their power. They were laying 
 the foundations of cities and of states and they 
 knew it. They were as boastful as Homeric 
 heroes, and for the same reason. There was in 
 them a rude virility that found expression in word 
 as well as in deed. 
 
 Davy Crockett, coon-hunter, Indian fighter, 
 and Congressman, was a great man in his day. It 
 does not detract from his worth that he was well 
 aware of the fact. There was no false modesty 
 about this backwoods Charlemagne. He wrote of 
 
62 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 himself, " If General Jackson, Black Hawk, and 
 me were to travel through the United States we 
 would bring out, no matter what kind of weather, 
 more people to see us than any other three people 
 now living among the fifteen millions now inhab- 
 iting the United States. And what would it be for? 
 As I am one of the persons mentioned I would 
 not press the question further. What I am driving 
 at is this. When a man rises from a low degree to 
 a place he ain't used to, such a man starts the 
 curiosity of the world to know how he got along." 
 
 Davy Crockett understood the temper of his 
 fellow citizens. A man who rises by his own ex- 
 ertions from a low position to "a place he ain't 
 used to " is not only an object of curiosity, but 
 he elicits enthusiastic admiration. Any awkward- 
 ness which he exhibits in the position which he 
 has achieved is overlooked. We are anxious to 
 know how he got along. 
 
 Every country has its self-made men, but usu- 
 ally they are made to feel very uncomfortable. 
 They are accounted intruders in circles reserved 
 for the choicer few. But in America they are as- 
 sured of a sympathetic audience when they tell of 
 the way they have risen in the world. There is no 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 63 
 
 need for them to apologize for any lack of early- 
 advantages, for they are living in a self-made 
 country. We are in the habit of giving the place 
 of honor to the beginner rather than to the contin- 
 uer. For the finisher the time is not ripe. 
 
 11 
 
 The most vivid impressions of Americans have 
 always been anticipatory. They have felt them- 
 selves borne along by a resistless current, and that 
 current has, on the whole, been flowing in the right 
 direction. They have never been confronted with 
 ruins that tell that the land they inhabit has seen 
 better days. Yesterday is vague ; To-day may be 
 uncertain; To-morrow is alluring; and the Day 
 after to-morrow is altogether glorious. George 
 Herbert pictured religion as standing on tiptoe 
 waiting to pass to the American strand. Not only 
 religion but every other good thing has assumed 
 that attitude of expectant curiosity. 
 
 Even Cotton Mather could not avoid a tone of 
 pious boastfulness when he narrated the doings 
 of New England. Everything was remarkable. 
 New England had the most remarkable provi- 
 dences, the most remarkable painful preachers, 
 
64 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 the most remarkable heresies, the most remark- 
 able witches. Even the local devils were in his 
 judgment more enterprising than those of the old 
 country. They had to be in order to be a match 
 for the New England saints. 
 
 The staid Judge Sewall, after a study of the 
 prophecies, was of the opinion that America was 
 the only country in which they could be ade- 
 quately fulfilled. Here was a field large enough 
 for those future battles between good and evil 
 which enthralled the Puritan imagination. To be 
 sure, it would be said, there is n't much just now 
 to attract the historian whose mind dwells exclu- 
 sively on the past. But to one who dips into the 
 future it is thrilling. Here is the battlefield of 
 Armageddon. Some day we shall see " the spirits 
 of devils working miracles, which go forth unto 
 the kings of the earth, and of the whole world, to 
 gather them to the battle of that great day of 
 God Almighty." Just when that might take place 
 might be uncertain but where it would take place 
 was to them more obvious. 
 
 In the days of small things the settlers in the 
 wilderness had large thoughts. They felt them- 
 selves to be historical characters, as indeed they 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 65 
 
 were. They were impressed by the magnitude of 
 the country and by the importance of their rela- 
 tion to it. Their language took on a cosmic 
 breadth. 
 
 Ethan Allen could not have assumed a more 
 masterful tone if he had had an Empire at his back 
 instead of undisciplined bands of Green Mountain 
 Boys. Writing to the Continental Congress, he 
 declares that unless the demands of Vermont are 
 complied with " we will retire into the fastnesses 
 of our Green Mountains and will wage eternal 
 warfare against Hell, the Devil, and Human Na- 
 ture in general." And Ethan Allen meant it. 
 
 The love of the superlative is deeply seated in 
 the American mind. It is based on no very care- 
 ful survey of the existing world. It is a conclu- 
 sion to which it is easy to jump. I remember one 
 week, traveling through the Mississippi Valley, 
 stopping every night in some town that had some- 
 thing which was advertised as the biggest in the 
 world. On Friday I reached a sleepy little village 
 which seemed the picture of contented medio- 
 crity. Here, thought I, I shall find no bigness to 
 molest me or make me afraid. But when I sat 
 down to write a letter on the hotel stationery I 
 
66 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 was confronted with the statement, " This is the 
 biggest little hotel in the State." 
 
 When one starts a tune it is safer to start it 
 rather low, so as not to come to grief on the upper 
 notes. In discussing the American temperament 
 it is better to start modestly. Instead of asking 
 what excellent qualities we find in ourselves, we 
 should ask what do other nations most dislike in 
 us. We can then have room to rise to better 
 things. There is a family resemblance between 
 the worst and the best of any national group. 
 Kipling, in his lines " To an American," may set 
 the tune for us. It is not too high. His Ameri- 
 can is boastful, careless, and irrationally optimis- 
 tic. 
 
 " Enslaved, illogical, elate, 
 
 He greets the embarrassed gods, nor fears 
 To shake the iron hand of Fate 
 Or match with Destiny for beers." 
 
 A person who would offer to shake hands with 
 Fate is certainly lacking in a fine sense of pro- 
 priety. His belief in equality makes him indiffer- 
 ent to the note of distinction. "He dubs his 
 dreary brethren kings." Of course they are not 
 kings, but that makes no difference. It makes 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 67 
 
 little difference whether anything corresponds to 
 the name he chooses to give to it. For there is 
 
 "A cynic devil in his blood 
 That bids him mock his hurrying soul." 
 
 This impression of a mingling of optimism, 
 cynicism, and hurry is one which is often made 
 upon those who are suddenly plunged into Amer- 
 ican society. In any company of Americans who 
 are discussing public affairs the stranger is struck 
 by what seems the lack of logical connection be- 
 tween the statements of facts and the judgments 
 passed upon them. The facts may be most dis- 
 tressing and yet nobody seems much distressed, 
 still less is any one depressed. The city govern- 
 ment is in the hands of grafters, the police force 
 is corrupt, the prices of the necessaries of life are 
 extortionate, the laws on the statute book are not 
 enforced, and new laws are about to be enacted 
 that are foolish in the extreme. Vast numbers of 
 undesirable aliens are coming into the country 
 and bringing with them ideas that are opposed to 
 the fundamental principles of the republic. All 
 this is told with an air of illogical elation. The 
 conversation is interspersed with anecdotes of the 
 exploits of good-natured rascals. These are re- 
 
68 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 ceived with smiles or tolerant laughter. Everyone 
 seems to have perfect confidence that the country 
 is a grand and glorious place to live in, and that 
 all will come out well in the end. 
 
 Is this an evidence of a cynic humor in the 
 blood, or is it a manifestation of childish opti- 
 mism ? Let us frankly answer that it may be one 
 or the other or both. There are cynics and senti- 
 mentalists who are the despair of all who are se- 
 riously working for better citizenship. But the 
 chances are that the men to whom our stranger 
 was listening were neither cynics nor sentiment- 
 alists, but idealists who had the American tem- 
 perament. 
 
 Among those who laughed good-naturedly 
 over the temporary success of the clever rascal 
 may have been those who had been giving their 
 energies to the work of prevention of just such mis- 
 deeds. They are reformers with a shrewd twinkle 
 in their eyes. They take a keen intellectual pleas- 
 ure in their work, and are ready to give credit to 
 any natural talent in their antagonist. If they are 
 inclined to take a cheerful view of the whole sit- 
 uation it is because they are in the habit of look- 
 ing at the situation as a whole. The predomi- 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 69 
 
 nance of force is actually on their side and they 
 see no reason to doubt the final result. They have 
 learned the meaning of the text, " Fret not thyself 
 because of evildoers." In fact the evildoer may 
 not have done so much harm as one might think. 
 Nor is he really such a hopeless character. There 
 is good stuff in him, and he yet may be used for 
 many good purposes. They laugh best who laugh 
 last, and their good-natured laughter was anticipa- 
 tory. There are forces working for righteousness 
 which they have experienced. On the whole 
 things are moving in the right direction and they 
 can afford to be cheerful. 
 
 This is the kind of experience which comes to 
 those who are habitually dealing with crude ma- 
 terials rather than with finished products. They 
 cannot afford to be fastidious ; they learn to take 
 things as they come and make the best of them. 
 The doctrine that things are not as they seem 
 is a cheerful one, to a person who is accustomed 
 to dealing with things which turn out to be 
 better than at first they seemed. The unknown 
 takes on a friendly guise and awakens a pleasant 
 curiosity. That is the experience of generations 
 of pioneers and prospectors. They have found a 
 
70 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 continent full of resources awaiting men of 
 courage and industry. The opportunities were 
 there; all that was needed was the ability to re- 
 cognize them when they appeared in disguise. 
 
 in 
 
 And the human problem has been the same 
 as the material one. Europe has sent to America 
 not the finished products of her schools and her 
 courts, but millions of people for whom she had 
 no room. They were in the rough ; they had to 
 be made over into a new kind of citizen. This 
 material has often been of the most unpromising 
 appearance. It has often seemed to superficial 
 observers that little could be made of it. But the 
 attempt has been made. And those who have 
 worked with it, putting skill and patience into 
 their work, have been agreeably surprised. They 
 have come to see the highest possibilities in the 
 commonest lumps of clay. 
 
 The satisfaction that is taken in the common 
 man is not in what he is at the present moment, 
 but in what he has shown himself capable of be- 
 coming. Give him a chance and all the graces 
 may be his. The American idealist admits that 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 71 
 
 many of his fellow citizens may be rather dreary 
 brethren, but so were many of the kings of whom 
 nothing is remembered but their names and 
 dates. Only now and then is one seen who is 
 every inch a king. But such a person is a proof 
 of what may be accomplished. It may take a long 
 time for the rank and file to catch up with their 
 leaders. But where the few are to-day the many 
 will be to-morrow ; for they are all travelling the 
 same road. 
 
 The visitor in the United States, especially if 
 he has spent his time in the great cities of the 
 East, may go away with the idea that democracy 
 is a spent force. He will see great inequalities 
 in wealth and position. He will be struck by the 
 fact that autocratic powers are wielded which 
 would not be tolerated in many countries of 
 Europe. He will notice that it is very difficult to 
 give direct expression to the will of the people. 
 
 But he will make a mistake if he attributes 
 these things to the growth of an aristocratic senti- 
 ment. They are a part of an evolution that is 
 thoroughly democratic. The distinctive thing 
 in an aristocracy is not the fact that certain people 
 enjoy privileges. It lies in the fact that these privi- 
 
72 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 leged people form a class that is looked upon 
 as superior. An aristocratic class must not only 
 take itself seriously; it must be taken seriously 
 by others. 
 
 In America there are groups of persons more 
 successful than the average. They are objects 
 of curiosity, and, if they are well-behaved, of 
 respect. Their comings and goings are chronicled 
 in the newspapers, and their names are familiar. 
 But it does not occur to the average man that 
 they are anything more than fortunate persons 
 who emerged from the crowd, and who by and by 
 may be lost in the crowd again. What they have 
 done, others may do when their time comes. The 
 inequalities are inequalities of circumstance and 
 not of nature. 
 
 The commonplace American follows unworthy 
 leaders and has admiration for cheap success. 
 But he cherishes no illusions in regard to the ob- 
 jects of his admiration. They have done what 
 he would like to do, and what he hopes to be 
 able to do sometime. He thinks of the success- 
 ful men as being of the same kind with himself. 
 They are more fortunate, that is all. 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 73 
 
 IV 
 
 The same temperamental quality is seen in the 
 American idealist. His attitude toward his spirit- 
 ual leaders is seldom that of meek discipleship. 
 It is rather that of frank, outspoken comradeship. 
 No mysterious barrier separates the great man 
 from the common man. One has more, the other 
 has less, that is all. 
 
 The men who have cherished the finest ideals 
 have insisted that these should be shared by the 
 multitude. In a newspaper of sixty years ago 
 there is this contemporary character sketch : 
 " Ralph Waldo Emerson is the most erratic and 
 capricious man in America. He is emphatically 
 a democrat of the world, and believes that what 
 Plato thought, another man may think. What 
 Shakespeare sang, another man may know as 
 well. As for emperors, kings, queens, princes, or 
 presidents, he looks upon them as children in 
 masquerade. He has no patience with the chicken- 
 hearted who refer to mouldy records or old al- 
 manacs to ascertain if they may say that their 
 souls are their own. Mr. Emerson is a strange 
 compound of contradictions. Always right in 
 
74 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 practice, and sometimes in theory. He is a so- 
 ciable, accessible, republican sort of man, and a 
 great admirer of nature." 
 
 Could any better description be given of the 
 kind of man whom Americans delight to honor ? 
 This "sociable, accessible, republican sort of 
 man" happened to be endowed with gifts denied 
 in such full measure to his countrymen. But they 
 were gifts which they understood and appreci- 
 ated. He was one of them, and expressed and 
 interpreted their habitual thought. Luther used 
 to declare that no one who had never had trials 
 and temptations could understand the Holy 
 Scriptures. And one might say that no one who 
 had never taken part in a town meeting, or 
 listened to the talk of neighbors at the country 
 store, or traveled in an " accommodation train " in 
 the Middle West, can fully understand Emer- 
 son. 
 
 Critics have often written of the optimism of 
 Emerson as if he were one of those who did not 
 perceive the darker side of things. Nothing could 
 be more untrue to his temper of mind. Emerson 
 was cheerful, but he never pretended that the 
 world was an altogether cheerful place to live in. 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 75 
 
 Indeed, it distinctly needed cheering up, and 
 that, according to him, is what we are here for. 
 
 It might be possible to make out a list of mat- 
 ters of fact treated by Emerson and his friend 
 Carlyle. They would be essentially the same. 
 When it came to hard facts, one was as unflinch- 
 ing in his recognition as the other. There was 
 nothing smug in Emerson's philosophy. He never 
 took an apologetic attitude nor attempted to 
 minimize difficulties. There was no attempt to 
 justify the ways of God to man. But while 
 agreeing in regard to the facts the friends dif- 
 fered, as to their conclusions. In reading Car- 
 lyle one seems to stand at the end of a world 
 struggle that has proved unavailing. Everything 
 has been tried, and everything has failed. Alas ! 
 Alas! 
 
 Emerson sees the same facts, but he seems to 
 be standing at the beginning. The moral world 
 is still without form and void, but the creative 
 spirit is brooding upon it. " Sweet is the genesis 
 of things." Emerson is pleased with the world, 
 not because he thinks its present condition is 
 very good, but because he sees so much room 
 for it to become better. It is a most promising 
 
76 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 experiment. It furnishes an abundance of the raw 
 materials of righteousness. 
 
 Nor does he flatter himself that the task of 
 betterment is an easy one, or that the end is in 
 sight. It is not a world where wishes, even good 
 wishes, are fulfilled without effort. There are in- 
 exorable laws not of our making. The whims of 
 good people are not respected. 
 
 *' For Destiny never swerves 
 
 Nor yields to man the helm." 
 
 The struggle is stern and unrelenting. It taxes 
 all our energies. And yet it is exhilarating. There 
 is a moral quick-wittedness which sees the smile 
 behind the threatening mask of Fate. Destiny is 
 after all a good comrade for the brave and the 
 self-reliant. 
 
 ** He forbids to despair, 
 
 His cheeks mantle with mirth, 
 And the unimagined good of man 
 Is yeaning at the birth." 
 
 The riddle of existence is seen not from the 
 Old World point of view, but from that of the 
 new. It is of the nature of a surprise. The Sphinx 
 of Emerson is not carved in stone. It is not silent 
 and motionless, waiting for answers that do not 
 come. 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 77 
 
 It is the American Sphinx leading in a game of 
 hide-and-seek. The mystery of existence baffles 
 us, not because there is no answer, but because 
 there are so many. They are infinite in number, 
 and all of them are true. They wait for the mind 
 large enough to harbor them in all their variety, 
 and serene enough not to be annoyed because 
 their contradictions are not at once reconciled. 
 
 The catalogue of ills may be never so long, 
 but it fails to depress one who sees everything in 
 the making. 
 
 "I heard a poet answer 
 
 Aloud and cheerfully, 
 'Say on, sweet Sphinx! thy dirges 
 Are pleasant songs to me.' 
 
 ** Uprose the merry Sphinx, 
 
 And crouched no more in stone ; 
 She melted into purple cloud, 
 She silvered in the moon." 
 
 This conception of the merry Sphinx may 
 seem strange to the dyspeptic philosopher ponder- 
 ing on the inscrutableness of the universe. But 
 the prospectors in the mining camps of the Far 
 West, and the builders of new cities understand 
 what- Emerson meant. Their experience of the 
 ups and downs of fortune has taught them how 
 
78 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 to find pleasure in uncertainty. You never can 
 tell how anything will turn out till you try. 
 That 's the fun of it. They are quite ready to 
 believe that the same thing holds good in the 
 higher life. 
 
 Or take the lines on " Worship." How can 
 Worship be personified"? Emerson's picture is 
 not that of a patriarch on bended knee ; it is that 
 of a vigorous youth picking himself up after he 
 has been knocked down by his antagonist. 
 
 " This is he, who, felled by foes, 
 
 Sprung harmless up, refreshed by blows." 
 
 Religion is a kind of spiritual resilience. It is 
 that which makes a man come back with new 
 vigor to his work after his first failure. It is the 
 ability to make a new beginning. 
 
 In Emerson the American hurry is transformed 
 into something of spiritual significance. A new 
 commandment is given to the good man — Be 
 quick ! Keep moving ! 
 
 " Trenchant Time behoves to hurry, 
 
 O wise man, hearest thou the least part, 
 Seest thou the rushing metamorphosis, 
 
 Dissolving all that fixture is, 
 
 Melts things that be to things that seem." 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 79 
 
 Morality and religion must be speeded up if they 
 are to do any useful work in this swift world. 
 
 If the ideals of the saints and reformers were 
 criticized, so were those of the scholars. Matthew 
 Arnold's definition of culture was that of a man 
 of books. It was the knowledge of the best that 
 had been said and known in the past. Emerson's 
 lines entitled " Culture " begin with a characteris- 
 tic question and end with an equally characteristic 
 affirmation. The question is — 
 
 " Can rules or tutors educate 
 The semigod whom we await ? " 
 
 The affirmation is that the man of culture is 
 one who 
 
 "to his native centre fast, 
 Shall into Future fuse the Past, 
 And the world's flowing fates in his own mould recast. " 
 
 According to this definition Abraham Lincoln, 
 with his slight knowledge of the best things of 
 the past, but with the power to fuse such know- 
 ledge as he had and to recast it in his own mould, 
 was a man of culture. And all true Americans 
 would agree with him. 
 
 Emerson, like the " sociable, accessible, repub- 
 lican sort of man " that he was, was the foe of 
 
80 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 special privilege. The best things were, in his 
 judgment, the property of all. He would take re- 
 ligion from the custody of the priests, and culture 
 from the hands of schoolmasters, and restore them 
 to their proper place, among the inalienable rights 
 of man. They were simply forms of the pursuit 
 of happiness of which the Declaration of Inde- 
 pendence speaks. It is a right of which no po- 
 tentates can justly deprive the citizen. 
 
 Above all, he would protest against everything 
 which tends to deprive any one of the happiness 
 of the forward look. There was a cheerful confi- 
 dence that the great forces are on our side. Now 
 and then the clouds gather and obscure the vision, 
 but: 
 
 " There are open hours 
 When God's will sallies free 
 And the dull idiot may see 
 The flowing fortunes of a thousand years." 
 
 This is the American doctrine of "Manifest Des- 
 tiny" spiritually discerned. 
 
 But one need not go so far back as Emerson 
 to see the higher reaches of the American tem- 
 perament. Perhaps in no one have they been 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 81 
 
 revealed with more distinctness than in William 
 James. There are those who consider it dispraise 
 of a philosopher to suggest that his work has 
 local color. However that may be, William 
 James thought as an American as certainly as 
 Plato thought as a Greek. His way of philoso- 
 phizing was one that belonged to the land of 
 his birth. 
 
 He was as distinctly American as was Daniel 
 Boone. Daniel Boone was no renegade taking 
 to the woods that he might relapse into savagery. 
 He was a civilized man who preferred to be the 
 maker of civilization rather than to be its victim. 
 He preferred to blaze his own way through the 
 forest. When he saw the smoke of a neighbor's 
 chimney it was time for him to move on. So 
 William James was led by instinct from the 
 crowded highways to the dim border-lands of 
 human experience. He preferred to dwell in the 
 debatable lands. With a quizzical smile he lis- 
 tened to the dignitaries of philosophy. He found 
 their completed systems too stuffy. He loved the 
 wildernesses of thought where shy wild things 
 hide — half hopes, half realities. They are not 
 quite true now, — but they may be by and by. 
 
82 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 As other men are interested in the actual, so 
 he was interested in the possible. The possibili- 
 ties are not so highly finished as the facts that 
 have been proved, but there are a great many 
 more of them, and they are much more import- 
 ant. There are more things in the unexplored 
 forest than in the clearing at its edge. Truth to 
 him was not a field with metes and bounds. It 
 was a continent awaiting settlement. First the 
 bold pathfinders must adventure into it. Its vast 
 spaces were infinitely inviting, its undeveloped 
 resources were alluring. And not only did the 
 path-finder interest him but the path-loser as well. 
 But for his heedless audacity the work of ex- 
 ploration would languish. Was ever a philoso- 
 pher so humorously tender to the intellectual 
 vagabonds, the waifs and strays of the spiritual 
 world ! 
 
 Their reports of vague meanderings in the bor- 
 der-land were listened to without scorn. They 
 might be ever so absent-minded and yet have 
 stumbled upon something which wiser men had 
 missed. No one was more keen to criticize the 
 hard-and-fast dogmas of the wise and prudent or 
 more willing to learn what might, by chance, 
 
THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 83 
 
 have been revealed unto babes. The one thing 
 he demanded was space. His universe must not 
 be finished or inclosed. After a rational system 
 had been formulated and declared to be the 
 Whole, his first instinct was to get away from it. 
 He was sure that there must be more outside 
 than there was inside. "The 'through-and- 
 through' universe seems to suffocate me with its 
 infallible, impeccable all-pervasiveness. Its neces- 
 sity with no possibilities, its relations with no 
 subjects, make me feel as if I had entered into a 
 contract with no reserved rights." 
 
 Formal philosophy seemed to him to be "too 
 buttoned-up and white-chokered and clean-shaven 
 a thing to speak for the vast, slow-breathing, un- 
 conscious Kosmos with its dread abysses and its 
 unknown tides. The freedom we want is not the 
 freedom, with a string tied to its leg and war- 
 ranted not to fly away, of that philosophy. Let 
 it fly away, we say, from us. What then *? " 
 
 To this American there must be a true demo- 
 cracy among the faculties of the mind. The log- 
 ical understanding must not be allowed to put on 
 priggish airs. The feelings have their rights also. 
 " They may be as prophetic and as anticipatory 
 
84 THE AMERICAN TEMPERAMENT 
 
 of truth as anything else we have." There must 
 be give and take; "what hope is there of squar- 
 ing and settling opinions unless Absolutism will 
 hold parley on this common ground and admit 
 that all philosophies are hypotheses, to which all 
 our faculties, emotional as well as logical, help 
 us, and the truest of which will in the final in- 
 tegration of things be found in possession of the 
 men whose faculties on the whole had the best 
 divining power 1 ?" 
 
 Do not those words give us a glimpse of the 
 American mind in its natural working. Its gen- 
 ius is anticipatory. It is searching for a common 
 ground on which all may meet. It puts its trust 
 not in the thinker who can put his thoughts in 
 the most neat form, but the man whose faculties 
 have on the whole the best divining power. 
 
 To listen to William James was to experience 
 an illogical elation — and to feel justified in it. 
 He was an unsparing critic of things as they 
 are, but his criticism left us in no mood of de- 
 pression. Our interest is with things as they are 
 going to be. The universe is growing. Let us 
 grow with it. 
 
THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS OF 
 EUROPE 
 
 WHEN, as a child, I learned the Westmin- 
 ster Catechism by heart I found the Ten 
 Commandments easy to remember. There was 
 something straightforward in these prohibitions. 
 Once started in the right direction one could 
 hardly stray from the path. But I stumbled over 
 the question, in regard to certain Commandments, 
 " What are the reasons annexed ? " 
 
 That a commandment should be committed to 
 memory seemed just. I was prepared to submit 
 to the severest tests of verbal accuracy. But 
 that there should be " reasons annexed," and 
 that these also should be remembered, seemed 
 to my youthful understanding a grievance. It 
 made the path of the obedient hard. To this day 
 there is a haziness about the " reasons " that con- 
 trasts with the sharp outlines of the command- 
 ments. 
 
86 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 I fancy that news-gatherers have the same ex- 
 perience. They are diligent in collecting items 
 of news and reporting them to the world, but it is 
 a real hardship to them to have to give any rational 
 account of these bits of fact. They tell what is 
 done in different parts of the world, but they for- 
 get to mention "the moving why they did it." 
 The consequence is that, in this age of instan- 
 taneous communication, we know what is going 
 on in other countries, but it seems very irrational. 
 The rational elements have been lost in the pro- 
 cess of transmission. 
 
 There has, for example, been no lack of news 
 cabled across the Atlantic in regard to the nomi- 
 nations for President of the United States. The 
 European reader is made aware that a great deal 
 of strong feeling has been evoked, and strong 
 language used. When a picturesque term of re- 
 proach has been hurled by one candidate at an- 
 other it is promptly reported to a waiting world. 
 But the " reasons annexed " are calmly ignored. 
 The consequence is that the reader is confirmed 
 in his exaggerated idea of the nervous irritability 
 of the American people. There seems to be a 
 periodicity in their seizures. At intervals of four 
 
OF EUROPE 87 
 
 years they indulge in an orgy of mutual recrim- 
 ination, and then suddenly return to their normal 
 state of money-getting. It is all very unaccount- 
 able. Doubtless the most charitable explanation 
 is the climate. 
 
 It was after giving prominence to an unusually 
 vivid bit of political vituperation that a conserv- 
 ative London newspaper remarked, " All this is 
 characteristically American, but it shocks the 
 unaccustomed ears of Europe." 
 
 As I read the rebuke I felt positively ashamed 
 of my country and its untutored ways. I pictured 
 Europe as a dignified lady of mature years listen- 
 ing to the screams issuing from her neighbor's 
 nursery. She had not been used to hearing 
 naughty words called out in such a loud tone 
 of voice. Instead of discussing their grievances 
 calmly, they were actually calling one another 
 names. 
 
 It was therefore with a feeling of chastened 
 humility that I turned to the columns devoted to 
 the more decorous doings of Europe. Here I 
 should find examples worthy of consideration. 
 They are drawn from the homes of ancient civil- 
 ity. Would that our rude politicians might be 
 
88 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 brought under these refining influences and learn 
 how to behave ! 
 
 But alas ! When we drop in upon our neigh- 
 bors, unannounced, things are sometimes not so 
 tidy as they are on the days "at home." The 
 hostess is flustered and evidently has troubles of 
 her own. So, as ill-luck would have it, it is with 
 Dame Europe's household. The visitor from 
 across the Atlantic is surprised at the obstreper- 
 ousness of the more vigorous members of the 
 family. Evidently a great many interesting things 
 are going on, but the standard of deportment is 
 not high. 
 
 While the unaccustomed ears of Europe were 
 shocked at the shrill cries from the rival conven- 
 tions at Chicago and Baltimore, there was equal 
 turbulence in the Italian Parliament at Rome. 
 There were shouts and catcalls and every sign of 
 uncontrollable violence. What are the " reasons 
 annexed" to all this uproar 1 ? I do not know. In 
 Budapest such unparliamentary expressions as 
 "swine," "liar," "thief," and "assassin" were 
 freely used in debate. An honorable member 
 who had been expelled for the use of too strong 
 language, returned to "shoot up" the House. 
 
OF EUROPE 89 
 
 The chairman, after dodging three shots, declared 
 that he must positively insist on better order. 
 
 In the German Reichstag a member threatens 
 the Kaiser with the fate of Charles the First, if 
 he does not speedily mend his ways. He sug- 
 gests as a fit Imperial residence the castle where 
 the Mad King of Bavaria was allowed to exercise 
 his erratic energies without injury to the com- 
 monweal. At the mention of Charles the First 
 the chamber was in an uproar, and amid a tumult 
 of angry voices the session was brought to a 
 close. 
 
 In Russia, unseemly clamor is kept from the 
 carefully guarded ears of the Czar. There art 
 conspires with nature to produce peace. We read 
 of the Czar's recent visit to his ancient capital: 
 "The police during the previous night made 
 three thousand arrests. The Czar and Czarina 
 drove through the city amid the ringing of bells, 
 and with banners flying." 
 
 On reading this item the American reader 
 plucks up heart. If, during the Chicago conven- 
 tion, the police had made three thousand arrests 
 the sessions might have been as quiet as those 
 of the Duma. 
 
9 o THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 Even the proceedings of the British House of 
 Commons are disappointing to the pilgrim in 
 search of decorum. The Mother of Parliaments 
 has trouble with her unruly brood. 
 
 We enter the sacred precincts as a Member 
 rises to a point of order. 
 
 " I desire to ask your ruling, Mr. Speaker, as 
 to whether the honorable gentleman is entitled 
 to allude to Members of the House as miscre- 
 ants." 
 
 The Speaker : " I do not think the term ' mis- 
 creant' is a proper Parliamentary expression." 
 
 This is very elementary teaching, but it ap- 
 pears that Mr. Speaker is not infrequently com- 
 pelled to repeat his lesson. It is " line upon line 
 and precept upon precept." 
 
 The records of the doings of the House con- 
 tain episodes which would be considered exciting 
 in Arizona. We read : " For five minutes the 
 Honorable George Lansbury defied the Speaker, 
 insulted the Prime Minister, and scorned the 
 House of Commons. He raved in an ecstasy of 
 passion; challenging, taunting, and defying." The 
 trouble began with a statement of Mr. Asquith's. 
 " Then up jumped Mr. Lansbury, his face con- 
 
OF EUROPE 91 
 
 torted with passion, and his powerful rasping 
 voice dominating the whole House. Shouting 
 and waving his arms, he approached the Govern- 
 ment Front Bench with a curious crouching gait, 
 like a boxer leaving his corner in the ring. One 
 or two Liberals on the bench behind Mr. Asquith 
 half rose, but the Prime Minister sat stolidly- 
 gazing above the heads of the opposition, his 
 arms folded, and his lips pursed. Mr. Lansbury 
 had worked himself up into a state of frenzy and, 
 facing the Prime Minister, he shouted, ' You are 
 beneath my contempt ! Call yourself a gentle- 
 man ! You ought to be driven from public life.' " 
 I cannot remember any scene like this in 
 Disraeli's novels. The House of Commons used 
 to be called the best club in Europe. But that, 
 says the Conservative critic, was before the mem- 
 bers were paid. 
 
 II 
 
 But certain changes, like the increased cost of 
 living, are going on everywhere. The fact seems 
 to be that all over the civilized world there is a 
 noticeable falling-ofF in good manners in public 
 discussion. It is useless for one country to point 
 
92 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 the finger of scorn at another, or to assume an air 
 of injured politeness. It is more conducive to 
 good understanding to join in a general confes- 
 sion of sin. We are all miserable offenders, and 
 there is little to choose between us. The con- 
 ventionalities which bind society together are 
 like the patent glue we see advertised on the 
 streets. A plate has been broken and then joined 
 together. The strength of the adhesive substance 
 is shown by the way it holds up a stone of con- 
 siderable weight attached to it. The plate thus 
 mended holds together admirably till it is put in 
 hot water. 
 
 I have no doubt but that a conservative Chinese 
 gentleman would tell you that since the Republic 
 came in there has been a sad falling-off in the ob- 
 servance of the rules of propriety as laid down 
 by Confucius. The Conservative newspapers of 
 England bewail the fact that there has been a 
 lamentable change since the present Government 
 came in. The arch offender is "that political 
 Mahdi, Lloyd George, whose false prophecies 
 have made deluded dervishes of hosts of British 
 workmen, and who has corrupted the manners of 
 Parliament itself." 
 
OF EUROPE 93 
 
 This wicked Mahdi, by his appeals to the 
 passions of the populace, has destroyed the old 
 English reverence for Law. 
 
 I do not know what may be the cause, but the 
 American visitor does notice that the English 
 attitude towards the laws of the realm is not so 
 devout as he had been led to expect. We have 
 from our earliest youth been taught to believe 
 that the law-abidingness of the Englishman was 
 innate and impeccable. It was not that, like the 
 good man of whom the Psalmist speaks, he medi- 
 tated on the law day and night. He did n't need 
 to. Decent respect for the law was in his blood. 
 He simply could not help conforming to it. 
 
 And this impression is confirmed by the things 
 which the tourist goes to see. The stately man- 
 sions embowered in green and guarded by im- 
 memorial oaks are accepted as symbolic of an 
 ordered life. The multitudinous rooks suggest 
 security which comes from triumphant legality. 
 No irresponsible person shoots them. When 
 one enters a cathedral close he feels that he is in 
 a land that frowns on the crudity of change. 
 Here everything is a " thousand years the same." 
 And how decent is the demeanor of a verger ! 
 
94 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 When the pilgrim from Kansas arrives at an 
 ancient English inn he feels that he must be on 
 his good behavior. Boots in his green apron is a 
 lesson to him. He is not like a Western hotel 
 bell-boy on the way to becoming something else. 
 He knows his place. Everybody, he imagines, in 
 this country knows his place, and there is no 
 unseemly crowding and pushing. And what 
 stronger proof can there be that this is a land 
 where law is reverenced than the demeanor of a 
 London policeman. There is no truculence about 
 him, no show of physical force. He is so mild- 
 eyed and soft of speech that one feels that he has 
 been shielded from rude contact with the world. 
 He represents the Law in a land where law is 
 sacred. He is instinctively obeyed. He has but 
 to wave his hand and traffic stops. 
 
 When the traveler is told that in the vicinity 
 of the House of Commons traffic is stopped to 
 allow a Member to cross the street, his admiration 
 increases. Fancy a Congressman being treated 
 with such respect ! But the argument which, on 
 the whole, makes the deepest impression is the 
 deferential manners of the tradesmen with their 
 habit of saying, "Thank you," apropos of 
 
OF EUROPE 95 
 
 nothing at all. It seems an indication of per- 
 petual gratitude over the fact that things are as 
 they are. 
 
 But when one comes to listen to the talk of the 
 day one is surprised to find a surprising lack of 
 docility. I doubt whether the Englishman has 
 the veneration for the abstract idea of Law which 
 is common among Americans. Indeed, he is ac- 
 customed to treat most abstractions with scant 
 courtesy. There is nothing quite corresponding 
 to the average American's feeling about a deci- 
 sion of the Supreme Court. The Law has spoken, 
 let all the land keep silent. It seems like treason 
 to criticize it, like anarchy to defy it. 
 
 Tennyson's words about "reverence for the laws 
 ourselves have made " needs to be interpreted by 
 English history. It is a peculiar kind of reverence 
 and has many limitations. A good deal depends 
 on what is meant by " ourselves." An act of Par- 
 liament does not at once become an object of 
 reverence by the members of the opposition 
 party. It was not, they feel, made by tbem, it was 
 made by a Government which was violently op- 
 posed to them and which was bent on ruining 
 the country. 
 
96 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 It is only after a sufficient time has elapsed to 
 allow for the partisan origin to be forgotten, and 
 for it to become assimilated to the habits of 
 thought and manner of life of the people that it is 
 deeply respected. The English reverence is not 
 for statute law, but for the common law which is 
 the slow accretion of ages. A new enactment is 
 treated like the new boy at school. He must 
 submit to a period of severe hazing before he is 
 given a place of any honor. 
 
 To the American when an act of Congress has 
 been declared constitutional, a decent respect for 
 the opinion of mankind seems to suggest that 
 verbal criticism should cease. The council of 
 perfection is that the law should be obeyed till 
 such time as it can be repealed or explained 
 away. If it should become a dead letter, pro- 
 priety would demand that no evil should be 
 spoken of it. Since the days of Andrew Jackson 
 the word " nullification " has had an ugly and 
 dangerous sound. 
 
 But to the Englishman this attitude seems 
 somewhat superstitious. The period of opposi- 
 tion to a measure is not ended when it has passed 
 Parliament and received the royal assent. The 
 
OF EUROPE 97 
 
 question is whether it will receive the assent of 
 the people. Can it get itself obeyed ? If it can, 
 then its future is assured for many generations. 
 But it must pass through an exciting period of 
 probation. 
 
 If it is a matter that arouses much feeling the 
 British way is for some one to disobey and take 
 the consequences. Passive resistance — with such 
 active measures as may make the life of the 
 enforcers of the law a burden to them — is a 
 recognized method of political and religious 
 propagandism. 
 
 In periods when the national life has run most 
 swiftly this kind of resistance to what has been 
 considered the tyranny of lawmakers has always 
 been notable. Emerson's " the chambers of the 
 great are jails " was literally true of the England 
 of the seventeenth century. Every one who made 
 any pretension to moral leadership was intent on 
 going to jail in behalf of some principle or an- 
 other. 
 
 John Bunyan goes to jail rather than attend 
 the parish church, George Fox goes to jail rather 
 than take off his hat in the presence of the ma- 
 gistrate. Why should he do so when there was 
 
98 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 no Scripture for it ? When it was said that the 
 Scripture had nothing to say about hats, he was 
 ready with his triumphant reference to Daniel 
 in, 21, where it is said that the three Hebrew 
 children wore "their coats, their hosen, their 
 hats and their other garments " in the fiery fur- 
 nace. If Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-negowore 
 their hats before Nebuchadnezzar and kept them 
 on even in the fiery furnace, why should a free- 
 born Englishman take his hat off in the presence 
 of a petty Justice of the Peace ? Fervent Fifth 
 Monarchy men were willing to die rather than 
 acknowledge any king but King Jesus who was 
 about to come to reign. Non-juring bishops were 
 willing to go to jail rather than submit to the 
 judgment of Parliament as to who should be 
 king in England. Puritans and Covenanters of 
 the more logical sort refused to accept toleration 
 unless it were offered on their own terms. They 
 had been a "persecuted remnant" and they pro- 
 posed to remain such or know the reason why. 
 
 Beneath his crust of conformity the Briton has 
 an admiration for these recalcitrant individuals 
 who will neither bow the knee to Baal nor to his 
 betters. He likes a man who is a law unto him- 
 
OF EUROPE 99 
 
 self. Though he has little enthusiasm for the 
 abstract " rights of man," he is a great believer 
 in " the liberty of prophesying." The prophet 
 is not without honor, even while he is being 
 stoned. 
 
 Just at this time things are moving almost as 
 rapidly as they did in the seventeenth century. 
 There is the same clash of opinion and violence 
 of party spirit. All sorts of non-conformities 
 struggle for a hearing. One is reminded of that 
 most stirring period, which is so delightful to 
 read about, and which must have been so trying 
 for quiet people to live through. 
 
 A host of earnest and wide-awake persons are 
 engaged in the task of doing what they are told 
 not to do. Their enthusiasm takes the form of 
 resistance to some statute made or proposed. 
 
 The conscientious women who throw stones 
 through shop windows, and lay violent hands on 
 cabinet ministers, do so, avowedly, to bring cer- 
 tain laws into disrepute. They go on hunger- 
 strikes, not in order to be released from prison, 
 but in order to be treated as political prisoners. 
 They insist that their methods should be recog- 
 nized as acts of legitimate warfare. They may be 
 
ioo THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 extreme in their actions, but they are not alone 
 in their theory. 
 
 The Insurance Law, by which all workers 
 whose wages are below a certain sum are com- 
 pulsorily insured against sickness and the losses 
 that follow it, is just going into effect. Its pro- 
 visions are necessarily complicated, and its ad- 
 ministration must at first be difficult. The 
 Insurance-Law Resisters are organized to nullify 
 the act. Its enormities are held up before all eyes, 
 and it is flouted in every possible way. According 
 to this law, a lady is compelled to pay three- 
 pence a week toward the insurance fund for each 
 servant in her employ. Will she pay that three- 
 pence ? No ! Though twenty acts of Parliament 
 should declare that it must be done, she will re- 
 sist. As for keeping accounts, and putting stamps 
 in a book, she will do nothing of the kind. What 
 is it about a stamp act that arouses such fierce- 
 ness of resistance ? 
 
 High-born ladies declare that they would rather 
 go to jail than obey such a law. At a meeting at 
 Albert Hall the Resisters were addressed by a 
 duchess who was " supported by a man-servant." 
 What can a mere Act of Parliament do when 
 
OF EUROPE 101 
 
 confronted by such a combination as that? Pas- 
 sive resistance takes on heroic proportions when 
 a duchess and a man-servant confront the Law 
 with haughty immobility. 
 
 In the mean time, Mr. Tom Mann goes to 
 jail, amid the applause of organized labor, for 
 advising the British soldier not to obey orders 
 when he is commanded to fire on British work- 
 ingmen. 
 
 Mr. Tom Mann is a labor agitator, while Mr. 
 Bonar Law is the leader of the Conservative 
 party ; but when it comes to legislation which he 
 does not like, Mr. Bonar Law's language is fully 
 as incendiary. He is not content with opposing 
 the Irish Home Rule Bill : he gives notice that 
 when it has become a law the opposition will be 
 continued in a more serious form. The passage 
 of the bill, he declares, will be the signal for civil 
 war. Ulster will fight. Parliament may pass the 
 Home Rule Bill, but when it does so its troubles 
 will have just begun. Where will it find the 
 troops to coerce the province ? 
 
 One of the most distinguished Unionist Mem- 
 bers of Parliament, addressing a great meeting at 
 Belfast says, " You are sometimes asked whether 
 
102 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 you propose to resist the English army ? I reply 
 that even if this Government had the wickedness 
 (which, on the whole, I believe), it is wholly 
 lacking in the nerve required to give an order 
 which in my deliberate judgment would shatter 
 for years the civilization of these islands." If the 
 Government does not have the nerve to employ 
 its troops, " It will be for the moon-lighters and 
 the cattle-maimers to conquer Ulster themselves, 
 and it will be for you to show whether you are 
 worse men, or your enemies better men, than the 
 forefathers of you both. But I note with satisfac- 
 tion that you are preparing yourselves by the 
 practice of exercises, and by the submission to 
 discipline, for the struggle which is not unlikely 
 to test your determination. The Nationalists are 
 determined to rule you. You are determined not 
 to be ruled. A collision of wills so sharp may 
 well defy the resources of a peaceful solution. 
 . . . On this we are agreed, that the crisis has 
 called into existence one of those supreme issues 
 of conscience amid which the ordinary landmarks 
 of permissible resistance to technical law are sub- 
 merged." 
 
 When one goes to the Church to escape from 
 
OF EUROPE 103 
 
 these sharp antagonisms, he is confronted with 
 huge placards giving notice of meetings to pro- 
 test against " The Robbery of God." The robber 
 in this case is the Government, which proposes 
 to disendow, as well as disestablish, the Church 
 in Wales. Noble lords denounce the outrage. 
 Mr. Lloyd George replies by reminding their 
 lordships that their landed estates were, before 
 the dissolution of the monasteries under Henry 
 VIII, Church property. If they wish to make 
 restitution of the spoil which their ancestors took, 
 well and good. But let them not talk about the 
 robbery of God, while their hands are " dripping 
 with the fat of sacrilege." 
 
 The retort is effective, but it does not make 
 Mr. Lloyd George beloved by the people to 
 whom it is addressed. Twitting on facts has al- 
 ways been considered unmannerly. 
 
 in 
 
 When we hear the acrimonious discussions 
 and the threats of violence, it is well to consider 
 the reason for it all. I think the reason is one 
 that is not discreditable to those concerned. These 
 are not ordinary times, and they are not to be 
 
104 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 judged by ordinary standards. England is at the 
 present time passing through a revolution, the is- 
 sues of which are still in doubt. Revolutionary 
 passions have been liberated by the rapid course 
 of events. " Every battle of the warrior is with 
 confused noise." The confused noise may be dis- 
 agreeable to persons of sensitive nerves, but it is 
 a part of the situation. 
 
 When we consider the nature of the changes 
 that have been made in the last few years, and 
 the magnitude of those which are proposed, we 
 do not wonder at the tone of exasperation which 
 is common to all parties. 
 
 It is seldom that a constitutional change, like 
 that which deprived the House of Lords of pow- 
 ers exercised for a thousand years, has been made 
 without an appeal to arms. But there was no civil 
 war. Perhaps the old fashion of sturdy blows 
 would have been less trying to the temper. 
 
 A revolution is at the best an unmannerly pro- 
 ceeding. It cannot be carried on politely, because 
 it involves not so much a change of ideas and 
 methods as a change of masters. A change of 
 ideas may be discussed in an amiable and orderly 
 way. The honorable gentlemen who have the 
 
OF EUROPE 105 
 
 responsibility for the decision are respectfully 
 asked to revise their opinions in the light of new 
 evidence which, by their leave, will be presented. 
 
 But a change of masters cannot be managed so 
 inoffensively. The honorable gentlemen are not 
 asked to revise their opinions. They are told that 
 their opinions are no longer important. The mat- 
 ter is severely personal. The statement is not, 
 " We do not believe in your ideas " ; it is, " We 
 do not believe in you" 
 
 When political discussion takes this turn, then 
 there is an end to the amenities suited to a more 
 quiet time. It is no longer a question as to which 
 is the better cause, but as to which is the better 
 man. 
 
 Mr. Asquith, who has retained in this revolu- 
 tionary period the manners of the old school, re- 
 cently said in his reply to a delegation of his 
 opponents, " When people are on opposite sides 
 of a chasm they may be courteous to one another, 
 and regret the impossibility of their shaking 
 hands, or doing more than wave a courteous 
 gesture across so wide a space." 
 
 These are the words of a gentleman in politics, 
 and express a beautiful ideal. But they hardly 
 
106 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 describe the present situation. As to waving a 
 courteous salutation to the people on the other 
 side, — that depends on who the people are. If 
 you know them and have been long familiar with 
 their good qualities, the courteous salutation is 
 natural. They are, as you know, much better 
 than their opinions. 
 
 But it is different when they are people whom 
 you do not know, and with whom you have no- 
 thing in common. You suspect their motives, 
 and feel a contempt for their abilities. They are 
 not of your set. The word "gentleman" is de- 
 rived from the word gens. People of the same 
 gens learn to treat each other in a considerate 
 way. Even when they differ they remember what 
 is due to gentle blood and gentle training. 
 
 It is quite evident that the challenge of the new 
 democracy to the old ruling classes has every- 
 where produced exasperation. It is no longer easy 
 to wave courteous salutations across the chasms 
 which divide parties. Political discussion takes a 
 rude turn. It is no longer possible to preserve the 
 proprieties. We may expect the minor morali- 
 ties to suffer while the major moralities are being 
 determined by hard knocks. 
 
OF EUROPE 107 
 
 Good manners depend on the tacit understand- 
 ing of all parties as to their relations to one an- 
 other. Nothing can be more brutal than for one 
 to claim superiority, or more rude than for an- 
 other to dispute the claim. Such differences of 
 station should, if they exist, be taken for granted. 
 
 Relations which were established by force may, 
 after a time, be made so beautiful that their origin 
 is forgotten. There must be no display of unnec- 
 essary force. The battle having been decided, vic- 
 tor and vanquished change parts. It pleases the 
 conqueror to sign himself, " Your obedient serv- 
 ant," and to inquire whether certain terms would 
 be agreeable. Of course they would be agreeable. 
 So says the disarmed man looking upward to his 
 late foe, now become his protector. 
 
 And the conqueror with grave good will takes 
 up the burden which Providence has imposed 
 upon him. Is not the motto of the true knight, 
 Ich dien ? Such service as he can render shall be 
 given ungrudgingly. 
 
 Now, this is not hypocrisy. It may be Christ- 
 ianity and Chivalry and all sorts of fine things. 
 It is making the best of an accepted situation. 
 When relations which were established by force 
 
108 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 have been sanctioned by custom, and embodied 
 in law, and sanctified by religion, they form a soil 
 in which many pleasant things may grow. In the 
 vicinity of Vesuvius they will tell you that the 
 best soils are of volcanic origin. 
 
 Hodge and Sir Lionel meet in the garden which 
 one owns, and in which the other digs with the 
 sweat of his brow. There is kindly interest on the 
 one hand, and decent respect on the other. But 
 all this sense of ordered righteousness is depend- 
 ent on one condition. Neither must eat of the 
 fruit of the tree of knowledge that grows in the 
 midst of the garden. A little knowledge is dan- 
 gerous, a good deal of knowledge may be even 
 more dangerous, to the relations which custom 
 has established. 
 
 What right has Sir Lionel to lay down the law 
 for Hodge *? Why should not Hodge have a right 
 to have his point of view considered? When 
 Hodge begins seriously to ponder this question 
 his manners suffer. And when Sir Lionel begins 
 to assert his superiority, instead of taking it for 
 granted, his behavior lacks its easy charm. It is 
 very hard to explain such things in a gentlemanly 
 way. 
 
OF EUROPE 109 
 
 Now, the exasperation in the tone of political 
 discussion in Great Britain, as elsewhere in the 
 world, is largely explained by the fact that all 
 sorts of superiorities have been challenged at 
 the same time. Everywhere the issue is sharply 
 made. " Who shall rule ? " 
 
 Shall Ireland any longer submit to be ruled by 
 the English *? The Irish Nationalists swear by all 
 the saints that, rather than submit, they will over- 
 throw the present Government and return to their 
 former methods of agitation. 
 
 If the Home Rule Bill be enacted into law, 
 will Ulster submit to be ruled by a Catholic ma- 
 jority? The men of Ulster call upon the spirits 
 of their heroic sires, who triumphed at the Boyne, 
 to bear witness that they will never yield. 
 
 Will the masses of the people submit any 
 longer to the existing inequalities in political 
 representation? No! They demand immediate 
 recognition of the principle, "One man, one 
 vote." The many will not allow the few to make 
 laws for them. 
 
 Will the women of England kindly wait a 
 little till their demands can be considered in 
 a dignified way % No ! They will not take their 
 
no THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 place in the waiting-line. Others get what they 
 want by pushing; so will they. 
 
 Will the Labor party be a little less noisy and 
 insistent in its demands'? All will come in time, 
 but one Reform must say to another, " After you." 
 Hoarse voices cry, "We care nothing for eti- 
 quette, we must have what we demand, and have 
 it at once. We cannot stand still. If we are push- 
 ing, we are also pushed from behind. If you do 
 not give us what we ask for, the Socialists and the 
 Syndicalists will be upon you." There is always 
 the threat of a General Strike. Laborers have 
 hitherto been starved into submission. But two 
 can play at that game. 
 
 IV 
 
 This is not the England of Sir Roger de 
 Coverley with its cheerful contentment with the 
 actual, and its deference for all sorts of dignitaries. 
 It is not, in its present temper, a model of propri- 
 ety. But, in my judgment, it is all the more in- 
 teresting, and full of hope. To say that England 
 is in the midst of a revolution is not to say that 
 some dreadful disaster is impending. It only 
 means that this is a time when events move very 
 
OF EUROPE in 
 
 rapidly, and when precedents count for little. But 
 it is a time when common sense and courage and 
 energy count for a great deal ; and there is no evi- 
 dence that these qualities are lacking. I suspect 
 that the alarmists are not so alarmed as their lan- 
 guage would lead us to suppose. They know their 
 countrymen, and that they have the good sense 
 to avoid most of the collisions that they declare 
 to be inevitable. 
 
 I take comfort in the philosophy which I glean 
 from the top of a London motor-bus. From my 
 point of vantage I look down upon pedestrian 
 humanity as a Superman might look down upon 
 it. It seems to consist of a vast multitude of ig- 
 norant folk who are predestined to immediate an- 
 nihilation. As the ungainly machine on which I 
 am seated rushes down the street, it seems admir- 
 ably adapted for its mission of destruction. The 
 barricade in front of me, devoted to the praise of 
 BOVRIL, is just high enough to prevent my see- 
 ing what actually happens, but it gives a blood- 
 curdling view of catastrophes that are imminent. 
 I have an impression of a procession of innocent 
 victims rushing heedlessly upon destruction. 
 Three yards in front of the onrushing wheels is 
 
ii2 THE UNACCUSTOMED EARS 
 
 an old gentleman crossing the street. He suddenly 
 stops. There is, humanly speaking, no hope for 
 him. Two nursemaids appear in the field of dan- 
 ger. A butcher's boy on a bicycle steers directly 
 for the bus. He may be given up for lost. I am 
 not able to see what becomes of them, but I am 
 prepared for the worst. Still the expected crunch 
 does not come, and the bus goes on. 
 
 Between Notting Hill Gate and Charing Cross 
 I have seen eighteen persons disappear in this 
 mysterious fashion. I could swear that when I last 
 saw them it seemed too late for them to escape 
 their doom. 
 
 But on sober reflection I come to the conclu- 
 sion that I should have taken a more hopeful view 
 if I had not been so high up ; if, for example, I 
 had been sitting with the driver where I could 
 have seen what happened at the last moment. 
 
 There was much comfort in the old couplet : — 
 
 " Betwixt the saddle and the ground, 
 He mercy sought and mercy found." 
 
 And betwixt the pedestrian and the motor-bus, 
 there are many chances of safety that I could not 
 foresee. The old gentleman was perhaps more 
 spry than he looked. The nursemaids and the 
 
OF EUROPE 113 
 
 butcher's boy must assuredly have perished un- 
 less they happened to have their wits about them. 
 But in all probability they did have their wits 
 about them, and so did the driver of the motor- 
 bus. 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 WHEN we think of a thorough-going con- 
 servative we are likely to picture him as a 
 stay-at-home person, a barnacle fastened to one 
 spot. We take for granted that aversion to loco- 
 motion and aversion to change are the same thing. 
 But in thinking thus we leave out of account the 
 inherent instability of human nature. Everybody 
 likes a little change now and then. If a person 
 cannot get it in one way, he gets it in another. 
 The stay-at-home gratifies his wandering fancy by 
 making little alterations in his too-familiar sur- 
 roundings. Even the Vicar of Wakefield in the 
 days of his placid prosperity would occasionally 
 migrate from the blue bed to the brown. A life 
 that had such vicissitudes could not be called un- 
 eventful. 
 
 When you read the weekly newspaper pub- 
 lished in the quietest hill-town in Vermont, you 
 become aware that a great deal is going on. Dea- 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 115 
 
 con Pratt shingled his barn last week. Miss Maria 
 Jones had new shutters put on her house, and it 
 is a great improvement. These revolutions in 
 Goshenville are matters of keen interest to those 
 concerned. They furnish inexhaustible material 
 for conversation. 
 
 The true enemy to innovation is the traveler 
 who sets out to see historic lands. His natural 
 love of change is satiated by rapid change of lo- 
 cality. But his natural conservatism asserts itself 
 in his insistence that the places which he visits 
 shall be true to their own reputations. Having 
 journeyed, at considerable expense, to a celebrated 
 spot, he wants to see the thing it was celebrated 
 for, and he will accept no substitute. From his 
 point of view the present inhabitants are merely 
 caretakers who should not be allowed to disturb 
 the remains intrusted to their custody. Every- 
 thing must be kept as it used to be. 
 
 The moment any one packs his trunk and puts 
 money in his purse to visit lands old in story he 
 becomes a hopeless reactionary. He is sallying 
 forth to see things not as they are, but as they 
 were " once upon a time." He is attracted to cer- 
 tain localities by something which happened long 
 
n6 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 ago. A great many things may have happened 
 since, but these must be put out of the way. One 
 period of time must be preserved to satisfy his 
 romantic imagination. He loves the good old 
 ways, and he has a curiosity to see the bad old ways 
 that may still be preserved. It is only the modern 
 that offends him. 
 
 The American who, in his own country, is in 
 feverish haste to improve conditions, when he sets 
 foot in Europe becomes the fanatical foe to pro- 
 gress. The Old World, in his judgment, ought to 
 look old. He longs to hear the clatter of wooden 
 shoes. If he had his way he would have laws 
 enacted forbidding peasant folk to change their 
 ancient costumes. He would preserve every relic 
 of feudalism. He bitterly laments the division of 
 great estates. A nobleman's park with its beauti- 
 ful idle acres, its deer, its pheasants, and its scur- 
 rying rabbits, is so much more pleasant to look at 
 than a succession of market-gardens. Poachers, 
 game-keepers, and squires are alike interesting, 
 if only they would dress so that he could know 
 them apart. He is enchanted with thatched cot- 
 tages which look damp and picturesque. He de- 
 tests the model dwellings which are built with a 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 117 
 
 too-obvious regard for sanitation. He seeks nar- 
 row and ill-smelling streets where the houses nod 
 at each other, as if in the last stages of senility, 
 muttering mysterious reminiscences of old trag- 
 edies. He frequents scenes of ancient murders, 
 and places where bandits once did congregate. 
 He leaves the railway carriage, to cross a heath 
 where romantic highwaymen used to ask the trav- 
 eler to stand and deliver. He is indignant to find 
 electric lights and policemen. A heath ought to 
 be lonely, and fens ought to be preserved from 
 drainage. 
 
 He seeks dungeons and instruments of torture. 
 The dungeons must be underground, and only a 
 single ray of light must penetrate. He is much 
 troubled to find that the dungeon in the Castle 
 of Chillon is much more cheerful than he had 
 supposed it was. The Bridge of Sighs in Venice 
 disappoints him in the same way. Indeed, there 
 are few places mentioned by Lord Byron that 
 are as gloomy as they are in the poetical descrip- 
 tion. 
 
 The traveler is very insistent in his plea for the 
 preservation of battlefields. Now, Europe is very 
 rich in battlefields, many of the most fertile sec- 
 
n8 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 tions having been fought over many times. But 
 the ravages of agriculture are everywhere seen. 
 There is no such leveler as the ploughman. Often 
 when one has come to refresh his mind with the 
 events of one terrible day, he finds that there is 
 nothing whatever to remind him of what hap- 
 pened. For centuries there has been ploughing 
 and harvesting. Nature takes so kindly to these 
 peaceful pursuits that one is tempted to think of 
 the battle as merely an episode. 
 
 Commerce is almost as destructive. Cities that 
 have been noted for their sieges often turn out to 
 be surprisingly prosperous. The old walls are 
 torn down to give way to parks and boulevards. 
 Massacres which in their day were noted leave no 
 trace behind. One can get more of an idea of the 
 Massacre of St. Bartholomew's Eve by reading a 
 book by one's fireside than by going to Paris. 
 For all one can see there, there might have been 
 no such accident. 
 
 Moral considerations have little place in the 
 traveler's mind. The progressive ameliorations 
 that have taken place tend to obscure our sense 
 of the old conflicts. A reform once accomplished 
 becomes a part of our ordinary consciousness. We 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 119 
 
 take it for granted, and find it hard to understand 
 what the reformer was so excited about. 
 
 As a consequence, the chief object of an his- 
 torical pilgrimage is to discover some place where 
 the old conditions have not been improved away. 
 The religious pilgrim does not expect to find the 
 old prophets, but he has a pious hope of finding 
 the abuses which the prophets denounced. 
 
 I have in mind a clergyman who, in his own 
 home, is progressive to a fault. He is impatient of 
 any delay. He is all the time seeking out the very 
 latest inventions in social and economic reforms. 
 But several years ago he made a journey to the 
 Holy Land, and when he came back he delivered 
 a lecture on his experiences. A more reactionary 
 attitude could not be imagined. Not a word did 
 he say about the progress of education or civil- 
 service reform in Palestine. There was not a sym- 
 pathetic reference to sanitation or good roads. The 
 rights of women were not mentioned. Represen- 
 tative government seemed to be an abomination 
 to him. All his enthusiasm was for the other side. 
 He was for Oriental conservatism in all its forms. 
 He was for preserving every survival of ancient 
 custom. He told of the delight with which he 
 
120 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 watched the laborious efforts of the peasants 
 ploughing with a forked stick. He believed that 
 there had not been a single improvement in agri- 
 culture since the days of Abraham. 
 
 The economic condition of the people had not 
 changed for the better since patriarchal times, and 
 one could still have a good idea of a famine such 
 as sent the brothers of Joseph down into Egypt. 
 Turkish misgovernment furnished him with a 
 much clearer idea of the publicans, and the hatred 
 they aroused in the minds of the people, than he 
 had ever hoped to obtain. In fact, one could 
 hardly appreciate the term " publicans and sin- 
 ners" without seeing the Oriental tax-gatherers. 
 He was very fortunate in being able to visit sev- 
 eral villages which had been impoverished by 
 their exactions. The rate of wages throws much 
 light on the Sunday-School lessons. A penny a 
 day does not seem such an insufficient minimum 
 wage to a traveler, as it does to a stay-at-home per- 
 son. On going down from Jerusalem to Jericho 
 he fell among thieves, or at least among a group 
 of thievish-looking Bedouins who gave him a new 
 appreciation of the parable of the Samaritan. It 
 was a wonderful experience. And he found that 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 121 
 
 the animosity between the Jews and the Samari- 
 tans had not abated. To be sure, there are very- 
 few Samaritans left, and those few are thoroughly- 
 despised. 
 
 The good-roads movement has not yet invaded 
 Palestine, and we can still experience all the dis- 
 comforts of the earlier times. Many a time when 
 he took his life in his hands and wandered across 
 the Judsean hills, my friend repeated to himself the 
 text, " In the days of Shamgar the son of Anath, 
 in the days of Jael, the highways were unoccupied, 
 and the people walked through by-ways." 
 
 To most people Shamgar is a mere name. But 
 after you have walked for hours over those rocky 
 by-ways, never knowing at what moment you 
 may be attacked by a treacherous robber, you 
 know how Shamgar felt. He becomes a real per- 
 son. You are carried back into the days when 
 "there was no king in Israel, but every man did 
 that which was right in his own eyes." 
 
 The railway between Joppa and Jerusalem is 
 to be regretted, but fortunately it is a small affair. 
 There are rumors of commercial enterprises which, 
 if successful, would change the appearance of 
 many of the towns. Fortunately they are not 
 
122 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 likely to be successful, at least in our day. The 
 brooding spirit of the East can be trusted to de- 
 fend itself against the innovating West. For the 
 present, at least, Palestine is a fascinating coun- 
 try to travel in. 
 
 A traveler in Ceylon and India writes to a re- 
 ligious paper of his journey. He says, " Colombo 
 has little to interest the tourist, yet it is a fine 
 city." One who reads between the lines under- 
 stands that the fact that it is a fine city is the 
 cause of its uninterestingness. His impression of 
 Madura was more satisfactory. There one can see 
 the Juggernaut car drawn through the streets by 
 a thousand men, though it is reluctantly admit- 
 ted that the self-immolation of fanatics under the 
 wheels is no longer allowed. "The Shiva temple 
 at Madura is the more interesting as its towers 
 are ornamented with six thousand idols." 
 
 The writer who rejoiced at the sight of six 
 thousand idols in Madura, would have been 
 shocked at the exhibition of a single crucifix in his 
 meeting-house at home. 
 
 I confess that I have not been able to over- 
 come the Tory prejudice in favor of vested in- 
 terests in historical places. If one has traveled to 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 123 
 
 see " the old paths which wicked men have trod- 
 den," it is a disappointment to find that they are 
 not there. I had such an experience in Capri. 
 We had wandered through the vineyards and up 
 the steep, rocky way to the Villa of Tiberius. On 
 the top of the cliff are the ruins of the pleasure- 
 house which the Emperor in his wicked old age 
 built for himself. Was there ever a greater con- 
 trast between an earthly paradise and abounding 
 sinfulness*? Here, indeed, was "spiritual wicked- 
 ness in high places." The marvelously blue sea 
 and all the glories of the Bay of Naples ought to 
 have made Tiberius a better man; but apparently 
 they didn't. We were prepared for the thrilling 
 moment when we were led to the edge of the cliff, 
 and told to look down. Here was the very place 
 where Tiberius amused himself by throwing his 
 slaves into the sea to feed the fishes. Cruel old 
 monster! But it was a long time ago. Time had 
 marvelously softened the atrocity of the act, and 
 heightened its picturesque character. If Tiberius 
 must exhibit his colossal inhumanity, could he 
 have anywhere in all the world chosen a better 
 spot? Just think of his coming to this island 
 and, on this high cliff above the azure sea, build- 
 
124 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 ing this palace ! And then to think of him on a 
 night when the moon was full, and the nightin- 
 gales were singing, coming out and hurling a 
 shuddering slave into the abyss! 
 
 When we returned to the hotel, our friend the 
 Professor, who had made a study of the subject, 
 informed us that it was all a mistake. The sto- 
 ries of the wicked doings of Tiberius in Capri 
 were malicious slanders. The Emperor was an 
 elderly invalid living in dignified retirement. As 
 for the slaves, we might set our minds at rest in 
 regard to them. If any of them fell over the cliff 
 it was pure accident. We must give up the idea 
 that the invalid Emperor pushed them off. 
 
 All this was reassuring to my better nature, and 
 yet I cherished a grudge against the Professor. 
 For it was a stiff climb to the Villa of Tiberius, 
 and I wanted something to show for it. It was 
 difficult to adjust one's mind to the fact that 
 nothing had happened there which might not 
 have happened in any well-conducted country 
 house. 
 
 I like to contrast this with our experience in 
 Algiers. We knew beforehand what Algiers was 
 like in the days of its prime. It had been the nest 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 125 
 
 of as desperate pirates as ever infested the seas. 
 For generations innocent Christians had been car- 
 ried hither to pine in doleful captivity. But the 
 French, we understood, had built a miniature 
 Paris in the vicinity and were practicing liberty, 
 fraternity, and equality on the spot dedicated to 
 gloomily romantic memories. We feared the 
 effect of this civilization. We had our misgiv- 
 ings. Perhaps Algiers might be no longer worth 
 visiting. 
 
 Luckily our steamer was delayed till, sunset. 
 We were carefully shepherded, so that we hardly 
 noticed the French city. We were hurried through 
 the darkness into old Algiers. Everything was 
 full of sinister suggestion. The streets were as 
 narrow and perilous as any which Haroun Al 
 Raschid explored on his more perilous nights. 
 Here one could believe the worst of his fellow 
 men. Suspicion and revenge were in the air. We 
 were not taking a stroll, we were escaping from 
 something. Mysterious muffled figures glided by 
 and disappeared through slits in the walls. There 
 were dark corners so suggestive of homicide that 
 one could hardly think that any one with an 
 Oriental disposition could resist the temptation. In 
 
126 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 crypt-like recesses we could see assassins sharpen- 
 ing their daggers or, perhaps, executioners putting 
 the finishing touches on their scimitars. There 
 were cavernous rooms where conspirators were 
 crouched round a tiny charcoal fire. Groups of 
 truculent young Arabs followed us shouting ob- 
 jurgations, and accepting small coins as ransom. 
 We had glimpses of a mosque, the outside of a 
 prison, and the inside of what once was a harem. 
 On returning to the steamer one gentleman fell 
 overboard and, swimming to the shore, was res- 
 cued by a swarthy ruffian who robbed him of his 
 watch and disappeared in the darkness. When 
 the victim of Algerian piracy stood on the deck, 
 dripping and indignant, and told his tale of 
 woe, we were delighted. Algiers would always be 
 something to remember. It was one of the places 
 that had not been spoiled. 
 
 I am afraid that the sunlight might have 
 brought disillusion. Some of the stealthy figures 
 which gave rise to such thrilling suspicions may 
 have turned out to be excellent fathers and hus- 
 bands returning from business. As it is, thanks 
 to the darkness, Algiers remains a city of vague 
 atrocities. It does not belong to the common- 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 127 
 
 place world ; it is of such stuff as dreams, includ- 
 ing nightmares, are made of. 
 
 It is not without some compunction of con- 
 science that I recall two historical pilgrimages, 
 one to Assisi, the other to Geneva. Assisi I found 
 altogether rewarding, while in Geneva I was dis- 
 appointed. In each case my object was purely 
 selfish, and had nothing in common with the 
 welfare of the present inhabitants. I wanted to 
 see the city of St. Francis and the city of John 
 Calvin. 
 
 In Assisi one may read again the Franciscan 
 legends in their proper settings. I should like to 
 think that my pleasure in Assisi arose from the 
 fact that I saw some one there who reminded me 
 of St. Francis. But I was not so fortunate. If one 
 is anxious to come in contact with the spirit of 
 St. Francis, freed from its mediaeval limitations, 
 a visit to Hull House, Chicago, would be more 
 rewarding. 
 
 But it was not the spirit of St. Francis, but his 
 limitations, that we were after. Assisi has pre- 
 served them all. We see the gray old town on 
 the hillside, the narrow streets, the old walls. 
 We are beset by swarms of beggars. They are 
 
128 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 not like the half-starved creatures one may see in 
 the slums of northern cities. They are very lik- 
 able. They are natural worshipers of my Lady 
 Poverty. They have not been spoiled by com- 
 monplace industrialism or scientific philanthropy. 
 One is taken back into the days when there was 
 a natural affinity between saints and beggars. 
 The saints would joyously give away all that 
 they had, and the beggars would as joyously 
 accept it. After the beggars had used up all the 
 saints had given them, the saints would go out 
 and beg for more. The community, you say, 
 would be none the better. Perhaps not. But the 
 moment you begin to talk about the community 
 you introduce ideas that are modern and disturb- 
 ing. One thing is certain, and that is that if Assisi 
 were more thrifty, it would be less illuminating 
 historically. 
 
 St. Francis might come back to Assisi and take 
 up his work as he left it. But I sought in vain 
 for John Calvin in Geneva. The city was too 
 prosperous and gay. The cheerful houses, the 
 streets with their cosmopolitan crowds, the parks, 
 the schools, the university, the little boats skim- 
 ming over the lake, all bore witness to the well- 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 129 
 
 being of to-day. But what of yesterday 4 ? The 
 citizens were celebrating the anniversary of Jean 
 Jacques Rousseau. I realized that it was not 
 yesterday but the day before yesterday that I was 
 seeking. Where was the stern little city which 
 Calvin taught and ruled ? The place that knew 
 him knows him no more. 
 
 Disappointed in my search for Calvin, I sought 
 compensation in Servetus. I found the stone 
 placed by modern Calvinists to mark the spot 
 where the Spanish heretic was burned. On it they 
 had carved an inscription expressing their regret 
 for the act of intolerance on the part of the re- 
 former, and attributing the blame to the age in 
 which he lived. But even this did not satisfy 
 modern Geneva. The inscription had been 
 chipped away in order to give place I was told, 
 to something more historically accurate. 
 
 But whether Calvin was to blame, or the six- 
 teenth century, did not seem to matter. The spot 
 was so beautiful that it seemed impossible that 
 anything tragical could ever have happened 
 here. A youth and maiden were sitting by the 
 stone, engaged in a most absorbing conversation. 
 Of one thing I was certain, that the theological 
 
i 3 o THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 differences between Calvin and Servetus were 
 nothing to them. They had something more im- 
 portant to think about — at least for them. 
 
 II 
 
 After a time one comes to have a certain mod- 
 esty of expectation. Time and Space are different 
 elements, and each has its own laws. At the price 
 of a steamship ticket one may be transported to 
 another country, but safe passage to another age 
 is not guaranteed. It is enough if some slight 
 suggestion is given to the imagination. A walk 
 through a pleasant neighborhood is all the pleas- 
 anter if one knows that something memorable 
 has happened there. If one is wise he will not 
 attempt to realize it to the exclusion of the pres- 
 ent scene. It is enough to have a slight flavor of 
 historicity. 
 
 It was this pleasure which I enjoyed in a ram- 
 ble with a friend through the New Forest. The 
 day was fine, and it would have been a joy to 
 be under the greenwood trees if no one had been 
 before us. But the New Forest had a human in- 
 terest; for on such a day as this, William Rufus 
 rode into it to hunt the red deer, and was found 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 131 
 
 with an arrow through his body. And to this day- 
 no man knows who killed William Rufus, or 
 why. Though, of course, some people have their 
 suspicions. 
 
 Many other things may have happened in the 
 New Forest in the centuries that have passed, but 
 they have never been brought vividly to my at- 
 tention. So far as I was concerned there were no 
 confusing incidents. The Muse of History told 
 one tragic tale and then was silent. 
 
 On the other side of the Forest was the Rufus 
 stone marking the spot where the Red King's 
 body was found. At Brockenhurst we inquired 
 the way, which we carefully avoided. The road 
 itself was an innovation, and was infested with 
 motor-cars, machines unknown to the Normans. 
 The Red King had plunged into the Forest and 
 quickly lost himself; so would we. There were 
 great oaks and wide-spreading beeches and green 
 glades such as one finds only in England. It was 
 pleasant to feel that it all belonged to the Crown. 
 I could not imagine a county council allowing 
 this great stretch of country to remain in its 
 unspoiled beauty through these centuries. 
 
 We took our frugal lunch under a tree that 
 
132 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 had looked down on many generations. Then 
 we wandered on through a green wilderness. 
 We saw no one but some women gathering fagots. 
 I was glad to see that they were exercising their 
 ancestral rights in the royal domain. They looked 
 contented, though I should have preferred to 
 have their dress more antique. 
 
 All day we followed William Rufus through 
 the Forest. I began to feel that I had a real ac- 
 quaintance with him, having passed through 
 much the same experience. The forest glades 
 have been little changed since the day when he 
 hunted the red deer. Nature is the true conserva- 
 tive, and repeats herself incessantly. 
 
 Toward evening my friend pointed out the 
 hill at the foot of which was the Rufus stone. It 
 was still some two miles away. Should we push 
 on to it? 
 
 What should we see when we got there % The 
 stone was not much. There was a railing round 
 it as a protection against relic-hunters. And 
 there was an inscription which, of course, was 
 comparatively modern. That settled it. We would 
 not go to the stone with its modern inscription. 
 The ancient trees brought us much nearer to 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 133 
 
 William Rums. Besides, there was just time, if 
 we walked briskly, to catch the train at Brocken- 
 hurst. 
 
 ill 
 
 A week which stands out in my memory as 
 one of perfect communion with the past was spent 
 with another English friend in Llanthony Abbey, 
 in the Vale of Ewyas, in the Black Mountains of 
 Wales. We had gone prepared for camping 
 with a tent of ethereal lightness, which was to 
 protect us from the weather. 
 
 For the first night we were to tarry amid the 
 ruins of the twelfth-century abbey, some parts 
 of which had been roofed over and used as an 
 inn. When we arrived, the rain was falling in 
 torrents. Soon after supper we took our candles 
 and climbed the winding stone stairs to our 
 rooms in the tower. The stones were uneven and 
 worn by generations of pious feet. Outside we 
 could see the ruined nave of the church, with all 
 the surrounding buildings. We were in another 
 age. 
 
 Had the sun shined next morning we should 
 have gone on our gypsy journey, and Llanthony 
 
i 3 4 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 Abbey would have been only an incident. But 
 for five days and five nights the rain descended. 
 We could make valiant sallies, but were driven 
 back for shelter. Shut in by " the tumultuous 
 privacy of storm," one felt a sense of ownership. 
 Only one book could be obtained, the " Life and 
 Letters " of Walter Savage Landor. I had always 
 wanted to know more of Landor and here was the 
 opportunity. 
 
 A little over a hundred years ago he came to 
 the vale of Ewyas and bought this estate, and 
 hither he brought his young bride. They occu- 
 pied our rooms, it appeared. In 1809, Landor 
 writes to Southey, " I am about to do what no 
 man hath ever done in England, plant a wood 
 of cedars of Lebanon. These trees will look mag- 
 nificent on the mountains of Llanthony." He 
 planted a million of them, so he said. How elo- 
 quently he growled over those trees ! He pro- 
 phesied that none of them would live. 
 
 After reading, I donned my raincoat and 
 started out through the driving storm to see 
 how Landor's trees were getting on. It seemed 
 that it was only yesterday that they were planted. 
 It was worth going out to see what had be- 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 135 
 
 come of them. They were all gone. I felt that 
 secret satisfaction which all right-minded persons 
 feel on being witnesses to the fulfilment of pro- 
 phecy. 
 
 And then there was the house which Landor 
 started to build when he and his wife were living 
 in our tower. " I hope," he writes, " before the 
 close not of the next but of the succeeding sum- 
 mer, to have one room to sit in with two or three 
 bedrooms." Then he begins to growl about the 
 weather and the carpenters. After a while he 
 writes again of the house : " It 's not half finished 
 and has cost me two thousand pounds. I think 
 seriously of filling it with straw and setting fire 
 to it. Never was anything half so ugly." 
 
 I inquired about the house and was told that 
 it was not far away on the hillside, and was yet 
 unfinished. I was pleased with this, and meant 
 to go up and see it when the spell of bad weather 
 of which Landor complained had passed by. 
 
 Beside Landor there was only one other historic 
 association which one could enjoy without getting 
 drenched — that was St. David. In wading across 
 the barnyard, I encountered "Boots," an intelli- 
 gent young man though unduly respectful. He 
 
136 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 informed me that the old building just across 
 from the stable was the cell of St. David. 
 
 I was not prepared for this. All I knew was 
 that St. David was the patron saint of Wales and 
 had a cathedral and a number of other churches 
 dedicated to him. Without too grossly admit- 
 ting my ignorance, I tried to draw out from my 
 mentor some further biographical facts that my 
 imagination might work on during my stay. He 
 thought that St. David was some relation to King 
 Arthur, but just what the relation was, and whether 
 he was only a relative by marriage, he did n't 
 know. It wasn't very much information, but I 
 was profoundly grateful to him. 
 
 I have since read a long article on St. David 
 in the " Cambrian Plutarch." The author goes 
 into the question of the family relations between 
 King Arthur and St. David with great thorough- 
 ness, but what conclusion he comes to is not 
 quite evident. He thinks that the people are 
 wrong who say that St. David was a nephew, be- 
 cause he was fifty years older than Arthur. That 
 would make him more likely his uncle. But as 
 he admits that King Arthur may possibly be an- 
 other name for the constellation Ursa Major, it is 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 137 
 
 difficult to fix the dates exactly. At any rate, the 
 " Cambrian Plutarch " is sure that King Arthur 
 was a Welshman and a credit to the country — 
 and so was St. David. The author was as accurate 
 in regard to the dates as the nature of his subject 
 would allow. He adds apologetically, " It will 
 appear that the life of St. David is rather mis- 
 placed with respect to chronological order. But 
 as he was contemporary with all those whose lives 
 have already been given, the anachronism, if such 
 it may be called, can be of no great importance." 
 That is just the way I feel about it. After 
 living for a whole week in such close contact 
 with the residence of St. David, I feel a real inter- 
 est in him. Just who he was and when he lived, 
 if at all, is a matter of no great importance. 
 
 Yet there are limits to the historical imagina- 
 tion. It must have something to work on, even 
 though that something may be very vague. We 
 must draw the line somewhere in our pursuit of 
 antiquity. A relic may be too old to be effective. 
 Instead of gently stimulating the imagination it 
 may paralyze it. What we desire is not merely 
 the ancient but the familiar. The relic must bring 
 
138 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 with it the sense of auld lang-syne. The Tory- 
 squire likes to preserve what has been a long 
 time in his family. The traveler has the same 
 feeling for the possessions of the family of hu- 
 manity. 
 
 The family-feeling does not go back of a cer- 
 tain point. I draw the line at the legendary 
 period when the heroes have names, and more or 
 less coherent stories are told of their exploits. 
 People who had a local habitation, but not a 
 name, seem to belong to Geology only. For all 
 their flint arrow-heads, or bronze instruments, I 
 cannot think of them as fellow men. 
 
 It was with this feeling that I visited one of 
 the most ancient places of worship in Ireland, 
 the tumulus at Newgrange. It was on a day filled 
 with historic sight-seeing. We started from Dro- 
 gheda, the great stronghold of the Pale in the 
 Middle Ages, and the scene of Cromwell's ter- 
 rible vengeance in 1649. Three miles up the river 
 is the site of the Battle of the Boyne. It was one 
 of the great indecisive battles of the world, it 
 being necessary to fight it over again every year. 
 The Boyne had overflowed its banks, and in the 
 fields forlorn hay-cocks stood like so many little 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 139 
 
 islands. We stopped at the battle monument and 
 read its Whiggish inscription, which was scorned 
 by our honest driver. We could form some idea 
 of how the field appeared on the eventful day 
 when King William and King James confronted 
 each other across the narrow stream. Then the 
 scene changed and we found ourselves in Melle- 
 font Abbey, the first Cistercian monastery in 
 Ireland, founded by St. Malachy, the friend of 
 St. Bernard of Clairvaux. King William and 
 King James were at once relegated to their 
 proper places among the moderns, while we went 
 back to the ages of faith. 
 
 Four miles farther we came to Monasterboice, 
 where stood two great Celtic crosses. There are 
 two ruined churches and a round tower. Here 
 was an early religious establishment which ex- 
 isted before the times of St. Columba. 
 
 This would be enough for one day's reminis- 
 cence, but my heart leaped up at the sight of a 
 long green ridge. "There is the hill of Tara!" 
 
 Having traversed the period from King Wil- 
 liam to the dwellers in the Halls of Tara, what 
 more natural than to take a further plunge into 
 the past ? 
 
i 4 o THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 We drive into an open field and alight near a 
 rock-strewn hill. Candles are given us and we 
 grope our way through narrow passages till we 
 come to the centre of the hill. Here is a chamber 
 some twenty feet in height. On the great stones 
 which support the roof are mystic emblems. On 
 the floor is a large stone hollowed out in the shape 
 of a bowl. It suggests human sacrifices. My 
 guide did not encourage this suggestion. There 
 was, he thought, no historical evidence for it. 
 But it seemed to me that if these people ever 
 practised such sacrifices this was the place for 
 them. A gloomier chamber for weird rites could 
 not be imagined. 
 
 Who were the worshipers? Druids or pre- 
 Druids % The archaeologists tell us that they be- 
 longed to the Early Bronze period. Now Early 
 Bronze is a good enough term for articles in a 
 museum, but it does not suggest a human being. 
 We cannot get on terms of spiritual intimacy 
 with the Early Bronze people. We may know 
 what they did, but there is no intimation of "the 
 moving why they did it." What spurred them 
 on to their feats of prodigious industry 4 ? Was it 
 fear or love *? First they built their chapel of great 
 
THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 141 
 
 stones and then piled a huge hill on top of it. 
 Were they still under the influence of the gla- 
 cial period and attempting to imitate the wild do- 
 ings of Nature? The passage of the ages does 
 not make these men seem venerable, because 
 their deeds are no longer intelligible. Mellefont 
 Abbey is in ruins, but we can easily restore it in 
 imagination. We can picture the great buildings 
 as they were before the iconoclasts destroyed 
 them. The prehistoric place of worship in the 
 middle of the hill is practically unchanged. But 
 the clue to its meaning is lost. 
 
 I could not make the ancient builders and wor- 
 shipers seem real. It was a relief to come up into 
 the sunshine where people of our own kind had 
 walked, the Kings of Tara and their harpers, and 
 St. Patrick and St. Malachy and Oliver Crom- 
 well and William III. After the unintelligible 
 symbols on the rocks, how familiar and homelike 
 seemed the sculptures on the Celtic crosses. They 
 were mostly about people, and people whom we 
 had known from earliest childhood. There were 
 Adam and Eve, and Cain slaying Abel, and the 
 Magi. They were members of our family. 
 
 But between us and the builders of the under- 
 
142 THE TORYISM OF TRAVELERS 
 
 ground chapel there was a great gulf. There was 
 no means of spiritual communication across the 
 abyss. A scrap of writing, a bit of poetry, a name 
 handed down by tradition, would have been 
 worth all the relics discovered by archaeologists. 
 
 There is justification for the traveler's prefer- 
 ence for the things he has read about, for these 
 are the things which resist the changes of time. 
 Only he must remember that they are better pre- 
 served in the book than in the places where they 
 happened. The impression which any generation 
 makes on the surface of the earth is very slight 
 It cannot give the true story of the brief occu- 
 pancy. That requires some more direct interpre- 
 tation. 
 
 The magic carpet which carries us into any 
 age not our own is woven by the poets and his- 
 torians. Without their aid we may travel through 
 Space, but not through Time. 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 IN the college world it is a point of honor for 
 the successive classes to treat each other with 
 contumely. The feud between freshman and soph- 
 omore goes on automatically. Only when one 
 has become a senior may he, without losing caste, 
 recognize a freshman as a youth of promise, and 
 admit that a sophomore is not half bad. Such 
 disinterested criticism is tolerated because it is 
 evidently the result of the mellowing influence of 
 time. 
 
 The same tendency is seen in literary and art- 
 istic judgments. It is never good taste to admit 
 the good taste of the generation that immediately 
 precedes us. Its innocent admirations are flouted 
 and its standards are condemned as provincial. 
 For we are always emerging from the dark ages 
 and contrasting their obscurity with our marvel- 
 ous light. The sixteenth century scorned the 
 fifteenth century for its manifold superstitions. 
 Thomas Fuller tells us that his enlightened con- 
 
i 4 4 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 temporaries in the seventeenth century treated 
 the enthusiasms of the sixteenth century with 
 scant respect. The price of martyrs' ashes rises 
 and falls in Smithfield market. At a later period 
 Pope writes, — 
 
 «« We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow: 
 Our wiser sons, perhaps, will think us so." 
 
 He need not have put in the "perhaps." 
 
 The nineteenth century had its fling at the 
 artificiality of the eighteenth century, and treated 
 it with contempt as the age of doctrinaires. And 
 now that the twentieth century is coming to the 
 age of discretion, we hear a new term of reproach, 
 Mid-Victorian. It expresses the sum of all vil- 
 lainies in taste. For some fifty years in the nine- 
 teenth century the English-speaking race, as it now 
 appears, was under the sway of Mrs. Grundy. 
 It was living in a state of most reprehensible re- 
 spectability, and Art was tied to the apron-strings 
 of Morality. Everybody admired what ought not 
 to be admired. We are only now beginning to 
 pass judgment on the manifold mediocrity of 
 this era. 
 
 All this must, for the time, count against Dick- 
 ens ; for of all the Victorians he was the midmost. 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 145 
 
 He flourished in that most absurd period of time 
 — the time just before most of us were born. And 
 how he did flourish ! Grave lord chancellors con- 
 fessed to weeping over Little Nell. A Mid- Victor- 
 ian bishop relates that after administering consol- 
 ation to a man in his last illness he heard him 
 saying, " At any rate, a new ' Pickwick Paper ' 
 will be out in ten days." 
 
 Everywhere there was a wave of hysterical 
 appreciation. Describing his reading in Glasgow, 
 Dickens writes : " Such pouring of hundreds into 
 a place already full to the throat, such indescrib- 
 able confusion, such rending and tearing of dresses, 
 and yet such a scene of good humor, I never saw 
 the slightest approach to. . . . Fifty frantic men 
 got up in all parts of the hall and addressed me 
 all at once. Other frantic men made speeches to 
 the wall. The whole B family were borne on the 
 top of a wave and landed with their faces against 
 the front of the platform. I read with the platform 
 crammed with people. I got them to lie down 
 upon it, and it was like some impossible tableau, 
 or gigantic picnic, — one pretty girl lying on 
 her side all night, holding on to the legs of my 
 table." 
 
146 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 In New York eager seekers after fiction would 
 "lie down on the pavement the whole of the 
 night before the tickets were sold, generally tak- 
 ing up their position about ten." There would 
 be free fights, and the police would be called to 
 quell the riot. 
 
 Such astonishing actions on the part of people 
 who were unfortunate enough to live in the mid- 
 dle of the nineteenth century put us on our 
 guard. It could not have been a serious inter- 
 est in English literature that evoked the mob 
 spirit. Dickens must have been writing the kind 
 of books which these people liked to hear 
 read. We remember with some misgivings that 
 in the days of our youth we wept over Little 
 Nell, just as the lord chancellor did. The ques- 
 tion which disturbs us is, Ought we to have 
 done so? 
 
 Let us by a soft answer turn away the wrath 
 of the critic. Doubtless we ought not to have 
 done so. Our excuse is that, at the time, we could 
 not help it. We may make the further plea, 
 common to all soft-hearted sinners, that if we 
 had n't wept, other people would, so that no great 
 harm was done, after all. 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 147 
 
 But letting bygones be bygones, and not seek- 
 ing to justify the enthusiasms of the nineteenth 
 century, one may return to Dickens as to the 
 home of one's childhood. How do the old scenes 
 affect us ? Does the charm remain % When thus 
 we return to Dickens, we are compelled to con- 
 fess the justice of the latter-day criticism. In all 
 his writings he deals with characters and situa- 
 tions which are wholly obvious; at least they are 
 obvious after he deals with them. Not only is he 
 without the art which conceals art, but, unlike 
 some novelists of more recent fame, he is with- 
 out the art that conceals the lack of art. He pro- 
 duces an impression by the crude method of 
 " rubbing it in." There are no subtleties to pique 
 our curiosity, no problems left us for discussion, no 
 room for difference of opinion. There is no more 
 opportunity for speculation than in a one-price 
 clothing store where every article is marked in plain 
 figures. To have heartily disliked Mr. Pecksniff 
 and to have loved the Cheeryble Brothers indi- 
 cates no sagacity on our part. The author has dis- 
 tinctly and repeatedly told us that the one is an 
 odious hypocrite and that the others are bene- 
 volent to an unusual degree. Our appreciation 
 
148 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 of Sam Weller does not prove that we have any 
 sense of humor save that which is common to 
 man. For Mr. Weller's humor is a blessing that 
 is not in disguise. It is a pump which needs no 
 priming. There is no denying that the humor, 
 the pathos, and the sentiment of Dickens are 
 obvious. 
 
 All this, according to certain critics, goes to 
 prove that Dickens lacks distinction, and that the 
 writing of his novels was a commonplace achieve- 
 ment. This judgment seems to me to arise from 
 a confusion of thought. The perception of the 
 obvious is a commonplace achievement; the 
 creation of the obvious, and making it interest- 
 ing, is the work of genius. There is no intellect- 
 ual distinction in the enjoyment of "The Pick- 
 wick Papers " ; to write " The Pickwick Papers " 
 would be another matter. 
 
 It is only in the last quarter of a century that 
 English literature has been accepted not as a re- 
 creation, but as a subject of serious study. Now, 
 the first necessity for a study is that it should be 
 " hard." Some of the best brains in the educa- 
 tional world have been enlisted in the work of 
 giving a disciplinary value to what was originally 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 149 
 
 an innocent pleasure. It is evident that one can- 
 not give marks for the number of smiles or tears 
 evoked by a tale of true love. The novel or the 
 play that is to hold its own in the curriculum in 
 competition with trigonometry must have some 
 knotty problem which causes the harassed reader 
 to knit his brows in anxious thought. 
 
 In answer to this demand, the literary crafts- 
 man has arisen who takes his art with a seriousness 
 which makes the " painful preacher " of the Puri- 
 tan time seem a mere pleasure-seeker. Equipped 
 with instruments of precision drawn from the 
 psychological laboratory, he is prepared to satisfy 
 our craving for the difficult. By the method of 
 suggestion he tries to make us believe that we 
 have never seen his characters before, and some- 
 times he succeeds. He deals in descriptions 
 which leave us with the impression of an inde- 
 scribable something which we should recognize 
 if we were as clever as he is. As we are not nearly 
 so clever, we are left with a chastened sense of 
 our inferiority, which is doubtless good for us. 
 And all this groping for the un-obvious is con- 
 nected with an equally insistent demand for real- 
 ism. The novel must not only be as real as life, 
 
150 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 but it must be more so. For life, as it appears in 
 our ordinary consciousness, is full of illusions. 
 When these are stripped off and the residuum is 
 compressed into a book, we have that which is 
 at once intensely real and painfully unfamiliar. 
 
 Now, there is a certain justification for this. A 
 psychologist may show us aspects of character 
 which we could not see by ourselves, as the 
 X-rays will reveal what is not visible to the naked 
 eye. But if the insides of things are real, so also 
 are the outsides. Surfaces and forms are not with- 
 out their importance. 
 
 It may be said in extenuation of Dickens that 
 the blemish of obviousness is one which he shared 
 with the world he lived in. It would be too much 
 to say that all realities are obvious. There is a 
 great deal that we do not see at the first glance; 
 but there is a great deal that we do see. To re- 
 produce the freshness and wonder of the first view 
 of the obvious world is one of the greatest achieve- 
 ments of the imagination. 
 
 The reason why the literary artist shuns the 
 obvious is that there is too much of it. It is too 
 big for the limited resources of his art. In the 
 actual world, realities come in big chunks. Na- 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 151 
 
 ture continually repeats herself. She hammers her 
 facts into our heads with a persistency which is 
 often more than a match for our stupidity. If we 
 do not recognize a fact to-day, it will hit us in 
 the same place to-morrow. 
 
 We are so used to this educational method of 
 reiteration that we make it a test of reality. An 
 impression made upon us must be repeated be- 
 fore it has validity to our reason. If a thing really 
 happened, we argue that it will happen again 
 under the same conditions. That is what we mean 
 by saying that we are under the reign of law. 
 There is a great family resemblance between 
 happenings. 
 
 We make acquaintance with people by the 
 same method. The recognition of identity de- 
 pends upon the ability which most persons have 
 of appearing to be remarkably like themselves. 
 The reason why we think that the person whom 
 we met to-day is the same person we met yes- 
 terday is that he seems the same. There are ob- 
 vious resemblances that strike us at once. He 
 looks the same, he acts the same, he has the same 
 mannerisms, the same kind of voice, and he an- 
 swers to the same name. If Proteus, with the 
 
152 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 best intention in the world, but with an unlimited 
 variety of self-manifestations, were to call every- 
 day, we should greet him always as a stranger. 
 We should never feel at home with so versatile 
 a person. A character must have a certain degree 
 of monotony about it before we can trust it. Un- 
 expectedness is an agreeable element in wit, but 
 not in friendship. Our friend must be one who 
 can say with honest Joe Gargery, " It were under- 
 stood, and it are understood, and it ever will be 
 similar, according." 
 
 But in the use of this effective method of re- 
 iteration there is a difference between nature and 
 a book. Nature does not care whether she bores 
 us or not : she has us by the buttonhole, and we 
 cannot get away. Not so with a book. When 
 we are bored, we lay it down, and that brings 
 the interview to an end. It is from the fear of 
 our impatience that most writers abstain from 
 the natural method of producing an impression. 
 
 And they are quite right. It is only now and 
 then that an audience will grant an extension of 
 time to a speaker in order that he may make his 
 point more clear. They would rather miss the 
 point. And it is still more rare for the reader to 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 153 
 
 grant a similar extension in order that the author 
 may tell again what he has told before. It is 
 much easier to shut up a book than to shut up a 
 speaker. 
 
 The criticism of Dickens that his characters 
 repeat themselves quite misses the mark. As well 
 object to an actor that he frequently responds to 
 an encore. If indicted for the offense, he could at 
 least insist that the audience be indicted with him 
 as accessory before the fact. 
 
 Dickens tells us that when he read at Harro- 
 gate, " There was a remarkably good fellow of 
 thirty or so who found something so very ludi- 
 crous in Toots that he could not compose him- 
 self at all, but laughed until he sat wiping his 
 eyes with his handkerchief, and whenever he felt 
 Toots coming again he began to laugh and wipe 
 his eyes afresh." 
 
 "Whenever he felt Toots coming again" — 
 there you have the whole philosophy of the mat- 
 ter. The young fellow found Toots amusing 
 when he first laid eyes on him. He wanted to see 
 him again, and it must always be the same Toots. 
 
 It is useless to cavil at an author because of 
 the means by which he produces his effects. The 
 
154 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 important thing is that he does produce an effect. 
 That the end justifies the means may be a dan- 
 gerous doctrine in ethics, but much may be said 
 for it in literature. The situation is like that of 
 a middle-aged gentleman beset by a small boy 
 on a morning just right for snowballing. "Give 
 me leave, mister*?" cries the youthful sharp- 
 shooter. The good-natured citizen gives leave by 
 pulling up his coat-collar and quickening his 
 pace. If the small boy can hit him, he is for- 
 given, if he cannot hit him, he is scorned. The 
 fact is that Dickens with a method as broad and 
 repetitious as that of Nature herself does succeed 
 in hitting our fancy. That is, he succeeds nine 
 times out often. 
 
 It is the minor characters of Dickens that are 
 remembered. And we remember them for the 
 same reason that we remember certain faces which 
 we have seen in a crowd. There is some salient 
 feature or trick of manner which first attracts and 
 then holds our attention. A person must have 
 some tag by which he is identified, or, so far as 
 we are concerned, he becomes one of the innum- 
 erable lost articles. There are persons who are 
 like umbrellas, very useful, but always liable to 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 155 
 
 be forgotten. The memory is an infirm faculty, 
 and must be humored. It often clings to mere 
 trifles. The man with the flamboyant neck- 
 tie whom you saw on the 8.40 train may also 
 be the author of a volume of exquisite lyrics; 
 but you never saw the lyrics, and you did see 
 the necktie. In the scale of being, the necktie 
 may be the least important parcel of this good 
 man's life, but it is the only thing about him 
 which attracts your attention. When you see it 
 day after day at the same hour you feel that you 
 have a real, though perhaps not a deep, acquaint- 
 ance with the man behind it. It is thus we habit- 
 ually perceive the human world. We see things, 
 and infer persons to correspond. One peculiarity 
 attracts us. It is not the whole man, but it is all 
 of him that is for us. In all this we are very 
 Dickensy. 
 
 We may read an acute character study and 
 straightway forget the person who was so ad- 
 mirably analyzed; but the lady in the yellow 
 curl-papers is unforgettable. We really see very 
 little of her, but she is real, and she would not be 
 so real without her yellow curl-papers. A yellow- 
 curl-paper-less lady in the Great White Horse 
 
156 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 Inn would be as unthinkable to us as a white- 
 plume-less Henry of Navarre at Ivry. 
 
 In ecclesiastical art the saints are recognized by 
 their emblems. Why should not the sinners have 
 the same means of identification? Dickens has 
 the courage to furnish us these necessary aids to 
 recollection. Micawber, Mrs. Gummidge, Barkis, 
 Mr. Dick, Uriah Heep, Betsy Trotwood, Dick 
 Swiveller, Mr. Mantalini, Harold Skimpole, 
 Sairey Gamp, always appear with their appropri- 
 ate insignia. We should remember that it is for 
 our sakes. 
 
 According to the canons of literary art, a fact 
 should be stated clearly once and for all. It would 
 be quite proper to mention the fact that Silas 
 Wegg had a wooden leg ; but this fact having 
 been made plain, why should it be referred to 
 again ? There is a sufficient reason based on 
 sound psychology. If the statement were not re- 
 peated, we should forget that Mr. Wegg had a 
 wooden leg, and by and by we should forget Silas 
 Wegg himself. He would fade away among the 
 host of literary gentlemen who are able to read 
 " The Decline and Fall," but who are not able to 
 keep themselves out of the pit of oblivion. But 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 157 
 
 when we repeatedly see Mr. Wegg as Mr. Boffin 
 saw him, " the literary gentleman with a wooden 
 leg," we feel that we really have the pleasure of 
 his acquaintance. There is not only perception of 
 him, but what the pedagogical people call apper- 
 ception. Our idea of Mr. Wegg is inseparably 
 connected with our antecedent ideas of general 
 woodenness. 
 
 Again, we are introduced to "a large, hard- 
 breathing, middle-aged man, with a mouth like 
 a fish, dull, staring eyes, and sandy hair standing 
 upright on his head, so that he looked as if he 
 had been choked and had at that moment come to." 
 This is Mr. Pumblechook. He does not emerge 
 slowly like a ship from below the horizon. We 
 see him all at once, eyes, mouth, hair, and character 
 to match. It is a case of falling into acquaintance 
 at first sight. We are now ready to hear what 
 Mr. Pumblechook says and see what he does. We 
 have a reasonable assurance that whatever he says 
 and does it will be just like Mr. Pumblechook. 
 
 We enter a respectable house in a shady angle 
 adjoining Portman Square. We go out to dinner 
 in solemn procession. We admire the preternat- 
 ural solidity of the furniture and the plate. The 
 
158 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 hostess is a fine woman, " with neck and nostrils 
 like a rocking-horse, hard features and majestic 
 headdress." Her husband, large and pompous, 
 with little light-colored wings " more like hair- 
 brushes than hair" on the sides of his otherwise 
 bald head, begins to discourse on the British Con- 
 stitution. We now know as much of Mr. Pod- 
 snap as we shall know at the end of the book. 
 But it is a real knowledge conveyed by the 
 method that gives dinner-parties their educational 
 value. We forgive Dickens his superfluous dis- 
 course on Podsnappery in general. For his re- 
 marks are precisely of the kind which we make 
 when the party is over, and we sit by the fire 
 generalizing and allegorizing the people we have 
 met. 
 
 That Mr. Thomas Gradgrind was unduly ad- 
 dicted to hard facts might have been delicately 
 insinuated in the course of two hundred pages. 
 We might have felt a mild pleasure in the dis- 
 covery which we had made, and then have gone 
 our way forgetting what manner of man he was. 
 What is Gradgrind to us or we to Gradgrind? 
 Dickens introduces him to us in all his uncom- 
 promising squareness — " square coat, square legs, 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 159 
 
 square shoulders, nay, his very neckcloth is trained 
 to take him by the throat with an unaccommodat- 
 ing grasp." We are made at once to see " the 
 square wall of a forehead which had his eyebrows 
 for its base, while his eyes found commodious 
 cellarage in the two dark caves overshadowed by 
 the wall." Having taken all this in at a glance, 
 there is nothing more to be done in the develop- 
 ment of the character of Mr. Gradgrind. He takes 
 his place among the obvious facts of existence. 
 But in so much as we were bound to find him out 
 sometime, shall we quarrel with Dickens because 
 we were enabled to do so in the first chapter *? 
 
 Nor do the obvious exaggerations of Dickens 
 arising from the exuberance of his fancy interfere 
 with the sense of reality. A truth is not less true 
 because it is in large print. We recognize creat- 
 ures who are prodigiously like ourselves, and we 
 laugh at the difference in scale. Did not all Lilli- 
 put laugh over the discovery of Gulliver *? How 
 they rambled over the vast expanse of counte- 
 nance, recognizing each feature — lips, cheek, 
 nose, chin, brow. " How very odd," they would 
 say to themselves, " and how very like ! " 
 
 It is to the wholesome obviousness of Dickens 
 
i6o THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 that we owe the atmosphere of good cheer that 
 surrounds his characters. No writer has pictured 
 more scenes of squalid misery, and yet we are not 
 depressed. There is bad weather enough, but we 
 are not " under the weather." There are charac- 
 ters created to be hated. It is a pleasure to hate 
 them. As to the others, whenever their trials and 
 tribulations abate for an instant, they relapse into 
 a state of unabashed contentment. 
 
 This is unusual in literature, for most literary 
 men are saddest when they write. The fact is that 
 happiness is much more easy to experience than 
 to describe, as any one may learn in trying to de- 
 scribe a good time he has had. One good time is 
 very much like another good time. Moreover, we 
 are shy, and dislike to express our enthusiasm. We 
 would n't for the world have any one know what 
 simple creatures we are and how little it takes to 
 make us happy. So we talk critically about a 
 great many things we do not care very much about, 
 and complain of the absence of many things which 
 we do not really miss. We feel badly about not 
 being invited to a party which we don't want to 
 goto. 
 
 We are like a horse that has been trained to 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 161 
 
 be a " high-stepper." By prancing over imaginary- 
 difficulties and shying at imaginary dangers he 
 gives an impression of mettlesomeness which is 
 foreign to his native disposition. 
 
 The story-teller is on the lookout for these 
 eager attitudes. He cannot afford to let his char- 
 acters be too happy. There is a literary value in 
 misery that he cannot afford to lose. 
 
 That "the course of true love never did run 
 smooth " is an assertion of story-tellers rather than 
 of ordinary lovers. The fact is that nothing is so 
 easy as falling in love and staying there. It is a very 
 common experience, so common that it attracts 
 little attention. The course of true love usually 
 runs so smoothly that there is nothing that causes 
 remark. It is not an occasion of gossip. Two good- 
 tempered and healthy persons are obviously made 
 for each other. They know it, and everybody else 
 knows it, and they keep on knowing it, and act, 
 as Joe Gargery would say, "similar, according." 
 
 The trouble is that the literary man finds that 
 this does not afford exciting material for a best 
 seller. So he must invent hazards to make the 
 game interesting to the spectators. In a story the 
 course of true love must not run smooth or no 
 
1 62 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 one would read it. The old-time romancer brought 
 his young people through all sorts of misadven- 
 tures. When all the troubles he could think of 
 were over, he left them abruptly at the church 
 door, murmuring feebly to the gentle reader, 
 " they were happy ever after." 
 
 The present-day novelist is offended at this end- 
 ing. " How absurd ! " he says. " They are still in 
 the early twenties. The world is all before them, 
 and they have time to fall into all sorts of troubles 
 which the romanticist has not thought of. Middle 
 age is just as dangerous a period as youth, and 
 matrimony has its pitfalls. Let me take up the 
 story and tell you how they did n't live happily 
 ever afterwards, but, on the contrary, had a cat- 
 and-dog life of it." 
 
 Now I would pardon the novelist if he were 
 perfectly honest and were to say, " Ladies and 
 gentlemen, I am trying to interest you. I have 
 not the skill to make a story of placid happiness 
 interesting. So I will do the next best thing. I 
 will tell you a story of a different kind. It is the 
 picture of a kind of life that is easier to make 
 readable." 
 
 In making such a confession he would be in 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 163 
 
 good company. Even Shakespeare, with all his 
 dramatic genius, confessed that he could not 
 avoid monotony in his praise of true love. Its 
 ways were ways of pleasantness, but did not af- 
 ford much incentive to originality. 
 
 "Since all alike my songs and praises be 
 To one, of one, still such, and ever so. 
 Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 
 Still constant in a wondrous excellence ; 
 Therefore my verse to constancy confined, 
 One thing expressing, leaves out difference. 
 ' Fair, kind, and true ' is all my argument, 
 * Fair, kind, and true ' varying to other words ; 
 And in this change is my invention spent." 
 
 But the novelist, when he takes himself too 
 seriously as the man who is to show us " life as it 
 is," is not content to acknowledge his limitations. 
 When he pictures a situation in which there is 
 nothing but a succession of problems and misun- 
 derstandings, he asks us to admire his austere 
 faithfulness. Faithful he may be to his Art, as he 
 understands it, but he is not faithful to reality, 
 unless he is able to make us see ordinary people 
 in the act of enjoying themselves. 
 
 The most obvious thing in life is that people 
 are seldom as unhappy as their circumstances 
 
1 64 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 would lead us to expect. Nobody is happy all 
 the time, and if he were, nobody is enough of a 
 genius to make his undeviating felicity interesting. 
 But a great many people are happy most of the 
 time, and almost everybody has been happy at 
 some time or other. It may have been only a mo- 
 mentary experience, but it was very real, and he 
 likes to think about it. He is excessively grateful 
 to any one who recalls the feeling. The point is 
 that the aggregate of these good times makes a 
 considerable amount of cheerfulness. 
 
 Dickens does not attempt the impossible liter- 
 ary feat of showing us one person who is happy 
 all the time, but he does what is more obvious, 
 he makes us see a great many people who have 
 snatches of good cheer in the midst of their hum- 
 drum lives. He lets us see another obvious fact, 
 that happiness is more a matter of temperament 
 than of circumstance. It is not given as a reward 
 of merit or as a mark of distinguished considera- 
 tion. There is one perennial fountain of pleasure. 
 Any one can have a good time who can enjoy 
 himself. Dickens was not above celebrating the 
 kind of happiness which comes to the natural 
 man and the natural boy through what we call the 
 
THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 165 
 
 "creature comforts." He could sympathize with 
 the unadulterated self-satisfaction of little Jack 
 Horner when 
 
 *' He put in his thumb 
 And pulled out a plum, 
 And said, * What a great boy am I ! ' " 
 
 The finding of the plum was not a matter of 
 world-wide importance, but it was a great pleas- 
 ure for Jack Horner, and he did not care who 
 knew it. 
 
 What joy Mr. Micawber gets out of his own 
 eloquence ! We cannot begrudge him this un- 
 earned increment. We sympathize, as, " much 
 affected, but still intensely enjoying himself, Mr. 
 Micawber folded up his letter and handed it with 
 a bow to my aunt as something she might like to 
 keep." 
 
 And R. Wilfer, despite his meagre salary, and 
 despite Mrs. Wilfer, enjoys himself whenever he 
 gets a chance. When he goes to Greenwich with 
 Bella he finds everything as it should be. " Every- 
 thing was delightful. The Park was delightful; 
 the punch was delightful, the dishes of fish were 
 delightful; the wine was delightful." If that was 
 not happiness, what was it 1 ? 
 
1 66 THE OBVIOUSNESS OF DICKENS 
 
 Said R. Wilfer : " Supposing a man to go 
 through life, we won't say with a companion, but 
 we will say with a tune. Very good. Supposing 
 the tune allotted to him was the ' Dead March ' 
 in 'Saul.' Well. It would be a very suitable 
 tune for particular occasions — none more so — 
 but it would be difficult to keep time with it in 
 the ordinary run of domestic transactions." 
 
 It is a matter of common observation that those 
 who have allotted to them the most solemn music 
 do not always keep time with it. In the " ordinary 
 run of domestic transactions " they find many little 
 alleviations. In the aggregate these amount to a 
 considerable blessing. The world may be rough, 
 and many of its ways may be cruel, but for all 
 that it is a joyful sensation to be alive, and the 
 more alive we are, the better we like it. All of 
 which is very obvious, and it is what we want 
 somebody to point out for us again and again. 
 
THE SPOILED CHILDREN OF 
 CIVILIZATION 
 
 TO spoil a child is no easy task, for Nature 
 is all the time working in behalf of the 
 childish virtues and veracities, and is gently cor- 
 recting the abnormalities of education. Still it 
 can be done. The secret of it is never to let the 
 child alone, and to insist on doing for him all 
 that he would otherwise do for himself — and 
 more. 
 
 In that " more " lies the spoiling power. The 
 child must be early made acquainted with the 
 feeling of satiety. There must be too much of 
 everything. If he were left to himself to any ex- 
 tent, this would be an unknown experience. For 
 he is a hungry little creature, with a growing 
 appetite, and naturally is busy ministering to his 
 own needs. He is always doing something for 
 himself, and enjoys the exercise. The little 
 egoist, even when he has "no language but a 
 cry," uses that language to make known to the 
 
1 68 THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 world that he wants something and wants it 
 very much. As his wants increase, his exertions 
 increase also. Arms and legs, fingers and toes, 
 muscles and nerves and busy brain are all at 
 work to get something which he desires. He 
 is a mechanic fashioning his little world to his 
 own uses. He is a despot who insists on his 
 divine right to rule the subservient creatures 
 around him. He is an inventor devising ways 
 and means to secure all the ends which he has 
 the wit to see. That these great works on which 
 he has set his heart end in self is obvious enough, 
 but we forgive him. Altruism will come in its 
 own time. 
 
 In natural play a boy will be a horse or a 
 driver. Either occupation gives him plenty to 
 do. But the role of an elderly passenger, given 
 a softly cushioned seat and deposited respect- 
 fully at the journey's end, he rejects with violent 
 expressions of scorn. It is ignominious. He will 
 be a policeman or robber or judge or executioner, 
 just as the exigencies of the game demand. 
 These are honorable positions worthy of one who 
 belongs to the party of action. But do not im- 
 pose upon him by asking him to act the part of 
 
OF CIVILIZATION 169 
 
 the respectable citizen who is robbed and who 
 does nothing but telephone for the police. He is 
 not fastidious and will take up almost anything 
 that is suggested, if it gives him the opportunity 
 of exerting himself. The demand for exertion is 
 the irreducible minimum. 
 
 Now to spoil all this fine enthusiasm you 
 must arrange everything in such a manner that 
 the eager little worker shall find everything 
 done before he has time to put his hand to it. 
 There must be no alluring possibilities in his 
 tiny universe. The days of creation, when " the 
 sons of God shouted for joy," must be passed 
 before he is ushered in. He must be presented 
 only with accomplished facts. There must be 
 nothing left for him to make or discover. He 
 must be told everything. All his designs must 
 be anticipated, by nurses and parents and teach- 
 ers. They must give him whatever good things 
 they can think of before he has time to desire 
 them. From the time when elaborate mechanical 
 toys are put into his reluctant hands, it is under- 
 stood that he is to be amused, and need not 
 amuse himself. His education is arranged for 
 him. His companions are chosen for him. There 
 
i 7 o THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 is nothing for him to do, and if there were, there 
 is no incentive for him to do it. In the game of 
 life he is never allowed to be the horse. It is his 
 fate to be the passenger. 
 
 A child is spoiled when he accepts the position 
 into which fond, foolish parents thrust him. Being 
 a passenger on what was presumably intended to 
 be a pleasure excursion, he begins to find fault as 
 soon as the journey becomes a little wearisome. 
 He must find fault, because that is the only 
 thing left for him to find. Having no opportun- 
 ity to exercise his creative faculties, he becomes 
 a petulant critic of a world he can neither enjoy 
 nor understand. Taking for granted that every- 
 thing should be done for him, he is angry be- 
 cause it is not done better. His ready-made 
 world does not please him — why should it ? It 
 never occurs to him that if he does not like it he 
 should try and make it better. 
 
 Unfortunately, the characteristics of the spoiled 
 child do not vanish with childhood or even with 
 adolescence. A university training does not ne- 
 cessarily transform petulance into ripe wisdom. 
 Literary ability may only give fluent expres- 
 sion to a peevish spirit. 
 
OF CIVILIZATION 171 
 
 Among the innumerable children of an ad- 
 vanced civilization there are those who have 
 been spoiled by the petting to which they have 
 been subjected. Life has been made so easy for 
 them that when they come upon hard places 
 which demand sturdy endurance they break 
 forth into angry complaints. They have been 
 given the results of the complicated activities 
 of mankind, without having done their share in 
 the common tasks. They have not through per- 
 sonal endeavor learned how much everything 
 costs. They are not able, therefore, to pay cheer- 
 fully for any future good. If it is not given to 
 them at once they feel that they have a griev- 
 ance. For friendly cooperation they are not pre- 
 pared. They must have their own way or they 
 will not play the game. Their fretful complaints 
 are like those of the children in the old-time 
 market-places : " We have piped unto you and 
 you have not danced, we have mourned unto 
 you and you have not lamented." 
 
 There is a fashionable attitude of mind among 
 many who pride themselves on their acute intel- 
 lectualism. It manifests itself in a supercilious 
 compassion for the efforts and ambitions of the 
 
172 THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 man of action. He, poor fellow, is well-meaning, 
 but unilluminated. He is eager and energetic 
 because he imagines that he is accomplishing 
 something. If he were a serious thinker he would 
 see that all effort is futile. We are here in an 
 unintelligible world, a world of mighty forces, 
 moving we know not whither. We are subject to 
 passions and impulses which we cannot resist. We 
 are never so helpless as when we are in the midst 
 of human affairs. We have great words which 
 we utter proudly. We talk of Civilization, Chris- 
 tianity, Democracy, and the like. What miser- 
 able failures they all are. Civilization has failed 
 to produce contentment. It has failed to secure 
 perfect justice between man and man, or to sat- 
 isfy the hungry with bread. Christianity after all 
 these centuries of preaching leaves mankind as 
 we see it to-day — an armed camp, nation fight- 
 ing nation, class warring against class. The demo- 
 cratic movement about which we hear so much 
 is equally unsuccessful. After its brilliant pro- 
 mises it leaves us helpless against the passion 
 and stupidity of the mob. Popular education 
 adds to the tribulations of society. It rapidly 
 increases the number of the discontented. The 
 
OF CIVILIZATION 173 
 
 half-educated are led astray by quacks and dema- 
 gogues who flourish mightily. The higher tech- 
 nical education increases that intellectual prole- 
 tariat which Bismarck saw to be a peril. Science, 
 which once was hailed as a deliverer, is now per- 
 ceived to bring only the disillusioning knowledge 
 of our limitations. The bankruptcy of Science 
 follows closely upon the bankruptcy of Faith. 
 Mechanical inventions, instead of decreasing the 
 friction of life, enormously increase it. We are 
 destined to be dragged along by our own ma- 
 chines which are to go faster and faster. Philan- 
 thropy increases the number of the unfit. The 
 advances of medicine are only apparent, while 
 statistics show that tuberculosis, a disease of 
 early life, decreases, cancer and diseases of later 
 life increase. 
 
 As for the general interest in social ameliora- 
 tion, that is the worst sign of all. " Coming 
 events cast their shadows before," and we may 
 see the shadow of the coming Revolution. Is 
 there any symptom of decadence more sure 
 than when the moral temperature suddenly rises 
 above normal 1 ? Watch the clinical charts of Em- 
 pire. In the period of national vigor the blood is 
 
i 7 4 THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 cool. But the time arrives when the period of 
 growth has passed. Then a boding sense comes 
 on. The huge frame of the patient is feverish. 
 The social conscience is sensitive. All sorts of 
 soft-hearted proposals for helping the masses are 
 proposed. The world rulers become too tender- 
 hearted for their business. Then comes the 
 end. 
 
 Read again the history of the Decline and 
 Fall of the Roman Empire. How admirable 
 were the efforts of the "good emperors," and 
 how futile ! Consider again the oft-repeated story 
 of the way the humanitarianism of Rousseau 
 ushered in the French Revolution and the Reign 
 of Terror. 
 
 With such gloomy forebodings do the over- 
 civilized thinkers and writers try to discourage 
 the half-civilized and half-educated workers, who 
 are trying to make things better. How shall we 
 answer the prophets of ill % 
 
 Not by denying the existence of the evils they 
 see, or the possibility of the calamities which 
 they fear. What we object to is the mental atti- 
 tude toward the facts that are discovered. The 
 spoiled child, when it discovers something not 
 
OF CIVILIZATION 175 
 
 to its liking, exaggerates the evil, and indulges 
 its ill-temper. 
 
 The well-trained man faces the evil, studies it, 
 measures it, and then sets to work. He is well 
 aware that nothing human is perfect, and that to 
 accomplish one thing is only to reveal another 
 thing which needs to be done. There must be per- 
 petual readjustment, and reconsideration. What 
 was done yesterday must be done over again 
 to-day in a somewhat different way. But all this 
 does not prove the futility of effort. It only 
 proves that the effort must be unceasing, and 
 that it must be more and more wisely directed. 
 
 He compares, for example, Christianity as an 
 ideal with Christianity as an actual achievement. 
 He places in parallel columns the maxims of 
 Jesus, and the policies of Christian nations and the 
 actual state of Christian churches. The discrep- 
 ancy is obvious enough. But it does not prove 
 that Christianity is a failure ; it only proves that 
 its work is unfinished. 
 
 A political party may adopt a platform filled 
 with excellent proposals which if thoroughly car- 
 ried out would bring in the millennium. But it 
 is too much to expect that it would all be accom- 
 
176 THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 plished in four years. At the end of that period 
 we should not be surprised if the reformers should 
 ask for a further extension of time. 
 
 The spoiled children of civilization eliminate 
 from their problem the one element which is con- 
 stant and significant— human effort. They forget 
 that from the beginning human life has been a 
 tremendous struggle against great odds. Nothing 
 has come without labor, no advance has been with- 
 out daring leadership. New fortunes have always 
 had their hazards. 
 
 Forgetting all this, and accepting whatever com- 
 forts may have come to them as their right, they 
 are depressed and discouraged by their vision of 
 the future with its dangers and its difficulties. 
 They habitually talk of the civilized world as on 
 the brink of some great catastrophe which it is 
 impossible to avoid. This gloomy foreboding is 
 looked upon as an indication of wisdom. 
 
 It should be dismissed, I think, as an indica- 
 tion of childish unreason, unworthy of any one 
 who faces realities. It is still true that "the mor- 
 row shall take thought for the things of itself. 
 Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof." 
 
 The notion that coming events cast shadows be- 
 
OF CIVILIZATION 177 
 
 fore is a superstition. How can they ? A shadow 
 must be the shadow of something. The only events 
 that can cast a shadow are those which have al- 
 ready taken place. Behind them is the light of 
 experience, shining upon actualities which inter- 
 cept its rays. 
 
 The shadows which affright us are of our own 
 making. They are projections into the future of 
 our own experiences. They are sharply defined 
 silhouettes, rather than vague omens. When we 
 look at them closely we can recognize familiar 
 features. We are dealing with cause and effect. 
 What is done foreshadows what remains to be 
 done. Every act implies some further acts as its 
 results. When a principle is recognized its practi- 
 cal applications must follow. When men begin 
 to reason from new premises they are bound to 
 come to new conclusions. 
 
 It is evident that in the last half-century enough 
 discoveries have been made to keep us busy for 
 a long time. Every scientific advance upsets some 
 custom and interferes with some vested interest. 
 You cannot discover the truth about tuberculosis 
 without causing a great deal of trouble to the 
 owners of unsanitary dwellings. Some of them 
 
178 THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 are widows whose little all is invested in this kind 
 of property. The health inspectors make life more 
 difficult for them. 
 
 Scholarly research among ancient manuscripts 
 is the cause of destructive criticism. The scholar 
 with the most peaceable intentions in the world 
 disturbs some one's faith. His discovery perhaps 
 involves the reconstruction of a whole system of 
 philosophy. 
 
 A law is passed. The people are pleased with 
 it, and then forget all about it. But by and by a 
 conscientious executive comes into office who 
 thinks it his duty to enforce the law. Such acci- 
 dents are liable to happen in the most good- 
 humored democracy. When he tries to enforce 
 it there is a burst of angry surprise. He is treated 
 as a revolutionist who is attacking the established 
 order. And yet to the moderately philosophic ob- 
 server the making of the law and its enforcement 
 belong to the same process. The difficulty is that 
 though united logically they are often widely 
 separated chronologically. 
 
 The adjustment to a new theory involves 
 changes in practice. But the practical man who 
 has usually little interest in new theories is sur- 
 
OF CIVILIZATION 179 
 
 prised and angry when the changes come. He 
 looks upon them as arbitrary interferences with 
 his rights. 
 
 Even when it is admitted that when considered 
 in a large way the change is for the better, 
 the question arises, Who is to pay for it ? The 
 discussion on this point is bound to be acrimoni- 
 ous, as we are not saints and nobody wants to 
 pay more than his share of the costs of progress. 
 Even the price of liberty is something which we 
 grumble over. 
 
 You have noticed how it is when a new boule- 
 vard is laid in any part of the city. There is al- 
 ways a dispute between the municipality and the 
 abutters. Should the abutters be assessed for 
 betterments or should they sue for damages? 
 Usually both actions are instituted. The cost 
 of such litigation should be included in the 
 price which the community pays for the im- 
 provement. 
 
 If people always knew what was good for them 
 and acted accordingly, this would be a very dif- 
 ferent world, though not nearly so interesting. 
 But we do not know what is good for us till we 
 try ; and human life is spent in a series of ex- 
 
180 THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 periments. The experiments are costly, but there 
 is no other way of getting results. All that we 
 can say to a person who refuses to interest him- 
 self in these experiments, or who looks upon all 
 experiments as futile which do not turn out as 
 he wished, is that his attitude is childish. The 
 great commandment to the worker or thinker is, 
 — Thou shalt not sulk. 
 
 Sulking is no more admirable in those of great 
 reputation than it is in the nursery. Thackeray 
 declared that, in his opinion, " love is a higher 
 intellectual exercise than hate." And looked at 
 as an exercise of mental power courage must al- 
 ways be greater than the most highly intellectual- 
 ized form of fear or despair. 
 
 I cannot take with perfect seriousness Mat- 
 thew Arnold's oft-quoted lines: — 
 
 " Achilles ponders in his tent, 
 The kings of modern thought are dumb. 
 Silent they are, though not content, 
 And wait to see the future come. 
 They have the grief men had of yore, 
 But they contend and cry no more." 
 
 If that is ever the attitude of the best minds, 
 it is only a momentary one of which they are 
 
OF CIVILIZATION 181 
 
 quickly ashamed. Achilles sulked in his tent 
 when he was pondering not a big problem, but 
 a small grievance. The kings of modern thought 
 who are described seem like kings out of a job. 
 We are inclined to turn from them to the intel- 
 lectual monarchs de facto. They are the ones who 
 take up the hard job which the representatives of 
 the old regime give up as hopeless. For when 
 the king has abdicated and contends no more — 
 Long live the King ! 
 
 The real thinkers of any age do not remain 
 long in a blue funk. They always find some- 
 thing important to think about. They always 
 point out something worth doing. They cannot 
 passively wait to see the future come. They are 
 too busy making it. 
 
 Matthew Arnold struck a truer note in Rugby 
 Chapel. The true leaders of mankind can never 
 be mere intellectualists. There must be a union 
 of intellectual and moral energy like that which 
 he recognized in his father. To the fainting, dis- 
 pirited race, — 
 
 "Ye like angels appear, 
 Radiant with ardour divine, 
 Beacons of hope, ye appear ! 
 Languor is not in your heart, 
 
1 8a THE SPOILED CHILDREN 
 
 Weakness is not in your word, 
 Weariness not on your brow ; 
 Ye alight in our van : at your voice 
 Panic, despair, flee away." 
 
 When those whom we have looked upon as 
 our intellectual leaders grow disheartened, we 
 must remember that a lost leader does not neces- 
 sarily mean a lost cause. When those whom we 
 had called the kings of modern thought are 
 dumb, we can find new leadership. " Change 
 kings with us," replied an Irish officer after the 
 panic of the Boyne ; " change kings with us, and 
 we will fight you again." 
 
ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 From a Real-Estate Dealer to a Realistic Novelist 
 
 DEAR SIR: — 
 I have been for some time interested in 
 your projects for the improvement of literature. 
 When I saw your name in the newspapers, I 
 looked you up in " Who 's Who," and found that 
 your rating is excellent. What pleased me was 
 the bold way you attacked the old firms which 
 have been living on their reputations. The way 
 you showed up Dickens, Thackeray & Co. showed 
 that you know a thing or two. As for W. Scott 
 and the other speculators who have been preying 
 on the credulity of the public, you gave them 
 something to think about. You showed conclu- 
 sively that instead of dealing in hard facts, they 
 have been handing out fiction under the guise of 
 novels. 
 
 Our minds run in the same channel : you deal 
 in reality and I deal in realty, but the principle 
 is the same. I inclose some of the literature which 
 
1 84 ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 I am sending out. You see, I warn people against 
 investing in stocks and bonds. These are mere 
 paper securities, which take to themselves wings 
 and fly away. But if you can get hold of a few 
 acres of dirt, there you are. When a panic comes 
 along, and Wall Street goes to smash, you can 
 sit on your front porch in South Canaan without 
 a care. You have your little all in something real. 
 
 You followed the same line of argumentation. 
 You showed that there was nothing imaginative 
 about your work. You could give a warranty 
 deed for every fact which you put on the market. 
 I was so pleased with your method that I bought 
 a job lot of your books, so that I could see for 
 myself how you conducted your business. Will 
 you allow me, as one in the same line, to indulge 
 in a little criticism ? I am afraid that you are mak- 
 ing the same mistake I made when I first went 
 into real estate. I was so possessed with the idea of 
 the value of land that I became " land poor." It 
 strikes me that a novelist may become reality poor 
 in the same way ; that is, by investing in a great 
 many realities that are not worth what he pays 
 for them. 
 
 You see, there is a fact which we do not men- 
 
ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 185 
 
 tion in our circulars. There is a great deal of land 
 lying out of doors. Some land is in great demand, 
 and the real trick is to find out what that land is. 
 You can't go out on the plains of Wyoming and 
 give an acre of land the same value which an 
 acre has in the Wall Street district. I speak from 
 experience, having tried to convince the public 
 that if the acres are real, the values I suggested 
 must be real also. People would n't believe me, 
 and I lost money. 
 
 And the same thing is true about improvements. 
 They must be related to the market value of the 
 land on which they are placed. A forty-story 
 building at Goshenville Corners would be a mis- 
 take. There is no call for it. 
 
 This is the mistake which I fear you have been 
 making. Your novel is a carefully prepared struc- 
 ture, and must have cost a great deal, but it is 
 built on ground which is not worth enough to 
 justify the investment. It has not what we call 
 " site value." You yourself declare that you 
 have no particular interest in the characters 
 you describe at such length. All that you have 
 to say for them is that they are real. It is as if I 
 were to put up an expensive apartment-house on 
 
1 86 ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 a vacant lot I have at North Ovid. North Ovid 
 is real, and so would be the apartment-house ; but 
 what of it *? 
 
 There are ninety millions of people in this 
 country, all with characters which might be care- 
 fully studied, if we had time. But we have n't 
 the time. So we have to choose our intimates. 
 We prefer to know those who seem to us most 
 worth knowing. You should remember that the 
 novelist has no monopoly on realism. The news- 
 papers are full of all sorts of realities. The his- 
 torian is a keen competitor. 
 
 Do you know that when I went to the book- 
 store to get your works I fell in with a book on 
 Garibaldi by a man named Trevelyan. When I 
 got home I sat down with it and could n't let it 
 go. Garibaldi was all the time doing things, 
 which you never allow your characters to do be- 
 cause you think they would not be real. He was 
 acting in the most romantic and heroic manner 
 possible. And his Thousand trooped after him as 
 gayly as if they were in a melodrama. And yet 
 I understand that Garibaldi was a real person, and 
 that his exploits can be authenticated. 
 
 The competition in your line of business is 
 
ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 187 
 
 fierce. You try to hold the reader's attention to 
 the states of mind of a few futile persons who 
 never did anything in particular that would make 
 people want to know them exhaustively. And 
 then along comes the historian who tells all about 
 some one who does things they are interested in. 
 
 You can't wonder at the result. People who 
 ought to be interested in fiction are carried away 
 by biography, and the chances are that some of 
 them will never come back. When they once 
 get a taste for highly spiced intellectual victuals, 
 you can't get them to relish the breakfast food 
 you set before them. It seems to them insipid. 
 
 I know what you will say about Garibaldi. 
 He was not your kind. You would n't touch 
 such a character if it was offered to you at a bar- 
 gain. After looking over that expedition to Sicily 
 you would say that there was nothing in it for 
 you. The motives were n't complicated enough. 
 It was just plain heroics. You don't care so much 
 for passions as for problems. You want some- 
 thing to analyze. 
 
 Well, what do you say to Cavour ? When I 
 was deep in Garibaldi I found I could n't un- 
 derstand what he was driving at without know- 
 
1 88 ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 ing something about Cavour who was always 
 mixed up with what was going on in that section 
 of the world. 
 
 So I took up a Life of Cavour by a man 
 named Thayer. It 's the way I have ; one thing 
 suggests another. Once I went up to Duluth and 
 invested in some corner lots on Superior Street. 
 That suggested Superior City, just across the 
 river. The two towns were running each other 
 down at a great rate just then, so I stopped at 
 West Superior to see what it had to say for itself. 
 The upshot of the matter was that I sized up 
 the situation about like this. A big city has got 
 to grow up at the head of Lake Superior. If 
 Duluth grows as much as it thinks it will, it 's 
 bound to take in Superior. And if Superior 
 grows as much as it thinks it will, it can't help 
 taking in Duluth. So I concluded that the best 
 thing for me was to take a flier in both. 
 
 When I saw what a big proposition the Uni- 
 fication of Italy was, I knew that there was room 
 for the development of some mighty interesting 
 characters before they got through with the busi- 
 ness. So I plunged into the Life of Cavour, and 
 I 've never regretted it. 
 
ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 189 
 
 Talk about problems ! That hero of yours in 
 your last book — I know you don't believe in 
 heroes, — at any rate, the leading man — was an 
 innocent child walking with his nurse along Easy 
 Street, when compared with Cavour. Cavour 
 had fifty problems at the same time, and all of 
 them were insoluble to every one except himself. 
 
 His project, as I have just told you, was the 
 unification ofltaly. But he hadn't any regulated 
 monopoly in the business. A whole bunch of 
 unifiers were ahead of him ; each one of them 
 was trying to unify Italy in his own way. They 
 were all working at cross-purposes. 
 
 Now Cavour didn't try, as you might have 
 expected, to reconcile these people. He saw that 
 it could n't be done. He did n't mind their hat- 
 ing one another ; when they got too peaceable he 
 would make an occasion for them to hate him. 
 He kept them all irreconcilably at work, till, in 
 spite of themselves, they got to working together. 
 And when they began to do that, Cavour would 
 encourage them in it. As long as they were all 
 working for Italy he did n't care what they 
 thought of each other or of him. He had his eye 
 on the main chance — for Italy. 
 
i 9 o ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 I notice that in your novel, when your man 
 got into trouble he threw up the sponge. That 
 rather turned me against him and I wished I 
 had n't wasted so much time on his affairs. That 
 was n't the way with Thayer's hero. One of the 
 largest deals Cavour ever made was with Napo- 
 leon III, who at that time had the reputation of 
 being the biggest promoter of free institutions in 
 Europe. He was a regular wizard in diplomacy. 
 Whatever he said went. You see they had n't 
 realized then that he was doing business on bor- 
 rowed capital. 
 
 Well, Napoleon agreed to underwrite, for Ca- 
 vour, the whole project of Italian Unity. Every- 
 body thought it was going through all right, when 
 suddenly Napoleon, from a place called Villa- 
 franca, wired that the deal was off. 
 
 That floored Cavour. He was down and out. 
 He could n't realize ten cents on the dollar on his 
 securities. If he had been like your man, Thayer 
 would have had to bring his book to an end with 
 that chapter. He would have left the reader 
 plunged in gloom. 
 
 Cavour was mad for awhile and went up to 
 Switzerland to cool off. Thayer describes the way 
 
ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 191 
 
 he went up to a friend's house, near Lake Geneva, 
 with his coat on his arm. " Unannounced, he 
 strode into the drawing-room, threw himself 
 into an easy-chair, and asked for a glass of iced 
 water." 
 
 Then he poured out his wrath over the Villa- 
 franca incident, but he didn't waste much time 
 over that. In a few moments he was enthusiast- 
 ically telling of the new projects he had formed. 
 " We must not look back, but forward," he told 
 his friends. " We have followed one road. It is 
 blocked. Very well, we will follow another." 
 
 That's the kind of man Cavour was. You 
 forgot that he was a European statesman. When 
 you saw him with his coat off, drinking ice- 
 water and talking about the future, you felt to- 
 ward him just as you would toward a first-rate 
 American who was of Presidential size. 
 
 Now, I 'm not saying that there 's any more 
 realism to the square inch in a Life of Cavour 
 than in a Life of Napoleon III. It would take as 
 much labor on the part of a biographer to tell 
 what Napoleon III really was as to tell what 
 Cavour really was — perhaps more. But you come 
 up against the law of supply and demand. You 
 
1 92 ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 can't get around that. There is n't much inquiry 
 for Napoleon, now that his boom is over. 
 
 The way Thayer figured it was, I suppose, 
 something like this. It would take eight or ten 
 years to assemble the materials for a first-rate 
 biography such as he wished to make. If he 
 chose Napoleon there would be steady deteriora- 
 tion in the property, and when the improvements 
 were put on there would be no demand. If he 
 put the same work on Cavour, he would get the 
 unearned increment. I think he showed his sense. 
 
 Of course the biographer has the advantage of 
 you in one important particular. He knows how 
 his story is coming out. In a way, he 's betting 
 on a certainty. Now you, as I judge, don't know 
 how your story is coming out, and if it doesn't 
 come out, all you have to do is to say that is the 
 way you meant it to be. You cut off so many 
 square feet of reality, and let it go at that. Now 
 that is very convenient for you, but from the 
 reader's point of view, it 's unsatisfactory. It 
 mixes hirn up, and he feels a grudge against you 
 whenever he thinks how much better he might 
 have spent his time than in following a plot that 
 came to nothing. You see you are running up 
 
ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 193 
 
 against that same law of supply and demand. 
 There are so many failures in the world that the 
 market is overstocked with them. There is a 
 demand for successes. 
 
 When I was in an old house which I took on 
 the foreclosure of a mortgage the other day, I 
 came upon a little old novel, of a hundred years 
 ago. It was the sentimental kind that you de- 
 spise. It was called " Alonzo and Melissa," which 
 was enough to condemn it in your eyes. But the 
 preface seemed to me to have some sense. 
 
 The author says : " It is believed that this story 
 contains no indecorous stimulants, nor is it filled 
 with inexplicated incidents imperceptible to the 
 understanding. When anxieties have been ex- 
 cited by involved and doubtful events, they are 
 afterwards elucidated by their consequences. In 
 this the writer believes that he has generally 
 copied Nature." 
 
 I have a feeling that those inexplicated inci- 
 dents in your novel might have been elucidated 
 by their consequences if you had chosen a person 
 whose actions were of the kind to have some im- 
 portant consequences. In tying up to an incon- 
 sequential person you lost that chance. 
 
i 9 4 AN REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 
 
 I don't mean to discourage you, because I be- 
 lieve you have it in you to make a novel that 
 would be as interesting as half the biographies 
 that are written. But you must learn a trick from 
 the successful biographers, and not invest in 
 second-rate realities. The best is none too good. 
 You have to exercise judgment in your initial 
 investment. 
 
 Now, if I were going to build a realistic novel, 
 and had as much skill in detail as you have, and 
 as much intellectual capital to invest, I would go 
 right down to the business centre, so to speak, 
 and invest in a really valuable piece of reality; 
 and then I would develop it. The first invest- 
 ment might seem pretty steep, but it would pay 
 in the end. If you could get a big man, enthu- 
 siastic over a big cause, in conflict with big 
 forces, and bring in a lot of worth-while people to 
 back him up, and then bring the whole thing to 
 some big conclusion, you would have a novel 
 that would be as real as the biographies I have 
 been reading, and as interesting. I think it would 
 be worth trying. 
 
 Respectfully yours, 
 
 R. S. Landmann. 
 
ON REALISM AS AN INVESTMENT 195 
 
 P. S. If you don't feel that you can afford to 
 make such a heavy investment as I have suggested, 
 why don't you put your material into a short 
 story % 
 
TO A CITIZEN OF THE OLD SCHOOL 
 
 OUR talk last night set me to thinking. It 
 was the first time during all the years of 
 our acquaintance that I had ever heard you speak 
 in a discouraged tone. You have always been 
 healthy to a fault, and your good-humor has 
 been contagious. Especially has it been pleasant 
 to hear you talk about the country and its Mani- 
 fest Destiny. 
 
 I remember, some years ago, how merrily you 
 used to laugh about the " calamity-howler," whose 
 habitat at that time was Kansas. The farmers of 
 Kansas were not then as prosperous as they are 
 now. When several bad years came together 
 they didn't like it, and began to make com- 
 plaints. Their raucous cries you found very 
 amusing. 
 
 The calamity-howler, being ignorant of the 
 laws of political economy and of the conditions 
 of progress, did not take his calamities in the 
 spirit in which they were offered to him by the 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 197 
 
 rest of the country. He did not find satisfaction 
 in the thought that other people were prosperous 
 though he was not. Instead of acting reasonably 
 and voting the straight ticket from motives of 
 party loyalty, he raised all sorts of irrelevant issues. 
 He treated Prosperity as if it were a local issue, 
 instead of a plank in the National Platform. 
 
 Now, all this was opposed to your good-na- 
 tured philosophy of progress. You were emi- 
 nently practical, and it was a part of your creed 
 never to "go behind the returns." As to Pros- 
 perity, it was " first come, first served." In this 
 land of opportunity the person who first sees an 
 opportunity should take it, asking no questions as 
 to why he came by it. It is his by right of dis- 
 covery. 
 
 You were always a great believer in the good 
 old American doctrine of Manifest Destiny. 
 This was a big country and destined to grow big- 
 ger. To you bigness was its own excuse for being. 
 Optimism was as natural as breathing. It was 
 manifest destiny that cities and corporations and 
 locomotives and armies and navies and national 
 debts and daily newspapers, with their Sunday 
 supplements, and bank clearances and tariffs and 
 
198 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 insurance companies and the price of living 
 should go up. It was all according to a beautiful 
 natural law, "as fire ascending seeks the sun." 
 Besides these things, it was manifest destiny that 
 other things not so good should grow bigger also, 
 — graft and slums and foolish luxury. They 
 were all involved in the increasing bigness of 
 things. 
 
 Sometimes you would grumble about them, 
 but in a good-natured way, as one who recognized 
 their inevitability. Just as you said, boys will be 
 boys, so you said, politicians will be politicians, 
 and business is business. If one is living in a 
 growing country he must not begrudge the cost 
 of the incidentals. 
 
 In your talk there was a cheerful cynicism 
 which amazed the slower-witted foreigner. You 
 talked of the pickings and stealings of your 
 elected officers as you would of the pranks of a 
 precocious youngster. It was all a part of the 
 day's growth. Yet you were really public-spirited. 
 You would have sprung to arms in a moment 
 if you had thought that your country was in dan- 
 ger or that its institutions were being undermined. 
 
 Your good-natured tolerance was a part of 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 199 
 
 your philosophy of life. It was bound up in your 
 triumphant Americanism. You were a hero- 
 worshipper, and you delighted in "big men." 
 The big men who gained the prizes were efficient 
 and unscrupulous and unassuming; that is, they 
 never assumed to be better than their neighbors. 
 They looked ahead, they saw how things were 
 going, and went with them. And on the whole, 
 things, you believed, were going well. Though 
 they were not scrupulously just, these big men 
 were generous, and were willing to give away 
 what they had acquired. Though grasping, they 
 were not avaricious. They grasped things with 
 the strong prehensile grasp of the infant, rather 
 than with the clutch of the miser. They took them 
 because they were there, and not because they 
 had any well-defined idea as to whether they be- 
 longed to them or not. 
 
 These big men were very likable. They were 
 engrossed in big projects, and they were doing 
 necessary work in the development of the country. 
 They naturally took the easiest and most direct 
 methods to get at results. They would not go out 
 of the way to corrupt a legislature any more than 
 they would go out of the way to find a range of 
 
200 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 mountains. But if the mountain stood in the way 
 of the railroad, they would go through it regard- 
 less of expense. If the legislature was in their way, 
 they would deal with it as best they could. They 
 were willing to pay what it cost to accomplish a 
 purpose which they believed was good. 
 
 Their attitude toward the Public was one which 
 you did not criticize, for it seemed to you to be 
 reasonable. The Public was an abstraction, like 
 Nature. We are all under the laws of Nature. But 
 Nature does n't mind whether we consciously obey 
 or not. She goes her way, and we go ours. We 
 get all she will let us have. So with the Public. 
 The Public was not regarded as a person or as 
 an aggregate of persons, it was the potentiality of 
 wealth. They never thought of the Public as 
 being starved or stunted, or even as being 
 seriously inconvenienced because of what they 
 took from it, any more than they thought of Na- 
 ture being the poorer because of the electricity 
 which they induced to run along their wires. A 
 public franchise was a plum growing on a con- 
 venient tree. A wise man would wait till it was 
 ripe and then, when no one was looking, would 
 pick it for himself. The whole transaction was a 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 201 
 
 trial of wits between rival pickers. A special 
 privilege, according to this view, involved no 
 special obligations; it was a reward for special 
 abilities. Once given, it was property to be en- 
 joyed in perpetuity. 
 
 This was the code of ethics which you, in com- 
 mon with multitudes of American citizens, ac- 
 cepted. You have yourself prospered. Indeed, 
 things had gone so well with you in this best of 
 all countries that any fundamental change seemed 
 unthinkable. 
 
 But that a change has come seems evident 
 from your conversation last night. All that fine 
 optimism which your friends have admired 
 seemed to have deserted you. There was a queru- 
 lous note which was strangely out of keeping 
 with your usual disposition. It was what you have 
 been accustomed to stigmatize as un-American. 
 When you discussed the present state of the coun- 
 try, you talked — you will pardon me for saying 
 it — for all the world like a calamity-howler. 
 
 The country, you said, is in a bad way, and it 
 must be awakened from its lethargy. After a 
 period of unexampled prosperity and marvelous 
 development, something has happened. Just what 
 
202 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 it is you don't really know, but it 's very alarm- 
 ing. Instead of working together for Prosperity, 
 the people are listening to demagogues, and try- 
 ing all sorts of experiments, half of which you 
 are sure are unconstitutional. The captains of in- 
 dustry who have made this the biggest country 
 in the world are thwarted in their plans for fur- 
 ther expansion. 
 
 There are people who are criticizing the courts, 
 and there are courts which are criticizing busi- 
 ness enterprises that they don't understand. There 
 are so-called experts — mere college professors 
 — who are tinkering the tariff. There are over- 
 zealous executives who are currying favor with 
 the crowd by enforcing laws which are well 
 enough on the statute books, but which were 
 never meant to go further. As if matters were 
 not bad enough already, there are demagogues 
 who are stirring up class feeling by proposing 
 new laws. Party loyalty is being undermined, 
 and the new generation does n't half understand 
 the great issues which have been settled for all 
 time. It is rashly interested in new issues. For 
 the life of you, you say, you can't understand 
 what these issues are. 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 203 
 
 New and divisive questions which lead only to 
 faction are propounded so that the voters are con- 
 fused. The great principle of Representative Gov- 
 ernment, on which the Republic was founded, is 
 being attacked. Instead of choosing experienced 
 men to direct public policy, there is an appeal 
 to the passions of the mob. The result of all this 
 agitation is an unsettle ment that paralyzes busi- 
 ness. The United States is in danger of losing 
 the race for commercial supremacy. Germany 
 will forge ahead of us. Japan will catch us. So- 
 cialism and the Yellow Peril will be upon us. 
 The Man on Horseback will appear, and what 
 shall we do then? 
 
 I did not understand whether you looked for 
 these perils to come together, or whether they 
 were to appear in orderly succession. But I came 
 to the conclusion that either the country is in a 
 bad way, or you are. You will pardon me if I 
 choose the latter alternative, for I too am an op- 
 timistic American, and I like to choose the lesser 
 of two evils. If there is an attack of " hysteria," 
 I should like to think of it as somewhat localized, 
 rather than having suddenly attacked the whole 
 country. 
 
204 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 Now, my opinion is that the American people 
 were never minding their own business more 
 good-humoredly and imperturbably than at the 
 present moment. They have been slowly and 
 silently making up their minds, and now they 
 are beginning to express a deliberate judgment. 
 What you take to be the noise of demagogues, 
 I consider to be the sober sense of a great people 
 which is just finding adequate expression. 
 
 You seem to be afraid of an impending revolu- 
 tion, and picture it as a sort of French Revolu- 
 tion, a destructive overturn of all existing insti- 
 tutions. But may not the revolution which we 
 are passing through be something different, — a 
 great American revolution, which is being carried 
 through in the characteristic American fashion? 
 
 Walt Whitman expresses the great character- 
 istic of American history : " Here is what moves 
 in magnificent masses careless of particulars." 
 
 It is this mass movement, slow at first, but 
 swift and irresistible when the mass has come to 
 consciousness of its own tendency, which has al- 
 ways confounded astute persons who have been 
 interested only in particulars. It is a movement 
 like that of the Mississippi at flood-time. The 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 205 
 
 great river flows within its banks as long as it 
 can. But the time comes when the barriers are 
 too frail to hold back the mighty waters. Then 
 the river makes, very quickly, a channel for it- 
 self. You cannot understand what has happened 
 till you take into account the magnitude of the 
 river itself. 
 
 Now, the successful man of affairs, who has 
 been intent on the incidents of the passing day, 
 is often strangely oblivious of the mass move- 
 ments. You, for example, are disturbed by the 
 unrest which is manifest, and you look for some 
 one whom you can blame for the disturbance. 
 But perhaps no one is to blame. 
 
 I think that what is happening may be traced 
 to a sufficient cause. We are approaching the 
 end of one great era in American history and we 
 are preparing, as best we may, for a new era. The 
 consciousness of the magnitude of the change 
 has come to us rather suddenly. One big job 
 which has absorbed the energies and stimulated 
 the ambition of Americans for three hundred 
 years is practically finished. Some work still re- 
 mains to be done on it, but it no longer demands 
 the highest ability. The end is in sight. 
 
206 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 This work has been the settlement of a vast 
 territory, lying between the Atlantic and Pacific, 
 with a population of white men. It was a task so 
 big in itself that it fired the imagination and de- 
 veloped that peculiar type of character which we 
 call American. In its outlines the task was so 
 broad and simple that it could be comprehended 
 by the most ordinary intelligence. It was so in- 
 evitable that it impressed upon all those engaged 
 in it the belief in Manifest Destiny. 
 
 What has been treated by incompetent critics 
 as mere boastfulness has in reality been practical 
 sagacity and foresight. Sam Slick was only ex- 
 pressing a truth when he - said, " The Yankees 
 see further than most folks." This was not be- 
 cause of any innate cleverness but because of 
 their advantage in position. Americans have had 
 a more unobstructed view of the future than had 
 the people of the overcrowded Old World. The 
 settlers on the shores of the Atlantic had behind 
 them a region which belonged to them and their 
 children. They soon became aware of the riches 
 of this hinterland and of its meaning for the fu- 
 ture. This vast region must be settled. Roads 
 must be built over the mountains, the forests 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 207 
 
 must be felled, mines must be opened up, farms 
 must be brought under the plow, great cities must 
 be built by the rivers and lakes, there must be 
 schools and churches and markets established 
 where now the tribes of Indians roam. The sur- 
 plus millions of Europe must be transported to 
 this wilderness. 
 
 It was a big task and yet a simple one. The 
 movement was as obvious as that of Niagara — 
 Niagara is wonderful but inevitable. A great deal 
 of water flowing over a great deal of rock, that is 
 all there is of it. The destiny of America was 
 equally obvious from the beginning, Here was a 
 great deal of land which was destined to be in- 
 habited by a great many people. It did n't matter 
 very much what kind of people they were so that 
 they were healthy and industrious. The greatness 
 of the country was assured if only there were 
 enough of them. 
 
 From the very first the future greatness of the 
 land was seen by open-eyed explorers. They all 
 were able to appreciate it. Captain John Smith 
 does not compare Virginia with Great Britain; he 
 compares it to the whole of Europe. After men- 
 tioning the natural resources of each country, he 
 
208 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 declares that the new land had all these and 
 more, and needed only men to develop them. 
 And Captain John Smith's forecast has proved 
 to be correct. 
 
 In the first half of the last century, a party of 
 twenty young men from Cambridge, Massachu- 
 setts, started on what at that time was a great 
 adventure, the overland journey to Oregon. The 
 preface to Wyeth's " Oregon Expedition " throws 
 light on the ideas of those who were not states- 
 men or captains of industry, but only plain 
 American citizens sharing the vision which was 
 common. 
 
 "The spot where our adventurer was born and 
 grew up had many peculiar and desirable advan- 
 tages over most others in the County of Middle- 
 sex. Besides rich pasturage, numerous dairies, 
 and profitable orchards, it possessed the luxuries 
 of well-cultivated gardens of all sorts of culinary 
 vegetables, and all within three miles of Boston 
 Market House, and two miles of the largest live- 
 cattle market in New England." Besides these 
 blessings there is enumerated " a body of water 
 commonly called Fresh Pond." 
 
 " But Mr. Wyeth said, « All this availeth me 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 209 
 
 nothing, so long as I read books in which I find 
 that by going only about four thousand miles 
 overland, from the shore of our Atlantic to the 
 shore of the Pacific, after we have there entrapped 
 and killed the beavers and otters, we shall be 
 able, after building vessels for the purpose, to 
 carry our most valuable peltry to China and 
 Cochin China, our sealskins to Japan, and our 
 superfluous grain to various Asiatic ports, and 
 lumber to the Spanish settlements on the Pa- 
 cific; and to become rich by underworking and 
 underselling the people of Hindustan; and, 
 to crown all, to extend far and wide the traffic 
 in oil, by killing tame whales on the spot, in- 
 stead of sailing around the stormy region of 
 Cape Horn.' 
 
 "All these advantages and more were sug- 
 gested to divers discontented and impatient young 
 men. Talk to them of the great labor, toil, risk, 
 and they would turn a deaf ear to you ; argue with 
 them and you might as well reason with a snow- 
 storm." 
 
 If you would understand the driving power 
 of America, you must understand " the divers 
 discontented and impatient young men " who in 
 
210 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 each generation have found in the American 
 wilderness an outlet for their energies. In the 
 rough contacts with untamed Nature they learned 
 to be resourceful. Emerson declared that the 
 country went on most satisfactorily, not when it 
 was in the hands of the respectable Whigs, but 
 when in the hands of " these rough riders — legis- 
 lators in shirt-sleeves — Hoosier, Sucker, Wolver- 
 ine, Badger — or whatever hard-head Arkansas, 
 Oregon, or Utah sends, half-orator, half-assassin, to 
 represent its wrath and cupidity at Washington." 
 
 The men who made America had an " excess of 
 virility." " Men of this surcharge of arterial blood 
 cannot live on nuts, herb-tea, and elegies; can- 
 not read novels and play whist ; cannot satisfy 
 all their wants at the Thursday Lecture and the 
 Boston Athenaeum. They pine for adventure 
 and must go to Pike's Peak ; had rather die by 
 the hatchet of the Pawnee than sit all day and 
 every day at the counting-room desk. They are 
 made for war, for the sea, for mining, hunting, 
 and clearing, and the joy of eventful living." 
 
 In Emerson's day there was ample scope for 
 all these varied energies on the frontier. " There 
 are Oregons, Californias, and Exploring Expedi- 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 211 
 
 tions enough appertaining to America to find 
 them in files to gnaw and crocodiles to eat." 
 
 But it must have occurred to some one to 
 ask, " What will happen when the Oregons and 
 Californias are filled up % " Well, the answer is, 
 "See what is happening now." Instead of settling 
 down to herb-tea and elegies, Young America, 
 having finished one big job, is looking for an- 
 other. The noises which disturb you are not the 
 cries of an angry proletariat, but are the shouts 
 of eager young fellows who are finding new op- 
 portunities. They have the same desire to do 
 big things, the same joy in eventful living, that 
 you had thirty years ago. Only the tasks that 
 challenge them have taken a different form. 
 
 When you hear the words "Conservation," 
 " Social Service," " Social Justice," and the like, 
 you are apt to dismiss them as mere fads. You 
 think of the catchwords of ineffective reformers 
 whom you have known from your youth. But 
 the fact is that they represent to-day the enthusi- 
 asms of a new generation. They are big things, 
 with big men behind them. They represent the 
 Oregons and Californias toward which sturdy 
 pioneers are moving, undeterred by obstacles. 
 
ai2 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 The live questions to-day concern not the 
 material so much as the moral development of 
 the nation. For it is seen that the future welfare 
 of the people depends on the creation of a finer 
 type of civic life. Is this still to be a land of 
 opportunity ? Ninety millions of people are al- 
 ready here. What shall be done with the next 
 ninety millions'? That wealth is to increase goes 
 without saying. But how is it to be distributed ? 
 Are we tending to a Plutocracy, or can a real 
 Democracy hold its own *? Powerful machinery 
 has been invented. How can this machinery be 
 controlled and used for truly human ends ? We 
 have learned the economies that result from 
 organization. Who is to get the benefit of these 
 economies *? 
 
 So long as such questions were merely acade- 
 mic, practical persons like yourself paid little 
 attention to them. Now they are being asked by 
 persons as practical as yourself who are intent 
 on ' getting results.' And what is more, they em- 
 ploy the instruments of precision furnished by 
 modern science. 
 
 You have been pleased over the millions of 
 dollars which have been lavished on education. 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 213 
 
 The fruits of this are now being seen. Hosts of 
 able young men have been studying Govern- 
 ment and Sociology and Economics and His- 
 tory. These have been the most popular courses 
 in all our colleges. And they have been studied 
 in a new way. The old formulas and the old 
 methods have been fearlessly criticized. New 
 standards of efficiency have been presented. The 
 scientific method has been extended to the sphere 
 of moral relations. It has been demonstrated to 
 these young men that the resources of the coun- 
 try may be indefinitely increased by the continu- 
 ous application of trained intelligence to definite 
 ends. The old Malthusian doctrine has given 
 way before applied science. The population may 
 be doubled and the standard of living increased 
 at the same time, if we plan intelligently. The 
 expert can serve the public as efficiently as he 
 has served private interests, if only the public 
 can be educated to appreciate him, and persuaded 
 to employ him. 
 
 This is what the " social unrest " means in 
 America. It is not the unrest of the weak and the 
 unsuccessful. It is the unrest of the strong and 
 ambitious. You cannot still it by talking about 
 
2i 4 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 prosperity : of course we are prosperous, after a 
 fashion, but it is a fashion that no longer pleases 
 us. We want something better and we propose 
 to get it. What disturbs you is the appearance in 
 force of a generation that has turned its attention 
 to a new set of problems, and is attempting to 
 solve them by scientific methods. It is believed 
 that there is a Science of Government as well as 
 an Art of Politics. The new generation has a 
 respect, born of experience, for the expert. It 
 seeks the man who knows rather than the clever 
 manager. It demands of public servants not 
 simply that they be honest, but that they be effi- 
 cient. 
 
 Its attitude to the political boss is decidedly 
 less respectful than that to which you were accus- 
 tomed. You looked upon him as a remarkably 
 astute character, and you attributed to him an 
 uncanny ability to forecast the future. These 
 young men have discovered that his ability is only 
 a vulgar error. Remove the conditions created by 
 public indifference and ignorance, and he vanishes. 
 In restoring power to the people, they find that 
 a hundred useful things can be done which the 
 political wiseacres declared to be impossible. 
 
TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 215 
 
 When I consider the new and vigorous forces 
 in American life I cannot agree with your appre- 
 hensions ; but there is one thing which you said 
 with which I heartily agree. You said that you 
 wished we might settle down to sound and con- 
 structive work, and get rid of the " muck-raker." 
 
 I agree with you that the muck-raker stands in 
 the way of large plans for betterment. But it 
 might be well to refresh our minds in regard to 
 what is really meant by the man with the muck- 
 rake. He is not the man who draws our attention 
 to abuses which can be abolished by determined 
 effort. He is the man who apologizes for abuses 
 that are profitable to himself. He prefers his petty 
 interests to any ideal good. His character was 
 most admirably drawn by Bunyan : — 
 
 " The Interpreter takes them apart again, and 
 has them first into a room where was a man that 
 could look no way but downwards, with a muck- 
 rake in his hand. There stood also one over his 
 head with a celestial crown in His hand, and prof- 
 fered him that crown for his muck-rake, but the 
 man did neither look up nor regard, but raked to 
 himself the straws, the small sticks, and the dust 
 of the floor. 
 
2i 6 TO THE OLD SCHOOL CITIZEN 
 
 "'Then,' said Christiana, 'I persuade myself 
 that I know somewhat the meaning of this; for 
 this is the figure of a man of this world, is it not, 
 good sir 2' 
 
 " ' Thou hast said right,' said he. . . . 
 
 " ' Then,' said Christiana, ' O deliver me from 
 this muck-rake.' 
 
 " ' That prayer,' said the Interpreter, ' has lain 
 by till it is almost rusty. "Give me not riches," 
 is scarce the prayer of one in ten thousand.'" 
 
 The man with the muck-rake, then, is one who 
 can look no way but downward, and is so intent 
 on collecting riches for himself that he does not 
 see or regard any higher interests. I agree with 
 you that if we are to have any constructive work 
 in American society the first thing is to get rid 
 of the man with the muck-rake, and to put in 
 his place the Man with a Vision. 
 
 THE END 
 
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