§m ■T4wit"i CHARACTER. By SAMUEL SMILES, AVTUOR OF * LIVES OF THE ENGINEERS.' " Man is his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate ; Nothing to him falls early or too late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still." Beatdiont and Fletcher. NEW ^7)7^7 (j)iErN IT K I?*^ ^ > LONDON: JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET. 1876. TJie right of Travslatron is reserved. U'orks by the sa?ne Author. LIVES OF THE ENGINEERS. Illustrated by 9 Steel Portraits and 342 Illustrations on Wood. 5 vols, crown 8vo. 7J. 6d. each. Vol. I. Embankments and Canals — Vermuvden ; Myddelton ; Perry ; Brindley. II. Harbours, Lighthouses, and Bridges — Smeaton ; Rennie. III. History of Roads — Metcalfe; Telford. IV. The Steam-engine — Boulton and Watt. V. The Locomotive — George and Robert Stephenson. *♦* Each Volume is cotnplete in itself, and may be had separately. SELF-HELP; or. Illustrations of Conduct and Perseverance. 6j. CHARACTER. A Companion Volume to SELF-HELP. 6j. THRIFT. A Sequel to SELF-HELP and CHARACTER. 6^. I'NDUSTRIAL BIOGRAPHY; Ironworkers and Toolmakers. ts. A BOY'S VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD. 6j. LO'DOJf : PKINTED BT WILLIAM CLOWES AN1> SONS, STAMFORD STREET A>'I> CHAUING GROSS. \ CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. Influence of Character. Character a great power in the world — Common duty — Character ^-^^ above learninj:; and wealth — Character a property — Honesty of character — Principles — Eeliablencss — Practical wistlom — Sheridan and Burke — Character and circumstances — Formation of character — The late Prince Consort —Force of character — The conscientious man — The quality of reverence — Intrepidity of character — Lord Palmerston — Contagiousness of energy — The Napiers and Sir John Moore — Washington, Wellington — Influence of personal character -Reverence for great men — Luther, Knox, Dante — Character a great legacy — Character of nations — Washington L-ving and Sir Walter Scott — Character and freedom — Nations strengthened by trials — Noble and ignoble patriotism — Decline and fall of nations — Stability of character of nations , . . . . . Pages 1-30 CHAPTER II. vHoME Power. Home makes the man — Domestic and social life — The child — Surroundings of children — Influence of the mother — Power of example — Civilization dependent on good women — Boyhood of St. Augustine — Influence of early impressions — Homes the best schools — The best nursery of ciiaraeter — Influence of women — Mothers of great and good men — Washington, Cromwell, Wel- lington, the Napiers — Mothers of great lawyers and statesmen — Curran and Adams — The Wesleys — IVIothers of poets — Ary Schefier's mother — Mir^helet's tribute to his mother — Lord Byron — The Footes — Lamartine — Women and business habits — Educa- tion of women — Nations and mothers — True sphere of women — Women and work — "Enfranchisement" of women — Women and the art of preparing food .. .. .. .. .. 31-62 CHAPTER III. Companionship and Example. Influence of companionship — Force of imitation — Companionship cf the good — Power of associates — Boyhood of Henry Murtyn and af vi Contents, Dr. Paley — Dr. Arnold an exemplar — Power of good example — High stiindard of living — The inspiration of goodness — Admiration of good men — Influence of gentle natures— Sir W. Napier— Energy evokes energy — Radiating force of great minds — Admire nobly — Johnson and' Bos well — Young meu^s heroes — The envy of small minds — Admiration and imitation — The great musicians — Masters and disciples — Enduringness of good example — Consolations of a well-epent life .. .. Pages 63-87 CHAPTER lY. )( Work. Work the law of our being — The ancient Piomans — Pliny on rural labour — The curse of idleness — Causes of melancholy — Excuses of indolence — Industry and leisure — Work a universal duty — Lord Stanley on work — LiJe and work — Dignity of work — Work and happiness — Scott and Southey — Work an educator of character — Training to business — Business qualities — Wellington, Wallenstein, Washington — Working geniuses — Genius and business — Literature and business — The great men of Elizabeth's reign — The great Italians — Modern literary workers — Workers in leisure hours — Business value of culture — Speculative and practical abUity — Napoleon and men of science — Hobbies — Literary statesmen — Sir G. C.Lewis — Consolations of literature — Work and overwork ,. .. 88-122 CHAPTER V. Courage. Moral courage — IVIartyrs of science — Persecution of great discoverers — Hostility to new views — Socrates, Bruno, Galileo, R. Bacon, Vesalius, and others — Martyrs of faith — Anne Askew, Mary Dyer, Sir Thomas More — Fortitude of Luther — Stratford and Eliot — Success often won through failure — Common courage of Doing — Tyranny of *' Society '' — Moral cowardice — Pandering to popularity — Intellectual intrepidity — Energetic couraee — Courage and ten- derness — Generosity of 'the brave — The Douglas — Laplace — The magnanimous man — Education of women in cotirage — Moral strength of women — Heroism of women — Story of Sarah Martin and her ministrations in Yarmouth Gaol 123-157 CHAPTER YI. K Self-Control. Self-control the root of the virtues — Value of discipline — Supremacy of self-control — Dome-tic discipline — Self-discipline — Virtue of patience — Character of Hampden — Evils of strong tempei — Stial- Contents. vji ford, Cromwell, Princes of Nassau, Washington, Wellington, &c. Instances of self-control — Fciraday, Anquetil, Outram — Forbearance of speech — Honest indignation — Forbearance in conduct — Faraday's practical philosophy — Burns's want of self-control — Beranger — Tyranny of appetite — Honesty of living — Dishonesty of imi)rovi- dence — Public honesty — Sir Walter Scott's heroic effort to pay his debts — Lockhart and Scott .. .. .. Pa'>-es 158-187 CHAPTER VII. Duty — Truthfulness. Upholding sense of duty — Conscience and will — Sense of honour — Vittoria Colonna — Sacredness of duty — Freedom of the individual — Epictetus on duty — "VVa^jhington's sense of duty — Wellington's ideal — Nelson and Collingwood — Devotion to duty — Duty of nations — Baron Stoffel s report on the causes of the decadence of France — Great Frenchmen of the past — The Abbe' de St.-Pierre — Duty and truthfulness — Wellington and his aurist — Truth the bond of society — Equivocation — Pretentiousness — The life of George Wilson : his labours, sufferings, and death .. .. .. .. 188-215 CHAPTER VIII. Temper. Cheerfulness of disposition — Jeremy Taylor — Cheerfulness a tonic — A beam in the e,^ e — Dr. Marshall Hall, Luther, Lord Palmerston — Great men cheerful — Fielding, Johnson, Scott, Arnold, Sydney Smith — Cheerfulness of men of genius — Euler, Robison, Abauzit, Adan- son, Malcolm, Burke — Basis of cheerfulness — Beneficence and benevolence — Power of kindness — Sliallo^ness of discontent — Morbidity of temper — Querulousness — St. Francis de Sales on the Little Virtues — Gentleness — Cheerfulness and hope . . 216-234 CHAPTER IX. Manner — Art. Manner the grace of character — Influence of manner — Politeness — " Etiquette " — True com-tesy — Self-restraint — Practical unpolite- ness — Ease of manner — Indications of self-respect — Politeness of foreigners — Good taste an economist — Instinctive tact of women — others — Sliy Americans — Shy men and colonization — Why the French fail as colonizers — The English race inartistic — Art and civilization .. .. .. •• .. •• •• 235-263 nii Contents. CHAPTER X. Companionship of Books. aien are kBown by the books they read — Good books the best soeiely — Interest of biography — The great lesson of biography — The Book of Books — History and biography — Plutarch's ' Lives,' their influence — Plutarch's art — Trifles in biography — Portraiture of character — Autobiography — French ' Memoires pour servir ' — Saint-Simon and La Bruyere — Biography and fiction — Great biographies rare — Boswell's ' Johnson ' — Men and tlieir contemporaries — Unrecorded lives — Favoui'ite books of great men — Books the inspirers of youth — Good books resemble good actions — Books necessaries of life — Moral influence of books . . . . . . . . Pages 264-298 CHAPTER XI. Companionship in Marriage. Character influenced by marriage — Mutual relations of man and woman — Views of woman's character — Early education of thy gexes — "VS'oman's affectionateness — The sentiment of love — Love an inspirer and purifier — Man in the home — A Christian house- liold — The woman's kingdom — Brain-women and heart-women — Qualities of the true wife — The golden rule in marriage — Marrying for beauty — Moral influence of the wife — De Tocqueville, Guizot — Burke's portrait of his wife — Mrs. Hutchinson's portrait of her husband — Lady Piachel Eusiell — Wives of Buuyan, Baxter, Zhi- zendorf, Livingstone, Piomilly, Burdett, Graham — - Wives as helpers of scientific men — Wives of Buckland, Hub er, Sir W. Hamilton, Niebuhr, Mill, Carlyle, Faraday, Tom Hood, Sir W. Xapier — A galaxy of noble women — Wives of Grotius, Heine. Herder, Fichte. Cobbett —Character of Cobbett '299-a42 CHAPTER XII. The Discipline of Experience. Practical wisdom, how learnt — Evils of seclusion — The school of life the true school of experience — Youthful ardour — Romance and reality — Enthusiasm and perseverance — The apprenticeship of difiiculty — Poverty a stimulus — Cervantes — The lessons of failure — Fiulures of great men — Struggles of genius — Dante and Camoens — The revenges of time — Suiierings of great men — Flinders the navigator — Illustrious prisoners and prison-writers — Failure not always loss — Adversity a touchstone — Trials and blessings — Work amidst suffering — Resignation in affliction — Is happiness an illusion ? — The myatery of life — Duty the aim and end of being .. 313-372 IKDEX 373-3S8 A J 1 JD ! UNIVERSITY OF CHARACTER. CHAPTER I. Influence of Character. " Unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man !" — Daniel. "Character Is moral order seen through the medium of an individual uafnre . . . Men of character are the conscience of the society to which they belong.'' — Emerp:n. •'The prosperity of a country depends, not on the abundance of its revenues, nor on the streiJgth of its fortifications, nor on the beauty of its public bnildinps; but it consists In the number of its cultivated citizens. In its men of education, enlightenment, and character; here are to be found its true interest, its chief strength, its real power." — Martin Luilier. Character is one of tlie greatest motive powers in the world. In its noblest embodiments, it exemplifies j human nature in its highest forms, for it exhibits man at his best. Men of genuine excellence in every station of life — men of industry, of integrity, of high principle, of sterling honesty of purpose — command the spontaneous homage of mankind. It is natural to believe in such men, to have confidence in them, and to imitate them. All that is good in the world is upheld by them, and without their presence in it the world would not be worth living in. Although genius always commands admiration, cha-. racter most secures respect. The former is more the product of brain-power, the latter of heart-power ; and ill the long run it is the heart that rules in life. ]\Ien B 1/ sphere of Common Duty, [Chap. i. of genius stand to society in the relation of its intellect, as men of character of its conscience; and while the former are admired, the latter are followed. Great men are always exceptional men ; and great- ness itself is but comparative. Indeed, the range of most men in life is so limited, that very few have the opportunity of being great. But each man can act his part honestly and honourably, and to the best of his ability. He can use his gifts and not abuse them. He can strive to make the best of life. He can be true, just, honest, and faithful, even in small things. In a word, he can do his Duty in that sphere in which Providence has placed him. Commonplace though it may appear, this doing of one's Duty embodies the highest ideal of life and cha- racter. There may be nothing heroic about it ; but the common lot of men is not heroic. /And though the abiding sense of Duty upholds man in his highest attitudes, it also equally sustains him in the transac- tion of the ordinary affairs of everyday existence. Man's life is *• centred in the sphere of common duties." The most influential of all the virtues are those which are the most in request for daily use. They wear the best, and last the longest. Superfine virtues, which are above the standard of common men, may only be sources of temptation and danger. Burke has truly said that ^' the human system which rests for its basis on the heroic virtues is sure to have a superstructure of weakness or of profligacy." When Dr. Abbot, afterwards Archbishop of Canter- bury, drew the character of his deceased friend Thomas Sackville,^ he did not dwell upon his merits as a states- ' Sackville, Lor J Buckhurst, Lord High Treasurer under Elizoiteth and James I. Chap. I.] Sicsiaining Power of Duty. 3 man, or his genius as a poet, but upon his virtues as a man in relation to the ordinary duties of life. " How many rare things were in him ! " said he. " Who more loving unto his wife? — who more kind unto his cliildren ? — who more fast unto his friend ? — who more moderate unto his enemy? — who more true to his word ? " Indeed, we can always better understand and appreciate a man's real character by the manner in which he conducts himself towards those who are the most nearly related to him, and by his transaction of the seemingly commonplace details of daily duty, than by his public exhibition of himself as an author, an orator, or a statesman. At the same time, wliile Duty, for the most part, applies to the conduct of affairs in common life by the average of common men, it is also a sustaining power to men of the very highest standard of character. They may not have either money, or property, or learning, or power; and yet they may be strong in heart and rich in spirit — honest, truthful, dutiful. And whoever^' strives to do his duty faithfully is fulfilling the pur- pose for wdiich he was created, and building up in him- self the principles of a manly character. There are many persons of whom it may be said that they have no other possession in the world but their character, and yet they stand as firmly upon it as any crowned king. Intellectual culture has no necessary relation to purity or excellence of character. In the New Testa- ment, appeals are constantly made to the heart of man and to " the spirit we are of," whilst allusions to the intellect are of very rare occurrence. *' A handful of good life," says George Herbert, "is worth a bushel of learning." Not that learning is to be despised, but that it must be allied to goodness. Intellectual capacity is sometimes found associated with the meanest moral b2 Character above Learninz* [Chap. I, character — with abject servility to those in high places, and arrogance to those of low estate. A man may be accomplished in art, b'terature, and science, and yet, in honesty, virtue, truthfulness, and the spirit of duty, be entitled to take rank after many a poor and illiterate peasant. "You insist," wrote Perthes to a friend, "on respect for learned men. I say, Amen ! But, at the same time, don't forget that largeness of mind, depth of thought, appreciation of the lofty, experience of the world, deli- cacy of manner, tact and energy in action, love of truth, honesty, and amiability — that all these may be wanting in a man who may yet be very learned." ^ When some one, in Sir Walter Scott's hearing, made a remark as to the value of literary talents and accom- plishments, as if they were above all things to be esteemed and honoured, he observed, "God help us! what a poor world this would be if that were the true doctrine ! I have read books enough, and observed and conversed with enough of eminent and splendidly- cultured minds too, in my time ; but I assure you, I liave heard higher sentiments from the lips of poor uneducaied men and women, when exerting the spirit of severe yet gentle heroism under difficulties and afflictions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to circumstances in the lot of friends and neisrhbours, than I ever yet met with out of the Bible. We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling and destiny, unless we have tauojht ourselves to consider evervthino- •I . ,' o as moonshine compared with the education of the .J heart." ^ Still less has wealth any necessary connection with elevation of character. On the contrary, it is much » ' Life of Perthes,' ii. 217. * Lockhart's ' Life of Scott.' Chap, l] Character above Wealth. 5 more frequently the cause of its corruption and degra- dation. Wealth, and corruption, luxury and vice, have very close affinities to each other. Wealth, in the hands of men of weak purpose, of deficient self-control, or of ill- regulated passions, is only a temptation and a snare — the source, it may be, of infinite mischief both to them- selves and to others. On the contrary, a condition of comparative poverty is compatible with character in its highest form. A man may possess only his industry, his frugality, his integrity, and yet stand high in the rank of true man- hood. The advice which Barns's father gave him was the best : " He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing, For without an honest manly heart no man was worth regarding." One of the purest and noblest characters the writer ever knew was a labouring man in a northern county, who brought up his family respectably on an income never amounting to more than ten sliilliugs a week. Though possessed of only the rudiments of common education, obtained at an ordinary parish school, he was a man full of wisdom and thoughtfulness. His library consisted of the Bible, 'Flavel,' and 'Boston' — books which, excepting the first, probably few readers have ever heard of. This good man might have sat for the portrait of Wordsworth's well-known ' Wanderer.' When he had lived his modest life of work and worsliip, and finally went to his rest, he left behind him a reputation for practical wisdom, for genuine goodness, and for help- fulness in every good work, which greater and riclier men mi2;ht have envied. When Luther died, he left behind him, as set forth in his will, "no ready money, no treasure of coin of any description." He was so poor at one part of his Honesty of Character. [Chap, i life, that he was under the necessity of earning his bread by turning, gardening, and clockmaking. Yet, at the very time when he was thus working with his hands, he was moulding tlie character of his country ; and he was morally stronger, and vastly more honoured and followed, than all the princes of Germany. Chariicter is property. It is the noblest of posses- -j sions. It is an estate in the general goodwill and Srespect of men; and they who invest in it — though /)they may not become rich in this world's goods — will / find their reward in esteem and reputation fairly and i honourably won. And it is right that in life good ' qualities should tell — that industry, virtue, and goodness should rank the highest — and that the really best men should be foremost. Simple honesty of purpose in a man goes a long way in life, if founded on a just estimate of himself and a steady obedience to the rule he knows and feels to be right. It holds a man straight, gives him strength and sustenance, and forms a mainspring of vigorous action. " No man," once said Sir Benjamin Eudyard, " is bound to be rich or great. — no, nor to be wise ; but every man is bound to be honest." ^ But the purpose, besides being honest, must be inspired by sound principles, and pursued with unde- viating adherence to truth, integrity, and uprightness. Without principles, a man is like a ship without rudder or compass, left to drift hither and thither with everv vrind that blows. He is as one without law, or rule, or order, or government. " JMoral principles," says Hume, " are social and universal. They form, in a manner, the farhj of humankind against vice and disorder, its common enemv." * Debate on the Petition of Eiglit, a.d 1628. Chap. L] Reliableness. Epictetus once received a visit from a certain niac:ni- ficent orator going to Eome on a lawsuit, who wished to learn from the Stoic something of his philosophy. Epictetus received his visitor coolly, not believing in his sincerity. " You will only criticise my style," said he ; " not really wishing to learn principles." — " Well, but," said the orator, " if I attend to that sort of thing, I shall be a mere pauper, like you, with no plate, nor equipage, nor land." — " I don't want such things," re- plied Epictetus ; " and besides, you are poorer than I am, after all. Patron or no patron, what care I ? You do care. I am richer than you. 1 don't care what Caesar thinks of me. I flatter no one. This is what I have, instead of your gold and silver plate. You have silver vessels, but earthenware reasons, principles, appe- tites. My mind to me a kingdom is, and it furnishes me with abundant and happy occupation in lieu of your restless idleness. All your possessions seem small to you ; mine seem great to me. Your desire is insatiate — mine is satisfied." ^ Talent is by no means rare in the world ; nor is even genius. But can the talent be trusted ? — can the genius? Not unless based on truthfulness — on veracity. It is this quality more than any other that commands the esteem and respect, and secures the confidence of others. Truthfulness is at the foundation of all per" sonal excellence. It exhibits itself in conduct. It is rectitude — truth in action, and shines through every word and deed. It means reliableness, and convinces other men that it can be trusted. And a man is already of consequence in the world when it is known that he can be relied on, — that wdien he says he kuowa a thing, he does know it, — that when he says he will » The Eev. F. W. Farrar';^ • Seekers after God,' p. 241. 8 Injlueiice of Cha7'acfer. [Chap. I. do a tbing, lie can do, and does it. Thus reliableness becomes a passport to the general esteem and confidence of manldnd. In the affairs of life or of business, it is not intellect that tells so much as character,-j^ot brains so much as heart, — not genius so much as~ self-control, patience, and discipline, regulated by -judgment. Hence there is no better provision for the uses of either private or / public life, than a fair share of ordinary good sense ( guided by rectitude. Good sense, disciplined by ex- perience and inspired by goodness, ^issiies in practical ^ . wisdom. Indeed, goodness in a measure implies wisdom — the highest wisdom — the union of the worldly with the spiritual. *' The correspondences of wisdom and goodness," says Sir Henry Taylor, "are mani- fold ; and that they will accompany each other is to be inferred, not only because men's wisdom makes them good, but because their goodness makes them wise."^ It is because of this controlling power of character in life that we often see men exercise an amouut of in- fluence apparently out of all proportion to their intel- lectual endowments. They appear to act by means of some latent power, some reserved force, which acts secretly, by mere presence. As Burke said of a powerful nobleman of the last century, *• his virtues were his means." The secret is, that the aims of such men are felt to be pure and noble, and they act upon others with a constraining power. Though the reputation of men of genuine character may be of slow growth, therr true qualities cannot be wholly concealed. They may be misrepresented bv some, and misunderstood bv others ; misfortune and The Statesman,' p. 30. Chap. T.] Sheridan and Burke, 9 adversity may, for a time, overtake them ; but, with patience and endurance, they will eventually inspire the respect and command the confidence which they really deserve. It has been said of Sheridan that, had he possessed reliableness of character, he might have ruled the world ; whereas, for want of it, his splendid gifts were comparatively useless. He dazzled and amused, but was without weight or influence in life or politics. Even the poor pantomimist of Drury Lane felt himself his superior. Thus, when Delpini one day pressed the manager for arrears of salary, Sheridan sharply reproved him, telling him he had forgotten his station. *' No, in- deed. Monsieur Sheridan, I have not," retorted Delpini ; " I know the difference between us perfectly well. In birth, parentage, and education, you are superior to me ; but in life, character, and behaviour, I am superior to you." Unlike Sheridan, Burke, his countryman, was a great man of character. He was thirty-five before he gained a seat in Parliament, yet he found time to carve his name deep in the political history of England. He was a man of great gifts, and of transcendent force of character. Yet he had a weakness, which proved a serious defect — it was his want of temper ; his genius was sacrificed to his irritability. And without this apparently minor gift of temper, the most splendid endowments may be comparatively valueless to their \ ■ possessor. -//DV- Character is formed by a variety of minute circum- stances, more or less under the regulation and control of the individual. Not a day passes without its dis- cipline, whether for good or for evil. There is no act, however trivial, but has its train of consequences, as there is no hair so small but casts its shadow. It >\'a3 lo Character and Cwaunstances , [Chap. I. a wise saving of Mrs. Scliimmelpenninck's mother, never to give way to what is little ; or by that little^, however you may despise it, you will be practically governed. Every action, every thought, every feeling, con- tributes to the education of the temper, the habits, and understanding ; and exercises an inevitable influence upon all the acts of our future life. Thui^ character is imdergoing constant change, for better or for worse — either being elevated on the one hand, or degraded on the other. " There is no fault nor folly of my life," says Mr. Euskin, 'Hhat does not rise up against me, and take away my joy, and shorten my power of pos- session, of sight, of understanding. And every past effort of my life, every gleam of rightness or good in it, is with me now, to help me in my grasp of this art and its vision," ^ The mechanical law, that action and reaction are equal, holds true also in morals. Good deeds act and react on the doers of them ; and so do evil. Not only so : they produce like effects, by the influence of ex- ample, on those who are the subjects of them. But man is not the creature, so much as he is the creator, of circumstances ; - and, by the exercise of his freewill. * ' Queen of the Air,' p. 127. j the architect can make them some- ' Instead of saying that man is j thing else. Thus it is tljat in the the creature of Circumstance, it j same family, in the same circum- would be nearer the mark to say j stances, one man rears a stately that man is tlie architect of Cir- edifice, while his brother, Tacillat- cunistance. It is Character which | ing and incompetent, lives for ever builds an existence out of Circum- j amid ruins : the block of granite, stance. Our strength is measured I which was an obstacle on the by our plastic power. From the ! pathway of the weak, becomes a same materials one man builds , stepping-stone on the pathway of palaces, anotlicr hovels: one ware- the strong." — G. H. Lewes, Life houses, another villas. Bricks and i o/ Goetl'.e. mortar are mortar and bricks, until | Chap. I.] Formation of Character. 1 1 he can direct his actions so that they shall be pro- ductive of good rather than evil. " Nothing can work me damage but myself," said St. Bernard ; " the harm that I sustain I carry about with me ; and I am never a real sufferer but by my own fault." The best sort of character, however, cannot be formed, without effort. There needs the exercise of constant self- watchfulness, seli-discipline, and self-control. Tliera may be much faltering, stumbling, and temporary de- feat; difficulties and temptations manifold to be battled with and overcome ; but if the spirit be strong and the heart be upright, no one need despair of ultimate suc- cess. The very effort to advance — to arrive at a higher standard of character than we have reached — is in- spiring and invigorating ; and even though we may fall short of it, we cannot fail to be improved by every honest effort made in an upward direction. And with the light of great examples to guide us — representatives of humanity in its best forms — every one is not only justified, but bound in duty, to aim at reaching the highest standard of character: not to become the richest in means, but in spirit; not the greatest in worldly position, but in true honour ; not the most intellectual, but the most virtuous ; not the most powerful and influential, but the most truthful, upright, and honest. It was very characteristic of the late Prince Consort — a man himself of the purest mind, who powerfully impressed and influenced others by the sheer force of his own benevolent nature — when drawing up the con- ditions of the annual prize to be given by Her ]\rajesty at Wellington College, to determine that it should be awarded, not to the cleverest boy, nor to the most bookish boy, nor to the most precise, diligent, and pru- dent boy, — but to the noblest boy, to the boy who A 1 2 Force of Character, [Chap. I. should show the most promise of becoming a large- \ / h earted, high-motived man.-^ ^ j CL^ract er exhibits itself in conduct , guided and in- / spired by^"prT5icTpTer integrity, and practical wisdom. In its highest form, it is the individual will acting ener- getically under the influence of religion, morality, and reason. It chooses its way considerately, and pursues it steadfastly ; esteeming duty above reputation, and the approval of conscience more than the world's praise. While respecting the personality of others, it preserves its own individuality and independence ; and has the courage to be morally honest, though it may be un- popular, trusting tranquilly to time and experience for recognition. Although the force of example will always exercise great influence upon the formation of character, the self-originating and sustaining force of one's own spirit must be the mainstay. This alone can hold up the life, and give individual independence and energv. *' Unless man can erect himself above himself," said Daniel, a poet of the Elizabethan era, "how poor a tiling is man ! " Without a certain degree of practical efficient force — compounded of will, which is the root, and wisdom, which is the stem of character — life will be indefinite and purposeless — like a body of stagnant water, instead of a running stream doing useful work and keeping the machinery of a district in motion. When the elements of character are brought into action by determinate will, and, influenced by high pur- pose, man enters upon and courageously perseveres in the path of duty, at whatever cost of worldly interest, he may be said to approach the summit of his beino-. He > lufroduotion to • The Principal Speeches and Addresses of H.E H. the Prince Cun&ort (18li2), pp. 39-40. Chap. I.] The Inspiration of Energy, 13 then exhibits character in its most intrepid form, and embodies the highest idea of manliness. The acts of such a man become repeated in the life and action of others. His very words live and become actions. Thus every w ord of Luther's rang through Germany like a trumpet. As Richter said of him, " His words were half-battles." And thus Luther's life became transfused into the life of his country, and still lives in the character of modern Germany. On the other hand, energy, without integrity and a soul of goodness, may only represent the embodied principle of evil. It is observed by Xovalis, in his ' Thoughts on Morals,' that the ideal of moral perfection has no more dangerous rival to contend with than the i'leal of the his^hest strensrth and the most enerofetic life, the maximum of the barbarian — which needs only a due admixture of pride, ambition, and selfishness, to be a perfect ideal of the devil. Amongst men of such stamp are found the greatest scourges and devastators of the world — those elect scoundrels whom Providence, in its inscrutable designs, permits to fulfil their mission of destruction upon earth.^ Very different is the man of energetic character inspired by a noble spirit, whose actions are governed by rectitude, and the law of whose life is duty. He is just and upright, — in his business dealings, in his public action, and in his family life — ^justice being as * Among the latest of these was | out on liis embassy to Poland in Napoleon "the Great," a man. of { 1812, Napoleon's parting indtiuc- abounding energy, but destitute ! tion to him -.vas, "Tenez bonne of principle. He had the lowest 1 table et soignez ies femmes," — of opinion of his fellowmen. "Men which Benjamin Constant said are hogs, who feed on gold," ho I that sucli an observation, addressed once said: "Well, I throw them j to a feeble priest of si.\ty, shows gold, and lead them whithersoever | Buonaparte's profound contempt I will." "When the Abbe de Pradt, 1 for the human race, without liis- Archbishop of Malines, was setting I tinction of uatiou or sex. 14 The Conscientiotis Man. [Chap. I. essential in the government of a home as of a nation. He uill be lionest in all things — in his words and in his work. He will be generous and merciful to his oppo- nents, as well as to those who are weaker than himself. It was truly said of Sheridan — who, with all his im- providence, was generous, and never gave pain — that " His wit in the combat, as gentle as bright. Never carried a heart-stain away on its blade." Such also was the character of Fox, who commanded the affection and service of others by his uniform heartiness and sympathy. He was a man who could always be most easily touched on the side of his honour. Thus, the story is told of a tradesman calling upon him one day for the payment of a promissory note which he presented. Fox was engaged at the time in counting out gold. The tradesman asked to be paid from the money before him. " No," said Fox, " I owe this money to Sheridan ; it is a debt of honour ; if any accident happened to me, he would have nothing to show." "Then," said the tradesman, "I change my debt into one of honour ; " and he tore up the note. Fox was conquered by the act : he thanked the man for his confidence, and paid him, saying, " Then Sheridan must wait : yours is the debt of older standins:." The man of character is conscientious. He puts his conscience into his work, into his words, into his every action. When Cromwell asked the Parliament for soldiers in lieu of the decayed serving-men and tapsters who filled the Commonwealth's army, he required that they should be men "who made some conscience of what they did;" and such were the men of which his celebrated regiment of " Ironsides " was composed. The man of character is also reverential. The pos- Chap. I.] The Quality of Reverence, 15 session of this quality marks the noblest and highest type of manhood and womanhood : reverence for things consecrated by the homage of generations — for high objects, pure thoughts, and noble aims — for the great men of former times, and the highminded workers amongst our contemporaries. Eeverence is alike indis- 1 ? pensable to the happiness of individuals, of families, and of nations. Without it there can be no trust, no faith, no confidence, either in man or God — neither social peace nor social progress. For reverence is but another word for religion, which binds men to each other, and all to God. " The man of noble spirit," says Sir Thomas Over- bury, '•' converts all occurrences into experieuce, between which experience and his reason there is marriage, and the issue are his actions. He moves by affection, not for affection ; he loves glory, scorns shame, and governetb and obeyeth with one countenance, for it comes from one consideration. Knowing reason to be no idle gift of nature, he is the steersman of his own destinv. Truth is his goddess, and he takes pains to get her, not to look like her. Unto the society of men he is a sun, whose clearness directs their steps in a regular motion. He is the wise man's friend, the example of the indif- ferent, the medicine of the vicious. Thus time goeth not from him, but with him, and he feels age more by the strength of his soul than by the weakness of his body. Thus feels he no pain, but esteems all such things as friends, that desire to file off his fetters, and help him out of prison." ^ Energy of will — self-originating force — is the sonl of every great character. Where it is, there is life ; where it is not. there is faintness. helplessness, and ^ CJonJensed from Sir Thomas Overbury's ' Characters ' (1614). 1 6 Intrepidity of Character, [Chap. i. despondency. " The strong man and ttie waterfall," says the proverb, "channel their own path." The energetic leader of noble spirit not only wins a way for himself, but carries others with him. His every act has a personal significance, indicating vigour, in- dependence, and self-reliance, and unconsciously com- mands respect, admiration, and homage. Such intre- pidity of character characterised Luther, Cromwell, Washington, Pitt, Wellington, and all great leaders of men. " I am convinced," said Mr. Gladstone, in describing the qualities of the late Lord Palmerston in the House of Commons, shortly after his death — " I am convinced that it was the force of will, a sense of duty, and a determination not to give in, that enabled him to make himself a model for all of us who yet remain and follow him, with feeble and unequal steps, in the discharge of our duties ; it was that force of will that in point of fact did not so much struggle against the infirmities of old age, but actually repelled them and kept them at a distance. And one other quality there is, at least, that may be noticed without the smallest risk of stirring in any breast a painful emotion. It is this, that Lord Palmerston had a nature incapable of enduring anger or any sentiment of wrath. This freedom from wrathful sentiment was not the result of painful effort, but the spontaneous fruit of the mind. It was a noble gift of his original nature — a gift which beyond all others it was delightful to observe, delightful also to remember in connection with him who has left us, and with whom we have no longer to do, except in endeavouring to profit by his example wherever it can lead us in the path of duty and of right, and of bestowing on him those tributes of admiration and affection which he deserves at our hands." Chap. I.] Cofitagiousness of E7iergy. in The great leader attracts to himself men of kindred character, drawing them towards him as the loadstone draws iron. Thus, Sir John Moore early distinguished tlie three brothers Napier from the crowd of officers by whom he was surrounded, and they, on their part, repaid him by their passionate admiration. They were captivated by his courtesy, his bravery, and his lofty disinterestedness ; and he became the model whom they resolved to imitate, and, if possible, to emulate. " Moore's influence," says the biographer of Sir William Napier, " had a signal effect in forming and maturing their characters ; and it is no small glory to have been the hero of those three men, while his early discovery of their mental and moral qualities is a proof of Moore's own penetration and judgment of character." There is a contagiousness in every example of ener- getic conduct. The brave man is an inspiration to the weak, and compels them, as it were, to follow him. Thus Napier relates that at the combat of Vera, when the Spanish centre was broken and in flight, a young officer, named Havelock, sprang forward, and, waving his hat, called upon the Spaniards within siglit to follow him. Putting spurs to his horse, he leapt the abbatis which protected the French front, and went headlong against them. The Spaniards were electrified ; in a moment they dashed after him, cheering for " El cliieo bianco ! " (the fair boy), and with one shock they broke through the French and sent them flying downhill.^ ' 'History of the Peninsular Wftr,' V. 319. — Ntipier mentions another striking illustration of the influence of personal qualities in young Edward Freer, of the t^anio regiment (the 43rd), who, when he fell at the age of nineteen, at the Battle of the Nivelle, had already seen more combats and sieges than lie could count years. "So slight in person, and of .such surpassing bejiuty, that the Sp:w- niards often thought him a girl disguised in man's clothing, he was yet so vigorou.s, so active, so brave, that the most daring and 1 8 Influence of Washmgton. [Chap. I, And so it is in ordinary life. The good and the great draw others after them ; they lighten and lift up all who are within reach of their influence. They are as so many living centres of beneficent activity. Let a man of energetic and upriglit character be appointed to a position of trust and authority, and all who serve under him become, as it were, conscious of an increase of power. When Chatham was appointed minister, his personal influence was at once felt through all the ramifications of office. Every sailor who served under Nelson, and knew he was jn command, shared the inspi- ration of the hero. When Washington consented to actr as commander- in-chief, it was felt as if the strength of the American forces had been more than doubled. Many years later, in 1798, when Washington, grown old, had withdrawn from public life and was living in retirement at Mount Yernon, and when it seemed probable that France would declare war against the United States, President Adams wrote to him, saying, " We must have your name, if you will permit us to use it ; there will be more efficacy in it than in many an army." Such was the esteem in which the great President's noble character and eminent abilities were held by his countrymen ! ^ experienced veterans watched his at the helm will be more than an looks on the field of battle, and, answer to every argument which implicitly following where he led, j can be used to alarm and lead tiie would, like children, obey his people in any quarter into violence slightest sign in the most difficult and secession. . . . There is some- situations." I times an eminence of character on ' Wlien the dissolution of the which society has such peculiar Union at one time seemed immi- claims as to control the predilec- nent, and Washington wished to tion of the individual for a par- retire into private life, Jefferson ticular walk of happiness, and wrote to him, urgiug his conti- ; restrain him to that alone arising nuance in office. " The confi- : from the present and future bene^ dence of the whole Union," he dictions of mankind. This seema said, " centres in you. Your being to be your condition, and the law Chap. I.] The Duke of Wellington, 19 An incident is related by the historian of the Penin- sular War, illustrative of the personal influence exer- cised by a great commander over Ihs followers. The British army lay at Sauroren, before Avhich Soult was advancing, prepared to attack in force. Wellington was absent, and his arrival was anxiously looked for. Suddenly a single horseman was seen riding up the mountain alone. It Avas the Duke, about to join his troops. '' One of Campbell's Portuguese battalions first descried him, and raised a joyful cry ; then the shrill clamour, caught up by the next regiment, soon swelled as it ran along the line into that appalling shout which the British soldier is wont to give upon the edge of battle, and which no enemy ever heard unmoved. Suddenly he stopped at a conspicuous point, for he desired both armies should know he was there, and a double spy who was present pointed out Soult, who was so near that his features could be distinguished. Attentively AVellington fixed his eyes on that formid- able man, and, as if speaking to himself, he said : " Yonder is a great commander ; but he is cautious, and will delay his attack to ascertain the cause of those cheers : that will oive time for the Sixth Division to arrive, and I shall beat him " — which he did.'^ In some cases, personal character acts by a kind of talismanic influence, as if certain men were the organs of a sort of supernatural force. " If I but stamp on the ground in Italy," said Pompey, '* an army will appear." imposed on you by Providence I former determination, and urge a iu forming your character and revisal of it, on the ground of fafhiouing the events on which it i change in the aspect of tilings." w'.s to operate; and it is to motives I — Sparks' Life of Washi7igtou, i, like these, and not to personal ' 480. anxieties of mine or others, who I ' Napier's ' History of the Pen- liave no right to call on you for ! insidar AN'ar,' v. 220. sacrifices, that I appeal from your j i «2 20 Infhience of Character. [Chap, l At the voice of Peter the Hermit, as described by the historian, " Europe arose, and precipitated itself upon Asia." It was said of the Caliph Omar that his walking- stick struck more terror into those who saw it than another man's sword. The very names of some men are like the sound of a trumpet. When the Douglas lay mortally wounded on the field of Otterburn, he ordered his name to be shouted still louder than before, saying there was a tradition in his family that a dead Douglas should win a battle. His followers, inspired by the sound, gathered fresh courage, rallied, and con- quered J and thus, in the words of the Scottish poet : " The Douglas dead, his name hath won the field." ^ There have been some men whose greatest conquests have been achieved after they themselves were dead. " Never," says Michelet, " was Caesar more alive, more powerful, more terrible, than when his old and worn- out body, his withered corpse lay pierced with blows; he appeared then purified, redeemed, — that which he had been, despite his many stains — the man of hu- manity." ^ Never did the great character of William of Orange, surnamed the Silent, exercise greater power over his countrymen than after his assassination at Delft by the emissary of the Jesuits. On the very day of his murder the Estates of Holland resolved " to main- tain the good cause, with God's help, to the uttermost, without sparing gold or blood;" and they kept their word. The same illustration applies to all history and morals. The career of a great man remains an en- during monument of human energy. The man dies ' Sir W. Scott's ' History of Scotland,' vol. i. chap, xvi, ^ Michelet's ' History of Kome,' p. 87-i. Chap. I.] Reverence for Great Alen. 21 and disappears ; but his thoughts and acts survive, and leave an indelible stamp upon his race. And thus the spirit of his life is prolonged and perpetuated, moulding the thought and will, and thereby contributing to form the character of the future. It is the men that advance in the highest and best directions, who are the true bea- cons of human progress. They are as lights set upon a hill, illumining the moral atmosphere around them; and the light of their spirit continues to shine upon all succeeding generations. It is natural to admire and revere really great men. They hallow the nation to which they belong, and lilt up not only all who live in their time, but those who live after them. Their great example becomes the common heritage of their race ; and their great deeds and great thoughts are the most glorious of legacies to mankind. They connect the present with the past, and help on the increasing purpose of the future ; holding aloft the standard of principle, maintaining the dignity of human character, and filling the mind with tradi- tions and instincts of all that is most worthy and noble in life. Character, embodied in thought and deed, is of the nature of immortality. Tlie solitary thought of a great thinker will dwell in the minds of men for cen- turies, until at length it works itself into their daily lile and practice. It lives on through the ages, speaking as a voice from the dead, and influencing minds living thousands of years apart. Thus, Moses and David and Solomon, Plato and Socrates and Xenophon, Seneca and Cicero and Epictetus, still speak to us as from their tombs. They still arrest the attention, and exer- cise an influence upon character, though their thoughts be conveyed in languages unspoken by them and in their time unknown. Theodore Parker has said that a sinn:le 22 InJliLence of Great Mefi, [Chap. I. man like Socrates was worth more to a country than many such states as South Carolina ; that if that state went out of the world to-day, she would not have done so much for the world as Socrates.^ Great workers and great thinkers are the true makers of history, which is but continuous humanity influenced by men of character — by great leaders, kings, priests, philosophers, statesmen, and patriots — the true aristo- cracy of man. Indeed, Mr. Carlyle has broadly stated that Universal History is, at bottom, but the history of Great Men. They certainly mark and designate the epochs of national life. Their influence is active, as ivell as reactive. Though their mind is, in a measure, the product of their age, the public mind is also, to a great extent, their creation. Their individual action identifies the cause — the institution. They think great thoughts, cast them abroad, and the thoughts make events. Thus the early Keformers initiated the Reformation, and with it the liberation of modern thought. Emerson has said that every institution is to be regarded as but the lengthened shadow of some great man: as Islamism of Mahomet, Puritanism of Calvin, Jesuitism of Loyola, Quakerism of Fox, Methodism ol Wesley, Abolitionism of Clarkson. Great men stamp their mind upon their age and nation — as Luther did upon modern Germany, and Knox upon Scotland.^ And if there be one man more ' Erasmus so reverenced the Knox, one of the truest of the character of Socrates that he saiih, true ! That, in the moment while when he considered his life and he and his cause, amid civil broils, doctrines, he was inclined to put in convulsion and confusion, were him in the calendar of saints, still but stru.sgling for life, he and to exclaim, " Sanrte Socrates, sent the schoolmaster forth to all ora pro nobis 1 " (Holy Sccrates, '■ corners, and said, ' Let the people pray for us!) | be taught:' this is but one, and, ^ " Honour to all the brave and indeed, an inevitable and compa- tnie; everlasting honour to John ' rativelv inconsiderable item iu his Chap. I.] Dante s Influence on Italy. 23 than anotlier that stamped liis mind on modern Italy, it was Dante. During the long centuries of Italian df^gradation his burning words were as a watchfire and a beacon to all true men. He was the herald of his nation's liberty — braving persecution, exile, and death, for the love of it. He was always the most national of the Italian poets, the most loved, the most read. From the time of his death all educated Italians had his best passages by heart; and the sentiments they en- shrined inspired their lives, and eventually influenced the history of their nation. '^ The Italians," wrote Byron in 1821, " talk Dante, write Dante, and think and dream Dante, at this moment, to an excess which would be ridiculous, but that he deserves their admiration." ^ great message to men. This mes- sage, in its true compass, was, ' Let men know that they are men ; created by God, responsible to God ; who work in any meanest moment of time what will last through eternity. . . .' This gnat message Knox did deliver, with a man's voice antl strength ; and fnuml a people to believe him. Of such an achievement, were it to be made once only, the results are immense. Tliought, iu sucli a country, may change its form, but cannot go out; the country has attained nurjority ; thought, jiud a certain spiritual manhood, ready for all work that man can do. endures there. . . . The Scotch national chaiacter originated in many circumstanfes ; first of all, in the Saxon stuft' tliere was to work on; but next, and beyond ail else except that, is the Fres- Ijyterian Go.-pL'l of John Knox." — Carlyle's Miscellanies, iv. 118. ' Moore s ' Life of Byron,' 8vo. ed. p. 481. — Dante was a religious as well as a political reformer. He was a reformer three hundred years before the Reformation, a*d- vocating the separation of the spi- ritual from the civil power, and declaring the temporal government of the Pope to be a usurpation. The following memorable words were written over five hundred and Bixty years ago, while Dante was still a member of the Komuu Catholic Church : — " Every Di- vine law is found in one or other of the two Testaments ; but in neither can I find that the care of temporal matters was given to the priesthooil. On the contrary, I find that the first priests wre removed from them by law, and the later priests, by command of Christ, to His disciples." — De Monarchia, lib. iii. cap. xi. Dante also, still clinging to ' the Church he wished to reform," tluts antici- jjated the fundamental doctrine of the Keformatiou : — " Before tho Church are the ( )ld and New Tes- tament; after the Cliureh are tra- diiions. It foUowB, then, that tho authority of the Church depend.s, not on traditions, but traditions ou the Church." 24 Character a ^rcat Legacy. [Chap. I. A succession of variously gifted men in different acres — extendinir from Alfred to Albert — lias in like manner contributed, by their life and example, to shape the multiform character of England. Of these, probably the most influential were the men of the Elizabethan and Cromwellian, and the intermediate periods — amonofst Avhom we find the o-reat names of Shak- speare, Kaleigh, Burleigh, Sidney, Bacon, Milton, Her- bert, Hampden, Pym, Eliot, Yane, Cromwell, and many more — some of them men of great force, and others of great dignity and purity of character. The lives of such men have become part of the public life of England, and their deeds and thoughts are regarded as among the most cherished bequeathments from the past. So Washington left behind him, as one of the greatest treasures of his country, the example of a stainless life — of a great, honest, pure, and noble character — a model for his nation to form themselves by in all time to come. And in the case of Washington, as in so many other great leaders of men, his greatness did not so much consist in his intellect, his skill, and his genius, as in his honour, his integrity, his truthfulness, his high and controlling sense of duty — in a word, in his genuine nobility of character. Men such as these are the true lifeblood of the country to which they beloug. They elevate and uphold it, fortify and ennoble it, and shed a glory over it by the example of life and character which they have bequeathed. " The names and memories of great men," says an able writer, " ai^e the dowry of a nation. Widow- hood, overthrow, desertion, even slavery, cannot take away from her this sacred inheritance. . . . AVhenever national life begins to quicken .... the dead heroes rise in the memories of men, and appear to the living to stand by in solemn spectatorship and approval. Ku country can be lost which feels herself overlooked by Chap. I,] Character of Nations. 25 such glorious witnesses. They are the salt of the earth, ill death as well as in life. AYhat they did once, their descendants have still and always a right to do after tliem ; and their example lives in their country, a con- tinual stimulant and encouragement for him who has the soul to adopt it." -^ But it is not great men only that have to be taken into account in estimating the qualities of a nation, but tlie character that pervades the great body of the people. When Washington Irving visited Abbotsford, »Sir Walter Scott introduced him to many of bis friends and favourites, not only amongst the neighbouring farmers, but the labouring peasantry. " I wish to show you," said Scott, "some of our really excellent plain Scotch people. The character of a nation is not to be learnt from its fine folks, its fine gentlemen and ladies ; such you meet everywhere, and they are everywhere the same." While statesmen, philosophers, and divines represent the thinking power of society, the men who found industries and carve out new careers, as well as the common body of working-people, from whom the national strength and spii'it are from time to time recruited, must necessarily furnish the vital force and constitute the real backbone of every nation. Nations have their character to maintain as well as individuals ; and under constitutional governments — where all classes more or less participate in the exer- cise of political power — the national character will necessarily depend more upon the moral qualities of the many than of the few. ' And the same qualities which determine the character of individuals, also determine the character of nations. Unless they are highminded, tiuthful, honest, virtuous, and courageous, they will be Blackwood's Magiiziue,' June, 18G3, art. ' Girolamo Savonarola. 26 Character and Freedom. [Chap. I. \ held in light esteem by other nations, and be without weight in the world. To have character, they must needs also be reverential, disciplined, seif-controUiug, and devoted to duty. The nation tliat has no higher god than pleasure, or even dollars or calico, must needs be in a poor way. It were better to revert to Homer's gods than be devoted to these ; for the heathen deities at least imaged human virtues, and were something to look up to. As for institutions, however good in themselves, they will avail but little in maintaining the standard of national character. It is the individual men, and the spirit which actuates them, that determine the moral standing and stability of nations. Government, in the long run, is usually no better than the people governed. Where the mass is sound in conscience, morals, and habit, the nation will be ruled honestly and nobly. But where they are corrupt, self-seeking, and dishonest in heart, bound neither by truth nor by law, the rule of rogues and wirepullers becomes inevitable. The only true barrier against the despotism of public opinion, whether it be of the many or of the few, is enlightened individual freedom and purity of personal character. Without these there can be no vigorous manhood, no true liberty in a nation. Political rights, however broadly framed, will not elevate a people indi- vidually depraved. Indeed, the more complete a system of popular suffrage, and the more perfect its protection, the more completely will the real character of a people be reflected, as by a mirror, in their laws and govern- ment. Political morality can never have any solid existence on a basis of individual immorality. Even freedom, exercised by a debased people, would come to be regarded as a nuisance, and liberty of the press but a vent for licentiousness and moral abomination. Chap, I.] Nations strengthened by Trials, i'^ Nations, like individuals, derive support and strength from the feeling that they belong to an illustrious race, that they are the heirs of their greatness, and ought to be the perpetuators of their glory. It is of momentous importance that a nation should have a great past ^ to look back upon. It steadies the life of the present, elevates and upholds it, and lightens and lifts it up, by the memory of the great deeds, the noble sufferings, and the valorous achievements of the men of old. The life of nations, as of men, is a great treasury of experience, which, wisely used, issues in social progress and improve- ment; or, misused, issues in dreams, delusions, and failure. Like men, nations are purified and strengthened by trials. Some of the most glorious chapters in their history are those containing the record of the suffer- ings by means of Avhich their character has been de- veloped. Love of liberty and patriotic feeling may have done much, but trial and suffering nobly borne more than all. A great deal of what passes by the name of patriotism in these days consists of the merest bigotry and narrow- mindedness ; exhibiting itself in national prejudice, na- tional conceit, and national hatred. It does not show itself in deeds, but in boastings — in bowlings, gesticula- tions, and shrieking helplessly for help — in fiying flags and singing songs — and in perpetual grinding at the hurdy-gurdy of long-dead grievances and long- remedied wrongs. To be infested by sucli a patriotism 1 One of the last passages in I yield fruit, or the future haxe tlie Diary of Dr. Arnold, written | promise, except their roots be fixed the year before his death, was as j in the past? Tlie evil is infinite, follows: — " It is the misfortune of France that her ' past ' cannot be loved or respected — her future and her present cannot be wedded to it; yet how can the present 387-S, Ed. 1858. but the blame re^1ts with those who made the past a dead thin«^. out of which no healthful life could be jiroduced." — lAfe, iL 28 Noble and ignoble Patriotism. [Chap. I. as this is, perhaps, amongst the greatest curses that can befall any country. But as there is an ignoble, so is there a noble pa- triotism — the patriotism that invigorates and elevates a country by noble work — that does its duty truthfully and manfully — that lives an honest, sober, and upright life, and strives to make the best use of the oppor- tunities for improvement that present themselves on every side ; and at the same time a patriotism that cherishes the memory and example of the great men of old, who, by their sufferings in the cause of religion or of freedom, have won for themselves a deathless glory, and for their nation those privileges of free life and free institutions of which they are the inheritors and possessors. Nations are not to be judged by their size any more than individuals : " It is not growing like a tree lu bulk, doth make Man better be." For a nation to be great, it need not necessarily be big, though bigness is often confounded with great- ness. A nation may be very big in point of terri- tory and population, and yet be devoid of true greatness. The peop.le of Israel were a small people, yet what a great life they developed, and how powerful the influ- ence they have exercised on the destinies of mankind ! Greece was not big: the entire population of Attica was less than that of South Lancashn-e. Athens was less populous than New York ; and yet how great it was in art, in literature, in philosophy, and in patriotism!^ ' A public orator lately spoke ■with contempt of the Battle of jNlaratbon, because only 192 men perished on the side of the Athe- nians, whereas by improved me- chanism and destructive chemi- cals, some 50,000 men or more may now be destroyed within a Chap. I.] Decline and Fall of Nations. 29 But it was the fatal weakness of Athens that its citizens had no true family or home life, while its freemen were greatly outnumbered by its slaves. Its public men were loose, if not corrupt, in morals. Its women, even the most accomplished, were unchaste. Hence its fall became inevitable, and was even more sudden than its rise. In like manner the decline and fidl of Eome wa» attributable to the general corruption of its people, and to their engrossing love of pleasure and idleness — work, in the later days of Eome, being regarded only as fit for slaves. Its citizens ceased to pride them- selves on the virtues of character of their great fore- fathers ; and the empire fell because it did not deserve to live. And so the nations that are idle and luxurious — that " will rather lose a pound of blood," as old Burton says, *•' in a single combat, than a drop of sweat in any honest labour " — must inevitably die out, and laborious energetic nations take their place. When Louis XIV. asked Colbert how it was that, ruling so great and populous a country as France, he had been unable to conquer so small a coimtry as Holland, the minister replied : " Because, Sire, the greatness of a country does not depend upon the extent of its territory, but on the character of its people. It is because of the industry, the frugality, and the energy of the Dutch that your Majesty has found them so difficult to overcome." It is also related of Spinola and Richardet, the ambassadors sent by the King of Spain to negotiate a treaty at the Hague in 1608, that one day they sa^v some eight or ten persons land from a little boat, and, few Lours. Yet the Battle of Marathon, and the heroism dis- phiyed iu it, will probably con- tinue to be remembored when the gigantic butcheries of modem times have been forgotten. 30 Stability of Character. [Chap. I. sitting down upon the grass, proceed to make a meal of bread-and-clieese and beer. " Who are those travellers ?" asked the ambassadors of a peasant. '• These are our worshipful masters, the deputies from the States," was liis reply. Spinola at once whispered to his companiou, ,** We must make peace : these are not men to be con- quered." In fine, stability of institutions must depend upon stability of character. Any number of depraved units cannot Ibrm a great nation. The people may seem to be highly civilised, and yet be ready to fall to pieces at the first touch of adversity. Without integi'ity of individual character, they can have no real strength, cohesion, or soundness. They may be rich, polite, and artistic ; and vet hoverinof on the brink of ruin. If livins; for them- selves only, and with no end but pleasure — each little self his own little god — such a nation is doomed, and its decay is inevitable. Where national character ceases to be upheld, a nation may be regarded as next to lost. Where it ceases to esteem and to practise the virtues of truthful- ness, honesty, integrity, and justice, it does not deserve to live. And when the time arrives in any country wlien wealth has so corrupted, or pleasure so depraved, or faction so infatuated the people, that honour, order, obedience, virtue, and lovaltv have seeminMv become things of the past ; then, amidst the darkness, when honest men — if, haply, there be such left — are groping about and feeling for each other's hands, their only re- maining hope will be in the restoration and elevation of Individual Character ; for by that alone can a nation be saved ; and if character be irrecoverably lost, then indeed there will be nothin^^ left worth savino^. Chap. II.] Home Power. 31 LI iiUAU V CHAPTER Home k :ni V K ,3 1 CXl^H^^ I rv '>r " So build we up the being that we are, Thus deeply drinking in the soul of things, AVe shall be wise perforce." — H crrcZsuo, Ln. " The millstreams that turn the clappers of the world arise in s 32> out effort, almost through the pores of the skin. " A figtree looking on a figtree becometh fruitful," says the Arabian proverb. And so it is with children. Their first great instructor is example. However apparently trivial the influences which con- tribute to form the character of the child, they endure through life. The child's character is the nucleus of the man's ; all after-education is but superposition ; the form of the crystal remains the same. Thus the saying of the poet holds true in a large degree, " The child is father of the man ;" or, as Milton puts it, " The chiM- hood shows the man, as morning shows the day." Those impulses to conduct w^hich last the longest and are rooted the deepest, always have their origin near our birth. It is then that the germs of virtues or vices, of feelings or sentiments, are first implanted which determine the character for life. The child is, as it were, laid at the gate of a new world, and opens his eyes upon things all of which are full of novelty and wonderment. At first it is enough for him to gaze ; but by-and- by he begins to see, to ob- serve, to compare, to learn, to store up impressions and ideas ; and under wdse guidance tlie progress which he makes is really wonderful. Lord Brougham has ob- . / served that between the ages of eighteen and thirty months, a child learns more of the material world, of his own powers, of the nature of other bodies, and even of his own mind and other minds, than he acquires during all the rest of his life. The knowled:^-e which a child accumulates, and the ideas generated in his mind, in this period, are so important, that if we could imagine them to be afterwards obliterated, all the learning of a senior wrangler at Cambridge, or a iirst-classman at Oxford, would be as nothing to it, and would literally not enable its object to prolong his existence for a weelc. 34 Home Infiucnccs. [Chap, II. It is in childhood that the mind is most open to impressions, and ready to be kindled by the first sparky that falls into it. Ideas are then caught quickly and live lastingly. Thus Scott is said to have received his .first bent towards ballad literature from his mother's and grandmother's recitations in his hearing long before he himself had learned to read. Childhood is like a mirror, which reflects in after-life the images first pre- sented to it. The first thins^ continues for ever with the child. The first joy, the first sorrow, the first success, tlje first failure, the first achievement, the first mis- adventure, paint the foreground of his life. All this while, too, the training of the character is in progress — of the temper, the will, and the habits — on which so mucli of the happiness of human beings in after-life depends. Although man is endowed with a certain self-acting, self-helping power of contributing to liis own development, independent of surrounding cir- cumstances, and of reacting upon the life around him, the bias given to his moral character in early life is of / immense importance. Place even the highest-minded })hilosopher in the midst of daily discomfort, immorality, and vileness, and he will insensibly gravitate towards brutality. How much more susceptible is the impres- sionable and helpless child amidst such surroundings ! It is not possible to rear a kindly nature, sensitive to evil, pure in mind and heart, amidst coarseness, dis- comfort, and impurity. Thus homes, which are the nurseries of children who grow up into men and women, will be good or bad according to the ])ower that governs there. AYhere the spirit of love and duty pervades the home — where head and heart bear rule wisely there — where tJie daily life is honest and virtuous — where the government is sensible, kind, and loving, then may we expect from Chap. II.] Surronndings of CJiildren. 35 snch a home an issue of healthy, useful, and hai)py beiugs, capable, as they gain the requisite strength, of following the footsteps of their parents, of walking up- rightly, governing themselves \visely, and contributing to the welfare of those about them. On the other hand, if surrounded by ignorance, coarseness, and selfishness, they will unconsciously assume the same character, and grow up to adult years rude, uncultivated, and all the more dangerous to society if placed amidst the manifold temptations of what is called civilised life. " Give your child to be educated by a slave," said an ancient Greek, *'and in- stead of one slave, you will then have two." The child cannot help imitating what he sees, q Everything is to him a model — of manner, of gesture, of speech, of habit, of character. *' For the child," says liichter, "the most important era of life is that of child- hood, when he begins to colour and mould himself by companionship with others. Every new educator effects less than his predecessor ; until at last, if we regard all life as an educational institution, a circumnavigator of the world is less influenced by all the nations he has seen than by his nurse." -^ Models are therefore of every importance in moulding the nature of the child ; and if we would have fine characters, we must neces- sarily present before them fine models. Kow, the model most constantly before every child's eye is the jMother. One good mother, said George Herbert, is worth a hundred schoolmasters. In the home she is *' loadstone to all hearts, and loadstar to all eyes." Imitation of her is constant — imitation, which Bacon likens to ** a globe of precepts." But example is far more than precept. ' 'Levana; or, The Doctrine of Education.' D 2 a 6 Pozver of Example. [Chap. il. It is instruction in action. It is teaching without words, often exemplifying more than tongue can teach. In the face of bad example, the best of precepts are of but little avail. The example is followed, not the precepts. Indeed, precept at variance with practice is worse than useless, inasmuch as it only serves to teach that most cowardly of vices — hypocrisy. Even children are judges of consistency, and the lessons of the parent who says one thing and does the opposite, are quickly seen through. The teaching of the friar was not worth much, who preached the virtue of honesty with a stolen goose in his sleeve. By imitation of acts, the character becomes slowly and imperceptibly, but at length decidedly formed. The several acts may seem in themselves trivial ; but so are the continuous acts of daily life. Like snowflakes, they fall unperceived ; each flake. jiddeiljQjite pile produces no sensible change, and yet the accumulation of snow- flakes makes the avalanche. So do repeated acts, one followino^ another, at lenirth become consolidated in habit, determine the action of the human being f(;r good or for evil, and, in a word, form the character. It is because the mother, far more than the father, influences the action and conduct of the child, that her good example is of so much greater importance in the home. It is easy to understand how this should be so. The home is the woman's domain — her kingdom, where she exercises entire control. Her power over the little subjects she rules there is absolute. They look up to her for everything. She is the example and model constantly before their eyes, whom they unconsciously observe and imitate. Cowley, speaking of the influence of early example, and of ideas early implanted in the mind, compares thern to letters cut in the bark of a voun^ tree, which ^rew Chap. II.] Matc7'7ial Love, 3^ and Aviclen with age. The impressions then made, how- soever slight they may seem, are never effaced. The ideas then implanted in the mind are like seeds dropped into the ground, which lie there and germinate for a time, afterwards springing up in acts and thoughts and habits. Thus the mother lives again in her ciiil- dren. They unconsciously mould themselves after her manner, her speech, her conduct, and her method of life. Her habits become theirs ; and her character is visibly repeated in them. Tliis maternal love is the visible providence of our race. Its influence is constant and universal. It begins with the education of the human being at the out- start of life, and is prolonged by virtue of the powerful influence which every good mother exercises over her children through life. When launched into the world, each to take part in its labours, anxieties, and trials, they still turn to their mother for consolation, if not for couns-el, in their time of trouble and difficulty. The pure and good thoughts she has implanted in their minds wlien chiklren, continue to grow up into good acts, long after she is dead ; and when there is nothing but a memory of lier left, her children rise up and call her blessed. It is not saying too much to aver that the happiness or misery, the enlightenment or ignorance, the civilisa- tion or barbarism of the world, depends in a very high . degree upon the exercise of woman's power within her special kingdom of home. Indeed, Emerson says, broadly and truly, that *' a sufficient measure of civili- sation is the influence of good women." Posterity may be said to lie before us in the person of the chikl in the mother's lap. What that child will eventually become, mainly depends upon the training and example which ho has received from his first and most influential educator. 38 Boyhood of St, A2igtistine, [Chap. 1 1. Woman, above all other educators, educates liuinauly. ]\ran is the brain, but woman is the heart of humanity ; he its judgment, she its feeling ; he its strength, she its grace, ornament, and solace. Even the understanding of the best woman seems to work mainly through her affections. And thus, though man may direct the intellect, woman cultivates the feelings, which mainly determine the character. While he fills the memory, she occupies the heart. She makes us love what he can onlv make us believe, and it is chieflv throuo'h her that we are enabled io arrive at virtue. The respective influences of the father and the mother on the training and development of character, are re- markably ilhistrated in the life of St. Augustine. While Augustine's father, a poor freeman of Thagaste, proud of his son's abilities, endeavoured to furnish his mind with the highest learning of the schools, and was extolled by his neighboui's for the sacrifices he made with that object " beyond the ability of his means " — his mother Monica, on the other hand, sought to lead her son's mind in the direction of the highest good, and with pious care counselled him, entreated him, advised him to chastity, and, amidst much anguish and tribulation, be- cause of his wicked life, never ceased to pray for him until her prayers were heard and answered. Thus her love at last triumphed, and the patience and goodness of the mother were rewarded, not only by the conversion of her gifted son, but also of her husband. Later in life, and after her husband's death, Monica, drawn by lier affection, followed her son to Milan, to watch over him ; and there she died, when he was in his thirty-third year. But it was in the earlier period of his life that her example and instruction made the deepest impression upon his mind, and determined his future character. There are many similar instances of early impressions Chap. II.] Early Impressions. 39 made upon a child's mind, springing up into good acts late in life, after an intervening period of seltishness and vice. Parents may do all that they can to develope an upright and virtuous character in their children, and apparently in vain. Jt seems like bread cast upon the waters and lost. And yet sometimes it happens that long after the parents have gone to their rest — it may be twenty years or more — the good precept, the goor example set before their sons and daughters in child- hood, at length springs up and bears fruit. One of the most remarkable of such instances was that of the Beverend John Newton of Olney, the friend of Cowper the poet. It was long subsequent to the death of both his parents, and after leading a vicious life as a youth and as a seaman, that he became sud- denly awakened to a sense of his depravity ; and then it was that the lessons which his mother had given him when a child sprang up vividly in his memory. Her voice came to him as it were from the dead, and led him gently back to virtue and goodness. Another instance is that of John Randolph, the American statesman, who once said : " I should have been an atheist if it had not been for one recollection — and that was the memory of the time when my departed mother used to take mv little hand in hers, and cause me on my knees to say, * Our Father who art in heaven !' " But such instances must, on the whole, be regarded as exceptional. As the character is biassed in early life, 80 it generally remains, gradually assuming its per- manent form as manhood is reached. '* Live as long as you may," said Southey, " the first twenty years are the longest half of your life," and they are by for the most pregnant in consequences. When the worn-out slan- derer and voluptuary, Dr. Wolcot, lay on his deathbed, 40 Home the best School. [Chap. II. one of his friends asked if he could do anything to gratify him. " Yes," said the dying man, eagerly, " give me back my youth." Give him but that, and he would repent — he would reform. But it was all too late ! His life had become bound and enthralled by the chains of habit.i Gretry, the musical composer, thought so highly of the importance of woman as an educator of character, that he described a good mother as *' Nature's chef- d'oeuvre^ And he was right: for good mothers, far more than fathers, tend to the perpetual renovation of mankind, creating, as they do, the moral atmosphere of the home, which is the nutriment of man's moral being, as tlie physical atmosphere is of his corporeal frame. By good temper, suavity, and kindness, directed by intelli- gence, woman surrounds the indwellers with a pervading atmosphere of cheerfulness, contentment, and peace, suitable for the growth of the purest as of the manliest natures. The poorest dwelling, presided over by a virtuous, tlirifty, cheerful, and cleanly woman, may thus be the abode of comfort, virtue, and happiness ; it may be the scene of every ennobling relation in family life ; it may be endeared to a man by many delightful associations ; furnishing a sanctuary for the heart, a refuge from the storms of life, a sweet resting-place after labour, a con- solation in misfortune, a pride in prosperity, and a joy at all times. The good home is thus the best of schools, not only in vouth but in ao:e. There vouns: and old best learn ' Speaking of the force of habit, ! lust served became custom ; and St. Augustine says in his ' Confes- cui-tom not resisted bei^ame neces- eioiis" : "My will the enemy heM, sity. By which links, as it were, and thence had made a chain for joined togetlier (whence I called it me, and bound me. For of a fro- i a chain) a liard bondage held me ward will was a lust made ; and a ! enthialled." Chap. IL] The best Nursery of Character. 41 cheerfulness, patience, self-control, and the spirit of service and of duty. Izaak Walton, speaking of George Herbert's mother, says she governed her family with judicious care, not rigidly nor sourly, " but with such a sweetness and compliance with the recreations and pleasures of youth, as did incline them to spend much of their time in her company, which was to her great content." The home is the true school of courtesy, of which woman is always the best practical instructor. '• With- out woman," says the Provencal proverb, " men were but ill-licked cubs." Philanthropy radiates from the home as from a centre. '" To love the little platoon we belong to in society," said Burke, "is the germ of all public affections." The wisest and the best have not been ashamed to own it to be their greatest joy and happiness to sit " behind the heads of children" in the inviolable circle of home. A life of purity and duty there is not the least effectual preparative for a life of public work and duty ; and the man who loves his home will not the less fondly love and serve his country. But while homes, which are the nurseries of character, may be the best of schools, they may also be the worst. Between childhood and manhood how incalcu- lable is the mischief which ignorance in the home has the power to cause ! Between the drawing of the first breath and the last, how vast is the moral suffering and disease occasioned by incompetent mothers and nurses ! Commit a child to the care of a worthless ignorant woman, and no culture in after-life will remedy the evil you have done. Let the motlior be idle, vicious, and a slattern ; let her home be pervaded by cavilling, petu- lance, and discontent, and it will become a dwelling of misery — a place to fly from, rather than to fly to ; and the children whose misfortune it is to be bronght up 42 The Mother s Infltience, [Chap. il. there, will be morally dwarfed and deforDied — the cause of misery to themselves as well as to others. Xapoleon Buonaparte was accustomed to say that *'the future good or bad conduct of a child depended entirely on the mother." He himself attributed his rise in life in a great measure to the training of his will, his energy, and his self-control, by his mother at home. '* Nobody had any co:iimand over him," savs one of his biographers, " except his mother, who found means, by a mixture of tenderness, severity, and justice, to make him love, respect, and obey her : from her he learnt the virtue of obedience." A curious illustration of the dependence of the cha- racter of children on that of the mother incidentally occurs in one of Mr. Tufnell's school reports. The truth, he observes, is so well established that it has even been made subservient to mercantile calculation. " I was informed," he says, " in a large factory, where many children were employed, that the managers before they engaged a boy always inquired into the mother's cha- racter, and if that was satisfactory they were tolerably certain that her children would conduct themselves creditabh-. iVo attention teas ixiicl to the character of the father:'^ It has also been observed that in cases where the father has turned out badly — become a drunkard, and *'gone to the dogs" — provided the mother is prudent and sensible, the family will be kept together, and the children probably make their way honourably in life ; whereas in cases of the opposite sort, where the mother turns out badly, no matter how well-conducted the father may be, the instances of after-success in life on the part of the children are comparatively rare. ' Mr. Tufnc-U, in ' Reports of Inspectors of Parochial School Unions in England and Wales,' 1850. Chap. II.] Power of Good Women. 43 The greater part of the influence exercised by women on the formation of character necessarily remains un- known. They accomplish their best work in the quiet seclusion of the home and the family, by sustained eftbrt and patient perseverance in the path of duty. Their greatest triumphs, because private and domestic, o are rarely recorded ; and it is not often, even in the biographies of distinguished men, that we hear of the share which their mothers have had in the formation of their character, and in giving them a bias towards goodness. Yet are they not on that account without their reward. The influence they have exercised, though unrecorded, lives after them, and goes on propa- gating itself in consequences for ever. We do not often hear of great women, as we do of great men. It is of good women that we mostly hear; and it is probable that by determining the character of men and women for good, they are doing even greater work than if they were to paint great pictures, write great books, or comijose great operas. " It is quite true," said Joseph de Maistre, " that women have pro- duced no cliefs-cVoeuvre. They have written no * Iliad,' nor ' Jerusalem Delivered,' nor ' Hamlet,' nor ' Pluedre,* nor * Paradise Lost,' nor ' Tartuffe ;' they have designed no Church of St. Peter's, composed no ' Messiah,' carved no * Apollo Belvidere,' painted no -Last Judgment;' they have invented neither algebra, nor telescopes, nor steam-engines; but they have done something far greater and better than all this, for it is at their knets tliat upright and virtuous men and women have been trained — the most excellent productions in the world." De Maistre, in his letters and writings, speaks of his own mother with immense love and reverence. Her noble character made all other women venerable in his eyes. He described her as his "sublime mother" — 44 yohnson and Washington. [Chap. II. " an an^el to ^Yhom God bad lent a bodv for a brief season." To her he attributed the bent of his character, and all his bias towards good ; and when he had grown to mature years, while acting as ambassador at the Court of St. Petersburg, he referred to her noble example and precepts as the ruling influence in his life. One of the most charminor features in the character of Samuel Johnson, notwithstanding his rough and shaggy exterior, was the tenderness with vrhich he invariably spoke of his mother^ — a woman of strong understanding, who firmly implanted in his mind, as he himself acknowledges, his first impressions of religion. He was accustomed, even in the time of his greatest difficulties, to contribute largely, out of his slender means, to her comfort ; and one of his last acts of filial diity was to write 'llasseias ' for the purpose of paying lif-r little debts and defraying her funeral charges. George Washington was only eleven years of age — the eldest of five children — when his father died, leayino* his mother a widow. She was a woman of rare excellence — full of resources, a good woman of business, an excellent manager, and possessed of much strength of character. She had her children to educate and. bring up, a large household to govern, and extensive estates to manage, all of which she accomplished with complete success. Her good sense, assiduity, tender- ness, industry, and vigilance, enabled her to overcome every obstacle ; and as the richest reward of her soli- citude and toil, she had the happiness to see all her children come forward with a fair promise into life, filling the spheres allotted to them in a manner equally ' See the letters (January IRth, ' when shewasninetv.and he himself J nth, 18th, 20th, and 23rd," 1759), ' was in his fiftieth year.— Crokers written by Jol.iisoii to his mother ! Bosicell^ 8vo. Ed. pp. 113, 1] i. Chap. II.] Cromwell and Wellington. 45 honourable to themselves, and to the parent who had been the only guide of their principles, conduct, and habits.^ The biographer of Cromwell says little about the Protector's father, but dwells upon the character of his mother, whom he describes as a woman of rare vi<»-our and decision of purpose : *' A woman," he says, " pos- sessed of the glorious faculty of self-help when other assistance failed her; ready for the demands of fortuue in its extremest adverse turn ; of spirit and energy equal to her mildness and patience; who, with the labour of her own hands, gave dowries to five daughters gufficient to marry them into families as honourable but more wealthy than their own ; whose single pride M'as honesty, and whose passion was love ; who preserved in the gorgeous palace at Whitehall the simple tastes that distinguished her in the old brewery at Hun- tingdon ; and whose only care, amidst all her splendour, was for the safetv of her son in his dano-erous eminence." " We have spoken of the mother of Xapoleon Buona- parte as a woman of great force of character. Not less so was the mother of the Duke of Welliuiiton, whom her sou strikingly resembled in features, person, and character ; while his father was principally distinguished as a musical composer and performer.^ IJut, strange to say, Wellington's mother mistook him for a dunce ; and, for some reason or other, he was not such a favourite as her other children, until his great deeds in after-life constrained her to be proud of him. The Xapiers were blessed in both parents, but espe- ' Jared Sparks' ' Life of Wash- iusrton.' Forster's 'Emiuont Dritisii Statesmea ' (Cabiutt (. yclop.) vi. 8. "* The Earl of Moruingtuu, eompo&er of ' Here iu eool grot.' Ac. 4-6 Mothers of Lai^^yers and Statesmen. [Chap. Ii. ciallv ill their mother, Lady Sarah Lennox, who early sought to inspire her sons' minds with elevating thoughts, admiration of noble deeds, and a chivalrous spirit, which became embodied in their lives, and con- tinued to sustain them, until death, in the path of duty and of honour. Among statesmen, lawyers, and divines, we find marked mention made of the mothers of Lord Chan- cellors Bacon, Erskine, and Brougham — all women of great ability, and, in the case of the first, of great Iparninir ; as well as of the mothers of Canniufr, Curran, and President Adams — of Herbert, Paley, and Wesley. Lord Brougham speaks in terms almost approaching reverence of his grandmother, the sister of Professor Eobertson, as having been mainly instrumental in in- stilling into his mind a strong desire for information^ and the first principles of that persevering energy in tlie pursuit of every kind of knowledge which formed his prominent characteristic throughout life. Canning's mother was an Irishwoman of great natural ability, for whom her gifted son entertained the greatest love and respect to the close of his career. She was a woman of no ordinary intellectual power. '•' Indeed," says Canning's biographer, " were we not otherwise assured of the fact from direct sources, it would be impossible to contemplate his profound and touching devotion to her, without being led to conclude that the obiect of such unchano^ins: attachment must have been possessed of rare and commanding qualities. She was esteemed by the circle in which she lived, as a woman of great mental energy. Her conversation was animated and vigorous, and marked by a distinct originality of manner and a choice of topics fresh and striking, and out of the commonplace routine. To persons who were but slightly acquainted with her, the energy of her Chap. II.] Ciirraji and Adams, 47 manner had even something of the air of eccentri- city." ^ Curran speaks with great affection of his mother, as a woman of strong original understanding, to whose wise counsel, consistent piety, and lessons of honourable ambition, which she diligently enforced on the minds of her children, he himself jirincipally attributed his success in life. " The only inheritance," he used to say, " that I could boast of from my poor father, was the yery scanty one of an unattractive face and persouj like his own ; and if the world has ever attributed to me something more valuable than face or person, or tlian earthly wealtli, it was that another and a dearer parent gave her child a j)ortion from the treasure of her mind." 2 AVhen ex-President Adams w^as present at the examination of a girls' school at Boston, he was pre- sented by the pupils with an address which deeply affected him ; and in acknowledging it, he took the opportunity of referring to the lasting influence which womanly training and association had exercised upon his own life and character. " As a diild," he said, " I enjoyed perhaps the greatest of blessings that can be bestowed on man — that of a mother, who was anxious and capable to form the characters of her children rightly. From her I derived whatever instruction (religious especially, and moral) has pervaded a long life — I will not say perfectly, or as it ought to be ; but I will say, because it is only justice to the memory of her I revere, that, in the course of that life, whatever imperfection there has been, or deviation from what she taught me, the fiiult is mine, and not hers." ' Robert Bell's ' I,ife of Canning,' p. 37, 2 ' Life of Ciirran,' by Iiis son, p. 4. 48 Mother of the Wesley s. [Chap. II. The Wesleys were peculiarly linked to their parents by natural piety, though the motlier, rather than the father, influenced their minds and developed their characters. The father was a man of strong wdll, but occasionally harsh and tyrannical in his dealings with his family ;^ while the mother, with much strength of understanding and ardent love of truth, was gentle, per- suasive, affectionate, and simple. She was the teacb.er and cheerful companion of her children, who gradually became moulded by her example. It was through the bias g:iven by her to her sons' minds in reli^^ious matters that they acquired the tendency which, even in early years, drew to them the name of Methodists. In a letter to her son, Samuel Wesley, when a scholar at Westminster in 1709, she said : "I would advise you as much as possible to throw your business into a certain method, by which means you will learn to improve every precious moment, and find an unspeakable facility in the performance of your respective duties." This " method " she went on to describe, exhorting her son "in all things to act upon principle ; " and the society which the brothers John and Charles afterwards founded at Oxford is supposed to have been in a great measure the result of her exhortations. In the case of poets, literary men, and artists, the influence of the mother's feeling and taste has doubtless had great effect in directing the genius of their sons ; and we find this especially illustrated in the lives of Gray, Thomson, Scott, Southey, Bulwer, Schiller, and ^ The father of the Wesleys had William IIT. He displayed the even deteriuiuod at one time to same overbearing disposition in abandon his wife because her dealing with his children ; forcing conscience forbade her to assent his daughter IMehetabel to marry, to his prayers for the then reigning against her will, a man whom shri monarch, and he was only saved did not love, and who proved from the consequences of his rash entirely unworthy of her. resolve by the accidental death of , Ckap. II.] Mothers of Poets. 49 Goethe. Gray inherited, almost complete, his kind and loving nature from his mother, while his father was harsh and nnamiable. Gray was, in fact, a feminine man — shy, reserved, and wanting in energy, — but thoroughly irreproachable in life and character. The poet's mother maintained the family, after her un- worthy husband had deserted her ; and, at her deatli, Gray placed on her grave, in 8toke Pogis, an epitaph describing her as " the careful tender mother of many children, one of whom alone had the misfortune to survive her." The poet himself was, at his own desire, interred beside her worshipped grave. Goethe, like Schiller, owed the bias of his mind and character to his mother, who was a woman of extra- ordinary gifts. She was full of joyous flowing mother- wit, and possessed in a high degree the art of stimu- lating young and active minds, instructing them in the science of life out of the treasures of her abundant experience.^ After a lengthened interview with her, an enthusiastic traveller said, "Now do I understand how Goethe has become the man he is." Goethe himself affectionately cherished her memory. '* She was worthy of life ! " he once said of her ; and when he visited Frankfort, he sought out every individual who had been kind to his mother, and thanked them all. It \vas Ary Scheffer's mother — whose beautiful features the painter so loved to reproduce in his pictures of Beatrice, St. Monica, and others of his works — that encouraged his study of art, and by great ' Goethe himself says — •' V^om Vater hab' Icb dip Statur, Des Lebons cnistc-s Ftihreii ; Voii Mtitterchen die Frohiiatur Und Lust zu fabuUren." B 50 Ary Scheffers Mother, [Chap, il self-denial provided him with the means of pursuing it. AVhile living at Dordrecht, in Holland, she first sent him to Lille to study, and afterwards to Paris; and her letters to him, while absent, were always full of sound motherly advice, and affectionate womanly sympathy. **If you could but see me," she wrote on one occa- sion, " kissing your picture, then, after a while, taking it up again, and, with a tear in my eye, calling you * mv beloved son,' you would comprehend what it costs me to use sometimes the stern language of authority, and to occasion to you moments of pain. * * * \York diligently — be, above all, modest and humble ; and when you find yourself excelling others, then com- pare what you have done with Nature itself, or with the ' ideal ' of your own mind, and you will be secured, by the contrast which will be apparent, against the effects of pride and presumption." Long years after, when Ary Scheffer was himself a grandfather, he remembered with affection the advice of his mother, and repeated it to his children. And thus the vital power of good example lives on from generation to generation, keeping the world ever fresh and young. Writing to his daughter, Madame Mar- jolin, in 1846, his departed mother's advice recurred to him, and he said : " The word mu^t — fix it well in vour memory, dear child ; your grandmother seldom had it out of hers. The truth is, that through our lives nothing brings any good fruit except what is earned by either the work of the hands, or by the exertion of one's self-denial. Sacrifices must, in short, be ever going on if we would obtain any comfort or happiness. Now that I am no longer young, I declare that few passages in my life afford me so much satisfaction as those in which I made sacrifices, or denied myself enjoyments. * Das Entsagen ' (the forbidden) is the mott o of the Chaf. it.] Michelefs Tribute to his Mother. 51 wise man. Self-denial is the quality of which Jesus Christ set us the example."^ The French historian Michelet makes the following touching reference to his mother in the Preface to one of his most popular books, the subject of much embittered controversy at the time at which it ap- peared : — " Whilst writing all this, I have had in my mind a woman, whose strong and serious mind would not have failed to support me in these contentions. I lost her thirty years ago (I was a child then) — nevertheless, ever living in my memory, she follows me from age to age. " She suffered with me in my poverty, and was not allowed to share my better fortune. When young, I made her sad, and now I cannot console her. I know not even where her bones are : I was too poor then to buy earth to bury her ! " And yet I owe her much. I feel deeply that I am the son of woman. Every instant, in my ideas and words (not to mention my features and gestures), I find again my mother in myself. It is my mother's blood which gives me the sympathy I feel for bygone ages, and the tender remembrance of all those who are now no more. " What return then could I, who am myself advancing towards old age, make her for the many things I owe her? One, for which she would have thanked me — this protest in favour of women and motliers." ^ But while a mother may greatly influence the poetic or artistic mind of her son for good, she may also in- fluence it for evil. Thus the characteristics of Lord ' Mrs. Crete's * Life of Ary Scheffer,' p. 154. ^ Michelet, ' On l^riests, Woiiie]i, and Families.' E 2 Qa Byron and Foote, [Chap.il Byron — the waywardness of his impulses, his defiance of restraint, the bitterness of his hate, and the precipi- tancy of his resentments — were traceable in no small degree to the adverse influences exercised upon his mind from his birth by his capricious, violent, and headstrong mother. She even taunted her son with his personal deformity; and it was no unfrequent occurrence, in the violent quarrels which occurred between them, for her to take up the poker or tougs, and hurl them after him as he fled from her presence.^ It was this unnatural treatment that gave a morbid turn to Byron's after-life ; and, careworn, unhappy, great, and yet weak as he was, he carried about with him the mother's poison which he had sucked in his infancy. Hence he exclaims, in his ' Childe Harold' : — " Yet Duist I think less wildly : — I have thought Too long and darkly, till my brain became, In its own eddy boiling and o'erwrought, A whiiiing gulf of phantasy and flame : And thus, untaught in youth my heart to tame. My springs of life were poisoned." In like manner, though in a different wav, the character of Mrs. Foote, the actor's mother, was curiously repeated in the life of her joyous, jovial- liearted son. Thouo^h she had been heiress to a larse fortune, she soon spent it all, and was at length im- prisoned for debt. In this condition she wrote to Sam, who had been allowing her a hundred a year out of the proceeds of his acting : — " Dear Sam, I am in prison for debt ; come and assist your loving mother, E. Foote." To which her son characteristically replied — "Dear mother, so am I ; which prevents his duty being paid to his loving mother by her aff'ectionate son, Sam Foote." * Mrs. Byron is said to have died in a fit of passioa, brought on by reading her upholsterer's bills. Chap. II.] Lamartine s Mother, 53 A foolish mother may also spoil a gifted son, by imbu- ing his mind with unsound sentiments. Thus Lamartine's mother is said to have trained him in altogether erroneous ideas of life, in the school of Eousseau and Bernardin de St.-Pierre, by which his sentimentalism, sufficiently strong by nature, was exaggerated instead of repressed ; ^ and he became the victim of tears, affec- tation, and improvidence, all his life long. It almost savours of the ridiculous to find Lamartine, in his * Confidences,' representing liimself as a " statue of Adolescence raised as a model for young men."^ As he was his mother's spoilt child, so he was the spoilt child of his country to the end, which was bitter and sad. Sainte-Beuve says of him : " He was the continual object of the richest gifts, which he had not \\\^ power of managing, scattering and wasting them — all, excepting the gift of words, which seemed inexhaustible, and on which he continued to play to the end as on an en- chanted flute. "^ We have spoken of the mother of Washington as an excellent woman of business; and to possess such a quality as capacity for business is not only compatible with true womanliness, but is in a measure essential to the comfort and well being of every properly-governed family. Habits of business do not relate to trade merely, but apply to all the practical affairs of life — to everything tliat has to be arranged, to be organised, to be provided for, to be done. And in all these respects the management of a family, and of a house- hold, is as much a matter of business as the manage- ment of a shop or of a counting-house. It requires method, accuracy, organization, industry, economy. ^ Sainte-Beuve, ' Causeries du Liindi,' i. 23. * Ibid. i. 22. 3 Ibid. i. 23. / 54 Wo7nen and Business Habits. [Chap. ii. discipline, tact knowledge, and capacity for adapting means to ends. All this is of the essence of business ; and hence business habits are as necessary to be culti- vated by women who would succeed in the affairs of \/ home — in other words, who would make home happy — as by men in the affairs of trade, of commerce, or of manufacture. The idea has, however, heretofore prevailed, that women have no concern with such matters, and that business habits and qualifications relate to men only. Take, for instance, the knowledge of figures. Mr. Bright has said of boys, " Teach a boy arithmetic thoroughly, and he is a made man." And why? — Because it teaches him method, accuracy, value, pro- portions, relations. But how many girls are taught arithmetic well? — Very few indeed. And what is the consequence? — When the girl becomes a wife, if she knows nothing of figures, and is innocent of addition and multiplication, she can keep no record of income and expenditure, and there will probably be a succes- sion of mistakes committed which may be prolific in domestic contention. The w^oman, not being up to her bussiness — that is, the management of her domestic affairs in conformity with the simple principles of arithmetic — will, through sheer ignorance, be apt to commit extravagances, which may be most injurious to her family peace and comfort. Method, which is the soul of business, is also of essential importance in the home. Work can only be got through by method. Muddle flies before it, and hugger-mugger becomes a thing unknown. Method demands punctuality, another eminently business quality. The unpunctual woman, like the unpunctual man, occasions dislike, because she consumes and wastes time, and provokes the reflection that we are Chap. II.] Business Qualities requisite. 55 not of sufncdent importance to make her more prompt. To tlie business man, time is money ; but to the busi- ness woman, method is more — it is peace, comfort, and domestic prosperity. Prudence is another important business quality in women, as in men. Prudence is practical wisdom, and comes of the cultivated judgment. It has reference in all things to fitness, to propriety ; judging wisely of the right thing to be done, and the right way of doing it. It calculates the means, order, time, and method of doing. Prudence learns from experience, quickened by knowledge. For these, amongst other reasons, habits of business are necessary to be cultivated by all women, in order to their being efficient helpers in the world's daily life and work. Furthermore, to direct the power of the home aright, women, as the nurses, trainers, and educators of children, need all the help and strength that mental culture can 2:ive them. . . . I Mere instinctive love is not sufficient. Instinct, ^ which preserves the lower creatures, needs no training ; but human intelligence, which is in constant request in afamilv, needs to be educated. The physical health of the rising generation is entrusted to woman by Providence ; and it is in the physical nature that the moral and mental nature lies enshrined. It is only by acting in accordance with the natural laws, which before she can follow woman must needs understand, that the blessings of health of body, and health of mind and morals, can be secured at home. Without a knowledge of such laws, the mother's love too often finds its recompence only in a child's coffin.^ ' Tliat about one-tliird of all ! only be attributable to i^orance the children born in thi.s country i of the natural laws, ignor.inco die under tive years of age, can | of the human constitution, and 56 Woman s Intelligence. [Chap. II. It is a mere truism to say that the intellect with which woman as well as man is endowed, has been given for use and exercise, and not " to fust in her unused." Such endowments are never conferred without a pur- pose. The Creator may be lavish in His gifts, but He is never wasteful. Woman was not meant to be either an unthinking drudge, or the merely pretty ornament of man's leisure. She exists for herself, as well as for others ; and the serious and responsible duties she is called upon to per- form in life, require the cultivated head as well as the sympathising heart. Her highest mission is not to be fulfilled by the mastery of fleetiug accomplishments, on which so much useful time is now" wasted ; for, though accomplishments may enhance the charms of youth and beauty, of themselves sufficiently charming, they will be found of very little use in the affairs of real life. The highest praise which the ancient Eomans could express of a noble matron was that she sat at home and span — " Domum mansit, lanam fecit." In our own time, it has been said that chemistry enough to keep the pot boiling, and geography enough to know the different rooms in her house, was science enough for any woman ; whilst Byron, whose sympathies for woman were of a very imperfect kind, professed that he w^ould limit her library to a Bible and a cookery-book. But this view of woman's character and culture is as absurdly narrow and unintelligent, on the one hand, as the opposite view, now so much in vogue, is extravagant and unnatural on the other — that woman ought to be educated so as to be as much as possible the equal of man ; un distinguishable from him, except in sex ; equal to him in rights and ignorance of the uses of piixe air, some food; There is no such })ure water, and of the ait of pre- mortality amongst the lower paring and administering whole- animals. Chap. I I.J Education of Women, ^ 57 votes; and his competitor in all that makes life a fierce and selfish struggle for place and power and money. Speaking generally, the training and discipline that are most suitable for the one sex in early life, are also the most suitable for the other ; and the education and culture that fill the mind of the man will prove equally wholesome for the woman. Indeed, all the arguments which have yet been advanced in favour of the higher education of men, plead equally strongly in favour of the higher education of women. In all the departments of home, intelligence will add to woman's usefulness and efficiency. It will give her thought and forethought, enable her to anticipate and provide for the contingencies of life, suggest improved methods of management, and give her strength in every way. In disciplined mental power she will find a stronger and safer protection against deception and imposture than in mere innocent and unsuspecting ignorance ; in moral and religious culture she will secure sources of influence more power- ful and enduring than in physical attractions ; and in due self-reliance and self-dependence she will discover the truest sources of domestic comfort and happiness. But while the mind and character of women ought to be cultivated with a view to their own wellbeing, they ought not the less to be educated liberally with a view to the happiness of others. Men themselves cannot be sound in mind or morals if women be the reverse ; and if, as we hold to be the case, the moral condition of a people mainly depends upon the education of the home, then the education of women is to be regarded as a matter of national importance. Not only does the moral character but the mental strength of man find their best safeguard and support in the moral purity and mental cultivation of woman ; but the more com- pletely the powers of both are developed, the more 38 Natio7is and Mothers. [Chap. 11. barmonious and well-ordered will society be — the more safe and certain its elevation and advancement. When, about fitty years since, the First Napoleon said that the great want of France was mothers, he meant, in other words, that the French people needed the educa- tion of homes, presided over by good, virtuous, intelligent women. Indeed, the first French Revolution presented one of the most strikins^ illustrations of the social mischiefs resulting from a neglect of the purifymg influence of women. When that great national out- break occurred, society was impenetrated with vice and profligacy. Morals, religion, virtue, were swamped by sensualism. The character of woman had become depraved. Conjugal fidelity was disregarded ; maternity was held in reproach ; family and home were alike corrupted. Domestic purity no longer bound society together. France was motherless ; the children broke loose ; and the Revolution burst forth, "amidst the yells and the fierce violence of women." ^ ^ Beaiimaichais' ' Figaro,* which lationship, and no division into was received with such enthusiasm castes, no differences of wealth, in France shortly before the out- \ can prevent men from assimilating, break of the Revolution, may be ! . . . . The same influences which regarded as a typical play ; it rapidly adapt the individual to represented the average morality his society, ensure, though by a of the upper as well as the lower slower process, the general uni- classes with respect to the rela- foimity of a national character, tions between the s^-axes. " Label .... And so long as the assimi- men how you please," says Herbert lating influences productive of it Spencer, " with titles of ' upper ' continue at work, it is folly to and ' middle ' and ' lower,' you suppose any one grade of a com- cannot prevent them from being munity can be morally different unitd of the same society, acted from the re:re the gentle wife, companion, and friend d man, but his fellow- labourer and fellow- drudge. She is exposed to influences which too often eflace that modesty of thought and conduct which is one of the best safeguards of virtue. "Without judgment or sound prin- ciples to guide them, factory-giils early acquire the feeling of inde- pendence. Ready to throw off the constraint imposed on them by their parents, they leave their homes, and speedily become initi- ated in the vices of their associates. The atmosphere, physical as well as moral, in which they live, sti- mulates their aniiual appetites ; the influence of bad example be- comes contagious among them ; and mischief is propagated far and wide." — The Union, January, 1843. CnAf*. II.] ^' Enfraiichlsement''' of Wo7nen. 6i and improvement of women are to he secured bv investing them with political power. Tliere are, how- ever, in these days, many believers in the potentiality of " votes," ^ who anticipate some indelinite good from the *• enfranchisement " of wo-men. It is not neces- sary here to enter upon the discussion of this question. But it may be sufficient to state that the power which women do not possess politically is far more than com- pensated by that which they exercise in private life — by their training in the home those who, whether as men or as women, do all the manly as well as womanly work of the world. The Radical Bentham has said that man, even if he would, cannot keep power from woman ; for that she already governs the world " with the whole power of a despot," ^ thougli the power that she mainly governs by is love. And to form the character of tlie whole human race, is certainly a power far greater than that which women could ever hope to exercise as voters for members of Parliament, or even as lawmakers. There is, however, one special department of woman's work demanding the earnest attention of all true female reformers, though it is one which has hitherto been unaccountably neglected. We mean the better economizing and preparation of human food, the w aste ^ A French satmst, pointing to \ that of father and aim . . . Uy the repeated plebiscites and perpe- i kSir Kobert Filmer, the supposeil tual voting of late years, and to the ' necessary as well as absolute growing want of faith in anything . power of the father over his chil- but vott-s, said, in 1870, that we [ dren, was taken us tlie fouudatinii seemed to be rapidly approaching and origin, and thence justifying the time when the only prayer of cause, of the power of themonaicli man and woman would be, "Give , in every political state. With us this day oui daily vote !" 'more propriety he miglit have - "Of primeval and necessary stated the absolute dominion of and absolute sui)eriority, the rela- a woman as tlie only legitimate tion of the motber to the child is form of government." — Dtvntokxjy, fur more complete, though less , ii. 181. seldom quoted on an example, than , 62 Women and Food. [Chap. Ii. of which at present, for want of the most ordinary culinary knowledge, is little short of scandalous. If that man is to be regarded as a benefactor of his species who makes two stalks of corn to grow where only one grew before, not less is she to be regarded as a public benefactor who economizes and turns to the best practical account the food-products of human skill and labour. The improved use of even our exist- ing supply would be equivalent to an immediate extension of the cultivable acreage of our country — not to speak of the increase in health, economy, and domestic comfort. Were our female reformers only to turn their energies in this direction with effect, they would earn the gratitude of all households, and be esteemed as among the greatest of j^ractical philan- thropists. p Chap. III.] ConipanionsJdp and Example, 63 UNI VKH.siT^ CHAPTER IIL^;^^|^j,..,,,,.^., Companionship and ExamplEt ** Keep good company, and you shall be of the number." — George Berbcrt. " For mine own part, I shall be glad to learn of noble men." — Shakspeare. " Examples preach to th' eye — care, then, mine says, Not how you end, but how you spend your days." Htnry Marten — ' Last Thouglds. " Dis moi qui tu admires, et je dirai qui tu es." —Sainte- fieuve. '' He that means to be a good limner will be sure to draw after the most excellent copies, and guide every stroke of his pencil by the better pattern that lays before him ; to he that desires that the table of his life may be fair, will l>e careful to projiuse the best examples, and will never be content till he equals or excels them." — Owtn Feltham. The natural education of tlie Home is prolonged far into life — indeed it never entirely ceases. But the time arrives, in the progress of years, when the Home ceases to exercise an exclusive influence on the forina- tion of character ; and it is succeeded by the more artificial education of the school, and the companion- ship of friends and comrades, which continue to mould the character by the powerful influence of example. Men, young and old — but the young more than the old — cannot help imitating those with whom they associate. It was a saying of George Herbert's mother, intended for the guidance of her sons, "that as our bodies take a nourishment suitable to the meat on which we feed, so do our souls as insensibly take in virtue or vice by the example or conversation of good or bad company." Indeed, it is impossible that association witli those obout us should not produce a powerful influence in the formation of character. For men are bv nature 64 Injiiience of Companionship. [Chap. III. imitators, and ail persons are moreor less impressed by the speecii, the manners, the gait, the gestures, and the very habits of thinkini^ of their companions. " Is example nothing ? " said Burke. '' It is everything. Example is the school of mankind, and they will learn at no other." Burke's grand motto, which he wrote for the tablet of the Marquis of Kockingham, is worth repeating: it was, "Eemember — resemble — persevere." Imitation is for the most part so unconscious that its eftects are almost unheeded, but its influence is not the less permanent on that account. It is only when an impressive nature is placed in contact with an impres- sionable one, that the alteration in the character becomes recognisable. Yet even the weakest natures exercise some influence upon those about them. The approximation of feeling, thought, and habit is constant, and the action of example unceasing. Emerson has observed that even old couples, or persons w^io have been housemates for a course of years, grow gradually like each otlier ; so that, if they were to live long enough, we should scarcely be able to know them apart. But if this be true of the old, how much more true is it of the young, whose plastic natures are so much more soft and impressionable, and ready to take the stamp of the life and conversation of tbose about them ! '* There has been," observed Sir Charles Bell in one of his letters, '' a good deal said about education, but they appear to me to put out of sight exampJey which is all-in-all. My best education was the example set me bv mv brothers. There was. in all the members of the family, a reliance on self, a true independence, and by imitation I obtained it." ^ ' ' Letters of Sir Charles BeU,' ?. 10. Chap. III.] The Force of Imitation, 65 It is in the nature of things that the circumstances which contribute to form the character, should exercise their j^rincipal influence during the period of growth. As years advance, example and imitation become custom, and gradually consolidate into habit, which is of so much potency that, almost before we know it, we have in a measure yielded up to it our personal freedom. It is related of Plato, that on one occasion he reproved a boy for playing at some foolish game. '' Thou reprovest me," said the boy, " for a very little thing." " But custom," replied Plato, " is not a little thing." Bad custom, consolidated into habit, is such a tyrant that men sometimes cling to vices even while they curse them. They have become the slaves of habits whose power they are impotent to resist. Hence Locke has said that to create and maintain that vigour of mind which is able to contest the empire of habit, may be regarded as one of the chief ends of moral discipline. Though much of the education of character by example is spontaneous and unconscious, the young need not necessarily be the passive followers or imi- tators of those about them. Their own conduct, far more than the conduct of their companions, tends to fix the purpose and form the principles of their life. Each possesses in himself a power of will and of free activity, which, if courageously exercised, will enable him to make his own individual selection of friends and asso- ciates. It is only through weakness of purpose that youDg people, as well as old, become the slaves of their inclinations, or give themselves up to a servile imitation of others. It is a common saying that men are known by the company they keep. The sober do not naturally asso- ciate with the drunken, the relined w ith the coarse, the F 66 Companionship of the Good. [Chap. hi. decent with the dissolute. To associate with depraved persons argues a low taste and vicious tendencies, and to frequent their society leads to inevitable degradation of character. " The conversation of such persons," says Seneca, " is very injurious ; for even if it does no imme- diate harm, it leaves its seeds in the mind, and follows us when we have gone from the speakers — a plague sure to spring up in future resurrection." If young men are wisely influenced and directed, and conscientiously exert their own free energies, they will seek the society of those better than themselves, and strive to imitate their example. In companionship with the good, growing natures wall always find their best nourishment ; while companionship with the bad will only be fruitful in mischief. There are persons whom to know is to love, honour, and admire ; and others whom to know is to shun and despise, — " dord le scvvoir nest que heterie," as says Eabelais when speaking of the education of Gargantua. Live with persons of elevated characters, and vou will feel lifted and lis^hted up in them : " Live with wolves," says the Spanish proverb, " and you will learn to howl." Intercourse with even commonplace selfish persons may prove most injurious, by inducing a dry, dull, reserved, and selfish condition of mind, more or less inimical to true manliness and breadth of character. The mind soon learns to run in small grooves, the heart grows narrow and contracted, and the moral nature becomes weak, irresolute, and accommodating, which is fatal to all generous ambition or real excellence. On the other hand, association with persons wiser, better, and more experienced than ourselves, is always more or less inspiring and invigorating. They enhance our own knowledge of life. We correct our estimates by theirs, and become partners in their wisdom. We Chap. III.] The Uses of Association, 67 enlarge our field of observation through their eyes^ jjrofit by their experience, and learn not only from what they have enjoyed, but — which is still more instructive — from what they have suffered. If they are strono-er tlian ourselves, we become participators in their strength. Hence companionship with the wise and energetic never fails to have a most valuable influence on the formation of character — increasins: our resources, strenfrthenincr our resolves, elevating our aims, and enabling us to exercise greater dexterity and ability in our own affairs, as well as more effective helpfulness of others. " I have often deeply regretted in myself," says Mrs. Schimmelpenninck, " the great loss I have experienced from the solitude of my early habits. We need no worse companion than our unregenerate selves, and, by living alone, a person not only becomes wholly ignorant of the means of helping his fellow-creatures, but is with- out the perception of those wants which most need help. iVssociation with others, when not on so large a scale as to make hours of retirement impossible, may be con- sidered as furnishing to an individual a rich multiplied experience ; and sympathy so dra^^n forth, though, un- like charity, it begins abroad, never foils to bring back rich treasures home. Association with others is useful also in strengthening the character, and in enabling us, while we never lose sight of our main object, to thread our way wisely and well." ^ An entirely new direction may be given to the life of a young man by a happy suggestion, a timely hint, or the kindly advice of an honest friend. Thus the life of Henry Martyn, the Indian missionary, seems to have been singularly influenced by a friendship which he formed, when a boy, at Truro Grammar School. Martyn ^ ' AutoLiographv of i\Iary Anne Schimmelpenninck,' p. 179. F 2 68 Boyhood of Henry Mar tyn, [Chap. ill. himself was of feeble frame, and of a delicate nervous temperament. Wanting in animal spirits, lie took but little pleasure in school sports ; and being of a somewhat petulant temper, the bigger boys took pleasure in pro- voking him, and some of them in bullying him. One of the bigger boys, however, conceiving a friendship for Martyn, took him under his protection, stood between him and his persecutors, and not only fought his battles for him, but helped him with his lessons. Though Martyn was rather a backward pupil, his father was desirous that he should have the advantage of a college education, and at the age of about fifteen he sent him to Oxford to try for a Corpus scholarship, in which he failed. He remained for two years more at the Truro Grammar School, and then went to Cambridge, where he was entered at St. John's College. Who should he find already settled there as a student but his old cham- pion of the Trm'o Grammar School ? Their friendship was renewed; and the elder student from that time forward acted as the Mentor of- the younger one. Martyn was fitful in his studies, excitable and petulant, and occasionally subject to fits of almost uncontrollable rage. His big friend, on the other hand, was a steady, patient, hardworking fellow; and he never ceased to watch over, to guide, and to advise for good his irritable fellow-student. He kept Martyn out of the way of evil company, advised him to work hard, "not for the praise of men, but for the glory of God ;" and so suc- cessfully assisted him in his studies, that at the follow- ing Christmas examination he w^as the first of his year. Yet Martyn's kind friend and IMentor never achieved any distinction himself ; he passed away into obscurity, leading, most probably, a useful though an unknown career ; his greatest wish in life having been to shape the character of his friend, to inspire his soul with the Chap. III.] Dr. Paleys College Life. 6g love of tnitli, and to prepare liim for the noble work, on which he shortly after entered, of an Indian missionary. A somewhat similar incident is said to have occurred in the college career of Dr. Paley. When a student at Christ's College, Cambridge, he was distinguished for his shrewdness as well as his clumsiness, and he was at the same time the favourite and the butt of his com- panions. Though his natural abilities were great, he was thoughtless, idle, and a spendthrift ; and at the commencement of his third year he had made com- parativel}^ little progress. After one of his usual night-dissipations, a friend stood by his bedside on the following morning. " Paley," said he, " I have not been able to sleep for thinking about you. I have been tl linking what a fool you are ! I have the means of dissipation, and can afford to be idle : you are poor, and cannot afford it. I could do nothing, probably, even were 1 to try : you are capable of doing anything. I have lain awake all night thinking about your folly, and I have now come solemnly to warn you. Indeed, if you persist in your indolence, and go on in this way, I must renounce your society altogether !" It is said that Paley was so powerfully affected by this admonition, that from that moment he became an altered man. He formed an entirely new plan of life, and diligently persevered in it. He became one of the most industrious of students. One by one he distanced his competitors, and at the end of the year he came out Senior Wrangler. What he afterwards accom])lished as an author and a divine is sufiiciently well known. No one recognised more fully the influence of per- sonal example on the young than did Dr. Arnold. It was the great lever witli which he worked in strivinc: to elevate the character of his school. He made it his principal object, first to put a right spirit into the 70 Dr. Arnold an Exemplar. [Chap. ill. leading boys, by attracting their good and noble feel- ings ; and then to make them instrumental in propagating the same spirit among the rest, by the influence of imi- tation, example, and admiration. He endeavoured to make ail feel that they were fellow-workers with him- self, and sharers with him in the moral responsibility for the good government of the place. One of the first effects of this highminded system of management was, that it inspired the boys with strength and self-respect. They felt that they were trusted. There were, of course, wauvais sujets at Rugby, as there are at all schools ; and these it was the master's duty to watch, to prevent their bad example contaminating others. On one occa- sion he said to an assistant-master : '* Do you see those two boys walking together ? I never saw them together before. You should make an especial point of observing the company they keep : nothing so tells the changes in a boy's character." Dr. Arnold's own example was an inspiration, as is that of every great teacher. In his presence, young men learned to respect themselves ; and out of the root of self-respect there grew up the manly virtues. " His very presence," says his biographer, " seemed to create a new spring of health and vigour within them, and to give to life an interest and elevation which remained with them long after they had left him ; and dwelt so habitually in their thoughts as a living image, that, when death had taken him away, the bond appeared to be still unbroken, and the sense of separation almost lost in the still deeper sense of a life and a union inde- structible." ^ And thus it was tiiat Dr. Arnold trained a host of manly and noble characters, who spread the influence of his example in all parts of the world. » Dean Stanley's ' Life of Dr. Arnold,' i. 151 (Ed. 1858). Chap. III.] Pozver of Goodness. 71 So also was it said of Dugald Stewart, that lie breathed tlie love of virtue into whole generations of pupils. " To me," says the late Lord Cockburn, " his lectures were like the opening of the heavens. I felt that I had a soul. His noble views, unfolded in glorious sentences, elevated me into a higher world. . . . They changed my whole nature." ^ Character tells in all conditions of life. The man of good character in a workshop will give the tone to his fellows, and elevate their entire aspirations. Thus Franklin, while a workman in London, is said to have re- formed the manners of an entire workshop. So the man of bad character and debased energy will unconsciously lower and degrade his fellows. Captain John Brown — the " marching-on" Brown — once said to Emerson, that *• for a settler in a new country, one good believing man is worth a hundred, nay, worth a thousand men with- out character." His example is so contagious, that all other men are directly and beneficially influenced by him, and he insensibly elevates and lifts them up to his own standard of energetic activity. Communication with the good is invariably produc- tive of good. The good character is diffusive in his in- fluence. " I was common clay till roses were planted in me," says some aromatic earth in the Eastern fable. Like begets like, and good makes good. " It is astonishing," says Canon Moseley, *'liow much good goodness makes. Nothing that is good is alone, nor anything bad ; it makes others good or others bad — and that other, and so on : like a stone thrown into a pond, which makes circles that make other wider ones, and then others, till the last reaches the shore Almost all the good that is in the world has, I suppose, ■ Lord Cockbum's ' Memorials,' pp. 25-C. 72 High Standard of Life. [Chap. ill. thus come down to us traditionally from remote times, and often unknown centres of good." -^ So Mr. Euskin says, " That which is born of evil begets evil ; and that which is born of valour and honour, teaches valour and honour." Hence it is that the life of every man is a daily in- culcation of good or bad example to others. The life of a good man is at the same time the most eloquent lesson of virtue and the most severe reproof of vice. Dr. Hooker described the life of a pious clergyman of his acquaintance as " visible rhetoric," convincing even the most godless of the beauty of goodness. And so the good George Herbert said, on entering upon the duties of his parish: "Above all, I will be sure to live well, because the virtuous life of a clero:vman is the most powerful eloquence, to persuade all w^ho see it to reverence and love, and at least to desire to live like him. And this I will do," he added, " because I know we live in an age that hath more need of good examples than precepts." It was a fine saying of the same good priest, when reproached with doing an act of kindness to a poor man, considered beneath the dignity of his oflSce, — that the thought of such actions " would prove music to him at midnight."^ Izaak Walton speaks of a letter written by George Herbert to Bishop Andrewes, about a holy hfe, which the latter "put into his bosom," and after showing it to his scholars, " did always return it to the place where he first lodged it, and con- tinued it so, near his heart, till the last day of his life." Great is the power of goodness to charm and to com- mand. The man inspired by it is the true king of men, drawino^ all hearts after him. When General xsichol- ' From a letter of Canon Moseley, read at a Memorial Meetins: held shortly after the death of the late Lord Herbert of I.ea. ^ Izaak "Walton's ' Lite of George Herbert.' Chap. III.] i he Insph^ation of Goodness. 73 son lay wounded on his deathbed before ])elhi, he dictated this last message to his equally noble and gallant friend, Sir Herbert Edwardes: — "Jell him," said he, " I should have been a better man if I liad con- tinued to live with him, and our heavy public duties had not prevented my seeing more of him privately. I was always the better for a residence with him and his wife, however short. Give my love to them both! " There are men in whose presence we feel as if we breathed a spiritual ozone, refreshing and invigorating, like inhaling mountain air, or enjoying a bath of sun- shine. The power of Sir Thomas IMore's gentle nature was so great tliat it subdued the bad at the same time that it inspired the good. • Lord Brooke said of his deceased friend, Sir Philip Sidney, that "his wit and understanding beat upon his heart, to make himself and others, not in word or opinion, but in life and action, good and great." The very sight of a great and good man is often an inspiration to the young, who cannot help admiring and loving the gentle, the brave, the truthful, the magnani- mous. Chateaubriand saw Washington only once, but it inspired him for life. After describing the interview, he says : *' Washington sank into the tomb before any little celebrity had attached to my name. I passed before him as the most unknown of beings. He was in all his glory — I in the depth of my obscurity. My name probably dwelt not a whole day in his memory. Happy, however, was I that his looks were cast upon me. I have felt warmed for it all the rest of my life. There is a virtue even in the looks of a great man." When Niebuhr died, his friend, Frederick Perthes, said of him : " What a contemporary ! The terror of all bad and base men, the stay of all the sterling and honest, the friend and helper of yuulh." Perthes said 74 Admiration of the Good, [Chap. hi. on another occasion : " It does a wrestling man good to be constantly surrounded by tried wrestlers ; evil thoughts are put to flight when the eye falls on the portrait of one in whose living presence one would have blushed to own them." A Catholic money-lender, when about to cheat, was wont to draw a veil over the picture of his favourite saint. So Hazlitt has said of the portrait of a beautiful female, that it seemed as if an unhandsome action would be impossible in its presence. "It does one good to look upon his manly honest face," said a poor German woman, pointing to a portrait of the great Reformer hung upon the wall of her humble dwelling. Even the portrait of a noble or a good man, hung up in a room, is companionship after a sort. It gives us a closer personal interest in him. Looking at the features, we feel as if we knew him better, and were more nearly related to him. It is a link that connects us with a higher and better nature than our own. And though we may be far from reaching the standard of our hero, we are, to a certain extent, sustained and fortified by his depicted presence constantly before us. Fox was proud to acknowledge how much he owed to the example and conversation of Burke. On one occa- sion he said of him, that " if he was to put all the political information he had gained from books, all that he had learned from science, or that the knowledge of the world and its affairs taught him, into one scale, and the improvement he had derived from IMr. Burke's con- versation and instruction into the other, the latter would preponderate." Professor Tyndall speaks of Faraday's friendship as " energy and inspiration. " After spending an evening with him he wrote : " His work excites admiration, but contact with him warms and elevates the heart. Here, Chap. III.] Injlueiice of Gentle Nat2trcs. 75 surely, is a strong man. I love strength, but let me not forget tlie example of its union with modesty, tender- ness, and sweetness, in the character of Faraday." Even the gentlest natures are powerful to influence the character of others for good. Thus Wordsworth seems to have been especially impressed by the character of his sister Dorothy, who exercised upon his mind and heart a lasting influence. He describes her as the blessing of his boyhood as well as of his man- hood. Though two years younger than himself, her tenderness and sweetness contributed greatly to mould his nature, and open his mind to the influences of poetry : " She gave me eyes, she gave me cars, And humble cares, and delicate fears ; A heart, the fountain of sweet tears, And love and thought and joy." Thus the gentlest natures are enabled, by the power of affection and intelligence, to mould the characters of men destined to influence and elevate their race through all time. Sir William Napier attributed the early direction of his character, first to the impress made upon it by his mother, when a boy ; and afterwards to the noble ex- ample of his commander. Sir Jolm Moore, when a man. Moore early detected the qualities of the young officer; and he was one of those to whom the General addressed the encouragement, " Well done, my majors !" at Corunna. Writing home to his mother, and describ- ing the little court by which Moore was surrounded, he wrote, "Where shall we find such a king?" It was to his personal affection for his chief that the world is mainly indebted to Sir William Napier for his great book, *The History of the Peninsular War.' But he was stimulated to write the book by the advice of 76 Energy evokes Energy, [Ckap. hi. another friend, the late Lord Langdale, while one day walking with him across the fields on which Belgravia is now built. '' It was Lord Langdale/' he says, " who first kindled the fire within me." And of Sir William Napier himself, his biographer truly says, that " no thinking person could ever come in contact with him without being strongly impressed with the genius of the man." The career of the late Dr. Marshall Hall was a life- lonof illustration of the influence of character in forming: character. Many eminent men still living trace their success in life to his suggestions and assistance, without which several valuable lines of study and investigation might not have been entered on, at least at so early a period. He would say to young men about him, '' Take up a subject and pursue it well, and you cannot fail to succeed." And often he would throw out a new idea to a young friend, saying, " I make you a present of it ; there is fortune in it, if you pursue it with energy." Energy of character has always a power to evoke energy in others. It acts through sympathy, one of the most influential of human agencies. The zealous energetic man unconsciously carries others along with him. His example is contagious, and compels imita- tion. He exercises a sort of electric power, which sends a thrill through every fibre — flows into the nature of those about him, and makes them give out sparks of fire. Dr. Arnold's biogi-apher, speaking of the power of this kind exercised by him over young men, says : " It was not so much an enthusiastic admiration for true genius, or learning, or eloquence, which stirred within them ; it was a sympathetic thrill, caught from a spirit that was earnestly at work in the world — whose work was healthy, sustained, and constantly carried forward Chap. III.] Power of Great Miftds. 77 in the fear of God — a work that was founded on^a deep sense of its duty and its value.'-' ^ Such a power, exercised by men of genius, evokes courage, enthusiasm, and devotion. It is this intense admiration for individuals — such as one cannot conceive entertained for a multitude — which has in all times produced lieroes and martyrs. It is thus that the mastery of "character makes itself felt. It acts by in- spiration, quickening and vivifying the natures subject to its influence. Great minds are rich in radiating force, not only exerting power, but communicating and even creating it. Thus Dante raised and drew after him a host of great spirits — Petrarch, Boccacio, Tasso, and many more. From him IMilton learnt to bear the stings of evil tongues and the contumely of evil days ; and long years after, Byron, thinking of Dante under the pine-trees of Ravenna, was incited to attune his harp to loftier strains than he had ever attempted before. Dante inspired the greatest painters of Italy — Giotto, Orcagna, Michael xVngelo, and Raphael . So Ariosto and Titian mutually inspired one another, and lighted up eacli other's glory. Great and good men draw others after them, exciting the spontaneous admiration of mankind. This admi- ration of noble character elevates the mind, and tends to redeem it from the bondage of self, one of the greatest stumblingblocks to moral improvement. Tiie recol- lection of men who have si^inalised themselves bv m-eat thoughts or great deeds, seems as if to create for the time a purer atmosphere around us : and we feel as if our aims and purposes were unconsciously elevated. "Tell me whom you admire," said Sainte-Beuve, » Stanley's ' Life and Letters of Dr. Aruokl,' i. 33. 78 Admire nobly, [Chap. III. *' and I will tell you what you are, at least as regards 3'our talents, tastes, and character." Do you admire mean men ? — your own nature is mean. Do you admire rich men ? — you are of the earth, earthy. Do you admire men of title ? — you are a toad-eater, or a tuft- hunter.^ Do you admire honest, brave, and manly men ? — you are yourself of an honest, brave, and manly 6[)irit. It is in the season of youth, while the character is forming, that the impulse to admire is the greatest. As we advance in life, we crystallize into habit ; and ^'l^il admirari " too often becomes our motto. It is well to encourage the admiration of great characters while the nature is plastic and open to impressions; for if the good are not admired — as young men will have their heroes of some sort — most probably the great bad may be taken by them for models. Hence it always rejoiced Dr. Arnold to hear his pupils expressing admiration of great deeds, or full of enthusiasm for persons or even scenery. " I believe," said he, " that 'Nil admirari' is the devil's favourite text ; and he could not choose a better, to introduce his pupils into the more esoteric parts of his doctrine. And, therefore, I have always looked upon a man infected with the disorder of anti-romance as one who has lost the finest part of his nature, and his best protection against everything low and foolish." ^ It was a fine trait in the character of Prince Albert that he was always so ready to express generous admi- ^ Philip de Comines gives a should in like manner shave their curious illustration of the sub- heads ; and one of them, Pierre de servient, though enforced, imita- Hagenbach, to prove his devotion, tion of Philip, Duke of Burgundy, no sooner caught sight of an un- by his couitiers. When that shaven nobleman, than he forth- prince fell ill, and had his head with had him seized and carried thaved, he ordered that all his oif to the barber ! — Philip de uubles, five hundrtd in number, Comines (Bohn's Ed.), p. 243. 2 ' Life,' i. 344. Chap. III.] J ohnson and Boswell. 79 ration of the good deeds of others. " He had the greatest delight," says the ablest delineator of his cha- racter, " in anybody else saying a fine saying, or doing a great deed. He would rej(jice over it, and talk about it for days; and whether it was a thing nobly said or done by a little child, or by a veteran statesman, it gave him equal pleasure. He delighted in humanity doing well on any occasion and in any manner." ^ "No quality," said Dr. Johnson, "will get a man more friends than a sincere admiration of the qualities of others. It indicates generosity of nature, frankness, cordiality, and cheerful recognition of merit." It was to the sincere — it might almost be said the reverential — admiration of Johnson by Bos well, that we owe one of the best biographies ever written. One is disposed to think that there must have been some genuine good qualities in Bosw^ell to have been attracted by such a man as Johnson, and to have kept iaithlui to his wor- ship in spite of rebuffs and snubbiugs innumerable. Macaulay speaks of Boswell as an altogether contemp- tible person — as a coxcomb and a bore — weak, vain, pushing, curious, garrulous ; and without wit, humour, or eloquence. But Carlyle is doubtless more just in his characterisation of the biographer, in whom — vain and foolish though he was in many respects — he sees a man penetrated by the old reverent feeling of disci])le- ship, full of love and admiration for true wisdom and excellence. Without such qualities, Carlyle insists, the ' Life of Johnson ' never could have been written. '' Boswell wrote a good book," he says, " because he had a heart and an eye to discern wisdom, and an utterance to render it forth ; because of his u*dQ insight, ' Introduction to * The Principal Speeches and Addresses of lI.E.II, the Prmce Consort,' p. '6'6. 8o Young Mens Heroes. [Chap, hi his lively talent, and, above all, of his love and child- like openmindedness." Most young men of generous mind have their heroes, especially if they be book-readers. Thus Allan Cun- ningham, when a mason's apprentice in Nithsdale, walked all the way to Edinburgh for the sole purpose of seeing Sir Walter Scott as he passed along the street. We unconsciously admire the enthusiasm of the lad, and respect the impulse which impelled him to make the journey. It is related of Sir Joshua Reynolds, that, when a boy of ten, he thrust his hand through inter- vening rows of people to touch Pope, as if there were a sort of virtue in the contact. At a much later period, the painter Haydon was proud to see and to touch Beynolds Avhen on a visit to his native place. Rogers the poet used to tell of his ardent desire, when a boy, to see Dr. Johnson ; but when his hand was on the knocker of the house in Bolt Court, his courage failed him, and he turned away. So the late Isaac Disraeli, when a youth, called at Bolt Court for the same pur- pose ; and though be lm(L the courage to knock, to his dismay he was informed by the servant that the great lexicographer had breathed his last only a few hours before. On the contrary, small and ungenerous minds cannot admire heartily. To their own great misfortune, they cannot recognise, much less reverence, great men and great things. The mean nature admires meanly. The toad's highest idea of beauty is his toadess. The small snob's higjiest idea of manhood is the great snob. The slave-dealer values a man according to his muscles. When a Guinea trader was told by Sir Godfrey Kneller, in the presence of Pope, that he saw before him two of the greatest men in the world, he replied: '•' i don't know how great you may be, but I don't Chap. III.] The Envy of Small Minds, 8i like your looks. I have often boup^lit a mau mucli better than botli of you together, all bones and muscles, for ten guineas ! " Although Eochefoucauld, in one of his maxims, says that there is something that is not altogether disagree- able to us in the misfortunes of even our best friends, it is only the small and essentially mean nature that finds pleasure in the disappointment, and annoyance at the success of others. There are, unhappily for themselves, persons so constituted that they have not the heart to be generous. The most disagreeable of all people are those who " sit in the seat of the scorner." Persons of this sort often come to regard the success of others, even in a good work, as a kind of personal offence. They cannot bear to hear another praised, especially if he belong to their own art, or calling, or profession. They will pardon a man's failures, but cannot forgive his doing a thing better than they can do. And where they have themselves failed, they are found to be the most merciless of detrac- tors. The sour critic thinks of his rival : " "When Heaven with such parts has blest him, Have I not reason to detest him V " The mean mind occupies itself with sneering, carp- ing, and fault-finding ; and is ready to scoff at every- thing but impudent effrontery or successful vice. The greatest consolation of such persons are the defects of men of character. " If the wise erred not," says George Herbert, " it would go hard with fools." Yet, though wise men may learn of fools by avoiding their errors, fools rarely profit by the example which wise men set them. A German writer has said that it is a miserable temper that cares only to discover the blemishes in the character of great men or great G 82 Admiration and Imitaiio7i, [Chap. III. periods. Let us ratlier judge them with the charity of Bolingbroke, who, when reminded of one of the alleged weaknesses of Marlborough, observed, — "He was so great a man that I forgot he had that defect." Admiration of great men, living or dead, naturally evokes imitation of them in a greater or less degree. While a mere youth, the mind of Themistocles was fired by the great deeds of his contemporaries, and he longed to distinguish himself in the service of his country. When the Battle of Marathon had been fought, he fell into a state of melancholy; and when asked by his friends as to the cause, he replied " that the trophies of Miltiades would not suffer him to sleep." A few years later, we find him at the head of the Athenian army, defeating the Persian fleet of Xerxes in the battles of Artemisium and Salamis, — his country gratefully acknowledging that it had been saved through his wdsdom and valour. It i& related of Thucydides that, when a boy, he burst into tears on hearing Herodotus read his History, and the impression made upon his mind was such as to determine the bent of his own genius. And Demosthenes was so fired on one occasion by the eloquence of Callistratus, that the ambition was roused within him of becoming an orator himself. Yet Demos- thenes was physically w^eak, had a feeble voice, indis- tinct articulation, and shortness of breath — defects which he was only enabled to overcome by diligent study and invincible determination. But, with all his practice, he never became a ready speaker; all his orations, especially the most famous of them, exhibiting indications of careful elaboration, — the art and industry of the orator being visible in almost every sentence. Similar illustrations of character imitating character, and moulding itself by the style and manner and Chap. Ill] Haydn and Porpora. 83 genius of great men, are to be found pervading all history. Warriors, statesmen, orators, patriots, poets, and artists — all have been, more or less unconsciously, nurtured by the lives and actions of others living before them or presented for their imitation. Great men have evoked the admiration of kings, popes, and emperors. Francis de Medicis never spoke to ]\[ichael Angelo without uncovering, and Julius III. made him sit by his side while a dozen cardinals were standing. Charles V. made way for Titian ; and one day, when the brush dropped from the painter's hand, Charles stooped and picked it up, saying, *' You deserve to be served by an emperor." Leo X. threatened with excommunication whoever should print and sell the poems of Ariosto without the author's consent. The same pope attended the deathbed of Eaphael, as Francis I. did that of Leonardo da Vinci. Though Haydn once archly observed that he was loved and esteemed by everybody except professors of music, yet all the greatest musicians were unusually ready to recognise each other's greatness. Haydn himself seems to have been entirely free from petty jealousy. His admiration of the famous Porpora was such, that he resolved to gain admission to his house, and serve him as a valet. Having made the acquaintance of tlie family with whom Porpora lived, he was allowed to officiate in that capacitj' Early each morning he took care to brush the veteran's coat, polish his shoes, and put his rusty wig in order. At first Porpora growled at the intruder, but his asperity soon softened, and even- tually melted into affection. Pie quickly discovered his valet's genius, and, by his instructions, directed it into the line in which Haydn eventually acquired so much distinction. Haydn himself was enthusiastic in his admiration of G 2 84 The Great Musicians, [Chap. III. Handel. "He is the father of us all," he said on one occasion. Scarlatti followed Handel in admiration all over Italy, and, when his name w^as mentioned, he crossed himself in token of veneration. Mozart's recog- nition of the great composer was not less hearty. *' When he chooses," said he, " Handel strikes like the thunderbolt." Beethoven hailed him as " The monarch, of the musical kingdom." When Beethoven was dying, one of his friends sent him a present of Handel's works, in forty volumes. They were brought into his chamber, and; gazing on them with reanimated eye, he exclaimed, pointing at them with his finger, " There — there is the truth!" Haydn not only recognised the genius of the great men who had passed away, but of his young con- temporaries, Mozart and Beethoven. Small men may be envious of their fellows, but really great men seek out and love each other. Of Mozart, Haydn wrote : — *' I only wish I could impress on every friend of music, and on great men in particular, the same depth of musical sympathy, and profound appreciation of Mozart's inimitable music, that I myself feel and enjoy ; then nations would vie W'ith each other to possess such a jewel within their frojitiers. Prague ought not only to strive to retain this precious man, but also to remunerate him ; for without this the history of a great genius is sad indeed It enrages me to think that the unparalleled Mozart is not yet engaged by some im- perial or royal court. Forgive my excitement ; but I love the man so dearly ! " Mozart was equally generous in his recognition of the merits of Haydn. " Sir.'* said he to a critic, speaking of the latter, " if you and I were both melted down together, we should not furnish materials for one Haydn." And when Mozart first heard Beethoven, he Chap. III.] Masters and Disciples. 85 observed : " Listen to tliat young man ; be assured that he will yet make a great name in the world." Buffon set Newton above all other philosophers, and admired him so highly that he liad always his portrait before him while he sat at work. So Schiller looked up to Shakspeare, whom he studied reverently and zealously for years, until he became capable of compre- hending nature at first-hand, and then his admiration became even more ardent than before. Pitt was Canning's master and hero, whom he followed and admired with attachment and devotion. ** To one man, while he lived," said Canning, " I was devoted with all my heart and all my soul. Since the death of Mr. Pitt I acknowledge no leader ; my political allegiance lies buried in his grave." ^ A French physiologist, M. Koux, was occupied one day in lecturing to his pupils, when Sir Charles Boll, whose discoveries were even better known and more highly appreciated abroad than at home, strolled into his class-room. The professor, recognising his visitor, at once stopped his exposition, saying : *• Messieurs, cest assezjpour aujourdliui, vous avez vu Sir Charles Bell!" The first acquaintance with a great work of art has usually proved an important event in every young artist's life. When Correggio first gazed on Eaphael's * Saint Cecilia,' he felt within himself an awakened power, and exclaimed, '* And I too am a painter !" So Constable used to look back on his first sight of Claude's ]iicture of ' Hagar,' as forming an epoch in his career. Sir George Beaumont's admiration of the same picture was such that he always took it with him in his carriage when he travelled from home. The examples set by the great and good do net die ; * Speech at Liverpool, 1812. 86 Enduringness of Good Example, [Chap. in. they continue to live and speak to all the generations that succeed them. It was very impressively observed by Mr. Disraeli, in the House of Commons, shortly after the death of Mr. Cobden : — " There is this consolation remaining to us, when we remember our unequalled and irreparable losses, that those great men are not altogether lost to us — that their words will often be quoted in this House — that their examples will often be referred to and appealed to, and that even their expressions will form part of our discussions and debates. There are now, I may say, some members of Parliament who, though they may not be present, are still members of this House — who are independent of dissolutions, of the caprices of constituencies, and even of the course of time. I think that Mr. Cobden was one of those men." It is the great lesson of biography to teach what man can be and can do at his best. It may thus give each man renewed strength and confidence. The humblest, in sight of even the greatest, may admire, and hope, and take courage. These great brothers of ours in blood and lineage, who live a universal life, still speak to us from their graves, and beckon us on in the paths which they have trod. Their example is still with us, to guide, to influence, and to direct us. For nobility of character is a perpetual bequest, living from age to age, and con- stantly tending to reproduce its like. " The sage," say the Chinese, " is the instructor of a hundred ages. When the manners of Loo are heard of, the stupid become intelligent, and the wavering deter- mined." Thus the acted life of a good man continues to bo a gospel of freedom and emancipation to all who succeed him : " To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die." Chap. TIL] Consolation of a Well-spent Life. 87 The golden words that good men have uttered, the examples they have set, live through all time : they pass into the thoughts and hearts of their successors, help them on the road of life, and often console them in the hour of death. " And the most miserable or most painful of deaths," said Henry Marten, the Common- wealth man, who died in prison, " is as nothing com- pared with the memory of a well-spent life ; and great alone is he who has earned the glorious privilege of bequeathing such a lesson and example to his suc- cessors t (JxVLlR>U:\lA. . 88 Work, [Chap. IV. CHAPTER lY. Work. " Arise therefore, and be doing, and the Lord be with thee." — 1 Chronicles xxil. 10. " Work as If thou hadst to live for aye ; Worship as if thou wert to die to-day." — Tuscan Prcmerb. " C'est par le travail qu'on regne." — Louis XI V. " Blest work ! if ever thou wert curse of God, What must His blessing be ! " — J. B. Selkirk. " Let every man be occupied, and occupied in the highest employment of which h\3 cature is capable, and die with the consciousness that he has done his best." — Sydney Smith. Work is one of the best educators of practical character. It evokes and disciplines obedience, self-control, atten- tion, application, and perseverance ; giving a man deftness and skill in his special calling, and aptitude and dexterity in dealing with the affairs of ordinary life. Work is the law of our being — the living principle that carries men and nations onward. The greater number of men have to work with their hands, as a matter of necessity, in order to live ; but all must work in one way or another, if they would enjoy life as it ought to be enjoyed. Labour may be a burden and a chastisement, but it is also an honour and a glory. Without it, nothing can be accomplished. All that is great in man comes through work ; and civilisation is its product. Were labour abolished, the race of Adam were at once stricken by moral death. It is idleness that is the curse of man — not labour. Idleness eats the heart out of men as of nations, and Cha^. IV.] Pliny on Rnral Labour. 89 consumes them as rust does iron. When Alexander conquered the Persians, and had an opportunity of observing their manners, he remarked that they did not seem conscious that there could be anything more servile than a life of pleasure, or more princely than a life of toil. When the Emperor Severus lay on his deathbed at York, whither he had been borne on a litter from the foot of the Grampians, his final watchword to his soldiers was, " Lahoremus " (we must work) ; and nothing but constant toil maintained the power and extended the authority of the Eoman generals. In describing the earlier social condition of Italy, when the ordinary occupations of rural life were con- sidered compatible with the highest civic dignity, Pliny speaks of the triumphant generals and their men returning contentedly to the plough. " In those days the lands were tilled by the hands even of generals, the soil exulting beneath a ploughshare crowned with laurels, and guided by a husbandman graced with triumphs" : [I])Sorum tunc ma^iibus imferatorum colebantur agri: ut fas est crede^'e, gaiidente terra vomere laiireato et triumphali aratore.] ^ It was only after slaves became * lu the third chapter of his faha, a bean ; Lentulus, from lens, Natural History, Pliny relates in a lentil ; Cicero, from rtcer, a ehick- wb at high honour agriculture was pea; Babulcus, from hos, &c.) ; held in the earUer days of Rome ; how the highest compliiuent was how tbe divisions of land Avere to call a man a good agriculturist, measured by the quantity which or a good husbandman (Zoc«pZe«, could be ploughed by a yoke of rich, loci plenus, Fecunia, from oxen in a certain time (jugerum, pecus, Sec.) ; how the pasturing of in one da}; actus, at one spell); cattle secrttly by night upon un- how the gieatest recompence to a ripe crops was a cajjital oll'ence, general or valiant citizen was a punishable by hanging ; how the jugerum; how the earliest sur- rural tribes held tbe foremost names were derived from agricul- rank, while those of the city had ture (Pilumnus, from pilum, the discredit thrf>wn upon them as pestle for pounding corn : Piso, from being an indolent race ; and how piw, to grind corn; Fabiud, from i " Glorium dtnique ipsam, a /arris 90 The Curse of Idleness. [Chap. IV. extensively employed in all departments of industry that labour came to be res^arded as dishonourable and servile. And so soon as indolence and luxury became the characteristics of the ruling classes of Eome, the downfall of the empire, sooner or later, was inevitable. There is, perhaps, no tendency of our nature that has to be more carefully guarded against than indo- lence. When Mr. Gurney asked an intelligent foreigner who had travelled over the greater part of the world, whether he had observed any one quality which, more than another, could be regarded as a universal charac- teristic of our species, his answer was, in broken English, " Me tink dat all men love lazy'' It is characteristic of the savage as of the despot. It is natural to men to endeavour to enjoy the products of labour without its toils. Indeed, so universal is this desire, that James Mill has argued that it was to prevent its indulgence at the expense of society at large, that the expedient of Government was ori^inallv invented.^ Indolence is equally degrading to individuals as to nations. Sloth never made its mark in the world, and never will. Sloth never climbed a hill, nor overcame a difficulty that it could avoid. Indolence always failed in life, and always will. It is in the nature of things that it should not succeed in anything. It is a burden, an incumbrance, and a nuisance — always useless, com- plaining, melancholy, and miserable. Burton, in his quaint and curious book — the only one, Johnson says, that ever took him out of bed two hours sooner than he wished to rise — describes the causes of Melancholy as hingeing mainly on Idleness. *' Idleness," he says, " is the bane of body and mind, the honore, ^ adoream' appellabant f' Adorea, or Glory, the reward of Talour, being derived from Ador, or spelt, a kind of grain. ^ ' Essay on Government,' in ' Encyclopaedia Briiannica.' Chap. IV.] Causes of Melancholy. oi nurse of naughtiness, the chief mother of all mischief, one of the seven deadly sins, the devil's cushion, his pillow and chief reposal. . . . An idle dog will be mangy ; and how shall an idle person escape ? Idleness of the mind is much worse than that of the body : wit, without employment, is a disease — the rust of the soul, a plague, a hell itself. As in a standing pool, worms and filthy creepers increase, so do evil and corrupt thoughts in an idle person ; the soul is contaminated. . . . Thus much I dare boldly say : he or she that is idle, be they of what condition they will, never so rich, so well allied, fortunate, happy — let them have all things in abimdance and felicity that heart can wish and desire, all contentment — so long as he, or she, or they, are idle, they shall never be pleased, never well in body or mind, but weary still, sickly still, vexed still, loathing still, weeping, sighing, grieving, suspecting, offended with the world, with every object, wishing themselves gone or dead, or else carried away with some foolish phantasie or other." ^ Burton says a great deal more to the same effect ; the burden and lesson of his book being embodied in the pregnant sentence with which it winds up: — " Only take this for a corollary and conclusion, as thou tenderest thine own welfare in this, and all other melan- choly, thy good health of body and mind, observe this short precept, Give not way to solitariness and idleness. ^e not solitary — he not idle!' ^ The indolent, however, are not wholly indolent. Though the body may shirk labour, the brain is not idle. If it do not grow corn, it will grow thistles, which will be found springing up all along the idle man's course in life. The ghosts of indolence rise up ' Burton's ' Anatomy of Melancholy,' Part i., Mem. 2, Sub. 6. * Ibid. End of concluding chapter. Excuses of Indolence. [Chap. IV. in tlie dark, ever staring the recreant in the face, and tormenting him : " The g:nfls are just, and of our pleasant vices, Make iustruments to scourge us." True happiness is never found in torpor of the faculties/ but in their action and useful employment. It is indolence that exhausts, not action, in which there is life, health, and pleasure. The spirits may be exhausted and wearied by employment, but they are utterly wasted by idleness. Hence a wise physician was accus- tomed to regard occupation as one of his most valuable remedial measures. "Nothing is so injurious," said Dr. Marshall Hall, "as unoccupied time." An arch- bishop of Mayence used to say that '' the human heart is like a millstone : if you put wheat under it, it gi'inds the wheat into flour ; if you put no wheat, it grinds on, but then 'tis itself it wears away." Indolence is usually full of excuses ; and the sluggard, though unwilling to work, is often an active sophist. " There is a lion in the path ;" or " The hill is hard to climb ; " or " There is no use trying — I have tried, and failed, and cannot do it." To the sophistries of such an excuser, Sir Samuel Eomilly once wrote to a young man : — " My attack upon your indolence, loss of time, &c., was most serious, and I really think that it can be to nothing but your habitual want of exertion that can be ascribed your using such curious arguments as you do in your defence. Your theory is this : Every man does all the good that he can. If a particular individual does no good, it is a proof that he is incapable of doing it. That you don't write proves that you can't ; and * It is characteristic of the 1 describe the Supreme Being as Hindoos to regard entire inaction " The Uumoveable." as the most perfect state, and to | Chap. IV] Industry mid Leisure. 93 your want of inclination demonstrates your want of talents. What an admirable system ! — and what bene- ficial effects would it be attended with, if it were but universally received ! " It has been truly said, that to desire to possess, without being burdened with the trouble of acquiring, is as much a sign of w eakness, as to recognise that every- thing worth having is only to be got by paying its price, is the prime secret of practical strength. Even leisure cannot be enjoyed unless it is won by effort. If it have not been earned by work, the price has not been paid for it.^ There must be work before and work behind, with leisure to fall back upon ; but the leisure, without the work, can no more be enjoyed than a suri'eit. Life must needs be disgusting alike to the idle rich man as to the idle poor man, who has no work to do, or, having work, will not do it. The words found tattooed on the right arm of a sentimental beggar of forty, undergoing his eighth imprisonment in the gaol of Bourges in France, might be adopted as the motto of all idlers : '^ Xe fasse ma tromjpe ; le present me tour- mente ; Vavenir m'eioouvante ;" — (The past has deceived me ; the present torments me ; the future terrifies me.) The duty of industry applies to all classes and con- ditions of society. All have their work to do in their respective conditions of life — the rich as well as the poor.^ The gentleman by birth and education, how- * Lessiiig was so impressed with ' the Truth ; but leave to me the tlie conviction that stagnant satis- search f«pr it, which is the better faction was fatal to man, that he for me.' " On the other hand, went so far as to say : " If the All- Bossuot said : " Si je concevais une powerful Being, hnlding in one nature purement Intel ligcnte,il me hand Truth, and in the other the scmble que je n'y mettrais qu'en- search for Truth, said to me, tendre et aimer la vcritc, ct que ' Choose.' I would answer Him, cela seul la rendrait heuroux." 'O All-powerful, keep for Thyself ^ 'J'hc late Sir John Tattcson, 94 Work a Univerml Diity. [Chap. IV. ever richly lie may be endowed with worldly posses- sions, cannot but feel that he is in duty bound to con- tribute his quota of endeavour towards the general wellbeing in which he shares. He cannot be satisfied with being fed, clad, and maintained by the labour of others, without making some suitable return to the society that upholds him. An honest highminded man would revolt at the idea of sitting down to and enjoying a feast, and then going away without paying his share of the reckoning. To be idle and useless is neither an honour nor a privilege ; and though persons of small natures may be content merely to consume — fruges eonsiimere nati — men of average endowment, of manly aspirations, and of honest purpose, will feel such a condition to be incompatible with real honour and true dignity. " I don't believe," said Lord Stanley (now Earl of Derby) at Glasgow, '* that an unemployed man, however amiable and otherwise respectable, ever was, or ever can be, really wheu in his seyentieth year, at- tended an annual ploughing-mateh dinner at Feniton, Devon, at which he thought it worth his while to combat the notion, still too preva- lent, that because a man does not work merely with his bones and muscles, he is therefore not entitled to the appellation of a working- man. "In recollecting similar meetings to the present," he said, '' I remember my friend, John Py le, rather throwing it in my teeth that I had not worked for nothing ; but I told him, ' Mr. Pyle, you do not know what you are talking about. We are all workers. The ma a who ploughs the field and who digs the hedge is a worker ; but there are other workers in other stations of life as well. For myself, I can say that I have been a worker ever since I have been a boy.' . . . Then I told him that the office of judge was by no means a sinecure, for that a judge worked as hard as any man in the country. He has to work at very difficult ques- tions of law, which are brought before him continually, giving him great anxiety ; and sometimes the lives of his fellow-creatures are placed in his hands, and are de- pendent very much upon the manner in which he places the facts before the jury. That is a matter of no little anxiety, I can assure you. Let any man think as he will, there is no man who has been through the ordeal for the length of time that I have, but must feel conscious of the impor- tance and grp.vity of the duty which is cast upon a judge." Chap. IV.] Lord Stanley on Work. 05 happy. As work is onr life, show me what you can do, and I will show you what you are. I have spoken of love of one's work as the best preventive of merely low and vicious tastes. I will go further, and say that it is the best preservative against petty anxieties, and the annoy- ances that arise out of indulged self-love. Men have thought before now that they could take refuge from trouble and vexation by sheltering themselves as it were in a world of their own. The experiment has often been tried, and always with one result. You cannot escape from anxiety and labour — it is the destiny of humanity .... Those who shirk from facing trouble, find tliat trouble comes to them. The indolent may contrive that he shall have less than his share of the world's work to do, but Nature, proportioning the instinct to the w^ork, contrives that the little shall be much and hard to him. The man who has only himself to please finds, sooner or later, and probably sooner than later, that he has got a very hard master ; and the excessive weakness which shrinks from responsibility has its own punishment too, for where great interests are excluded little matters become great, and the same wear and tear of mind that might have been at least usefully and healthfully expended on the real business of life is often wasted in petty and imaginary vexations, such as breed and multiply in the unoccupied brain." ^ Even on the lowest ground — that of personal enjoy- ment — constant useful occupation is necessary. lie who labours not, cannot enjoy the reward of labour. "We sleep sound," said Sir Walter Scott, "and our waking hours are happy, when they are employed ; and a little sense of toil is necessary to the enjoyment of 1 Lord Stanley's Address to the Students of Glasgow University, on his installation as Lord Rector, 18G9. g6 Life and Work. [Chap. IV. leisure, even when earned by study and sanctioned by the discharge of duty." It is true, there are men who die of overwork ; but many more die of selfishness, indulgence, and idleness. Where men break down by overwork, it is most commonly from want of duly ordering their lives, and neglect of the ordinary conditions of physical health. Lord Stanley was probably right when he said, in his address to the Grlasgow students above mentioned, that he doubted whether " hard work, steadily and regularly carried on, ever yet hurt anybody." Then, ao^ain, length of years is no proper test of length of life. A man's life is to be measured by what he does in it, and what he feels in it. The more useful work the man does, and the more he thinks and feels, the more he really lives. The idle useless man, no matter to what extent his life may be prolonged, merely vegetates. The early teachers of Christianity ennobled the lot of toil by their example. " He that will not work," said Saint Paul, "neither shall he eat ;" and he glorified himself in that he had laboured with his hands, and had not been chargeable to any man. When St. Boniface landed in Britain, he came with a gospel in one hand and a carpenter's rule in the other ; and from England he afterwards passed over into Germany, carry- ing thither the art of building. Luther also, in the midst of a multitude of other employments, worked diligently for a living, earning his bread by gardening, building, turning, and even clockmaking.'^ ^ "Writing to an abbot at Nurem- I time is ; not that they themselves berg, who had sent him a store ' care much about it. for as long as of turning-tools, Luther said : "I ; their glasses are kept filled, they have made considerable progress ; trouble themselves very little as in clockmaking, and I am very j to whether clocks, or clockmakers, much delighted at it, for these I or tlie time itself, go right." — drunken Saxons need to be con- \ Michelet's Luther (Bogue Ed.), stantly reminded of what the real p. 200. Chap. IV.] The Dignity of Work. gy It was characteristic of Napoleon, when visiting a work of mechanical excellence, to pay great respect to the inventor, and on taking his leave, to salute him with a low bow. Once at St. Helena, when walking with Mrs. Balcombe, some servants came along carrying a load. The lady, in an angry tone, ordered them out of the way, on which Napoleon interposed, saying, '' Respect the burden, madam." Even the drudgery of the humblest labourer contributes towards the general wellbeing of society ; and it was a wise saying of a Chinese Emperor, that " if there was a man who did not w^ork, or a w^oman that was idle, somebody must suffer cold or hunger in the empire." The habit of constant useful occupation is as essential for the happiness and wellbeing of woman as of man. Without it, women are apt to sink into a state of listless ennui and uselessness, accompanied })y sick headache and attacks of " nerves." Caroline Perthes carefully warned her married daughter Louisa to beware of giving way to such listlessness. " I my- self," she said, " when the children are ^one out for a half-holiday, sometimes feel as stupid and dull as an owl by daylight ; but one must not yield to this, which happens more or less to all young wives. The best relief is work, engaged in with interest and diligence. Work, then, constantly and diligently, at something or other ; for idleness is the devil's snare for small and great, as your grandfather says, and he says true." ^ Constant useful occupation is thus wholesome, not only for the body, but for the mind. While the sloth- ful man drags himself indolently through life, and the better part of his nature sleeps a deep sleep, if not morally and spiritually dead, the energetic man is a » ' Life of Perthea,' ii. 20. 98 Work and Happiness. [Chap. iv. source of activity and enjoyment to all who come within reach of his influence. Even any ordinary drudgery is better than idleness. Fuller says of Sir Francis Drake, who was early sent to sea, and kept close to his work by his master, that such ** pains and patience in his youth knit the joints of his soul, and made them more solid and compact." Schiller used to say that he considered it a great advantage to be em- ployed in the discharge of some daily mechanical duty — some regular routine of work, that rendered steady application necessary. Thousands can bear testimony to the truth of the saying of Greuze, the French painter, that work — em- ployment, useful occupation — is one of the great secrets of happiness. Casaubon was once induced by the entreaties of his friends to take a few days' entire rest, but he returned to his work with the remark, that it was easier to bear illness doing something, than doing nothing^. When Charles Lamb was released for life from his daily drudgery of desk-work at the India Office, he felt himself the happiest of men. " I would not go back to my prison," he said to a friend, " ten years longer, for ten thousand pounds." He also wrote in the same ecstatic mood to Bernard Barton : " I have scarce steadiness of head to compose a letter," he said ; " I am free ! free as air ! I will live another fifty years. .... Would I could sell you some of my leisure ! Positively the best thing a man can do is — Nothing ; and next to that, perhaps. Good Works." Two years — two loDg and tedious years — passed ; and Charles Lamb's feelings had undergone an entire change. He now discovered that official, even humdrum work — *' tlie appointed round, the daily task" — had been good for him, though he knew it not. Time had formerly Chap. IV.] Practical Importance of hidtishy, 99 been his friend ; it had now become his enemy. To Bernard Barton he again wrote : " I assure you, no work is worse than overwork ; the mind preys on itself — the most unwholesome of food. I have ceased to care for almost any tiling. . . . Never did the waters of heaven pour down upon a forlorner head. What I can do, and overdo, is to walk. I am a sanguinary murderer of time. But the oracle is silent." No man could be more sensible of the practical importance of industry than Sir Walter Scott, who was himself one of the most laborious and indefatigable of men. Indeed, Lockhart says of him that, taking all ages and countries together, the rare example of inde- fatigable energy, in union with serene self-possession of mind and manner, such as Scott's, must be sought for in the roll of great sovereigns or great captains, rather than in that of literary genius. Scott himself was most anxious to impress upon the minds of his own children the importance of industry as a means of usefulness and happiness in the world. To his son Charles, when at school, he wrote : — "I cannot too much impress upon your mind that labour is the condition which God has im- posed on us in every station of life ; there is nothing worth having that can be had without it, from the bread which the peasant wins with the sweat of his brow, to the sports by which the rich man must get rid of his ennui As for knowledge, it can no more be planted in the human mind lUthout labour than a field of wheat can be produced without the previous use of the plough. There is, indeed, this great difference, that chance or circumstances may so cause it that another shall reap what the farmer sows ; but no man can be deprived, whether by accident or misfortune, of the fruits of his own studies ; and the liberal and extended acquisitions of knowledge which he makes are all for his n 2 100 Scott and Southey. [Chaf, IV. own use. Labour, therefore, my dear boy, and improve the time. In youth our steps are light, and our minds are ductile, and knowledge is easily laid up ; but if we neglect our spring, our summers will be useless and con- temptible, our harvest will be chaff, and the winter of our old age unrespected and desolate." ^ Southey was as laborious a worker as Scott. Indeed, work might almost be said to form part of his religion. He was only nineteen when he wrote these words : — " Nineteen years ! certainly a fourth part of my life ; perhaps how great a part ! and yet I have been of no service to society. The clown who scares crows for twopence a day is a more useful man ; he preserves the bread which I eat in idleness." And yet Southey had not been idle as a boy — on the contrary, he had been a most diligent student. He had not only read largely in English literature, but was well acquainted, through translations, with Tasso, Ariosto, Homer, and Ovid. He felt, however, as if his life had been purposeless, and he determined to do something. He began, and from that time forward he pursued an unremitting career of literary labour down to the close of his life — " daily progressing in learning," to use his own words — " not so learned as lie is poor, not so poor as proud, not so proud as happy." The maxims of men often reveal their character.^ That of Sir Walter Scott was, "Never to be doing nothing." Robertson the historian, as early as his iifteenth year, adopted tliU^ maxim of " Vita sine Uteris mors est'' (Life without learning is death). Voltaire's motto was, " Toujours au travaiV (Always at work). The favourite maxim of Lacepede, the naturalist, was, '^Vivre ' Lockliart's ' Life of Scott' (8vo. i racter of a person may be better Ed.), p. 442. ! known by the letters which other - Southey expresses the opinion I persons write to hiio than by what iu ' The Doctor, that the cha- he himself writesj. Chap. IV.] Work an Educator of Character, loi cest veilJer" (To live is to observe) : it was also the maxim of Pliny. When Bossuet was at college, he was so dis- tinguished by his ardour in study, that his fellow- students, playing upon his name, designated him as " Bos-suetus aratro'' (The ox used to the plough). The name of Vita-lis (Life a struggle), which the Swedish poet Sjoberg assumed, as Frederik von Hardenberg assumed that of Nova-lis, described the aspirations and the labours of both these men of genius. We have spoken of work as a discipline : it is also an educator of character. Even work that produces no results, because it is work, is better than torpor, — inas- much as it educates faculty, and is thus preparatory to successful \vork. The habit of working teaches method. It compels economy of time, and the disposition of it with judicious forethought. And when the art of packing life with useful occupations is once acquired by practice, every minute will be turned to account ; and leisure, when it comes, will be enjoyed with all the greater zest. Coleridge has truly observed, that " if the idle are described as killing time, the methodical man may be justly said to call it into life and moral being, while he makes it the distinct object not only of the conscious- ness, but of the conscience. He organizes the hours and gives them a soul ; and by that, the very essence of which is to fleet and to have been, he communicates an imperishable and spiritual nature. Of the good and faithful servant, whose energlfc thus directed are thus methodized, it is less truly affirmed that he lives in time than that time lives in him. His days and months and years, as the stops and punctual marks in the record of duties performed, will survive the wreck of worlds, and remain extant when time itself shall be no more." ^ * ' Dissertation on the Science of Method.' I02 Training to Business, [Chap. IV. It is because application to business teaches method most effectually, that it is so useful as an educator of character. The highest working qualities are best trained by active and sympathetic contact with others in the affairs of daily life. It does not matter whether the business relate to the management of a house- hold or of a nation. Indeed, as we have endeavoured to show in a preceding chapter, the able housewife must necessarily be an efficient woman of business. She must regulate and control the details of her home, keep her expenditure within her means, arrange everything ac- cording to plan and system, and wisely manage and govern those subject to her rule. Efficient domestic management implies industry, application, method, moral discipline, forethought, prudence, practical ability, in- sight into character, and power of organization — all of which are required in the efficient management of busi- ness of whatever sort. Business qualities have, indeed, a very large field of action. They mean aptitude for aifairs, competency to deal successfully with the practical work of life — whether the spur of action lie in domestic manage- ment, in the conduct of a profession, in. trade or com- merce, in social organization, or in political government. And the training w^iich gives efficiency in dealing with these various affairs is of all others the most useful in practical liie.^ Moreover, it is the best discipline of ' The following passage, from a recent article in the Pall Mall Gazette, will commend itself to general approval : — " There can be no question now- adays, that application to work, absorption in aifairs, contact with men, and all the stress which business imposes on us, gives a noble training to the intellect, and splendid opportunity for discipline of character. It is an utterly low view of business which regards it as only a means of getting a living. A man's business is his part of tlie world's work, his share of the great activities which render so- ciety possible. He may like it or dislike it, but it is work, and as such requires application, self- Chap. IV.] Business Qualities. 103 character ; for it involves the exercise of diligence, attention, self-denial, judgment, tact, knowledge of and sympathy with others. Such a discipline is far more productive of happiness, as well as useful efficiency in life, than any amount of literary culture or meditative seclusion ; for in the lone run it will usually be found that practical ability carries it over intellect, and temper and habits over talent. It must, however, be added that this is a kind of culture that can only be acquired by diligent observation and carefully improved experience. " To be a good black- smith," said Greneral Trochu in a recent publication, "one must have forged all his life : to be a good ad- ministrator one should have passed his whole life in the study and practice of business." It was characteristic of Sir Walter Scott to entertain the highest respect for able men of business ; and he pro- fessed that he did not consider any amount of literary distinction as entitled to be spoken of in the same breath with a mastery in the higher departments of practical life — least of all with a first-rate captain. The great commander leaves nothing to chance, but provides for every contingency. He condescends to apparently trivial details. Thus, when Wellington was at the head of his army in Spain, he directed the precise denial, discipline. It is his drill, | rapid and responsible exercise of and he cannot be thorough in his 1 judgment — all these things con- occupation without putting him- self into it. checking his fancies, restraining his impulses, and hold- ing himself to the perpetual round of small details — without, in fact, submitting to his drill. But the perpetual call on a man's readiness, self-control, and vigour which business makes, the constant ap- peal to the intellect, the stress upuu the will, the necessity for stitute a high culture, though not the highest. It is a culture which strengthens and invigorates if it does not refine, whicli gives force if not polish — the J'urtitei in re, if not the sutiviter in inodo. It makes strong men and ready mt'U, and men of vast capacity for art'airs, though it does not nect).s- sarily make refined men or gentle- men." 104 Wellington — Washington. [Chap. IV. manner in which the soldiers were to cook their provi- sions. When in India, he specified the exact speed at which the bullocks were to be driven ; every detail in equipment was carefully arranged beforehand. And thus not only was efficiency secured, but the devotion of his men, and their thorough confidence in his command. ^ Like other great captains, Wellington had an almost boundless capacity for work. He drew up the heads of a Dublin Police Bill (being still the Secretary for Ireland), when tossing off the mouth of the Mondego, with Junot and the French army waiting for him on the shore. So Caesar, another of the greatest com- manders, is said to have written an essay on Latin Rhetoric while crossing the Alps at the head of his army. And Wallenstein when at the head of 60,000 men, and in the midst of a campaign with the enemy before him, dictated from headquarters the medical treatment of his poultry-yard. Washington, also, was an indefatigable man of business. From his boyhood he diligently trained himself in habits of application, of study, and of methodical work. His manuscript school-books, which are still preserved, show^ that, as early as the age of thirteen, be occupied himself voluntarily in copying out such things as forms of receipts, notes of hand, bills of exchange, bonds, indentures, leases, land- warrants, and other dry documents, all written out with great care. And the habits ^Yhich he thus early acquired were, in a great measure, the foundation of those admirable business qualities which he afterwards ^ On the first publication of his i procure rice and bullocks." " And ' Despatclies,' one of his friends said to him, on reading the records of his Indian campaigns : " It eeems ,to me, Duke, that your chief business in India was to so it was,"' replied Wellington: " for if I had rice and bullocks, I had men; and if I had men, I knew I could beat the enemy." Chap. IV.] Workmg Genitcses. 105 so successfully brought to bear in the affairs of govern- ment. The man or woman who achieves success in the management of any great affair of business is entitled to honour, — it may be, to as much as the artist who paints a picture, or the author who writes a book, or the soldier who wins a battle. Their success may have been gained in the face of as great difficulties, and after as great struggles ; and where they have won their battle, it is at least a peaceful one, and there is no blood on their hands. The idea has been entertained by some, that business habits are incompatible with genius. In the Life of Kichard Lovell Edgeworth,^ it is observed of a Mr. Bicknell — a respectable but ordinary man, of whom little is known but that he married Sabrina Sidney, the eleve of Thomas Day, author of * Sandford and Merton ' — tliat " he had some of the too usual faults of a man of genius: he detested the drudgery of business." But there cannot be a greater mistake. The greatest geniuses have, without exception, been the greatest workers, even to the extent of drud<2:erv. Thev have not onlv worked harder than ordinarv men, but brouji^ht to their work higher faculties and a more ardent spirit. Nothing great and durable was ever improvised. It is only by noble patience and noble laboar that the masterpieces of genius have been achieved. Power belongs only to the workers ; the idlers are always powerless. It is the laborious and painstaking men who are the rulers of the world. Tliere has not been a statesman of eminence but was a man of in- dustry. "It is by toil," said even Louis XIV., " that kings govern." When Clarendon described Hampden, Maria Edgeworth, ' Memoirs of R. L. Edgeworth,' ii. 94. io6 Great Toilers, [Chap. IV. he spoke of him as " of an industry and vigilance not to be tired out or wearied by the most laborious, and of parts not to be imposed on by the most subtle and sharp, and of a personal courage equal to his best parts." While in the midst of his laborious though self-imposed duties, Hampden, on one occasion, wrote to his mother : "My lyfe is nothing but toyle, and hath been for many yeares, nowe to the Commonwealth, nowe to the Kinge. . . . Not so much tyme left as to doe my dutye to my deare parents, nor to sende to them." Indeed, all the statesmen of the Common- wealth were great toilers; and Clarendon himself, whether in ofSce or out of it, was a man of indefatigable application and industry. The same energetic vitality, as displayed in the power of working, has distinguished all the eminent men in our own as w^ell as in past times. During the Anti-Corn Law movement, Cobden, writing to a friend, described himself as " working like a horse, with not a moment to spare." Lord Brougham was a remarkable instance of the indefatigably active and laborious man ; and it might be said of Lord Palmerston, that he worked harder for success in his extreme old asre than he had ever done in the prime of his manhood — preserving his working faculty, his good-humour and honhommie, unimpaired to the end.^ He himself was accustomed to say, that being in office, and consequently full of work, was good for his health. It rescued him from ennui. Helvetius even held, that it is man's sense of ennui that is ^ A friend of Lord Palmerston mediate reply was, " Seventy- has communicated to us the follow- j nine !" " But," he added, with a ing anecdote. Asking him one j twinkle in his eye, " as I have just day when he considered a man to i entered my eightieth year, perhaps be in the prime of life, his im- \ I am myself a little past it." Chap. IV.] Genius and Buddies s. 107 the chief cause of his superiority over the brute, — that it is the necessity which he feels for escaping from its intolerable suffering that forces him to employ himself actively, and is hence the great stimulus to human progress. Indeed, this living principle of constant work, of abundant occupation, of practical contact with men in the affairs of life, has in all times been the best ripene-r of the energetic vitality of strong natures. Business habits, cultivated and disciplined, are found alike useful in every pursuit — whether in politics, litera- ture, science, or art. Thus, a great deal of the best literary work has been done by men systematically trained in business pursuits. The same industry, appli- cation, economy of time and labour, which have ren- dered them useful in the one sphere of employment, have been found equally available in the other. Most of the early English writers were men of affairs, trained to business; for no literary class as yet existed, excepting it might be the priesthood. Chaucer, the father of English poetry, was first a soldier, and afterwards a comptroller of petty customs. The office was no sinecure either, for he had to write up all the records with his own hand ; and when he had done his *' reckonings " at the custom-house, he returned with delight to his favourite studies at home — poring over his books until his eyes were " dazed " and dull. The great writers in the reign of Elizabeth, during which there was such a development of robust life in Eng- land, were not literary men according to the modern acceptation of the word, but men of action trained in business. Spenser acted as secretary to the Lord Deputy of Ireland ; Kaleigh was, by turns, a courtier, soldier, sailor, and discoverer ; Sydney was a politician, diplomatist, and soldier ; Bacon was a laborious lawyer io8 Literature and Business. [Chap. IV. before lie became Lord Keeper and Lord Chancellor ; Sir Thomas Browne was a physician in country practice at Norwich ; Hooker was the hardworking pastor of a country parish ; Shakspeare was the manager of a theatre, in which he was himself but an indifferent actor, and he seems to have been even more careful of his money investments than he was of his intellectual offspring. Yet these, all men of active business habits, are among the greatest \vi'iters of any age : the period of Elizabeth and James I. standing out in the history of England as tJie era of its greatest literary activity and splendour. In the reign of Charles I., Cowley held various offices of trust and confidence. He acted as private secretary to several of the royalist leaders, and was afterwards engaged as private secretary to the Queen, in ciphering and deciphering the correspondence which passed between her and Charles I. ; the work occupying all his days, and often his nights, during several years. And while Cowley was thus employed in the royal cause, Milton was employed by the Commonwealth, of w^hich he was the Latin secretary, and afterwards secre- tary to the Lord Protector. Yet, in the earlier part of his life, Milton was occupied in the humble vocation of a teacher. Dr. Johnson says, " that in his school, as in everything else which he undertook, he laboured with great diligence, there is no reason for doubting." It was after the Restoration, when his official employment ceased, that Milton entered upon the principal literary work of his life ; but before he undertook the writing of his great epic, he deemed it indispensable that to " indus- trious and select reading " he should add " steady obser- vation " and '• insight into all seemly and generous arts and affairs." ^ ^ ' lieasoiis of Church Government.' 13ock II. Chap. IV.] Literary Men and Business. 109 Locke held office in different reigns: first under Cliarles II. as Secretary to the Board of Trade, and afterwards under William III. as Commissioner of Appeals and of Trade and Plantations. Many lite- rary men of eminence held office in Queen Anne's reign. Thus Addison was Secretary of State ; Steele, Commissioner of Stamps; Prior, Under-Secretary of State, and afterwards Ambassador to France ; Tickell, Under-Secretary of State, and Secretary to the Lords Justices of Ireland ; Congreve, Secretary of Jamaica ; and Gay, Secretary of Legation at Hanover. Indeed, habits of business, instead of unfitting a cul- tivated mind for scientific or literary pursuits, are often the best training for them. Voltaire insisted with truth that the real spirit of business and literature are the same ; the perfection of each being the union of energy and thoughtfulness, of cultivated intelligence and prac- tical wisdom, of the active and contemplative essence — a union commended by Lord Bacon as the concentrated excellence of man's nature. It has been said that even the man of genius can write nothing worth reading in relation to human affairs, unless he has been in some way or other connected with the serious everyday business of life. Hence it has happened that many of the best books extant have been written by men of business, with whom literature was a pastime rather than a pro- fession. Gifford, the editor of the 'Quarterly,' who knew the drudgery of writing for a living, once ob- served that "a single hour of composition, won from the business of the day, is worth more than the whole day's toil of him who works at the trade of literature : in the one case, the spirit comes joyfully to refresh itself, like a hart to the waterbrooks; in the other, it pursues its miserable way, panting and no The Great Italians, [Chap. iv. jaded, with the dogs and hunger of necessity be- hind." ^ The first great men of letters in Italy were not mere men of letters; they were men of business — merchants, statesmen, diplomatists, judges, and soldiers. Villani, the author of the best History of Florence, was a merchant ; Dante, Petrarch, and Boccacio, were all engaged in more or less important embassies ; and Dante, before becoming a diplomatist, was for some time occupied as a chemist and druggist. Galileo, Galvani, and Farini were physicians, and Goldoni a lawyer. Ariosto's talent for affau's was as great as his genius for poetry. At the death of his father, he was called upon to manage the family estate for the benefit of his younger brothers and sisters, which he did with ability and integrity. His genius for business having been recognised, he was employed by the Duke of Ferrara on important missions to Rome and elsewhere. Having afterwards been appointed governor of a turbulent mountain district, he succeeded, by firm and just government, in reducing it to a condition of com- parative good order and security. Even the bandits of the country respected him. Being arrested one day in ^ Coleridge's advice to his young j forward to with delight as a friends was much to the same \ change and recreation, will suffice effect. " With the exception of to realise in literature a larger one extraordinary man," he says, ' product of what is truly genial, " I have never known an indi- than weeks of compiilsion .... vidual, least of all an individual ! If facts are required to prove the of genius, healthy or happy with- j possibility of coml lining weighty out a profession : i.e., some regular j performances in literature with employment which does not de- j full and independent employment, pend on the will of the moment, i the works of Cicero and Xenophon, and which can be carried on so amongthe.ancient3— of Sir Thomas far mechanically, that an average j More, Bacon, Baxter, or (to refer quantum only of health, spirits, | at once to later and contempo- and intellectual exertion are re- i rary instances) Darwin and Kos- quisite to its faithful discharge, coe, are at once decisive of the Three hours of leisure, unalloyed | question.' — Biographia Literaria^ by any alien anxiety, and looked ; Chap. xi. Chap, IV.] Literature and Business, iii the mountains by a body of outlaws, he mentioned his name, when they at once offered to escort him in safety wherever he chose. It has been the same in other countries. Vattel, the author of the ' Rights of Nations,' was a practical diplomatist, and a first-rate man of business. Eabelais was a physician, and a successful practitioner ; Schiller was a surgeon ; Cervantes, Lope de Yega, Calderon, Camoens, Descartes, Maupertius, La Eochefoucauld; Lacepede, Lam ark, were soldiers in, the early part of their respective lives. In our own country, many men now known by their writings, earned their living by their trade. Lillo spent the greater part of his life as a working jeweller in the Poultry ; occupying the intervals of his leisure in the production of dramatic works, some of them of acknowledged power and merit. Izaak Walton was a linendraper in Fleet Street, reading much in his leisure hours, and storing his mind with facts for future use in liis capacity of biographer. De Foe was by turns horse- factor, brick and tile maker, shopkeeper, author, and political agent. Samuel Kichardson successfully combined literature with business ; writing his novels in his back-shop in Salisbury Court, Fleet Street, and selling them over the counter in his front-shop. William Hutton, of Birmingham, also successfully combined the occupations of bookselling and authorship. He says, in his Auto- biography, that a man may live half a century and not be acquainted with his own character. He did not know that he was an antiquary imtil the world informed him of it, from having read his ' History of Birming- ham,' and then, he said, he could see it himself. Benjamin Franklin was alike eminent as a printer and bookseller — an author, a philosopher and a statesman. 112 Madern Literary Workers. [Chap. I v. Comins: down to our own time, we find Ebenezer Elliott successfully carrying on the business of a bar-iron merchant in Sheffield, during which he wrote and pub- lished the greater number of his poems ; and his success in business was such as to enable him to retire into the country and build a house of his own, in which he spent the remainder of his days. Isaac Taylor, author of the ' Natural History of Enthusiasm,' occupied much of his time with mechanical contrivances; having invented the beer-tap, and a machine for engraving on copper, extensively used by Manchester calico-printers. The principal early works of John Stuart Mill were written in the intervals of official work, while he held the office of principal examiner in the East India House, — in which Charles Lamb, Peacock the author of ' Headlong Hall,' and Edwin Norris the philologist, were also clerks. Macaulay wrote his ^ Lays of Ancient Kome ' in the War Office, while holding the post of Secretary of War. It is well known that the thoughtful writings of Mr. Helps are literally " Essays written in the Intervals of Business." Many of our best living authors are men holding important public offices — such- as Sir Henry Taylor, Sir John Kaye, Anthony Trollope, Tom Taylor, ]\Iatthew Arnold, and Samuel Warren. Mr. Proctor the poet, better known as *' Barry Corn- wall," was a barrister and commissioner in lunacy. Most probably he assumed the pseudonym for the same reason that Dr. Paris published his ' Philosophy in Sport made Science in Earnest' anonymously — because he apprehended that, if known, it might compromise his professional position. For it is by no means an uncom- mon prejudice, still prevalent amongst City men, that a person who has written a book, and still more one who has written a poem, is ^ood for nothing in the way of business. Yet Sharon Turner, though an excellent his- Chap. IV.] Workei^s in Leisure Hours, 113 torian, was no worse a solicitor on that account; wliilo the brothers Horace and James Smith, authors of * The Kejected Addresses,' were men of such eminence in their profession, that they were selected to fill the im- portant and lucrative post of solicitors to the Admiralty, and they filled it admirably. It was while the late Mr. Broderip, the barrister, was acting as a London police magistrate, that he was attracted to the study of natural history, in which he occupied the greater part of his leisure. He wrote the principal articles on the subject for the 'Penny Cyclopaedia,' besides several separate works of great merit, more particularly the 'Zoological Kecreations,' and ' Leaves from the Notebook of a Natura4ist.' It is recorded of him that, though he devoted so much of his time to the production of his works, as well as to the Zoological Society and their admirable establishment in Kegent's Park, of which he was one of the founders, his studies never interfered with the real business of his life, nor is it known that a single question was ever raised upon his conduct or his decisions. And while Mr. Broderip devoted himself to natural history, the late Lord Chief Baron Pollock devoted his leisure to natural science, recreating himself in the practice of photography and the study of mathematics, in both of which he was thoroughly proficient. Among literary bankers we find the names of Rogers, the poet; Roscoe, of Liverpool, the biograplier of Lorenzo de Medici ; Eicardo, the author of ' Political Economy and Taxation;'^ Grote, the author of the • Mr. Eicardo published his | Wlien tlie 'Theory of Rent' was celebrated 'Theory of Rent,' at | written, Ricardo was sod issatisQed the uro'ent recommendation of ; with it that he wished to burn it; James Mill (like his son, a chief clerk in the India House), author of the ' History of Britiiiii India.' but ]Mr. jNlill urged him to pub- lish it, and the book was a great succeiis. I 114 Business Value of C2ilture, [Chap. IV. * History of Greece ; ' Sir John Lubbock, the scientific antiquarian ; ^ and Samuel Bailey, of Sheffield, the author of ' Essays on the Formation and Publication of Opinions,' besides various important works on ethics, political economy, and philosophy. Xor, on the other hand, have thoroughly-trained men of science and learning proved themselves iu efficient as first-rate men of business. Culture of the best sort trains the habit of application and industry, disciplines the mind, supplies it with resources, and gives it free- dom and vigour of action — all of which are equally requisite in the successful conduct of business. Thus, in young men, education and scholarship usually indi- cate steadiness of character, for they imply continuous attention, diligence, and the ability and energy neces- sary to master knowledge; and such persons will also usually be found possessed of more than average promptitude, address, resource, and dexterity. Montaigne has said of true philosophers, that " if they were great in science, they were yet much greater in action ; . . . and whenever they have been put upon the proof, they have been seen to fly to so high a pitch, as made it very well appear their souls were strangely elevated and enriched with the knowledge of things." ^ At the same time, it must be acknowledged that too exclusive a devotion to imaginative and philosophical ^ The late Sir John Lubbock, and having upon this occasion for his father, \vas also eminent as a once made a muster of all his wits, mathematician and astronomer. ^ wholly to employ them in the 2 Thales, once iaveighing in service of profit, he set a traffic on discourse against the pains and foot, which in one year brought care men put themselves to, to him in so great riches, that the become rich, was answered by one most experienced in that trade in the company that he did like could hardly in their whole lives, the fox, who found fardt with what with all their industry, have raked he coiild not obtain. Thereupon \ so much together. — Montaigne's Thales had a mind, for tlie jest's ! Essays, Book I., chap. 24. sake, to show them the contrary ; | Chap. IV.] Speculative and Practical Ability . 115 literature, especially if prolonged in life until the habits become formed, does to a great extent incapacitate a man for the business of practical life. Speculative ability is one thing, and practical ability another ; and the man ^vho, in his study, or with his pen in hand, shows himself capable of forming large views of life and policy, may, in the outer world, be found altogether unfitted for carrying them into practical effect. Speculative ability depends on vigorous tliinking — practical ability on vigorous acting ; and the two quali- ties are usually found combined in very unequal pro- portions. The speculative man is prone to indecision : lie sees all the sides of a question, and his action be- comes suspended in nicely weighing the pros and cons, which are often found pretty nearly to balance each other ; whereas the practical man overleaps logical pre- liminaries, arrives at certain definite convictions, and proceeds forthwith to carry his policy into action.-^ Yet there have been many great men of science who have proved efficient men of business. We do not learn that Sir Isaac Newton made a worse Master of the Mint because he was the greatest of philosophers. Nor were there any complaints as to the efficiency of Sir John Herschel, who held the same office. The brothers Humboldt were alike capable men in all that they un- dertook — whether it was literature, philosophy, mining, philology, diplomacy, or statesmanship. ' "The understanding,'' says quire indeed habits of mind so Mr. Bailey, " that is accustomed essentially dissimilar, tliat while to pursue a regular and connected a man i.s striving alter the one, he train of ideas, becomes in some will be unavoidably in danger of measure incapacitated for those losing the other." " Thence," he quick and versatile movements adds, "do we so often find men, which are learnt in the commerce wlio are 'giants m the closet,' prove of the world, and are indispensable : but ' children in the world.' " — to those who act a part in it. Deep thinking and practical talents re- ' Essays on the Formation and Publication of Opinions,' pp. 251-3. I 2 1 1 6 Napoleon and Men of Science. [Chap. iv. Niebulir, the historian, was distinguished for his energy and success as a man of business. He proved so efficient as secretary and accountant to the African consulate, to which he had been appointed by the Danish Government, that he was afterwards selected as one of the commissioners to manage the national finances ; and he quitted that office to undertake the joint directorship of a bank at Berlin. It was in the midst of his business occupations that he found time to study Eoman history, to master the Arabic, Russian, and other Sclavonic languages, and to build up the great reputation as an author by which he is now chiefly remembered. Having regard to the views professed by the First Napoleon as to men of science, it was to have been expected that he would endeavour to strengthen his administration by calling them to his aid. Some of his appointments prov(id failures, while others were com- pletely successful. Thus Laplace was rLade jMinister of the Interior ; but he had no sooner been appointed than it was seen that a mistake had been made. Napo- leon afterwards said of him, that " Laplace looked at no question in its true point of view. He was always searching after subtleties ; all his ideas were problems, and he carried the spirit of the infinitesimal calculus into the management of business." But Laplace's habits had been formed in the study, and he was too old to adapt them to the purposes of practical life. AYith Daru it was difierent. But Daru had the advantage of some practical training in business, having seinred as an intendant of the army in Switzerland under Massena, during which time he also distinguished him- self as an author. When Napoleon proposed to appoint him a councillor of state and intendant of the Imperial Household, Daru hesitated to accept the office. " 1 have Chap. IV.] Employment of Leisure, 117 passed the greater part of my life," he said, '* aniono- books, and have not had time to learu the functions of a courtier." *' Of courtiers," replied Napoleon, " I hare plenty about me ; they ^vill never fail. But I want a minister, at once enlightened, firm, and vigilant ; and it is for these qualities tliat I have selected you." Daru complied with the Emperor's wishes, and eventually became his Prime Minister, proving thoroughly efficient in that capacity, and remaining the same modest, honourable, and disinterested man that he had ever been through life. Men of trained working fiiculty so contract the habit of labour that idleness becomes intolerable to tbem ; and when driven by circumstances from their own special line of occupation, they find refuge in other pur- suits. The diligent man is quick to find employment for his leisure ; and he is able to make leisure when the idle man finds none. "He bath no leisure," savsGeortre Herbert, " who useth it not." " The most active or busy man that hath been or can be," says Bacon, " hath, no question, many vacant times of leisure, while he ex- pecteth the tides and returns of business, except he be either tedious and of no despatch, or lightly and un- worthily ambitious to meddle with things that may be better done by others." Thus many great things have been done during such *' vacant times of leisure," by men to whom industry had become a second nature, and who found it easier to work than to be idle. Even hobbies are useful as educators of the working faculty. Hobbies evoke industry of a certain kind, and at least provide agreeable occupation. Not such hob- bies as that of Domitian, who occupied himself in catch- inir flies. The hobbies of the Kiu^: of Macedon who made lanthorns, and of the King of France who made locks, were of a more respectable order. Even a routine ii8 Uses of Hobbies. [Chap. IV. mechanical employment is felt to be a relief by minds acting under high-pressure : it is an intermission of labour — a rest — a relaxation, the pleasure consisting in the work itself rather than in the result. But the best of hobbies are intellectual ones. Thus men of active mind retire from their daily business to find recreation in other pursuits — some in science, some in art, and the greater number in literature. Such recrea- tions are among the best preservatives against selfisli- ness and vul2:ar worldliness. We believe it was Lord Brougham who said, " Blessed is the man that hath a hobby !" and in the abundant versatility of his nature, he himself had many, ranging from literatm^e to optics, from history and biography to social science. Lord Brouo:ham is even said to have written a novel ; and the remarkable story of the ' Man in the Bell,' which appeared many years ago in 'Blackwood,' is reputed to have been from his pen. Intellectual hobbies, how- ever, must not be ridden too hard — else, instead of recreating, refreshing, and invigorating a man's nature, they may only have the effect of sending him back to his business exhausted, enervated, and depressed. Many laborious statesmen besides Lord Brougham have occupied their leisure, or consoled themselves in retirement from office, by the composition of works wliich have become part of the standard literature of the world. Thus Caesar's ' Commentaries ' still survive as a classic ; the perspicuous and forcible style in which they are written placing him in the same rank with Xenophon, w^ho also successfully combined the pursuit of letters with the business of active life. When the great Sully was disgraced as a minister, and driven into retirement, he occupied his leisure in writing out his ' Memoirs,' in anticipation of the judg- ment of posterity upon his career as a statesman. Chap. IV.] Literary Statesmen, iig Besides tliese, lie also composed part of a romance after the manner of the Scuderi school, the manuscript of which was found amongst his papers at his death. Turgot found a solace for the loss of office, from which he had been driven by the intrigues of his enemies, in the study of physical science. He also reverted to his early taste for classical literature. During his long journeys, and at nights when tortured by the gout, he amused himself by making Latin verses ; though the only line of his that has been preserved was that intended to designate the portrait of Benjamin Franklin : ''Eripuit cselo fulmen, sceptnimque tyraunia.'* Among more recent French statesmen — with whom, however, literature has been their profession as much as politics — may be mentioned l)e Tocqueville, Thiers, Guizot, and Lamartine, while Napoleon III. challenged a place in the Academy by his ' Life of Caesar.' Literature has also been the chief solace of our greatest English statesmen, \\lien Pitt retired from office, like his great contemporary Fox, he reverted with delight to the study of the Greek and liomau classics. Indeed, Grenville considered Pitt the best Greek scholar he had ever known. Canning and Wellesley, when in retirement, occupied themselves in translating the odes and satires of Horace. Canning's passion for literature entered into all his pursuits, and gave a colour to his whole life. His biographer says of him, that after a dinner at Pitt's, while the rest of the company were dispersed in conversation, he and Pitt w^ould be observed poring over some old Grecian in a comer of the drawing-room. Fox also was a diligent student of the Greek authors, and, like Pitt, read Lycophron. He was also the author of a History of I20 Sir George C, Lewis, [Chap. IV. James 11.. thougli the book is only a fragment, and, it must be confessed, is rather a disappointing \\ork. One of the most able and laborious of our recent statesmen — with whom literature was a hobby as well as a pursuit — was the late Sir George Cornewall Lewis. He was an excellent man of business — diligent, exact, and painstaking. He filled by turns the offices ot President of the Poor Law Board — the machinery of which he created, — Chancellor of the Exchequer, Home Secretary, and Secretary at AYar; and in each he achieved the reputation of a thoroughly successful administrator. In the intervals of his official labours, he occupied himself with inquiries into a wide range of subjects — history, politics, philology, anthropology, and antiquarianism. His works on ' The Astronomy of the Ancients,' and * Essays on the Formation of the Eomanic Languages,' might have been written by the profoundest of German savans. He took especial delight in pursuing the abstruser branches of learning, and found in them his chief pleasure and recreation. Lord Palmerston sometimes remonstrated with him, telling him he was " taking too much out of himself " by laying aside official papers after office-hours in order to study books; Palmerston himself declaring that he had no time to read books — that the reading of manu- script was quite enough for him. Doubtless Sir George Lewis rode his hobby too hard, and but for his devotion to studv, his useful life would probably have been prolonged. Whether in or out of office, he read, wi'ote, and studied. He relinquished the editorship of the * Edinburgh Eeview ' to become Chancellor of the Exchequer; and when no longer occupied in preparing budgets, he proceeded to copy out a mass of Greek manuscripts at the British Museum. He took particular dehght in pursuing any difficult Chap. IV.] Co7isolatio7is of Literature. 121 inquiry in classical antiquity. One of the odd subjects with which he occupied himself was an examination into the truth of reported cases of longevity, which, accord- ing to his custom, he doubted or disbelieved. This subject was uppermost in his mind while pursuing his canvass of Herefordshire in 1852. On applying to a voter one day for his support, he was met by a decided refusal. " I am sorry," was the candidate's reply, " that you can't give me your vote ; but perhaps you can tell me whether anybody in your parish has died at an extraordinary age ! " The contemporaries of Sir George Lewis also furnish many striking instances of the consolations afforded by literature to statesmen wearied with the toils of public life. Though the door of office may be closed, that of literature stands always open, and men who are at daggers-drawn in politics, join hands over the poetry of Homer and Horace. The late Earl of Derby, on retiring from power, produced his noble version of *The Iliad,' which will probably continue to be read when his speeches have been forgotten. Mr. Gladstone similarly occupied his leisure in preparing for the press his * Studies on Homer,' ^ and in editing a translation of * Farini's Eoman State ; ' while Mr. Disraeli signalised his retirement from office by the production of his *Lothair.' Among statesmen who have figured as novelists, besides Mr. Disraeli, are Lord Russell, who has also contributed largely to history and biography ; the Marquis of Normanby, and the veteran novelist, Lord Lytton, with whom, indeed, politics may be said ' Mr. Gladstone is as great an enthusiast iu literature as Canning was. It is related of him that, while he was waiting in his com- mittee-room at Liverpool for the returns coming in on the day of the South Lancashire polling, he occupied himself iu proceeding with tlie translation of a work which he was tlien preparing for the press. 122 Work and Overwork. [Chap. IV. to have been his recreation, and literature the chief employment of his life. To conclude : a fair measure of work is good for mind as well as body. Man is an intelligence sustained and preserved by bodily organs, and their active exercise is necessary to the enjoyment of health. It is not work, but overwork, that is hurtful ; and it is not hard work that is injurious so much as monotonous work, fagging work, hopeless work. All hopeful work is healthful ; and to be usefully and hopefully employed is one of the great secrets of happiness. Brain-work, in moderation, is no more wearing than any other kind of work. Duly regulated, it is as promotive of health as bodily exer- cise ; and, where due attention is paid to the physical system, it seems difficult to put more upon a man than he can bear. Merely to eat and drink and sleep one's way idly through life is vastly more injurious. The wear-and-tear of rust is even faster than the wear-and- tear of work. But overwork is always bad economy. It is, in fact, great waste, especially if conjoined with worry. Indeed, worry kills far more than work does. It frets, it excites, it consumes the body — as sand and grit, which occasion excessive friction, wear out the wheels of a machine. Overwork and worry have both to be guarded against. For over-brain-work is strain-work ; and it is exhausting and destructive accordino: as it is in excess of natui'e. And the brain-worker may exliaust and overbalance his mind by excess, just as the athlete may overstrain his muscles and break his back by attempting feats beyond the strength of his physical system. Ckaf. v.] Courage. ^> 123 Courage. " I!, is not but the tempest that doth show The seaman's cunning ; but the lield that tries The captain's courage ; and we come to know Best what men are, in their worst jeopardies." — Danid. " If thou canst plan a noble deed, And never flag till it succeed, 'J'hough in the strife thy heart should bleed, Whatever obstacles control, Tliine hour will come- go on, true soul ! Thou'lt win the prize, thou'lt reach the goal." — C. Maclay. " The heroic example of other daj'S is in great part the source of the courage of each generation; and men walk up composedly to the most perilous enterprises, Ux^koued onwards by the shades of the brave that were." — JItlps. " That which we are, we are. One equal temper of heroic hearts, jVIade weak by time and fate, but strong In will To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield." — TeixnysiM. The world owes much to its men and women of courage. We do not mean physical courage, in which man is at least equalled by the bulldog ; nor is the bulldog considered the wisest of his species. The courage that displays itself in silent effort and endeavour — that dares to endure all and suffer all for truth and duty — is more truly heroic than the achieve- ments of physical valour, which are rewarded by honours and titles, or by laurels sometimes steeped in blood. It is moral courage that characterises the highest order of manhood and womanhood — the courage to seek and to speak the truth ; the courage to be just ; the courage to be honest ; the courage to resist temptation ; the courage to do one's duty. If men and women do not possess this virtue, they have no security whatever for the preservation of any other. 1 24 Moral Courage. [Chap. V. Every step of progress in the history of our race has been made in the face of opposition and difficulty, and been achieved and secured by men of intrepidity and valour — by leaders in the van of thought — by great discoverers, great patriots, and great Avorkers in all walks of life. There is scarcely a great truth or doc- trine but has had to fight its way to public recognition in the face of detraction, calumny, and persecution. " Everywhere," says Heine, " that a great soul gives utterance to its thoughts, there also is a Golgotha." ^ -V . ^piric of giving one's life, witiiout calling it a sacrifice, i.^ found nowiiere so trulv as iu England." L 2 148 The Magnanimoiis Man. [Chap. v. the inscription on it, one of the servile courtiers who ac- companied him proposed to open the grave, and give the ashes of the " heretic " to the winds. The monarch's cheek flushed with honest indignation : " I war not with the dead," said he ; " let this place be respected." The portrait which the great heathen, Aristotle, drew of the Magnanimous Man, in other words the True Gentleman, more than two thousand years ago, is as faithful now as it was then. " The magnanimous man," he said, " will behave with moderation under both good fortune and bad. He will know how to be exalted and how to be abased. He will neither be delighted with success nor grieved by failure. He will neither shun danger nor seek it, for there are few things which he cares for. He is reticent, and somewhat slow of speech, but speaks his mind openly and boldly when occasion calls for it. He is apt to admire, for nothing is great to him. He overlooks injuries. He is not given to talk about himself or about others ; for he does not care that he himself should be praised, or that other people should be blamed. He does not cry out about trifles, and craves help from none." On the other hand, mean men admire meanly. They have neither modesty, generosity, nor magna- nimity, ^i'hey are ready to take advantage of the weak- ness or defencelessness of others, especially where they have themselves succeeded, by unscrupulous methods, in climbing to positions of authority. Snobs in high places are always much less tolerable than snobs of low degree, because they have more frequent opportu- nities of making their want of manliness felt. They as- sume greater airs, and are pretentious in all that they do ; and the higher their elevation, the more conspicuous is the incongruity of their position. " The higher the monkey climbs," says the proverb, " the more he shows his tail." Chap. \'.] Fear to be Avoided. 149 Much depends on the way in which a thinp^ ia done. An act which might be taken as a kindness if done in a generous spirit, when done in a grudging spirit, may be lelt as stingy, if not harsh and even cruel. When Ben Jonson ky sick and in poverty, the king sent liim a paltry message, accompanied by a gratuity. The sturdy plainspoken poet's reply was : " I suppose he sends me this because I live in an alley ; tell him his soul lives in an alley." From \A hat we have said, it will be obvious that to be of an enduring and courageous spirit, is of great im- portance in the formation of character. It is a source not only of usefulness in life, but of happiness. On the other hand, to be of a timid and, still more, of a cowardly nature, is one of the greatest misfortunes. A wise man was accustomed to say that one of the principal objects he aimed at in the education of his sons and daughters was to train them in the habit of fearing nothing so much as fear. And the habit of avoiding fear is, doubtless, capable of being trained like any other habit, such as the habit of attention, of diligence, of study, or of cheerfulness. Much of the fear that exists is the offspring of imagination, which creates the images of evils which may happen, but perhaps rarely do. Thus many per- sons who are capable of summoning up courage enough to grapple with and overcome real dangers, are paralysed or thrown into consternation by those whicJi are ima- ginary. Unless the imagination be held under strict discipline, we are prone to meet evils more than half- way — to suffer them by forestalment, and to assume the burdens which we ourselves create. Education in courage is not usually included amongst the branches of female training, and yet it is really of much greater importance than either music, French, or 150 Courage cf Women. [Chap. V. the use of the globes. Contrary to the view of Sir Richard Steele, that women should be characterised by a "tender fear," and "an inferiority which makes her lovely/' we would have women educated in resolution and courage, as a means of rendering them more helpful, more self- reliant, and vastly more useful and happv. There is, indeed, nothing attractive in timidity, nothing loveable in fear. All weakness, whether of mind or body, is equivalent to deformity, and the reverse of interesting. Courage is graceful and dignified, whilst fear, in any form, is mean and repulsive. Yet the utmost tenderness and gentleness are consistent with courage. Ary Scheffer, the artist, once \\TOte to his daughter: — "Dear daughter, strive to be of good courage, to be gentle-hearted ; these are the true quali- ties for woman. * Troubles ' everybody must expect. There is but one way of looking at fate^ whatever that be, whether blessings or afflictions — to behave with dignity under both. We must not lose heart, or it will be the worse both for ourselves and for those whom we love. To struggle, and again and again to renew the conflict — tliiB is life's inheritance."^ In sickness and sorrow, noue are braver and less complaining sufferers than women. Their courage, where their hearts are concerned, is indeed proverbial : " Ob ! femmes c'est a tort qu'on yons nommes timides, A la voix de vos coexirs vous etes intrepides." Experience has proved that women can be as enduring as men, under the heaviest trials and calamities ; but too little pains are taken to teach them to endure petty terrors and frivolous vexations with fortitude. Such little miseries, if petted and indulged, quickly run into sickly sensibility, and become the bane of their life, ' Mrs. Grote's 'Life of Ary ScLeffcr," j)]j. lu-J-o. Chap. V.] Moral Streiigth of Women, 1 3 i keeping themselves and those about them in a state of chronic discomfort. The best corrective of this condition of mind is wholesome moral and mental discipline. JMental strength is as necessary for the development of woman's character as of man's. It gives her capacity to deal with the affairs of life, and presence of mind, whicli enable her to act with vigour and effect in moments of emergency. Character, in a woman, as in a man, will always be found the best safeguard of virtue, the best nurse of religion, the best corrective of Time. Personal beauty soon passes ; but beauty of mind and character increases in attractiveness the older it grows. Ben Jonson gives a striking portraiture of a noble woman iu these lines : — " I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet. Free from tliat solemn vice of greatness, pride ; I meant each softed viitue there should meet, Fit in that softer bosom to abide. Only a Icanied and a manly soul, I purposed her, that should with even powers, The rock, the spindle, and the shears control Of destiny, and spin her own free hours.' The courage of woman is not the less true because it is for the most part passive. It is not encouraged by the cheers of the world, for it is mostly exhibited in the quiet recesses of private life. Yet there are cases of heroic patience and endurance on the part of women which occasionally come to the light of day. One of the most celebrated instances in history is that of Gertrude Von der Wart. Her husband, falsely accused of being an accom|)lice in the murder of the Emperor Albert, was condemned to the most frightful of all punishments — to be broken alive on the wheel. With the most profound conviction of her husband's inno- cence, the faithful woman stood bv his side to the last, 1^2 Heroism of Women, [Chap. V. watching over him during two days and nights, braving the empress's anger and the inclemency of the weather, in the hope of contributing to soothe his dying agonies.^ But women have not only distinguished themselves for their passive courage: impelled by affection, or the sense of duty, they have occasionally become heroic. When the band of conspirators, who sought the life of James II. of Scotland, burst into his lodgings at Perth, the king called to the ladies, who w^ere in the chamber outside his room, to keep the door as well as they could, and give him time to escape. The conspirators had previously destroyed the locks of the doors, so that the keys could not be turned ; and when they reached the ladies' apartment, it was found that the bar also had been removed. But, on hearing them approach, the brave Catherine Douglas, with the hereditary courage of her family, boldly thrust her arm across the door instead of the bar ; and held it there until, her arm being broken, the conspirators burst into the room with drawn swords and daggers, overthrowing the ladies, who, though unarmed, still endeavoured to resist them. The defence of Lathom House by Charlotte de la Tremouille, the worthy descendant of William of Nassau and Admiral Coligny, was another striking instance of heroic bravery on the part of a noble woman. When summoned by the Parliamentary forces to surrender, she declared that she had been entrusted by her husband with the defence of the house, and that she could not give it up without her dear lord's orders, but trusted in * The sufferinijs of this noble VFoman, together with those of her unfortunate husband, were tonch- ' Gertrude von der Wart ; or, Fidelity unto Death.' Mrs. Hemans wrote a poem of great ingly described in a letter after- i pathos and beauty, commemorat- wards addressed by her to a female iug tlie sad story in her ' Kecorda friend, which was published some . of W^oman.' years ago at Haarlem, entitled, Chap, v.] Lady Frankliii. 153 God for protection and deliverance. In her arrange- ments for the defence, she is described as having *' Ictt nothing with her eye to be excused afterwards by fortune or negligence, and added to her former patience a most resolved fortitude." The brave lady held her house and home good against the enemy for a whole year — during three months of which the place was strictly besieged and bombarded — until at length tlie siege was raised, after a most gallant defence, by the a',] vance of the Royalist array. Nor can we forget the courage of Lady Franklin, who persevered to the last, when the hopes of all others had died out, in prosecuting the search after the Franklin Expedition. On the occasion of the Royal Geo- graphical Society determining to award the ' Founder's Medal' to Lady Franklin, Sir Roderick Murchison observed, that in the coarse of a long friendship with her, he had abundant opportunities of observing and testing the sterling qualities of a woman who had proved herself worthy of the admiration of mankind. " Nothing daunted by failure after failure, throngh twelve long years of hope deferred, she had persevered, with a single- ness of purpose and a sincere devotion which wei-e truly unparalleled. And now that her one last expe- dition of the Fox, under the gallant M'Clintock, had realised the two jrreat facts — that her husband had traversed wide seas unknown to former navigators, and died in discovering a north-west passage — then, surely, the adjudication of the medal would be hailed by the nation as one of the many recompences to which the widow of the illustrious Franklin was so eminently entitled.'' But that devotion to duty which marks the heroic character has more often been exhibited by women in deeds of charity and mercy. The greater i)art of these are never known, for they are done in private, out of 154 Women Phila7ithropists, [Chap. V. the public sight, and for the mere love of doing good. Where fame has come to them, because of the success which has attended their labours in a more general sphere, it has come unsought and unexpected, and is often felt as a burden. Who has not heard of Mrs. Fry and Miss Carpenter as prison visitors and reformers ; of IMrs. Chisholm and Miss Eye as promoters of emigra- tion ; and of Miss Nightingale and Miss Garrett as apostles of hospital nursing ? That these women should have emerged from the sphere of private and domestic life to become leaders in philanthropy, indicates no small degree of moral courage on their part ; for to women, above all others, quiet and ease and retirement are most natural and welcome. Very few women step beyond the boundaries of home in search of a larger field of usefulness. But when they have desired one, they have had no difficulty in finding it. The ways in which men and women can help their neighbours are innumerable. It needs but the willing heart and ready hand. Most of the philan- thropic workers we have named, however, have scarcely been influenced by choice. The duty lay in their way — it seemed to be tlie nearest to them — and they set about doing it without desire for fame, or any other reward but the approval of their own conscience. Among prison-visitors, the name of Sarah Martin is much less known than that of Mrs. Fry, although she preceded her in the work. How she was led to under- take it, furnishes at the same time an illustration of womanlv trueheartedness and o;enuine womanlv courao;e. Sarah Martin was the daughter of poor parents, and was left an orphan at an early age. She was brought up by her grandmother, at Caistor, near Yarmouth, and earned her living by going out to families as assistant- dressmaker, at a shilling a day. In 1819, a woman Chap. V.] Story of Sarah Martin. i j^^ was tried and sentenced to imprisonment in Yarmoutli Gaol, for cruelly beating and illusing her child, and Ikh- crime became the talk of the town. The young dress- maker was much impressed by the report of the trial, and the desire entered her mind of visiting the woman in gaol, and trying to reclaim her. She had often before, on passing the walls of the borough gaol, felt impelled to seek admission, with the object of visiting the inmates, reading the Scriptures to them, and endea- vouring to lead them back to the society whose laws they had violated. At length she could not resist her impulse to visit the imprisoned mother. She entered the gaol-porch, lifted the knocker, and asked the gaoler for admission. For some reason or other she was refused ; but she returned, repeated her request, and this time she was admitted. The culprit mother shortly stood before her. When Sarah Martin told the motive of her visit, the criminal burst into tears, and thanked her. Those tears and thanks shaped the whole course of Sarah ]\rartin's after- life ; and the poor seamstress, while maintaining herself by her needle, continued to spend her leisure hours in visiting the prisoners, and endeavouring to alleviate their condition. She constituted herself their chaplain and schoolmistress, for at that time they had neither ; she read to them from the Scriptures, and tauglit them to read and write. She gave up an entire day in the week for this purpose, besides Sundays, as well as other intervals of spare time, "feeling," she says, ''that the blessing of God was upon her." She taught the women to knit, to sew, and to cut out ; the sale of the articles enabling her to buy other materials, and to continue the industrial education thus begun. She also taught the men to make straw hats, men's and boys' ca[)S, gray cotton shirts, and even patchwork— anything to keep 1 5 6 Sto7y of Sarah Martin. [Chap. v. them out of idleness, and from preying on tlieir o^vn tliouglits. Out of the earnings of the ])risoners in this way, she formed a fund, which she applied to furnishing them with work on their discharge ; thus enabling them a2:ain to becrin the world honestly, and at the same time affording her, as she herself says, " the advantage of observino; their conduct." By attending too exclusiyely to this prison-work, liowever, Sarah Martin's dressmaking business fell off; and the question arose with her, whether in order to recover her business she was to suspend her prison-work. But her decision had already been made. " I had counted the cost," she said, " and my mind was made up. If, whilst imparting truth to others, I became ex- posed to temporal want, the privations so momentary to an individual would not admit of comparison with following the Lord, in thus administering to others." She now devoted six or seven hours every day to the prisoners, converting what would otherwise have been a scene of dissolute idleness into a hive of orderly in- dustry. Newly-admitted prisoners were sometimes re- fractory, but her persistent gentleness eventually won their respect and co-oj)eration. j\[en old in years and crime, pert London pickpockets, depraved boys and dissolute sailors, profligate women, smugglers, poachers, and the promiscuous horde of criminals which usually till the gaol of a seaport and county to\AT3, all submitted to the benign influence of this good woman ; and under her eyes they might be seen, for the first time in their lives, striving to hold a pen, or to master the characters in a penny primer. She entered into their confidences — watched, wept, prayed, and felt for all by turns. She strengthened their good resolutions, cheered the hope- less and despairing, and endeavoured to put all, and hold all. in the right road of amendment. Chap. V.] Story of Sarah Martin. 1 5 7 For more than twenty years this j^ood and true- hearted woman pursued her noble course, with little encouragement, and not much help ; almost her only means of subsistence consisting in an annual income of ten or twelve pounds left by her grandmother, eked out by her little earnings at dressmaking. During the last two years of her ministrations, the borougli niagistrates of Yarmouth, knowing that her self-imposed labours saved them the expense of a sclioolmaster and cliaplain (which they had become bound by law to appoint), made a proposal to her of an annual salary of £12 a year ; but they did it in so indelicate a manner as greatly to wound, her sensitive feelings. She shrank from be- coming the salaried official of the corporation, and bartering for monev those services which had throuirh- out been labours of love. But the Gaol Committee coarsely informed her, " that if they permitted her to visit the prison she must submit to their terms, or be excluded." For two years, therefore, she received tlie salary of £12 a year — the acknowledgment of the Yarmouth corporation for her services as gaol chaplain and schoolmistress ! She was now, however, becoming old and infirm, and the unhealtliy atmosphere of th.e gaol did much towards finally disabling her. While she lay on her deathbed, she resumed the exercise of a talent she had occasionally practised before in her moments of leisure — the composition of sacred, poetry. As works of art, they may not excite admiration ; yet never were verses written truer in spirit, or fuller ol Christian love. But her own lil'e was a nobler poem than any she ever wrote — full of true courage, perseve- rance, charity, and w'isdom. It was indeed a commen- tary upon her own words : " The high desire tliat others may be blest Savoura of heaven," 138 Self-Cont7'oL [Chap VI. \ ■ xS^ / CHAPTEK VI. Self-Control. " Kor.oiir and profit do not always lie in the same sack." — George Herbert. " The guvemmtat of one's self is the only true freedom fur the individual." — Frederick Perthes. " It is in length of patience, and endurance, and forbearance, that so much of vrlat !s good in mankind and womankind is shown." — Arthur Helps " Temperance, proof Against all trials ; industry severe And constant as the motion of the day ; Stern self-denial round him spread, with shade That might be deemed forbidding, did not there All generous feelings flourish and rejoice ; Forbearance, charity in deed and tliought, And resolution ctimpetent to take Out of the bosom of simplicity All that her holy customs recommend." — Wa)-dsv-07ih. Self-control is only courage under another form. It may almost be regarded as the primary essence of character. It is in virtue of this quality that Shak- speare defines man as a being " looking before and after." It forms the chief distinction between man and the mere animal ; and, indeed, there can be no true man- hood without it. Self-control is at the root of all the virtues. Let a man give the reins to his impulses and passions, and from that moment he yields up his moral freedom. He is carried along the current of life, and becomes the slave of his strongest desire for the time being. To be morally free — to be more than an animal — man must be 'able to resist instinctive impulse, and this can only be done by the exercise of self-control. Thus it is this power which constitutes the real distinction Chap. VI.] The Vahie of Discipline, 130 between a physical and a moral life, and that forms tbe primary basis of individual character. In the Bible praise is given, not to the strong man who "taketh a city," but to the stronger man who " ruleth his own spirit." This stronger man is he who, by discipline, exercises a constant control over his thoughts, his speech, and his acts. Nine-tenths of the vicious desires that degrade society, and which, when indulged, swell into the crimes that disgrace it, would shrink into insignificance before the advance of valiant self-disci- pline, self-respect, and self-control. By the watchful exercise (»f these virtues, purity of heart and mind become habitual, and the character is built up in chastity, virtue, and temperance. The best support of character will always be found in habit, which, according as the will is directed rightly or wrongly, as the case may be, will prove either a benignant ruler or a cruel despot. We may be its will- ing subject on the one hand, or its servile slave on the other. It may help us on the road to good, or it may hurry us on the road to ruin. Habit is formed by careful training. And it is aston- ishing how much can be accomplished by systematic? discipline and drill. See how, for instance, out of tlio most unpromising materials — such as roughs picked up in the streets, or raw unkempt country lads taken from the plough — steady discipline and drill will bi-ing out the unsuspected qualities of courage, endurance, and self-sacrifice ; and how, in the field of battle, or even on the more trying occasions of perils by sea — such as the burning of the Sarah Sands or the wreck of the Birhenhead — such men, carefnlly disciplined, will exliibit the unmistakable characteristics of true bravery and lieroism ! Nor is moral discipline and drill less influential in i6o Siipreinacy of Self-Co7itrol. [Chap. VI. the formation of character. "Without it, there will be no proper system and order in tlie regulation of the life. Upon it depends the cultivation of the sense of self-respect, the education of the habit of obedience, the development of the idea of duty. The most self-reliant, self-governing man is always under discipline : and the more perfect the discipline, the higher \vill be his moral condition. He has to drill his desires, and keep them in subjection to the higher powers of his nature. They must obey the word of command of the internal monitor, the conscience — otherwise they will be but the mere slaves of their inclinations, the sport of feeling and impulse. "In the supremacy of self-control," says Herbert Spencer, " consists one of the perfections of the ideal laan. Not to be impulsive — not to be spurred hither and thither by each desire t'hat in turn comes upper- most — but to be self-restrained, self-balanced, governed by the joint decision of the feelings in council assem- bled, before whom every action shall have been fully debated and calmly deteiTuined — that it is wdiich educa- tion, mo]-al education at least, strives to produce," ^ The first seminary of moral discipline, and the best, as we have already shown, is the home ; next comes the school, and after that the w^orld, the great school of practical life. Each is preparatory to the other, and what the man or woman becomes, depends for the most part upon what has gone before. If they have enjoyed the advantage of neither the home nor the school, but have been allowed to grow up untrained, untaught, and undisciplined, then woe to themselves — woe to the society of which they form part ! The best-regulated home is always that in which the * ' Social Statics,' p. ISo. Chap. VI.] Domestic Discipline, i6i discipline is the most perfect, and yet where it is the least felt. Moral discipline acts with the force of a law of nature. Those subject to it yield themselves to it unconsciously ; and though it shapes and forms the whole character, until the life becomes crystallized in habit, the intiuence thus exercised is for the most part unseen and almost unfelt. The importance of strict domestic discipline is curiously illustrated by a fact mentioned iu Mrs. Schim- melpenninck's Memoirs, to the following effect: that a lady who, with her husband, had inspected most of the lunatic asylums of England and the Continent, found the most numerous class of patients was almost always composed of those who had been only children, and whose wills had therefore rarely been thwarted or dis- ciplined in early life ; whilst those who were members of large families, and who had been trained in self-dis- cipline, were far less frequent victims to the malady. Although the moral character depends in a great degree on temperament and on physical health, as well as on domestic and early training and the example of companions, it is also in the power of each individual to regulate, to restrain, and to discipline it by watchful and persevering self-control. A competent teacher has said of the propensities and habits, that they are as teach- able as Latin and Greek, while they are much more essential to happiness. Dr. Johnson, though himself constitutionally prone to melancholy, and afflicted by it as few have been from his earliest years, said that " a man's being in a good or bad humour very much depends upon his will." We may train ourselves in a habit of patience and content- ment on the one hand, or of grumbling and discontent on the other. We may accustom ourselves to exagge- rate small evils, and to underestimate great blessmgs. i62 Self'Disciplme. [Ckap. vi. We may even become the victims of petty miseries by giving way to them. Thus, we may educate ourselves in a happy disposition, as well as in a morbid one. Indeed, the habit of viewing things cheerfully, and of thinking about life hopefully, may be made to grow up in us like any other habit.^ It was not an exaggerated estimate of lir. Johnson to say, that the liabit of looking at the best side of any event is worth far more than a thousand pounds a year. The religious man's life is pervaded by rigid self-dis- cipline and self-restraint. He is to be sober and vigilant, to eschew evil and do good, to walk in the spirit, to be obedient unto death, to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand ; to wrestle against spiritual wickedness, and against the rulers of the darkness of this world ; to be rooted and built up in faith, and not to be weary of well-doing ; for in due season he shall reap. if he faint not. The man of business also must needs be subject to strict rule and system. Business, like life, is managed by moral leverage; success in both depending in no small degree upon that regulation of temper and careful self-discipline, which give a wise man not only a com- mand over himself, but over others. Forbearance and self-control smooth the road of life, and open many ways ' " In all cases," says Jeremy time is lost by being kept wait- Bentham, " when the power of ing ; by night, when sleep is un- the will can be exercised over the willing to close the eyelids, the thoughts, let those thoughts be economy of happiness recommends directed towards happiness. Look the occupation of pleasurable out for the bright, for the brightest thought. In walking abroad, or side of things, and keep your face in resting at home, the mind can- constantly turned to it ... . A ! not be vacant : its tlioughts may large part of existence is neces- be useful, useless, or pernicious to sarily passed in inaction. By : happiness. Direct them aright ; day (to take an instance from the > the habit of happy thought will thousand in constant recurrence), spring up like any i)ther habit." — when in attendance on others, and ; Deontology, ii. 105^ Chap. VI.] The Virtue of Paticfice. 163 which would otherwise remain closed. And so does self- respect : for as men respect themselves, so will they usually respect the personality of others. It is the same in politics as in business. Success in that sphere of life is achieved less by talent than by temper, less by genius than by character. If a man liave not self-control, he will lack patience, be wanting in tact, and have neither the power of governing himself nor of managing others. When the quality most needed in a Prime Minister was the subject of conversation in the presence of Mr. Pitt, one of the speakers said it was " Eloquence ;" another said it was " Knowledge ;" and a third said it was '' Toil." " No," said Pitt, *'it is Patience !" And patience means self-control, a quality in which lie himself was superb. His friend George Ivose has said of him that he never once saw Pitt out of temper.* Yet, although patience is usually regarded as a " slow " virtue, Pitt combined with it the most extraordinary readiness, vigour, and rapidity of thought as well as action. It is by patience and self-control that the truly heroic character is perfected. Tiiese were among the most ' The following extract from a his temper in the least ruffled. One letter of M. Boyd, Esq., is given day I found him more than usually by Earl Stanhope in his 'Miscel- ; engaged, having a mass of accounts lanies ' : — " There was a circum- ! to prepare for one of the law-courts stance told me by the late Mr. j —still the same equanimity, and 1 Christmas, who for many years could not resist the oi.})ortunity held an important official situation of asking the old gentleman the in the Bank of England. He was, ' secret. ' Well, IMr. Boyd, you 1 believe, in early life a clerk in shall know it. Mr. Bitt gave it the Treasury, or one of the govern- , to me :—Kot to lose viy itmi'er^ if ment offices, and for some time \ possible, iit any time, and never acted for Mr. Pitt as his confi- ] duriruf the hours of business. My dential clerk, or temporary private 'labours here (Bank of England) secretary. Christmas was one of commence at nine and end at the most obliging men I ever three ; and, acting on the advioo knew ; and, from the position he ' of the illustrious statesman, / wcupied, was constantly exposed never lose my temper during those to interru])tions, yet I never saw , hours' " M 2 .4* 164 CJuiractcr oj Ilampdcn. [Chap. Vr. prominent rlmrartoristios of tho ix^ont TFampdon, whose noblo (]ualitios wero pMuM-ously ju'kno\vlr(li:;etl oven by his poh'tical onomies. Thus Chironclou lioscM-ihed him as a man of rare temper and modesty, naturally eheerl'ul and vivacious, and above all, of a ilowinj:: courtesy. He was kind and intrej)id, yet <::entle, nf nnblamoable conversation, and his hi^irt i::lo\ved with love to all men. lie was not a man ol' nianv words, but, beinn says men grow better as they grow ohh'r, and improve with ex- perience; but this de|)(Muls upon the width, and depth, and generousuoss of tluMr nature. It is not men's faults that ruin them so much as tin* manner in which they conduct themselves aft(>r the faults have been committeil. Tho wise will ])rotit by the sulVering tlu\v cause, and eschew tluMu for tiie future; but tlun-e are those on whom experience exerts no ripening inlluence, and who only grow narr(nv(T and bitterer and more vicious with time. What is called strong temper in a young man, often indicates a large amount y>'i unripe energy, which will Chap. VI.] Evils of Strouo^ Temper. 165 expend itself in useful work if the road be fairly opened to it. It is said of Stephen Gerard, a rrenehnian, who pursued a remarkably successful career m the United States, that wlien h(^ lieard of a ch'rk ^vltll a stron'' temper, lie would readily take him into his employment, and set him to work in a room by liimself ; Uerard bein<; of opinion that such persons were the best workers, and that their ener<2fy would expend itself in work if removed from the temptation to (piarrel. Strong temper may oidy mean a str()n<2; and excitable will. Uncontrolled, it displays itself in fitful outbreaks of passion; but controlled and held in subjection — like steam p(Mit-up within the orj^anised nnn'hanism of a steam-engine, the use of which is regulated and con- trolled by slide-valves and governors and levers — it may become a source of energetic power and usefulness. Hence, some of th(» greatest characters in history have been men of st?-ong temp(T, but of equally strong determination to hold their motive power under strict regulation and control. 'J'h(^ famous Earl of Strafford was of an extremely choleric and ])assi()nate nature, and had gn^at struggles with himself in his endeavours to control his tc;mper. Keferring to the advice of one of his friends, old Secre- tary Cooke, who was honest enough to tell him of his weakness, and to caution him against indulging it, ho wrote: "You gave me a good lesson to be patient; and, inde(Ml, my years and natural inclinations give me heat more than enough, which, however, J tiust more experience shall cool, and a watch over myself in time altogether overcome ; in th(» meantime, in this at least it will set lorth itself more pardonable, because my earnestness shall ever be for the honour, justice, and j)rofit of my master ; and it is not always anger, but the misapplying of it, that is the vice so blameable, and of r^^ tl. Vf. WAfcl fthd violif^nf. f/^mfM'M* in hifl yrmth -~(",ro«H, nntrar- UMf yonihlVil rrxiM^h'w'U. ff<<) (^vv^firj ohtain<'^fl t\u^ u^imtMUyti of rt foi*f/>f(«iT in hirt nAf,iv, in otk'> of if?^ mosit ri;:»;ifl form?!, laul hold iip<>n hi,'^ mt.ronpj nrt.fnrc\ rtnci .^uhjcftnl if. to tlt\(^ ifor» disK'-.iplino of (JaUiniinm. An Anfirfily n*'*^ difc^<".tion wm t,hn(i» ^ivcn fo hiji* f^Tn^r^^y of f,<«irn|:M''Tarn<"nl', whio-h for^od Mi ovif.l^f. for itA^At infto pvihlic, lifif, aiul AV^'nfnrtlly W^<"rtitno fho d<'>minatinii; in(1noii(''0 in Knf^land for ft fK"i"iofl of r»^rtrly fw^'nfy y«"H,i-,s, Tho hi'vfoiV'. pfii'iCYifi^ of i\\^) U(mAfy of IVafti^rtn wcita all dint in^rjiftl'ud for th^> <*rt.fno Cjnnlif,i<"S of m\(-('.()r\tf(}\, .««^lf- d^^niHl, and <'l^f«"rrnin.>tion of pnrposjo. William t.ho Hil^'Tif, WMiiJ ><<'> railed, nof. ht"^'.:»ii,>J«0 ho vfnA a farifiii'n man for ho wart an (\\(*<\\\(^ut and powj'irfnl AfM'^akrr whrrn olocjiic^nc'O wftA n<"<"<'v'^«ary hnf, ^M^1("a^lSlo ho wart a m^n wh^> ^<'>TiId hold hi.M fc>n^';iio whrn if, wm wi.'*<'loTn not f,o Api^fik, and hcc-Miirto ho ^arc^rnlly kept h'\A r»wn roiini5«ol whon fo havo rovoalod if. rni^^hf. havo hoon dan^ororm fo fho liJy^vrti^'rt of hi* r^mnfry. ffo wfiA so ^onf.Io and ron- mliaf.ory in h'\A rnannor fht»f. hi,^ An^Tni<"s ovon doscrihr^d him hA fimid and pn'^illanimovi.'ii. Vot, wh^-'n tho f.irrw for ar.f.ion oamo, fn,s roiira^o whs hc^roio, \\'\a d^'tormina- f.lon rin("or»<'jnorahlA. ''1"ho rock in fho (X'f^tiu^* ftay« Mf. IVfofloy, f,ho historian of fho Nothcrlands, "tranrjuil amid ri\||, uliorii III-. Ill lliitliy MM|»<(tU IflNl'llll'ln*!. 'I liM AllH^t'ii'Hii, ItKo llin UiiLi'lt jMihiotv niuiidit <'i>l "> lii(»- tory ith iIhi v lliimM vvlii) nVViiol, liiMiw liitii iiiliMiiih ly, llinl, liM VvfirJ a limit oi' lliliDIM ('iilllilK-iyi iiiiii iillfiriMl. lliij)iii:Hlvi;||i<,RM oi' fliM|iOKilioii. Vf)l. VVnnmKl^oii v/m\ty imhitM iiidi'iit KiiiJ ill(|MdU(M|» ; U\n lllilfrHb]>iirrr nny^< ol huii, Liiat/^*lil) I) tll)Ml|'(lMt(illl. Wtlli ii\'i\i'.ui, tiJM |)ll»t;iollH Htioii^, fili<| iiMiidnt UiM iiiiillipljiMJ ni'ciM .1 h Mijiljilioit UIkI I'XritiliKiil, lliinlj^di wliK'li liM J^il^i-.ffl^ )|, \s\iH lilK (Miiintiiiil t'llort, iili'l iilliiitulo hiUMijtli, lo cIhmK Um i>ito ttiid iiiilMltni tliM iit III*, rirtn Tliii pow«r ol' «'li<'rliiii(r tliMiii ill all JiiJilitiil. i'«rliitjM Miir-«r, indeed, to causes of dishonesty: "Frommyex- ; any one of the many indirect causes perience of predatory crime, founded to which it is sometimes referred— upon a cart^ful study of the cha- but ma nly to a tlUi>odtiiyn to ac- rncter of a great variety of prisoners, I quire jnoiierty with a less deijree of I conclude that habitual dishonesty j /r»/'0?fr than ordinary tuluslry. ia to be referred neither to iguo , The italics are the reverend authors 1 82 Maginns Improvidence. [Chap. VI. A man may be mdifferent to money because of higher considerations, as Faraday was, who sacrificed wealth to pursue science ; but if he would have the enjoyments that money can purchase, he must honestly earn it, and not live upon the earnings of others, as those do who habitually incur debts which they have no means of paying. When Maginn, always drowned in debt, was asked what he paid for his wine, he replied that he did not know, but he believed they " put some- thing down in a book." ^ This *• putting-down in a book " has proved the ruin of a great many weakminded people, who cannot resist the temptation of taking things upon credit which they have not the present means of paying for ; and it would probably prove of great social benefit if the law which enables creditors to recover debts contracted under cer- tain circumstances were altogether abolished. But, in the competition for trade, every enconragement is given to the incurring of debt, the creditor relying upon the law to aid him in the last extremity. When Sydney Smith once went into a new neighbourhood, it was given out in the local papers that he was a man of high connections, and he was besought on all sides for his '* cus- tom." But he speedily undeceived his new neighbours. "We are not great people at all," he said : "we are only common honest people — people that pay our debts." Hazlitt, who was a thorouo^hlv honest thouo-h rather thriftless man, speaks of two classes of persons, not unlike each other — those who cannot keep their own money in their hands, and those who cannot keep their hands from other people's. The former are always in want of money, for they throw it away on any object that first presents itself, as if to get rid of it; the latter 1 ?. C. Hall's ' Memories.' Chap. VI.] Sheridcifi s Public Honesty, 1 83 make away witli what they have of their own, and are perpetual borrowers from all who will lend to them ; and their genius for borrowing, in the long run, usually proves their ruin. Sheridan was one of such eminent unfortunates. He was impulsive and careless in his expenditure, borrowing money, and running into debt with everybody who would trust him. W hen he stood for Westminster, his unpopularity arose chiefly from his general indebted- ness. " Numbers of poor people," says Lord Palmerston in one of his letters, "crowded round the hustings, demanding payment for the bills he owed them." In the midst of all his difficulties, Sheridan was as light- hearted as ever, and cracked many a good joke at his creditors' expense. Lord Palmerston was actually pre- sent at the dinner given by him, at which the sheriff's officers in possession were dressed up and officiated as waiters. Yet, however loose Sheridan's morality may have been as regarded his private creditors, he was honest so far as the public money was concerned. Once, at a dinner, at which Lord Byron happened to be present, an observation happened to be made as to the sturdi- ness of the Whigs in resisting office, and keeping to their principles — on which Sheridan turned siiarply round, and said : " Sir, it is easy for my Lord this, or Earl that, or the Marquis of t'other, with thousands upon thousands a year, some of it either presently derived or inherited in sinecure or acquisitions from the pul)lic money, to boast of their patriotism, and keep aloof from temptation ; but they do not know from what temptation those have kept aloof who had equal pride, at least equal talents, and not unequal passions, and nevertheless knew not, in the course of their lives, what it was to have a shilling of their own." And 1 84 Pttbhc honesty. [Chap. VI. Lord Byron adds, that, in saying this, Sheridan wept.^ The tone of public morality in money-matters was very low in those days. Political peculation was not thought discreditable; and heads of parties did not hesitate to secure the adhesion of their followers by a free use of the public money. They were generous, but at the expense of others — like that great local magnate, who, " Out of his great bounty, Built a bridge at the expense of tiie county." When Lord Cornwallis was appointed Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, he pressed upon Colonel Napier, the father of tl\e Napiers, the comptrollership of army accounts. •' I want," said his Lordship, " an honest man, and this is the only thing I have been able to wrest from the harpies around me." It is said that Lord Chatham was the first to set the example of disdaining to govern by petty larceny ; and his great son was alike honest in his administration. While millions of money were passing through Pitt's hands, he himself was never otherwise than poor ; and he died poor. Of all his rancorous libellers, not one ever ventured to call in question his honesty. In former times, the profits of office were sometimes enormous. When Audley, the famous annuity-monger of the sixteenth century, was asked the value of an office which he had purchased in the Court of Wards, he replied : — " Some thousands to any one who wishes to get to heaven immediately ; twice as much to him who does not mind being in purgatory ; and nobody knows what to him who is not afraid of the devil." Sir Walter Scott was a man who was honest to the core of his nature : and his strenuous and determined 1 Moore's ' Life of Byron/ 8vo. Ed., p. 182. Chap. VI.] S'lr Walter Scott. 185 efforts to pay his debts, or rather tlie debts of the firm with which he had become involved, has always appeared to us one of the grandest things in bi()gra[)hy. When his publisher and printer broke down, ruin seemed to stare him in the face. There was no want of sympathy for him in his great misfortune, and friends came for- ward who offered to raise money enough to enable him to arrange with his creditors. " No ! " said he, proudly ; "this right hand shall work it all off!" "If we lose everything else," he wrote to a friend, " we will at least keep our honour unblemished." ^ While his health was already becoming undermined by overwork, he went on " writing like a tiger," as he himself expressed it, until no longer able to wield a pen ; and though he paid the penalty of his supreme efforts with his life, he never- theless saved his honour and his self-respect. Everybody knows how Soott threw off ' Woodstock,* the * Life of Napoleon ' (which he thought would be his death^), articles for the ' Quarterly,' ' Chronicles of the Canongate,' 'Prose Miscellanies,' and * Tales of a Grandfather' — all written in the midst of pain, sorrow, and ruin. The proceeds of those various works went * Captain Basil Hall records the j is the loss of fortune to the loss of following; conversation with Scott: — j peace of mind •' " I continued, "In " It occurs to mc," I ol)served, " tl lat '\ short," said he, playfully, " you people are apt to make too much ' will make it out tliat there is no fuss about t lie IjOss of fortune which harm in a man's being plunged is one of the smallest of tbe great over-head-aud-ears in a Hebt he evils of life, and ought to be among , cannot remove." " Much depends, the most tolerable." — " Do you call I think, on how it was incurred, it a small misfortune to be ruined and wliat efforts are m;«de to re- in money-matters?' he asked, deem it — at lea.st, if the sufferer be " It is not so i)ainful, at all events, ' a rightmiuded man" "1 hope as the los^ of friends."—" I grant it does," he said, cheerfully and tliat," he said. "As the loss of firmly.— i'Va<7men/«o/ Fo//a/7e« a;ui cliaracter?" — " True again." "As 1 Travels. 3rd series, pp. 30S-9. the loss of healthy"— "Ay, there ^ "These battle-^," Ive wrote in you have me,' he mutteredto him- I his Piary, " have been tlie death of self, in a tone so melancholy that I many a man. I think they will willed I had not sjjoken, " What i be mine." 1 86 Scotfs Cotirage and Honesty. [Chap. vr. to his creditors. *' I could not have slept sound," he wrote, " as I now can, under the comfortable impression of receiving the thanks of my creditors, and the con- scious feeling of discharging my duty as a man of honour and honesty. I see before me a long, tedious, and dark path, but it leads to stainless reputation. If I die in the harrows, as is very likely, I shall die with honour. If I achieve my task, I shall have the thanks of all con- cerned, and the approbation of my own conscience." ^ And then followed more articles, memoirs, and even sermons — ' The Fair Maid of Perth,' a completely revised edition of his novels, 'Anne of Geierstein,' and more * Tales of a Grandfather' — until he was suddenly struck down by paralysis. But he had no sooner recovered sufficient strength to be able to hold a pen, than we find him again at his desk writing the ' Letters on Demon- ology and Witchcraft,' a volume of Scottish History for 'Lardner's Cyclopaedia,' and a fourth series of ' Tales of a Grandfather ' in his French History. In vain his doctors told him to give up work ; he would not be dissuaded. " As for bidding me not work," he said to Dr. Abercrombie, " Molly might just as well put the kettle on the fire and say, ^ Now, kettle, don't boil ;' " to which he added, " If I were to be idle I should go mad ! " By means of the profits realised by these tremendous efforts, Scott saw his debts in course of rapid diminu- tion, and he trusted that, after a few more years' work, he would again be a free man. But it was not to be. He went on turning out such works as his 'Count Robert of Paris' with greatly impaired skill, until he was prostrated by another and severer attack of palsy. He now felt that the plough was nearing the end of the furrow ; his physical strength was gone ; he ^ Scott's Diary, December ITtb, 1S27. Chap. VI.] LockJiarC s Devotio7i to Scott. 187 was *' not quite himself in all things," and yet his courage and perseyerance never failed. *'I have suffered terribly," he wrote in his Diary, " though rather in body than in mind, and I often wish I could lie down and sleep without waking. But luill figli t it out if I can .'* He again recovered sufficiently to be able to write * Castle Dangerous,' though the cunning of the work- man's hand had departed. And then there was his last tour to Italy in search of rest and health, during which, while at Naples, in spite of all remonstrances, he gave several hours every morning to the composition of a new novel, which, however, has not seen the light. Scott returned to Abbotst'ord to die. " I have seen much," he said on his return, " but nothing like my own house — give me one turn more." One of the last things he uttered, in one of his lucid intervals, was worthy of him. " I have been," he said, " perhaps the most voluminous author of my day, and it is a comfort to me to think that I have tried to unsettle no man's faith, to corrupt no man's principles, and that I have written nothing which on my deathbed I should wish blotted out." His last injunction to his son-in-law was: " Lockhart, I may have but a minute to speak to you. My dear, be virtuous — be religious — be a good man. Nothing else will give you any comfort when you come to lie here." The devoted conduct of Lockhart himself was worthy of his great relative. The ' Life of Scott,' which he afterwards wrote, occupied him several years, and was a remarkably successful work. Yet he himself derived no pecuniary advantage from it; handing over the profits of the whole undertaking to Sir Walter's credi- tors, in payment of debts which he was in no way responsible, but influenced entirely by a spirit of honour, and of regard for the memory of the illustrious dead. 1 88 Duty — Truthfulness. [Chap. Vll. CHAPTEK VII. Duty — Truthfulness. "I slept, and dreamt that life was Beanty ; I woke, and found that life was Duty." "Duty! wondrous thought, that workest neither by fond insinuation, flattery, nor by £.ny threat, but merely by holding up thy naked law in the s >uL, and so e.\torliug for thyself always reverence, if not always obedience; before whom all appetites are dumb. )iowever secretly they rebel!"— A'ant " How happy is he bom and taught, That serveth not another's will ! "Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ; " Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prejjared for death ; Untied unto the world hy care Uf public fame, or private breath. * * * * " This man is freed from servile bands, Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lf>rd of hiraselt, thougb not of land ; And having nothing, yet hath aU." — Wotton. " His nay was nay without recall ; His yea was yea, and power lul all ; He gave his yea with careful heed. His thoughts and words were well agreed ; His word, his bond and seal." Inscription on Baron Stein's Tornb. Duty is a thing that is due, and must be paid by every man who would avoid present discredit and eventual moral insolvency. It is an obligation — a debt — which can only be discharged by voluntary effort and resolute action in the affairs of life. Duty embraces man's whole existence. It begins in the home, where there is the duty whicli children owe to their parents on the one hand, and the duty which parents owe to their children on the other. There are, in like manner, the respective duties of liusbands and wives, of masters and servants; while outside the home Chap. VII.] The Abiding Sense of Diify, 189 there are the duties which men and women owe to each other as friends and neighbours, as employers and era- ployed, as governors and governed. " Render, therefore," says St. Paul, "to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due ; custom to whom custom ; fear to whom fear ; honour to whom honour. Owe no man anything, but to love one another ; for he that loveth another hath fulfilled the law." Thus duty rounds the whole of life, from our entrance into it until our exit from it — duty to superiors, duty to inferiors, and duty to equals — duty to man, and duty to God. Wherever there is power to use or to direct, there is duty. For we are but as stewards, appointed to employ the means entrusted to us for our own and for others' good. The abiding sense of duty is the very crown of cha- racter. It is the upholding law of man in his highest attitudes. AYithout it, the individual totters and falls before the firstpuff of adversity or temptation ; whereas, inspired by it, the weakest becomes strong and full of courage. " Duty," says Mrs. Jameson, '* is the cement which binds the whole moral edifice together ; without which, all power, goodness, intellect, truth, happiness, love itself, can have no permanence ; but all the fabric of existence crumbles away from under us, and leaves us at last sitting in the midst of a ruin, astonished at our own desolation." Duty is based upon a sense of justice — justice inspired by love, which is the most perfect form of goodness. Duty is not a sentiment, but a principle pervading tlie life : and it exhibits itself in conduct and in acts, which are mainly determined by man's conscience and freewill. The voice of conscience speaks in duty done ; and without its regulating and controlling influence, the 190 Conscience and Will. [Chap. VIL brightest and greatest intellect may be merely as a light that leads astray. Conscience sets a man upon his feet, while his will holds him upright. Conscience is the moral governor of the heart — the governor of right action, of right thought, of right faith, of right life — and only through its dominating influence can the noble and upright character be fully developed. The conscience, however, may speak never so loudly, but without energetic will it may speak in vain. The will is free to choose between the right coarse and the wrong one, but the choice is nothing unless followed by immediate and decisive action. If the sense of duty be strong, and the course of action clear, the courageous will, upheld by the conscience, enables a man to pro- ceed on his course bravely, and to accomplish his purposes in the face of all opposition and difficulty. And should failure be tlie issue, there will remain at least this satisfaction, that it has been in the cause of duty. " Be and continue poor, young man," said Heinzel- mann, " while others around you grow rich by fraud and disloyalty ; be without place or power while others beg their way upwards ; bear the pain of disappointed hopes, while others gain the accomplishment of theirs by flattery ; forego the gracious pressure of the hand, for which others cringe and crawl. Wrap yourself in your own virtue, and seek a friend and your daily bread. If you have in your own cause grown gray with un- bleached honour, bless God and die ! " Men inspired by high principles are often required to sacrifice all that they esteem and love rather than fail in their duty. The old English idea of this sublime devotion to duty was expressed by the loyalist poet to his sweetheart, on taking up arms for his sovereign : — Ckap. VI I.J The Sense of Honottr, 191 " I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more."^ And Sertorius has said : " The man who has any dignity of character, should conquer witli honour, and not use any base means even to save his life." So St. Paul, inspired by duty and faith, declared himself as not only "ready to be bound, but to die at Jerusalem." When the Marquis of Pescara was entreated by the princes of Italy to desert the Spanish cause, to which he was in honour bound, his noble wife, Vittoria Colonna, reminded him of his duty. She wrote to him: "Remember your honour, which raises you above fortune and above kings ; by that alone, and not by the splendour of titles, is glory acquired — that glory which it will be your happiness and pride to transmit unspotted to your posterity." Such was the dignified view which she took of her husband's honour ; and when he fell at Pavia, though young and beautiful, and besought by many admirers, she betook herself to soli- tude, that she might lament over her husband's loss and celebrate his exploits.^ To live really, is to act energetically. Life is a battle to be fought valiantly. Inspired by high and honourable resolve, a man must stand to his post, and die there, if need be. Like the old Danish hero, his determination should be, " to dare nobly, to will strongly, and never to falter in the path oi duty." The power of will, be it great or small, which God has given us, is a Divine gift ; and we ought neither to let it perish for want of using on the one hand, nor profane it by employing it for ignoble purposes on tiie ^ From Lovelace's lines to Lu- casta (Lucy Sacheverell), ' Going to the Wars.' * Amongst other great men of genius, Ariosto and Michael An- gelo devoted to her their service and their muse. 192 Sacrectness of Duty. [Chap. VII. other. Eobertson, of Brighton, has truly said, that man's real greatness consists not in seeking liis own pleasure, or fame, or advancement — '*not that every- one shall save his own life, not that every man shall seek his own glor\" — but that every man shall do his own duty." What most stands in the way of the performance of duty, is irresolution, w^eakuess of purpose, and inde- cision. On the one side are conscience and the know- ledo:e of gfood and evil ; on the other are indolence, selfishness, love of pleasure, or passion. The weak and ill-disciplined will may remain suspended for a time between these influences ; but at length the balance inclines one way or the other, according as the will is called into action or otherwise. If it be allowed to remain passive, the lower influence of selfishness or passion will jjrevail ; and thus manhood suffers abdica- tion, individuality is renounced, character is degraded, and the man permits himself to become the mere passive slave of his senses. Thus, the power of exercising the will promptly, in obedience to the dictates of conscience, and thereby resisting the impulses of the lower nature, is of essential importance in moral discipline, and absolutely necessary for the development of character in its best forms. To acquire the habit of well-doing, to resist evil propen- sities, to fight against sensual desires, to overcome inborn selfishness, may require a long and persevering discipline; but when once the practice of duty is learnt, it becomes consolidated in habit, and thence- forward is comparatively easy. The valiant good man is he who, by the resolute exercise of his freewill, has so disciplined himself as to have acquired the habit of virtue ; as the bad man is he who, by allowing his freewill to remain inactive, and Chap. VII.] Freedom of tJie Individual, 193 giving the bridle to bis desires and passions, has acquired the habit of vice, by which he becomes, at last, bound as by chains of iron. A man can only achieve strength of purpose by the action of his own freewill. If he is to stand erect, it must be by his own efforts ; for he cannot be kept propped up by the help of others. He is master of himself and of his actions. He can avoid falsehood, and be truthful ; he can shun sensualism, and be con- tinent; he can turn aside from doing a cruel thing, and be benevolent and forgiving. All these lie within the sphere of individual efforts, and come within the range of self-discipline. And it depends upon men them- selves whether in these respects they will be free, pure, and good on the one hand ; or enslaved, impure, and miserable on the other. Among the wise sayings of Epictetus we find the following : " We do not choose our own parts in life, and have nothing to do with those parts : our simple duty is confined to playing them well. The slave may be as free as the consul ; and freedom is the chief of blessings ; it dwarfs all others ; beside it all others are insignificant; witli it all others are needless ; without it no others are possible. . . . You must teach men that happiness is not where, in their blindness and misery, they seek it. It is not in strength, for Myro and Ofellius were not happy ; not in wealth, for Croesus was not happy ; not in power, for the Consuls were not happy ; not in all these together, for Nero and Sar- danapalus and Agamemnon sighed and wept and tore their hair, and were the slaves of circumstances and tlie dupes of semblances. It lies in yourselves ; in true freedom, in the absence or conquest of every ignoble fear ; in perfect self-government ; and in a power of contentment and peace, and the even flow of life amid O 194 1^^^^ Spirit of Duty, [Chap. VII. poverty, exile, disease, and the very valley of the shadow of death." ^ The sense of duty is a sustaining power even to a courageous man. It holds him upright, and makes him strong. It was a noble saying of Pompey, when his friends tried to dissuade him from embarking for Rome in a storm, telling him that he did so at the great peril of his life : *' It is necessary for me to go," he said ; " it is not necessary for me to live." What it was right that he should do, he would do, in the face of danger and in defiance of storms. As might be expected of the great Washington, the chief motive power in his life was the spirit of duty. It was the regal and commanding element in his character which gave it unity, compactness, and vigour. When he clearly saw his duty before him, he did it at all hazards, and with inflexible integrity. He did not do it for effect ; nor did he think of glory, or of fame and its rewards ; but of the right thing to be done, and the best way of doing it. Yet Washington had a most modest opinion of him- self ; and when offered the chief command of the American patriot army, he hesitated to accept it until it was pressed upon him. When acknowledging in Congress the honour which had been done him in ^ See the Rev. F. W. Farrar's not granted to these heathen phi- admirable book, entitled ' Seekers losophers in any true sense to after God ' (Sunday Library). The know what Christianity was. They author there says : " Epictetus was thought that it was an attempt not a Christian. He has only once to imitate the resxilts of phi- alluded to the Christians in his losophy, without Laving pa-sed works, and then it is under the through the necessary discipline, opprobrious title of ' Galileans, They viewed it with suspicion, tl.ey who practised a kind of insensibi- ' treated it with injustice. And yet lity in i ainful cia-cumstauces. and ' in Christianity, and in Christianity an indifference to worldly interests, alone, they would have found an which Epictetus unJTiitly sets down ideal which would have surpassed to ' mere habit.' Unhappily, it was | their loftiest anticipations." Chap. VII.] Washington s Sense 0/ Duly, 195 selecting him to so important a trust, on the execution of which tlie future of his country in a great measure depended, Washington said : " I beg it may be remem- bered, lest some unlucky event should happen unfa- vourable to my reputation, that I this day declare, with the utmost sincerity, I do not think myself equal to the command I am honoured with." And in his letter to his wife, communicating to her his appointment as Commander-in-Chief, he said : " I have used every endeavour in my power to avoid it, not only from my unwillingness to part with you and the family, but from a consciousness of its being a trust too great for my capacity ; and that I should enjoy more real happiness in one month with you at home, than I have the most distant prospect of finding abroad, if my stay were to be seven times seven years. But, as it has been a kind of destiny that has thrown me upon this Service, I shall hope that my undertaking it is designed for some good purpose. It was utterly out of my power to refuse the appointment, without exposing my character to such censures as would have reflected dishonour upon myself, and given pain to my friends. This, I am sure, could not, and ought not, to be pleasing to you, and must have lessened me considerably in my own esteem." ^ Washington pursued his upright course through life, first as Commander-in-Cliief, and afterwards as Presi- dent, never faltering in the path of duty. He had no regard for popularity, but held to his purpose, through good and through evil report, often at the risk of liis power and influence. Thus, on one occasicm, when the ratiH(iation of a treaty, arranged by Mr. Jay with Great Britain, was in question, Washington was urged to reject ^ Spuiks' 'Lile of Wiushmgton," pp. 141-2. O 2 196 Wellingtons Ideal of Dtity, [Chap. VII. it. But his honour, and the honour of his country, was committed, and he refused to do so. A great outcry- was raised against the treaty, and for a time Washington was so unpopular that he is said to have been actually stoned by the mob. But he, nevertheless, held it to bo his duty to ratify the treaty ; and it was carried out, in despite of petitions and remonstrances from all quarters. " While I feel," he said, in answer to the remonstrants, " the most lively gratitude for the many instances of ap- probation from my country, I can no otherwise deserve it than by obeying the dictates of my conscience." Wellington's watchword, like Washington's, was duty ; and no man could be more loyal to it than he was.^ " There is little or nothing," he once said, " in this life worth living for ; but we can all of us go straight forward and do our duty." None recognised more cheerfully than he did the duty of obedience and willino^ service ; for unless men can serve faithfullv. they will not rule others wisely. There is no motto that becomes the wise man better than Ich dien^ " I serve ;" and " They also serve who only stand and wait." When the mortification of an oflScer, because of his being appointed to a command inferior to what he con- sidered to be his merits, was communicated to the Duke, he said : "In the course of my military career, I have gone from the command of a brigade to that of my regiment, and from the command of an army to that of a brigade or a division, as I was ordered, and without any feeling of mortification." Whilst commanding the allied army in Portugal, ^ Welliugton, like "V\'asliiiigtoii, j smashed by the mob, while hia h?vd to pay the penalty of his ad- 1 wife lay dead in the house. Sir herence to the cause he thought ! Walter Scott also was hooted right, in his loss of " popularity." and pelted at Hawick by '■ the He was mobbed in the streets of 1 people,' amidst cries of "• Burke Sir London, and liad his windows Walter !" Chap. VII.] Nelson and Collingiuood. 197 the conduct of the native popuUition did not seem to Wellington to be either becoming or dutiful. '• We have enthusiasm in plenty," he said, " and plenty of cries of * Viva !' We have illuminations, patriotic songs, and fetes everywhere. But what we want is, that each in his own station should do his duty faithfully, and pay implicit obedience to legal authority." This abiding ideal of duty seemed to be the governing principle of Wellington's character. It was always uppermost in his mind, and directed all the public actions of his life. Nor did it fail to communicate itself to those under him, who served him in the like spirit. When he rode into one of his infantry squares at Waterloo, as its diminished numbers closed up to receive a charge of French cavalry, he said to the men, *' Stand steady, lads ; think of what they will say of us in England;" to which the men replied, " Never fear, sir — we know our duty." Duty was also the dominant idea in Nelson's mind. The spirit in which he served his country was expressed in the famous watchword, " England expects every man to do his duty," signalled by him to the fleet before going into action at Trafalgar, as well as in the last words that passed his lips, — " I have done my duty ; I praise God for it !" And Nelson's companion and friend — the brave, sensible, homely-minded Collingwood — he who, as his ship bore down into the great sea-fight, said to liis flag- captain, *' Just about this time our wives are going to church in England," — Collingwood too was, like his commander, an ardent devotee of duty. *' Do your duty to the best of your ability," was the maxim which he urged upon many young men starting on tlie voyage of life. To a midshipman he once gave the following manly and sensible advice : — 198 Devotion to Dnty. [Chap. VI I. "You mav depend upon it, that it is more in yonr own power than in anybody else's to promote both your com- fort and advancement. A strict and unwearied attention to Your duty, and a complacent and respectful behaviour, not only to your superiors but to everybody, will ensure you their regard, and the reward will surely come ; but if it should not. 1 am convinced you have too much good sense to let disappointment sour you. Guard carefully against letting discontent appear in you. It will be sorrow to your friends, a triumph to your competitors, and cannot be productive of any good. Conduct your- self so as to deserve the best that can come to you, and the consciousness of your own proper behaviour will keep you in spirits if it should not come. Let it be your ambition to be foremost in all duty. Do not be a nice observer of turns, but ever present yourself ready for everything, and, unless your officers are very inattentive men, they will not allow others to impose more duty on you than ihey should." This devotion to duty is said to be peculiar to the English nation; and it has certainly more or less characterised our gi-eatest public men. Probably no commander of any other nation ever went into action with such a signal flying as Xelson at Trafalgar — not '"Glory," or '"Mctory,"' or "Honour," or "Country" — but simply " Duty ! " How few are the nations willing to rally to such a battle-cry ! Shortly after the ^v^eck of the BirJ:enhead off the coast of Africa, in which the officers and men went down firing a feu-de-joie after seeing the women and children safely embarked in the boats, — Robertson of Brighton, referring to the circumstance in one of his letters, said : '' Yes ! Goodness. Duty, Sacrifice. — these are the qualities that England honours. She gapes and wonders every now and then^ like an awkward peasant. Chap. VII.] N'ational Sense of Dntv, 199 at some other things — railway kinprs, electro-biolojry, and other trumperies ; but nothint^ stirs her j^^rand oKl heart down to its central deeps universally and louj;, except the Right. Sue puts on her shawl very badly, and she is awkward enough in a concert-room, scarce knowing a Swedish nightingale from a jackdaw ; but — blessings large and long upon her ! — she knows how to teach her sons to sink like men amidst sharks and billows, without parade, without display, as if Dutv were the most natural thing in the world , and she never mistakes long an actor for a hero, or a hero for an actor." ^ It is a grand thing, after all, this pervading spirit of Duty in a nation ; and so long as it survives, no one need despair of its future. But when it has departed, or become deadened, and been supplanted by thirst for pleasure, or seltish aggrandisement, or " gk»ry " — then M'oe to that nation, for its dissolution is near at hand ! If there be one point on which intelligent observers are agreed more than another as to the cause of the late de- plorable collapse of France as a nation, it was the utter absence of this feeling of duty, as well as of truthfulness, from the mind, not only of the men, but of the leaders of the French people. The unprejudiced testimony of Baron Stoffel, French military attache at Berlin, before the war, is conclusive on this point. In his private report to tlie Emperor, found at the Tuileries, which w;is written in August, 1^69, about a year belbre the out- ])reak of the war. Baron Stoffel })ointe(l out that the highly-educated and disciplined German jieople wen* pervaded by an ardent sense of duty, and did not tliink it beneath tliem to reverence sincerely what \n as noble and lofty ; whereas, in all respects, France presented a » Eobensou'a 'Life an.] 1. otters." ii. ir>7. 20O Baron StoffeVs Report [Chap. vii. melancholy contrast. There the people, having sneered at everything, had lost the faculty of respecting any- thing, and virtue, family life, patriotism, honour, and religion, were represented to a frivolous generation as only fitting subjects for ridicule.^ Alas! how terribly * "We select the following pas- sages from this remarkable report of Baron StofFel, as being of more than merely temporary interest : — '* Who that has lived here (Berlin) will deny that the Prussians are energetic, patriotic, and teeming with youthful vigour; that they are not corrupted by sensual plea- sures, but are manly, have earnest convictions, do not think it beneath them to reverence sincerely what is noble and lofty ? "What a melan- choly contrast does France oifer in all this ? Having sneered at every- thing, she has lost the faculty of respecting anjiihing. Virtue, fa- mily life, patriotism, honour, re- ligion, are represented to a frivolous generation as fitting subjects of ridicule. The theatres have become schools of shamelessness and ob- scenity . Drop by drop, poison is instilled into the very core of an ignorant and enervated society, which has neither the insight nor the energy left to amend its institutions, nor — v/hich would be the most necessary step to take — become better informed or more moral. One after the other the fine qualities of the nation are • dying out. Where is the gene- ! rosity, the loyalty, the charm of our esjirit, and our former elevation [ of soul ? If this goes on, the time will come when this noble race of France will be known only by its faults. And France has iio idea that while she is sinking, more earnest nations are stealing a march upon her, are distancing j ' her on the road to progress, and are preparing for her a secondary position in the world. j "I am afraid that these opinions "will not be relished in France. However correct, they ditfer too much from what is usually said and asserted at home. I should wish some enlightened and unpre- judiced Frenchmen to come to Prussia and make this country their study. They would soon dis- cover that they were living in the midst of a strong, earnest, and in- telligent nation, entirely destitute, it is true, of noble and delicate feelings, of all fascinating charms, but endowed with every solid vir- tue, and alike distinguished for untiring industry, order, and eco- nomy, as well as for patriotism, a strong sense of duty, and that consciousness of personal dignity which in their case is so happily blended with respect for authority and obedience to the law. They would see a country with firm, sound, and moral institutions, whose upper classes are worthy of their rank, and, by possessing the highest degree of ciilture, devoting them- selves to the service of the State, setting an example of patriotism, and knowing how to preserve the influence legitimately their own. They would find a State with an excellent administration, where everything is in its right place, and where the most admirable order prevails in every branch of the social and political system. Prussia may be well compai-ed to Chap. VII.] on the Decadence of France. 1Q\ has France been punished for her sins against truth and duty ! Yet the time was, when France possessed many great men inspired by duty ; but they were all men of a comparatively remote past. The race of Bayard, Duguesclin, Coligny, Duquesne, Turenne, Colbert, and Sully, seems to have died out and left no lineage. There has been an occasional great Frenchman of modern times who has raised the cry of Duty ; but his voice has been as that of one crying in the wilderness. De Tocqueville was one of such ; but, like all men of his stamp, he was proscribed, imprisoned, and driven from public life. Writing on one occasion to his friend Kergorlay, he said : "Like you, I become more and more a massive structure of lofty pro- portions and astounding solidity, which, though it has nothing to delight the eye or speak to the heart, cannot but impress us with its grand symmetry, equally ob- servable in its broad foundations as in its strong and sheltering roof. "And what is France? What is French society in these latter days ? A hurly-burly of disorderly elements, all mixed and jumbled together; a country in which every- body claims the right to occui)y the highest posts, yet few remember that a man to be employed in a responsible position ought to have a well-balanced mind, ought to be strictly moral, to know something of the world, and possess certain intellectual powers ; a country in which tlie highest offices are fre- quently held by ignorant and un- educated persons, who either boast some special talent, or whose only claim is sos. Wliat a bHuetul and dei,nading state of things! And Jiow natural that. while it lasts, France should be full of a people without a position, with- out a calling, who do not know what to do with themselves, but aro none the less eager to envy and malign every one who does. . . . "The French do not possess iu any very marked degree the quali- ties required to render general con- scription acceptable, or to turn it to account. Conceited and egotistic as they are, the people would ob- ject to an innovation whose invi- gorating force they are unable to comprehend, and which cannot bo carried out without virtnes which they do not pos.-ess — aelf-aliK-ga- tion, conscientious recognition of duty, and a willingness to sacrifico personal interest.s to the loftier de- mands of the cotmtry. As the character of individuals is only improved by experience, most nations require a c!»asti.-( inent be- fore they set about rt'orjianising tlitir political in.stitution.s. So Prussia wanted a .Ii-na to make her tlie strong and healthy countiy she is." 202 France and Duty, [Chap. VIT. alive to the happiness which consists in the fulfilment of Dutv. I believe there is no other so deep and so real. There is only one great object in the world which deserves our efibrts, and that is the good of mankind."^ Although France has been the unquiet spirit among the nations of Europe since the reign of Louis XIY., there have from time to time been honest and faithful men who have lifted up their voices against the tur- bulent warlike tendencies of the people, and not only preached, but endeavoured to carry into practice, a gospel of peace. Of these, the Abbe de St.-Pierre was one of the most courageous. He had even the boldness to denounce the wars of Louis XIV., and to deny that monarch's right to the epithet of ' Great,' for which he was jDunished by expulsion from the Academy. The Abbe was as enthusiastic an agitator for a system of international peace as any member of the modern Society of Friends. As Joseph Sturge went to St. Petersburg to convert the Emperor of Eussia to his views, so the Abbe went to Utrecht to convert the Conference sitting]: there, to his project for a Diet to secure perpetual peace. Of course he was regarded as an enthusiast, Cardinal Dubois characterising his scheme as " the dream of an honest man." Yet the Abbe had found his dream in tlie Gospel ; and in what better way could he exemplify the spirit of the Master he served than by endeavouring ' Yet even in De Tocqiieville's benevolent nature, there was a per- vading element of impatience. In the very letter in which the above passage occurs, he says : " 8ome spires neither confidence nor grati- tude. I should like to belong to the second class, but often I can- not. I love mankind in general, but 1 constantlv meet with indi- persons try to be of use to men | viduals whose baseness revolts me. while they despise them, and others j I struggle daily against a universal because they love them. In the , contemj)t for my fellow-creatures." services rendered by the first, there i — Memoirs and Remains of De is always something incomplete, j TucqueviUe, vol. i. p. ."13. (Letter rough, and contemptuous, that in- ; to Kergorlay, Nov. 13th, 1833). Chap. VII.] The Abbe dc St.-Pia-rc. 203 to abate the horrors and abominations of war ? The Con- ference was an assemblage of men representing Christian States : and the Abbe merely called upon tliem to put in practice the doctrines they professed to believe. It was of no use: the potentates and their representatives turned to him a deaf ear. The Abbe de St.-Pierre lived several hundred vears too soon. But he determined that his idea should not be lost, and in 1713 he published his * Project of Per- l^etual Peace.' He there proposed the formation of a European Diet, or Senate, to be composed of represen- tatives of all nations, before which princes should be bound, before resorting to arms, to state their grievances and require redress. Writing about eighty years after the publication of this project, Volney asked : *• What is a people? — an individual of the societv at large. AVhat a war?r — a duel between two individual people. 'In what manner ought a society to act when two of its members light ? — Interfere, and reconcile or re})ress them. In the days of the Abbe de St.-Pierre, this was treated as a dream ; but, happily for the human race, it begins to be realised." Alas for the prediction of Yolney ! The twenty-five years that followed the date at which this passage w^as written, were distiuguished by more devastating and furious wars on the part of Franc© than had ever been known in the world before. The Abbe was not, however, a mere dreamer. He was an active practical philanthropist, and anticijuited many social iuiprovements which have since become generally adopted. He was the original founder of industrial schools for poor children, where they not only received a good education, but learned some uselul trade, by which they might earn an honest living whrn they grew up to manhood. He advocated the revision and simplification of the whole code of laws — an idea afterwards carried out bv the First Napoleon. He wrote 204 Duty and Truthfulness, [Chap. vil. against duelling, against luxury, against gambling, against monasticism, quoting the remark of Segrais, that " the mania for a monastic life is the smallpox of the mind." He spent his \A\o\q income in acts of charity — not in almsgiving, but in helping poor children, and poor men and women, to help themselves. His object always was to benefit permanently those whom he assisted. He continued his love of truth and his freedom of speech to the last. At the age of eighty he said : " If life is a lottery for happiness, my lot has been one of the best." When on his deathbed, Voltaire asked him how he felt, to which he answered, " As about to make a journey into the country." And in this peaceful frame of mind he died. But so outspoken had St.-Pierre been against corruption in high places, that Maupertius, his successor at the Academy, was not permitted to pro- nounce his eloge ; nor was it until thirty-two years after his death that this honour was done to his memory by D'Alembe.i't. The true and emphatic epitaph of the good, truth-loving, truth-speaking Abbe was this — " He LOVED MUCH !" Duty is closely allied to truthfulness of character ; and the dutiful man is, above all things, truthful in his words as in his actions. He says and he does the riirht thing, in the right way, and at the right time. There is probably no saying of Lord Chesterfield that commends itself more strongly to the approval of manly- minded men, than that it is truth that makes the success of the gentleman. Clarendon, speaking of one of the noblest and purest gentlemen of his age, says of Falkland, that he *' was so severe an adorer of truth that he could as easily have given himself leave to steal as to dissemble." It was one of the finest things that Mrs. Hutchinson could say of her husband, that he was a thoroughly truthful and reliable man : " He never professed the thing he intended not, nor promised what he believed Chap. VII.] Resistance to Falsehood. 20^ out of his power, nor failed in the performance of anything that was in his power to fulfil." Wellington was a severe admirer of truth. An illus- tration may be given. When afflicted by deafness he consulted a celebrated aurist, who, after trying all reme- dies in vain, determined, as a last resource, to inject into the ear a strong solution of caustic. It caused the most intense pain, but the patient bore it with his usual equanimity. The family physician accidentally calling one day, found the Duke with flushed cheeks and blood- shot eyes, and when he rose he staggered about like a drunken man. The doctor asked to be permitted to look at his ear, and then he found that a furious inflam- mation was going on, which, if not immediately checked, must shortly reach the brain and kill him. Vigorous remedies were at once applied, and the inflammation was checked. But the hearing of that ear was com- pletely destroyed. When the aurist heard of the danger his patient had run, through the violence of the remedy he had employed, he hastened to Apsley House to express his grief and mortification ; but the Duke merely said: "Do not say a word more about it — you did all for the best." The aurist said it would be his ruin when it became known that he had been the cause of so much suffering and danger to his Grace. " But no- body need know anything about it : keep your own counsel, and, depend upon it, I won't say a word to any one." " Then your Grace will allow me to attend you as usual, which will show the public that you have not w ithdrawn your confidence from me ?" " No," replied the Duke, kindly but firmly ; " I can't do that, for that would be a lie." He would not act a falsehood any more than he would speak one.^ > Gleig's 'Life of Welliugton,' pp. 3U. 315. 2o6 Truth the Bond of Society. [Chap. VII. Another illustration of duty and truthfulness, as ex- hibited in the fulfilment of a promise, may be added from the life of Blucher. When he was hastening with his army over bad roads to the help of Wellington, on the 18th of June, 1815, he encouraged his troops by words and gestures. " Forwards, children — forwards 1" " It is impossible ; it can't be done," was the answer. Again and again he urged them. ''- Children, we must get on ; you may say it can't be done, but it mud be done ! I have promised my brother Wellington — p'o- misecl, do you hear ? You wouldn't have me hreaJc my xuord /" And it was done. Truth is the very bond of society, without which it mu^t cease to exist, and dissolve into anarchy and chaos, A household cannot be governed by lying ; nor can a nation. Sir Thomas Browne once asked, '' Do the devils lie?" "No," was his answer; *'for then even hell could not subsist." No considerations can justify the sacrifice of truth, which ought to be sovereign in all the relations of life. Of all mean vices, perhaps lying is the meanest. It is in some cases the offspring of perversity and vice, and in many others of sheer moral cowardice. Yet many per- sons think so lightly of it that they will order their servants to lie for them ; nor can they feel surprised if, after such ignoble instruction, they find their servants lying for themselves. Sir Harry Wot ton's description of an ambassador as " an honest man sent to lie abroad for the benefit of his country," though meant as a satire, brought him into disfavour with James I. when it became pub- lished ; for an adversary quoted it as a principle of the king's religion. That it was not Wotton's real view of the duty of an honest man, is obvious from the lines quoted at the head of this chapter, on ' The Chap. VII.] Equivocation, 207 Character of a Happy Life/ in which he eulogises the man " Whose armour is his honest thoii<2;ht, And simple truth his utmost skill." But lying assumes many forms — such as diplomacy, expediency, and moral reservation ; and, under one guise or another, it is found more or less pervading all classes of society. Sometimes it assumes the form of equivocation or moral (lodging — twisting and so stating the things said as to convey a false impression — a kind of lying which a Frenchman once described as '* walking round about the truth." There are even men of narrow minds and dishonest natures, who pride themselves upon their Jesuitical clever- ness in equivocation, in their serpent- wise shirking of the truth and getting out of moral back-doors, in order to hide their real opinions and evade the consequences of holdins; and openly professing them. Institutions or systems based upon any such expedients must nece.^- sarily prove false and hollow. " Though a lie be ever so well dressed," says George Herbert, " it is ever over- come." Downright lying, though bolder and more vicious, is even less contemptible than such kind of shuffling and equivocation. Untruthfulness exhibits itself in many other forms: in reticency on the one hand, or exaggeration on the other ; in disguise or concealment ; in pretended con- currence in others' opinions ; in assuming an attitude of conformity which is deceptive ; in making promises, or allowing them to be implied, which are never in- tended to be performed; or even in refraining from speaking the truth when to do so is a duty. There are also those who are all things to all men, who siiy one thing and do another, like Bun}'an's Mr. Facing-both- 2o8 Prete7itio2isness. [Chap. VI l. ways ; only deceiving themselves when they think they are deceiving others — and who, being essentially insin- cere, fail to evoke confidence, and invariably in the end turn out failures, if not impostors. Others are untruthful in their pretentiousness, and in assuming merits which they do not really possess. The truthful man is, on the contrary, modest, and makes no parade of himself and his deeds. When Pitt was in his last illness, the news reached England of the great deeds of Wellington in India. *' The more I hear of his exploits," said Pitt, " the more I admire the modesty with which he receives the praises he merits for them. He is the only man I ever knew that was not vain of what he had done, and yet had so much reason to be so." So it is said of Faraday by Professor TyndaU, that '* pretence of all kinds^ whether in life or in philosophy, was hateful to him." Dr. Marshall Hall was a man of like spirit — courageously truthful, dutiful, and manly. One of his most intimate friends has said of him that, wherever he met with untruthfulness or sinister motive, he would expose it, saying — " I neither will, nor can, give my consent to a lie." The question, '' right or wrong," once decided in his own mind, the right was followed, no matter what the sacrifice or the difficulty — neither expediency nor inclination weighing one jot in the balance. There was no virtue that Dr. Arnold laboured more sedulously to instil into youno: men than the virtue of truthfulness, as being the manliest of virtues, as indeed the very basis of all true manliness. He designated trutlifulness as " moral transparency," and he valued it more highly than any other quality. When lying was detected, he treated it as a great moral offence ; but A\hen a pupil made an assertion, he accepted it with Chap. VII.] Life of George Wilson. 209 confidence. " If you say so, that is quite eriouirli ; of course I believe )'Our word." By thus trusting aud beheving them, he educated the young in truthfubiess ; tlie boys at length coming to say to one another: " It's a shame to tell Arnold a lie — he always believes one."^ One of the most striking instances that could be given of the character of the dutiful, truthful, laborious man, is presented in the life of the late George Wilson, Professor of Technology in the University of Edin- burgh. ^ Though we bring this illustration under the head of Duty, it might equally have stood under that of Courage, Cheerfulness, or Industry, for it is alike illustrative of these several qualities. Wilson's life was, indeed, a marvel of cheerful laborious- ness ; exhibiting the power of the soul to trmraph over the bodv, and almost to .?et it at defiance. It miirht be taken as an illustration of the saying of the whaling- captain to Dr. Kane, as to the power of moral force over physical : " Bless you, sir, the soul will any day lift the body out of its boots ! " A fragile but bright and lively boy, he had scarcely entered manhood ere his constitution began to exhibit signs of disease. As early, indeed, as his seventeenth year, he began to complain of melancholy and slee{> lessness, supposed to be the effects of bile. " I don't think I shall live long," he then said to a friend ; " my mind will — must work itself out, and the body will soon follow it." A strange confession for a boy to make ! But he gave his physical health no fair chance. His life was all brain-work, study, and competition. When he took exercise it Avas in sudden bursts, which did him 1 ( Life of Arnold,' i. 94. ' See the * Memoir of George Wilson, M.D., F.R.S.E.' By hia sister (Edinburgh, IbGO). P 210 Wilsons Bodily S^ifferings. [Chap. VII. more harm than good. Long walks in tiie Highlands jaded and exhausted him ; and he returned to his braiu- work unrested and um-efreshed. It was during one of his forced walks of some twenty- four miles in the neighbom-hood of Stirling, that he injui'ed one of his feet, and he returned home seriously ill. The result was an abscess, disease of the ankle- joint, and long agony, which ended in the amputation of the riorht foot. But he never relaxed in his labours. He was now writing, lecturing, and teaching che- mistry. Kheumatism and acute inflammation of the eye next attacked him ; and were treated by cupping, bhstering, and colchicum. Unable himself to write, he went on preparing his lectures, which he dictated to his sister. Pain haunted him day and night, and sleep was only forced by morphia. "^iMiile in this state of general prostration, symptoms of pulmonary disease began to show themselves. Yet he continued to give the weekly lectures to which he stood committed to the Edinburgh School of Arts. Xot one was shirked, though then- delivery, before a large audience, was a most exhaustitig duty. *^ Well, there's another nail put into my coffin," was the remark made on throwing oflf his top-coat on returning home ; and a sleepless night almost invariably followed. At twenty-seven, ^yilson was lecturing ten, eleven, or more hom-s weekly, usually with setons or open bhster-wounds upon him— his "bosom friends," he used to call them. He felt the shadow of death upon him ; and he worked as if his days were numbered. " Don't be surprised," he wrote to a fi'iend, " if any morning at breakfast you hear that I am gone." But while he said so, he did not in the least degree indulge in the feeling of sickly sentimentality. He worked on as cheerfully and hopefully as if in the very fulness of his strength. Chap. VII.] His Unwearying Industry. 211 " To none," said he, " is life so sweet as to tliose who have lost all fear to die." Sometimes he was compelled to desist from his labours by sheer debility, occasioned by loss of blood from the lungs ; but after a few weeks' rest and change of air, he would return to his work, sayino-, "The water is rising in the well again!" Tliough disease had fastened on his lungs, and was spreaduig there, and though suffering from a distressing cough, he went on lecturing as usual. To add to his troubles, when one day endeavouring to recover himself from a stumble occasioned by his lameness, he overstrained his arm, and broke the bone near the shoulder. But he re- covered from his successive accidents and illnesses in the most extraordinary way. The reed bent, but did not break : the storm passed, and it stood erect as before. There was no worry, nor fever, nor fret about him ; but instead, cheerfulness, patience, and unfailing perse- verance. His mind, amidst all his sufferings, remained perfectly calm and serene. He went about his daily work with an apparently charmed life, as if he had the strength of many men in him. Yet all the while he knew he w^as dying, his chief anxiety being to conceal Ids state from those about him at home, to whom the knowledge of his actual condition would have been inexpressibly distressing. " I am cheerful among strangers," he said, " and try to live day by day as a dying man." ^ He went on teaching as before — lecturing to the 1 Such cases are not unusual. I tion became necessary ; and when We personally knew a young lady, I the surgeons called for the purpose a c )untrywoman of Professor Wil- 1 of performing it, she herself au- hon, aliiicted by cancer in the ' swered the door, received them breast, who concealed the disease ! with a cheerful countenance, l.'d from her parents lest it should ' them ujistairs to her rcKmi, ami sub- occasion them distress. An opera- mitted lierself to the knife ; and hc-r r 2 2,12 Progress of Wilsoits Disease, [Chap. VI t. Arcliitectui'al Institute and to the School of Arts. One day, after a lecture before the latter institute, he lay down to rest, and was shortly awakened by the rupture of a bloodvessel, which occasioned him the loss of a con- siderable quantity of blood. He did not experience the despair and agony that Keats did on a like occasion ; ^ though he equally knew that the messenger of death had come, and was waiting for him. He appeared at the family meals as usual, and next day he lectured twice, punctually fulfilling his engagements ; but the exertion of speaking was followed by a second attack of haemorrhage. He now became seriously ill, and it was doubted whether he would survive the night. But he did survive ; and during his convalescence he was ap- pointed to an important public office — that of Director of the Scottish Industrial Museum, which involved a great amount of labour, as well as lecturing, in his parents knew nothing of the opera- rnddy stain, and then, looking in tion until it was all over. But the his friend's face with an expression disease had become too deeply of sudden calmness never to be for- seated for recovery, and the noble gotten, said, ' I know the colour of self-denying girl died, cheerful that blood, — it is arterial blood, and uncomplaining to the end. I cannot be deceived in that colour- ; ^ " One night, about eleven that drop is my death-warrant. I o'clock, JKeats returned home in a must die!'"— Houghton's lAJe of state of strange physical excite- Keats, Ed. 1867, p. 289. raent — it might have appeared, to ] In the case of George Wilson, the tliose who did not know him, one bleeding was in the first instance of fierce intoxication. He told his from the stomach, though he after- friend he had been outside the wards suffered from lung hsemor- stage-coach, had received a severe rhage like Keats. Wilson after- chill, was a little fevered, but wards, speaking of the Lives of added, ' I don't feel it now.' He Lamb and Keats, which had just was easily persuaded to go to bed, appeared, said he had been reading and as he leapt into the cold them with great sadness. " There sheet;;, before his head was on the is," said he, " something in the pillow, he slightly coughed and noble brotherly love of Charles to said, ' That is blood from my j brighten, and hallow, and relieve mouth; bring me the candle; let j that sadness; but Keats's deathbed me see this blood.' He gazed stead- j is the blackness of midnight, un- fastly for some moments at the ' mitigated by one ray of light ! " Chap. VII.] His Perseverance to the End, 21a capacity of Professor of Technology, wliicli he held in connection with the office. From this time forward, his *' dear museum," as he called it, absorbed all his surplus energies. AVliile busily occupied. in collecting models and specimens for the museum, he filled up his odds-and-ends of time in lecturing to Kagged Schools, liagged Kirks, and Medical Missionary Societies. He gave himself no rest, either of mind or body ; and " to die working " was the fate he envied. His mind would not give in, bat his poor body was forced to yield, aud a severe attack of heemorrhage — bleeding from both lungs and stomach^ — compelled him to relax in his labours. " For a month, or some forty days," he wrote — '' a dreadful Lent — the wind has blown geographically from * Araby the blest,' but thermometrically from Iceland the accursed. I have been made a prisoner of war, hit by an icicle in the lungs, and have shivered and burned alternately for a large portion of the last month, and spat blood till I grew pale with coughing. Now I am better, and to-morrow I give my concluding lecture (on Technology), thankful that I have contrived, notwith- standing all my troubles, to carry on without missing a lecture to the last day of the Faculty of Arts, to which I belong."^ How long was it to last ? He himself began to wonder, for he had long felt his life as if ebbing away. At length he became languid, weary, and unlit for work ; even the writing of a letter cost him a painful eftort, and he felt "as if to lie down and sleep were the only * On the doctors, who attended ; epitaph : — him in his first attack, mistaking i "Here lies George Wilson, the hjcmorrhage from the stomach Ov.rukeii by X.'in.-*is ; for h.-Bmorrhage from the lungs ho ^^-i/irof'H^rr "'" wrote : "It would have been but I poor consolation to have had as an -• ^Memoir,' \u 427. 214 Wilsons Love of Work and Duty. [Chap. VII. things worth doing." Yet shortly after, to help a Sundav-school, he wrote his * Five Gateways of Know- ledge,' as a lecture, and afterwards expanded it into a book. He also recovered strength sufficient to enable him to proceed with his lectures to the institutions to which he belonged, besides on various occasions under- taking to do other people's work. " I am looked upon as good as mad,'' he wrote to his brother, " because, on a hasty notice, I took a defaulting lecturer's place at the Philosophical Institution, and discoursed on the Polari- zation of Light. . . . But I like work : it is a family weakness." Then followed chronic malaise — sleepless nights, days of pain, and more spitting of blood. " My only painless moments," he says, "were when lecturing." In this state of prostration and disease, the indefatigable man undertook to write the ' Life of Edward Forbes '; and he did it, like everything he undertook, with admirable ability. He proceeded with his lectures as usual. To an association of teachers he delivered a discourse on the educational value of industrial science. After he had spoken to his audience for an hour, he left them to say whether he should go on or not, and they cheered him on to another half-hour's address. " It is curious," he wrote, " the feeling of having an audience, like clay in your hands, to mould for a season as you please. It is a terribly responsible power. . . . I do not mean for a moment to imply that I am indifferent to the good opinion of others — far otherwise ; but to gain this is much less a concern with me than to deserve it. It Mas not so once. I had no wish for unmerited praise, but I was too ready to settle that I did merit it. Now, the word Duty seems to me the bio:o^est word in the world, and is uppermost in all my serious doings." This was written onlv about four- months before his Chap. VII.] His Last Illness and Death. 215 death. A little later he wrote, " I spin my thread of life from week to week, rather than from year to year." Constant attacks of bleeding from the lungs sapped his little remaining strength, but did not altogether disable him from lecturing. He was amused by one of his friends proposing to put him under trustees for the pur- pose of looking after his health. But he would not be restrained from working, so long as a vestige of strength remained. One day, in the autumn of 1859, he returned from liis customary lecture in the University of Edinburgh with a severe pain in his side. He was scarcely able to crawl upstairs. Medical aid was sent for, and he was pronounced to be suffering from pleurisy and inflammation of tho lungs. His enfeebled frame was ill able to resist so severe a disease, and he sank peacefully to the rest ho so longed for, after a few days' illness : " Wrong not the dead with tears . A glorious bright to-morrow Eudeth a weary life of pain and sorrow." The life of George Wilson — so admirably and affec- tionately related by his sister — is probably one of the most marvellous records of pain and longsuffering, and yet of persistent, noble, and useful work, that is to be found in the whole history of literature. His entire career was indeed but a prolonged illustration of the lines which he himself addressed to his deceased friend, Dr. John Keid, a likeminded man, whose memoir he wrote : — " Thou wert a daily lesson . I 1 > I » \ \ Of courage, hope, and fiiith ; | , | I » 1 1 ., V 1 1 J We wondered at thee living, We envy thee thy dfath. " Thou wert so meek and revetnt,N 1 * »' 1 ^ S I I So resolute of will, j So bold to bear tlie uttcrmiost, - ■ ^ i | l.i W • "v 1 \ And yet so calm and still. ' < A J - 1 T ^ ' i^ -^ * ^^ 21 6 Temper. [Chap. VIII. CHAPTER VIII. Temper. " Temper is nine-tenths of Christianity."— j5Mop TTi'Zson. " Heaven is a temper, not a place." — Br. Chalmers. "And should my youth, as youth is apt, I know, Some harshness show ; All vain asperities 1 day by day Would wear away, Till the smooth temper of my age should be Like the high leaves upon the Holly Iree." — Sovthey. " Even Power itself hath not one-half the might of Gentleness." — Leigh Hunt. It has been said that men succeed in life quite as much by their temper as by their talents. However this may be, it is certain that their happiness in life depends mainly upon their equanimity of disposition, their patience and forbearance, and their kindness and thoughtful ness for those about them. It is really true what Plato says, that in seeking the good of others we find our own. There are some natures so happily constituted that tney can find good in everything. There is no calamity so gTeat but they can educe comfort or consolation from it — no sky so black but they can discover a gleam of sunshine issuing through it from some quarter or another ; and if the sun be not visible to their eyes, they at least comfort themselves with the thought that it is there, though veiled from them for some good and wise purpose. Such happy natures are to be envied. They have a beam in the eye — a beam of pleasure, gladness, religious Chap. VIII.] CJiecrf illness of N'aturc, 217 cheerfulness, philosophy, call it what you will. Sun- shine is about their hearts, and their mind ^ilds with its own hues all that it looks upon. When they have burdens to bear, they bear them cheerfully — not repin- ing, nor frettin«r, nor wasting their energies in useless lamentation, but struG^orlino; onward manfully, fratherin'^ up such flowers as lie along their path. Let it not for a moment be supposed that men such as those we speak of are weak and unreflective. The largest and most comprehensive natures are generally also the most cheerful, the most loving, the most hopeful, the most trustful. It is the wise man, of large vision, who is the quickest to discern the moral sunshine gleaming through the darkest cloud. In present evil he sees prospective good ; in pain, he recognises the efibrt of nature to restore health ; in trials, he finds correction and discipline ; and in sorrow and suffering, he gathers courage, knowdedge, and the best practical wisdom. When Jeremy Taylor had lost all — when his house had been plundered, and his family driven out-of- doors, and all his worldly estate had been sequestrated — he could still write thus : " I am fallen into the hands of publicans and sequestrators, and they have taken all from me ; what now ? Let me look about me. They have left me the sun and moon, a loving wife, and many friends to pity me, and some to relieve me ; and I can still discourse, and, unless I list, they have not taken away my merry countenance and my cheerful spirit, and a good conscience ; they have still left me the providence of God, and all the promises of the Gospel, and my religion, and my hopes of heaven, and my charity to them, too ; and still I sleep and digest, I eat and drink, I read and nmditate And he that hath so many causes of joy, and so great, is very much in love with sorrow and peevishness, who 21 8 Uses of Cheerfulness. [Chap. VIII. loves all these pleasures, and chooses to sit down upon ids little handful of thorns." ^ Although cheerfulness of disposition is very much a matter of inborn temperament, it is also capable of beincy trained and cultivated like any other habit. We may make the best of life, or we may make the worst of it ; and it depends very much upon ourselves whether we extract joy or misery from it. There are always two sides of life on which we can look, according as we choose— the bright side or the gloomy. We can bring the power of the will to bear in making the choice, and thus cultivate the habit of being happy or the reverse. We can encourage the disposition of looking at the brightest side of things, instead of the darkest. And while we see the cloud, let us not shut our eyes to the silver lining. The beam in the eye sheds brightness, beauty, and joy upon life in all its phases. It shines upon cold- ness, and warms it ; upon suffering, and comforts it ; upon ignorance, and enlightens it ; upon sorrow, and cheers it. The beam in the eye gives lustre to intel- lect, and brightens beauty itself. Without it the sun- shine of life is not felt, flowers bloom in vain, the marvels of heaven and earth are not seen or acknow- ledged, and creation is but a dreaiy, lifeless, soulless blank. While cheerfulness of disposition is a great source of enjoyment in life, it is also a great safeguard of cha- racter. A devotional writer of the present day, in answer to the question. How are we to overcome temp- tations? savs: "Cheerfulness is the first thins:, cheei-- fulness is the second, and cheerfulness is the third." It furnishes the best soil for the growth of goodness and Jeremy Taylor's ' Holy Living.' Chap. VI 1 1.] Cheerfulness a Tonic. 219 virtue. It gives brightness of heart and ehistioity of spirit. It is the companion of charity, tlie nurse of patience, the mother of wisdom. It is also the best of moral and mental tonics. "The best cordial of all," said Dr. Marshall Hall to one of his patients, " is cheer- fulness." And Solomon has said that " a merry heart dueth good like a medicine." When Luther was once applied to for a remedv against melancholy, his advice was: ''Gaiety an;iiirn(*e was that which befell Abauzit, the natural philosopher, while residing at Geneva ; resembling in many respects a similar calamity which occurred to Newton, and ^^ hii-h 224 Patience of Abaitzit, [Chap. vhi. he bore with equal resignation. Amongst other things, Abauzit devoted much study to the barometer and its variations, with the object of deducing the general laws which regulated atmospheric pressure. During twenty- seven years he made numerous observations daily, re- cording them on sheets prepared for the purpose. One day, when a new servant was installed in the house, she immediately proceeded to display her zeal by " putting things to-rights." Abauzit's study, amongst other rooms, was made tidy and set in order. When he entered it, he asked of the servant, "What have you done with the paper that was round the barometer ?" " Oh, sir," was the reply, " it was so dirty that I burnt it, and put in its place this paper, which you will see is quite new." Abauzit crossed his arms, and after some moments of internal struggle, he said, in a tone of calmness and resignation : " You have destroyed the results of twenty-seven years' labour ; in future touch nothing whatever in this room." The study of natural history, more than that of any other branch of science, seems to be accompanied by unusual cheerfulness and equanimity of temper on the part of its votaries ; the result of which is, that the life of naturalists is on the whole more prolonged than that of any other class of men of science. A member of the Linnaean Society has informed us that of fourteen members who died in 1870, two were over ninety, five were over eighty, and two were over seventy. The average age of all the members who died in that year was seventy-five. Adanson, the French botanist, was about seventy years old when the Revolution broke out, and amidst the shock he lost everything — his fortime, his places, and his gardens. But his patience, courage, and resignation never forsook him. He became reduced to the gi-eatest Chap. VIII.J Cheerful Workers, 225 straits, and even wanted food and clothing; yet liis ardour of investigation remained tlie same. Once, wlien the Institute invited him, as being one of its ohh'st members, to assist at a seance, his answer was that lie regretted he could not attend for want of shoes. " It was a touching sight," says Cuvier, " to see the poor old man, bent over the embers of a decaying fire, trvino- to trace characters with a feeble hand on the little* bit of paper which he held, forgetting all the pains of life in some new idea in natural history, which came to him like some beneficent fairy to cheer him in his loneliness." The Directory eventually gave him a small pension, which Napoleon doubled ; and at length, easeful death came to his relief in his seventy-ninth year. A clause in his will, as to the manner of his funeral, illustrates the character of the man. He directed that a garland of flowers, provided by fifty-eight families whom he had established in life, should be the only decoration of his coffin — a slight but touching image of the more durable monument wdiich he had erected for himself in his works. Such are only a few instances of the cheerful-working- ness of great men, which might, indeed, be multiplied to any extent. All large healthy natures are cheerful as well as hopeful. Their example is also contagious and diffusive, brightening and cheering all who come within reach of their influence. It was said of Sir John ]\IaJcolm, when he appeared in a saddened camj) in India, that " it was like a gleam of sunlight, ... no man left him without a smile on his face. He was * Boy Malcolm ' still. It was impossible to resist the fascination of his genial presence." ^ There was the same joyousness of nature about Edmund Burke. Once at a dinner at Sir Josliua k * Sir John Kaye's * Lives of luJiau Ofliccre.' Q 22 6 Basis of Cheerfulness. [Chap. VII I . Eeynolds's, when the conversation turned upon the suit- ability of liquors for particular temperaments, Johnson said, " Claret is for boys, port for men, and brandy for heroes." " Then," said Burke, *' let me have claret : I love to be a boy, and to have the careless gaiety of boyish days." And so it is,^ that there are old young men, and young old men — some who are as joyous and cheerful as boys in their old age, and others who are as morose and cheerless as saddened old men while still in their boyhood. In the presence of some priggish youths, we have heard a cheerful old man declare that, apparently, there would soon be nothing but " old boys " left. Cheerful- ness, being generous and genial, joyous and hearty, is never the characteristic of prigs. Goethe used to exclaim of goody-goody persons, " Oh ! if they had but the heart to commit an absurdity !" This was when he thought they wanted heartiness and nature. " Pretty dolls !" was his expression when speaking of them, and turnino' awav. The true basis of cheerfulness is love, hope, and patience. Love evokes love, and begets lovingkind- ness. Love cherishes hopeful and generous thoughts of others. It is charitable, gentle, and truthful. It is a discemer of e'ood. It turns to the brisfhtest side of thinofs, and its face is ever directed towards happiness. It sees *' the glory in the grass, the sunshine on the flower." It encourages happy thoughts, and lives in an atmosphere of cheerfulness. It costs nothing, and yet is invaluable ; for it blesses its possessor, and grows up in abundant happiness in the bosoms of others. Even its sorrows are linked with pleasures, and its very tears are sweet. Bentham lays it down as a principle, that a man becomes rich in his own stock of pleasures in proportion to the amount he distributes to others. His kindness Chap. VIII.] Beneficence and Be^ievolcnce, 227 will evoke kindness, and his happiness be increased bv liis own benevolence. *' Kind words," he savs, " cost no more than unkind ones. Kind words produce kind actions, not only on the part of him to whom thev are addressed, but on the part of him by whom they are employed ; and this not incidentally only, but habitually, in virtue of the principle of association." . . . *< Jt may indeed happen, that the eflbrt of beneficence may not benefit those for whom it was intended ; but when wisely directed, it must benefit the person from whom it emanates. Good and friendly conduct may meet Avith an unworthy and ungrateful return; but the absence of gratitude on the part of the receiver cannot destroy the self-approbation which recompenses the giver, and we may scatter the seeds of courtesy and kindliness around us at so little expense. Some of them will inevitably fall on good ground, and grow up into benevolence in the minds of others ; and all of them will bear fruit of happiness in the bosom whence they spring. Once blest are all the virtues always; twice blest sometimes."^ The poet Eogers used to tell a story of a little girl, a great favom-ite with every one ^ho knew her. Some one said to her, " Why does everybody love you so much?" She answered, "I think it is because I love everybody so much." This little story is capable of a very wide application ; for our happiness as human beings, generally speaking, will be found to be very much in proportion to the number of things we love, and the number of things that love us. And the greatest worldly success, however honestly achieved, will contribute comparatively little to hajipincss, unless it be accompanied by a lively benevolence towards every human being. b Deontology,' pp. 130-1, H4. Q 2 2 28 Power of Kindness. [Chap, vi i i. Kindness is indeed a great power in the world. Leigh Hunt has truly said that " Power itself hath not one half the might of gentleness." Men are always best governed through their affections. There is a French proverb which says that, " Le% liommes se p-eyment joar la douceur," and a coarser English one, to the effect that " More wasps are caught by honey than by vinegar." " Every act of kindness," says Bentham, " is in fact an exercise of power, and a stock of friendship laid up ; and why should not power exercise itself in the produc- tion of pleasure as of pain ? " Kindness does not consist in gifts, but ui gentleness and generosity of spirit. Men may give their money which comes from the purse, and withhold their kind- ness which comes from the heart. The kindness that dis- plays itself in giving money, does not amount to much, and often does quite as much harm as good ; but the kindness of true sympathy, of thoughtful help, is never without beneficent results. The good temper that displays itself in kindness must not be confounded with softness or silliness. In its best form, it is not a merely passive but an active condition of being. It is not by any means indifferent, but largely sympathetic. It does not characterise the lovrest and most gelatinous forms of human life, but those that are the most highly organized. True kindness cherishes and actively promotes all reasonable instru- mentalities for doing practical good in its own time ; and, looking into futurity, sees the same spirit working on for the eventual elevation and happiness of the race. It is the kindly-dispositioned men who are the active men of the w^orld, while the selfish and the sceptical, who have no love but for themselves, are its idlers. Buffon used to say, that he would give nothing for a young man who did not begin life with an enthusiasm Chap. VIII.] The Shallow ntss of Discontent, 229 of some sort. It showed that at least ho had faith in something good, lofty, and generous, even if unat- tainable. Egotism, scepticism, and selfishness are always miserable companions in life, and they are especially unnatural in youth. The egotist is next-door to a fanatic. Constantly occupied with self, he has no thought to spare for others. He refers to himself in all things, thinks of himself, and studies himself, until his own little self becomes his own little <2:od. Worst of all are the grumblers and growlers at fortune — who find that " whatever is is wrong," and will do nothing to set matters right — who declare all to be barren "^ from Dan even to Beersheba." These grumblers are invariably found the least efKcient helprrs in the school of life. As the worst workmen are usually the readiest to " strike," so the least industrious members of society are the readiest to complain. The worst wheel of all is the one that creaks. There is such a thing as the cherishing of discontent until the feeling becomes morbid. The jaundiced see everything about them yellow. The ill-conditioned think all things awry, and the whole world out-of-joint. All is vanity and vexation of spirit. The little girl in Punch, who found her doll stuffed with bran, and forth- with declared everything to be hollow and wanted to " go into a nunnery," had her counterpart in real life Many full-grown people are quite as morbidly unreason- able. There are those who may be said to '' <-'iijoy bad health ;" they regard it as a sort of property. They can speak of " my headache" — " my backache," and so forth, until in course of time it becomes their most cherish.'d possession. But perhaps it is the source to thuni of mui*h coveted sympathy, without which they might find them- selves of comparatively little importance in the world. 220 Querulousness, [Chap. VI I i. We have to be on our guard against small troubles, which, by encouraging, we are apt to magnify into great ones. Indeed, the chief source of worry in the world is not real but imaginary evil— small vexa- tions and trivial afflictions. In the presence of a great sorrow, all petty troubles disappear ; but we are too ready to take some cherished misery to our bosom, and to pet it there. Very often it is the child of our fancy ; and, foro-etful of the many means of happiness which lie within our reach, we indulge this spoilt child of ours until it masters us. We shut the door against cheerfulness, and surround ourselves with gloom. The habit gives a colouring to our life. We grow querulous, moody, and unsympathetic. Our conversation becomes full of re- grets. We are harsh in our judgment of others. We are unsociable, and think everybody else is so. We make our breast a storehouse of pain, which we inflict upon ourselves as well as upon others. This disposition is encouraged by selfishness : indeed, it is for the most part selfishness unmingled, without any admixture of sympathy or consideration for the feelings of those about us. It is simply wilfulness in the wrong direction. It is wilful, because it might be avoided. Let the necessitarians argue as they mav, freedom of will and action is the possession of every man and woman. It is sometimes our glory, and very often it is our shame : all depends upon the manner in which it is used. We can choose to look at the bright side of things, or at the dark. We can follow good and eschew evil thoughts. We can be wrong-headed and wronghearted, or the reverse, as we ourselves determine. The world will be to each one of us very much what we make it. The cheerful are its real possessors, for the world belongs to those who enjov it. It must, however, be admitted that there are cases Chap. VIII.] The Little Virtues. 231 beyond the reach of the moralist. Once, wlien a miser- able-looking dyspeptic called upon a leading physician and laid his case before him, " Oh ! " said the doctor, "you only want a good hearty laugh: go and see Grimaldi." '' Alas ! " said the miserable patient, " Jam Grimaldi ! " So, when Smollett, oppressed by disease, travelled over Europe in the hope of finding health, he saw everything through his own jaundiced eyes. "I'll tell it," said Smellfungus, "to the world." " You had better tell it," said Sterne, " to your physician." The restless, anxious, dissatisfied temper, tliat is ever ready to run and meet care half-way, is fatal to all happiness and peace of mind. How often do we see men and women set themselves about as if with stiff bristles, so that one dare scarcely approach them with- out fear of being pricked ! For want of a little occa- sional command over one's temper, an amount of misery is occasioned in society which is positively frightful. Thus enjoyment is turned into bitterness, and life becomes like a journey barefooted amongst thorns and briers and prickles. " Though sometimes small evils," says Eichard Sharp, " like invisible insects, inflict great pain, and a single hair may stop a vast machine, yet the chief secret of comfort lies in not suffering triiles to vex us ; and in prudently cultivating an undergrowth of small pleasures, since very few great ones, alas ! are let on long leases." ^ St. Francis de Sales treats the same topic from tlio Christian's point of view. " How carefully," he says, "we should cherish the little virtues which spring up at the foot of the Cross ! " When the saint was asked, " \Yhat virtues do you mean ? " ho replied : " lluniility, patience, meekness, benignity, bearing one another's 1 ' Letters aiul Esbftys,' p. 07. 232 Gentleness. [Chap. VIII. burden, condescension, softness of heart, cheerfulness, cordiality, compassion, forgiving injuries, simplicity, candour — all, in short, of that sort of Httle virtues. They, like unobtrusive violets, love the shade; like them are sustained by dew; and though, like them, they make little show, they shed a sweet odour on all around." ^ And again he said : " If you would fall into any extreme, let it be on the side of gentleness. The human mind is so constructed that it resists rigour, and yields to softness. A mild word quenches anger, as water quenches the rage of fire ; and by benignity any soil may be rendered fruitful. Truth, uttered with com-tesy, is heaping coals of fire on the head — or rather, throwing roses in the face. How can we resist a foe whose weapons are pearls and diamonds?"^ Meeting evils by anticipation is not the way to over- come them. If we perpetually carry our burdens about with us, they will soon bear us dov/n under their load. When evil comes, we must deal with it bravely and hopefully. What Perthes wrote to a young man, who seemed to him inclined to take trifles as well as sorrows too much to heart, was doubtless good advice : — " Go forward with hope and confidence. This is the advice given thee by an old man, who has had a full share of the burden and heat of life's day. We must ever stand upright, happen what may, and for this end we must cheerfully resign ourselves to the varied in- fluences of this many-coloured life. You may call this levity, and you are partly right ; for flowers and colours are but trifles light as air, but such levity is a con- stituent portion of our human nature, without which it would sink under the weight of time. While on earth ^ ' JBcauties of St. Francis de Sales.' '^ Ibid. Chap. VI II.] Cheerfidness and Hope. 2 2^ we must still play with earth, and with tliat wliidi blooms and fades upon its breast. The consciousness ot this mortal life being but the way to a higher goal, by no means precludes our playing with it clieerlullv ; and, indeed, we must do so, otherwise our energy "in action will entirely fail." ^ Cheerfulness also accompanies patience, which is one of the main conditions of happiness and success in life. "He that will be served," says George Herbert, "must be patient." It was said of the cheerful and patient King Alfred, that " good fortune accompanied him like a gift of God." IVlarlborough's expectant calmness was great, and a principal secret of his success as a generah " Patience will overcome all things," he wrote to Godol- pliin, in 1702. In the midst of a great emergency, while baffled and opposed by his allies, he said, " Hav- ing done all that is possible, we should submit witli patience." Last and chiefest of blessings is Hope, the most com- mon of possessions ; for, as Thales the philosopher said, " Even those who have nothing else have hope." Hope is the great helper of the poor. It has even been styled " the poor man's bread." It is also the sustainer and inspirer of great deeds. It is recorded of Alexander the Great, that when he succeeded to the throne of iMacedon, he gave away amongst his friends the greater part of the estates which his father had left hini ; and when Perdiccas asked him v/hat he reserved fur biniself, Alexander answered, "The greatest possession of all, —Hope ! " The pleasures of memory, however great, are stale compared with those of hope ; for hope is the parent of all effort and endeavour ; and '* every gift of noble origin ' ' Life of Perthes,' ii. 449. 234 Pleasitres of Hope. [Chap. VIII. is breathed upon by Hope's perpetual breath." It may be said to be the moral engine that moves the world, and keeps it in action ; and at the end of all there stands before us what Kobertson of Ellon styled " The Great Hope." " If it were not for Hope," said Byron, " where would the Future be?— in hell! It is useless to say where the Present is, for most of us know ; and as for the Past, i(;Acf^ predominates in memory ? — Hope baffled. £r^o, in all human affairs it is Hope, Hope, Hope *'^ i Moore's ' Life of Bjtoe,' 8vo. Ed., p. 483. Chap. IX.] Manner, ^35 CHAPTER IX. Manner — Art. ' We must be gentle, now we are gentlemen."— S^haJcspeare. " jManners are not idle, but tbe fruit Of noble nature and of loj-al mind."— Tennijson, "A beautiful behavioiir is better tban a beautiful form; it gives a higher pleasure than statues and pictures ; it is the finest of the fine arts."— i'»icr.v(/n. " Manners are often too much neglected ; they are most iniport;int to men. no less than to women . . Life Is too short to get over a bad maimer j be&idts, maimers are the shadows of virtues." — The L'ev. Sydney Smith. Mannek is one of the principal external graces of cha- racter. It is the ornament of action, and often makes the commonest offices beautiful by the way in which it performs them. It is a happy way of doing things, adorning even the smallest details of life, and contribute ing to render it, as a whole, agreeable and pleasant. Manner is not so frivolous or unimportant as §ome may think it to be ; for it tends greatly to facilitate the business of life, as well as to sweeten and soften social intercourse. " Virtue itself," says Bishop ]\Iiddleton, " offends, when coupled with a forbidding manner." Manner has a good deal to do with the estimation in which men are held by the world ; and it has olten more influence in the government of otliers than quali- ties of much greater depth and substance. A manner at once gracious and cordial is among the greatest aids to success, and many there are who fail for want of it.' * Locke thought it of greater importance that an educator of vouth should be well-bred and wcll-tomperod. than that he kIiojiM be citlior a tl.oroiitrli (•Ia.'sj?ioi.>«t or man of science. Writini; to Lord 2^6 Power of Marnier, [Chap. IX. For a great deal depends upon first impressions ; and these are usually favourable or otherwise according to a man's courteousness and civility. While rudeness and grufifness bar doors and shut hearts^ kindness and propriety of behaviour, in A^hich good manners consist, act as an " open sesame " every- where. Doors unbar before them, and they are a pass- port to the hearts of everybody, young and old. There is a common saying that " Manners make the man ;" but this is not so true as that " Man makes the manners." A man may be gruff, and even rude, and yet be good at heart and of sterling character ; yet he would doubtless be a much more agreeable, and probably a much more useful man, were he to exhibit that suavity of disposition and courtesy of manner which always gives a finish to the true gentleman. Mrs. Hutchinson, in the noble portraiture of her husband, to which we have already had occasion to refer, thus describes his manly courteousness and affability of disposition : — " I cannot say whether he were more truly magnanimous or less proud ; he never disdained the meanest person, nor flattered the greatest; lie had a loving and sweet courtesy to the poorest, and would often employ many spare hours with th» n- monest soldiers and poorest labourers ; but still so order- ing his familiarity, that it never raised them to a con- tempt, but entertained still at the same time a reverence and love of him." ^ A man's manner, to a certain extent, indicates his Peterborough as to his son's educa- general scheme of the sciences, I tion, Locke said : " Your Lordship think that enough. But I would would have your son's tutor a have him icell-bred and well-tem- thorough scholar, and I think it \pered." not much matter whether he be ^ Mrs. Hutchinson's ' Memoir of any scholar or no : if he but im- ' the Life of Lieut.-Colonel Hutchin- derstand Latin well, and havs a son,' p. 32. . Chap. I X.] Politeness — * ' Etiquette^ ' 23 7 character. It is the external exponent of his inner nature. It indicates his taste, his fcelinn^s, and his temper, as well as the society to which he lias hccii accustomed. There is a conventional manner, wliich is of comparatively little importance; but the natural manner, the outcome of natural gifts, improved bv careful self-culture, signifies a great deal. Grace of manner is inspired by sentiment, which is a source of no slight enjoyment to a cultivated mind. Viewed in this light, sentiment is of almost as much importance as talents and acquirements, while it is even more influential in giving the direction to a man's tastes and character. Sympathy is the golden key that unlocks the hearts of others. It not only teaches polite- ness and courtesy, but gives insight and unfolds wisdom, and may almost be regarded as the crowning gi-ace of humanity. Artificial rules of politeness are of very little use. What passes by the name of " Etiquette" is often of the essence of uupoliteness and untruthfulness. It consists in a great measure of posture-making, and is easily seen through. Even at best, etiquette is but a substitute for good manners, though it is often but their mere coun- tej^^^t. Good manners consist, for the most part, in courteous- ness and kindliness. Politeness has been described a.s the art of showing, by external signs, the internal regard we have for others. But one may be perfectly polite? to another without necessarily having a special regard for him. Good manners are neither more nor less than beautiful behaviour. It has been well said, that *' a beau- tiful form is better than a beautiful face, and a beautiful behaviour is better than a beautiful ibrm ; it gives a higher pleasure than statues or pictures — it is the finest of the fine arts." 238 True Courtesy. [Chap. ix. The truest politeness comes of sincerity. It must be the outcome of the heart, or it will make no lasting impression ; for no amount of polish can dispense with truthfulness. The natural character must be allowed to appear, freed of its angularities and asperities. Though politeness, in its best form, should (as St. Francis de Sales says) resemble water — " best when clearest, most simple, and without taste," — yet genius in a man will always cover many defects of manner, and much will be excused to the strong and the original. Without genuineness and individuality, human life would lose mucli of its interest and variety, as well as its manliness and robustness of character. True com'tesy is kind. It exhibits itself in tlie dispo- sition to contribute to the happiness of others, and in refraining from all that may annoy them. It is grateful as well as kind, and readily acknowledges kind actions. Curiously enough. Captain Speke found this quality of character recognised even by the natives of Uganda, on the shores of Lake JSTyanza,. in the heart of Africa, where, he says, " Ingratitude, or neglecting to thank a person for a benefit conferred, is punishable." True politeness especially exhibits itself in regard for the personality of otliers. A man will respect the individuality of another if he wishes to be respected himself. He will have due regard for his views and opinions, even though they differ from his own. The well-mannered man pays a compliment to another, and sometimes even secures his respect, by patiently listen- ing to him. He is simply tolerant and forbearant, and refrains from judging harshly ; and harsh judgments of others will almost invariably provoke harsh judgments of ourselves. The unpolite impulsive man will, however, some- times rather lose his friend than his joke. He may ^39 Chap. IX.] Self- Restraint. surely be pronounced a very foolish person wlio secures another's hatred at the price of a moment's p-ratiiicu- tion. It was a saying of Brunei the engineer — liimsclf one of the kindest-natured of men — that "s})ito and ill- nature are among the most expensive luxuries in life." Dr. Johnson once said : " Sir, a man has no more right to W.XJ an uncivil thing than to act one — no more riglit to say a rude thing to another than to knock ]iim down." A sensible polite person does not assume to be better or wiser or richer than his neighbour. He does not boast of his rank, or his birth, or liis country ; or look down upon others because they have not been born to like privileges with himself. He does not bnig of his achievements or of his calling, or " talk sho}) " when- ever he opens his mouth. On tlie contrary, in all that he says or does, he will be modest, unpretentious, unassum- ing ; exhibiting his true character in performing rather than in boasting, in doing rather than in talking. Want of respect for the feelings of others usually originates in selfishness, and issues in hardness and repulsiveness of manner. It may not proceed from malignity so much as from want of sympathy and want of delicacy — a want of that perception of, and attention to, those little and apparently trifling things by Mhich pleasure is given or pain occasioned to others. Indeed, it may be said that in self-sacrificingness, so to speak, in the ordinary intercourse of life, mainly consists the difference between being well and ill bred. Without some degree of self-restraint in society, a man may be found almost insufterable. No one has ] Measure in holding intercourse with such a person, and he is a constant source of annoyance to those about him. For want of self-restraint, many men are engaged all their lives in fighting with dilliculties of tlieir own making, and rendermg success impossible by their own 240 Practical Unpoliteness. [Chap. IX. crosso-raiiied ungentleness ; whilst others, it may be much less gifted, make their way and achieve success by simple patience, equanimity, and self-control. It has been said that men succeed in life quite as much by their temper as by their talents. However this may be, it is certain that their happiness depends mainly on their temperament, especially upon their disposition to be cheerful ; upon their complaisance, kindliness of manner, and willingness to oblige others — details of conduct which are like the small-change in the inter- course of life, and are always in request. Men mav show their disre2:ard of others in various unpolite ways — as, for instance, by neglect of propriety in dress, by the absence of cleanliness, or by indulging in repulsive habits. The slovenly dirty person, by rendering himself physically disagreeable, sets the tastes and feelings of others at defiance^ and is rude and uncivil only under another form. David Ancillon, a Huguenot preacher of singular attractiveness, who studied and composed his sermons with the greatest care, was accustomed to say *' that it was showing too little esteem for the public to take no pains in preparation, and that a man who should appear on a ceremonial -day in his nightcap and dress- ing-gOAvn, could not commit a greater breach of civility." The perfection of manner is ease — that it attracts no man's notice as such, but is natural and unaffected. Artifice is incompatible with courteous frankness of manner. Rochefoucauld has said that " nothins: so much prevents our being natural as the desire of appearing so." Thus we come round again to sincerity and truth- fulness, which find their outward expression in gracious- ness, urbanity, kindliness, and consideration for the feelmgs of others. The frank and cordial man sets Chap, ix.j Indications of Self -Respect 241 those about him at their ease. He warms and elevates them by his presence, and wins all hearts?. Tims manner, in its highest form, like character, becomes a genuine motive power. " The love and admiration," says Canon Kingsloy, "which that truly brave and loving man, Sir Sydney Smith, won from every one, rich and poor, with whom ho came in contact^ seems to have arisen from the one fact, that without, perhaps, having any such conscious in- tention, he treated rich and poor, his own servants and the noblemen his guests, alike, and alike courteously, considerately, cheerfully, affectionately — so leaving a blessing, and reaping a blessing, wherever he went." Good manners are usually supposed to be the peculiar characteristic of persons gently born and bred, and of persons moving in the higher rather than in tiie lower spheres of society. And this is no doubt to a gi-eat extent true, because of the more favourable surround- ings of the former in early life. But there is no reason wliy the poorest classes should not practise good manners towards each other as well as the richest. Men who toil with their hands, equally with those who do not, may respect themselves and respect one another ; and it is by their demeanour to each other — in other words, by their manners — that self-respect as well as mutual respect are indicated. There is scarcely a moment in their lives, the enjoyment of which might not be enhanced by kindliness of this sort — in the work- shop, in the street, or at home. The civil workman will exercise increased power amongst his class, and gradually induce them to imitate him by his persistent steadiness, civility, and kindness. Thus Benjamin Franklin, when a working-man, is said to have relurmed the habits of an entire workshop. One may be polite and gentle with very little raoucy I -242 Politeness of Foreigners. [Chap. IX. in his pui-se. Politeness goes far, yet costs nothing. It is the cheapest of all commodities. It is the humblest of the fine arts, yet it is so useful and so pleasure- giving, that it might almost be ranked amongst the humanities. Every nation may learn something of others ; and if there be one thing more than another that the English working-class might afford to copy with advantage from their Continental neighbours, it is their politeness. The French and Germans, of even the humblest classes, are gracious in manner, complaisant, cordial, and well-bred. The foreign workman lifts his cap and respectfully salutes his fellow-workman in passing. There is no sacrifice of manliness in this, but grace and dignity. Even the lowest poverty of the foreign workpeople is not misery, simply because it is cheerful. Though not receiving one-half the income which our working-classes do, they do not sink into wretchedness and drown their troubles in drink ; but contrive to make the best of life, and to enjoy it even amidst poverty. Good taste is a true economist. It may be practised on small means, and sweeten the lot of labour as well as of ease. It is all the more enjoyed, indeed, when associ- ated with industry and the performance of duty. Even the lot of poverty is elevated by taste. It exhibits itself in the economies of the household. It gives brightness and grace to the humblest dwelling. It produces refinement, it engenders goodwill, and creates an atmosphere of cheerfulness. Thus good taste, asso- ciated with kindliness, sympathy, and intelligence, may elevate and adorn even the lowliest lot. The first and best school of manners, as of character, is always the Home, where woman is the teacher. The manners of society at large are but the reflex of the manners of our collective homes, neither better nor Chap. IX.] Instinctive Tact of Women, 243 worse. Yet, with all the disadvantaf^es of uno-enial liomes, men may practise self-culture of manner as of intellect, and learn by good examples to cultivate a graceful and agreeable behaviour towards others. I\Iost men are like so many gems in the rough, which need polishing by contact Avith other and better natures, to bring out their full beauty and lustre. Some have but one side polished, sufficient only to show the delicate graining of the interior; but to bring out the full qualities of the gem needs the discipline of experience, aud contact with the best examples of character in tho intercourse of daily life. A good deal of the success of manner consists in tact ; and it is because women, on the whole, have greater tact than men, that they prove its most influential teachers. They have more self-restraint tlian men, and are naturally more gracious and polite. They possess an intuitive quickness and readiness of action, have a keener insight into character, and exhibit greater discrimination and address. In matters of social detail, aptness and dexterity come to them like nature ; and hence well-mannered men usually receive their best culture by mixing in the society of gentle aud adroit women. Tact is an intuitive art of manner, which carries one through a difficulty better than either talent or know- ledge. "Talent," says a public writer, *'is power: tact is skill. Talent is weight: tact is momentum. Talent knows what to do : tact knows how to do it. Talent makes a man respectable: tact makes him respected. Talent is wealth : tact is ready-money." The difference between a man of quick tact and of no tact whatever was exemplified in an interview which once took place between Lord ralmerston and Mr. Behnes, the sculptor. At the last sitting which 1; 2 244 Superficiality of Manner, [Chap. IX. Lord Palmeiston gave him, Behnes opened the con- versation with — " Any news, my Lord, from France ? How do we stand with Louis Napoleon ?" The Foreign Secretary raised his eyebrows for an instant, and quietly replied, *' Keally, Mr. Behnes, I don't know: I have not seen the newspapers !" Poor Behnes, with many excellent qualities and much real talent, was one of the many men who entirely missed their way in life tlirouii-li want of tact. Such is the power of manner, combined with tact, that Wilkes, one of the ugliest of men, used to say, that in winning the graces of a lady, there was not more than three days' diiference between him and the handsomest man in England. But this reference to Wilkes reminds us that too much importance must not be attached to manner, for it does not afford any genuine test of character. The well-mannered man may, like Wilkes, be merely acting a part, and that for an immoral purpose. ]\ranner, like other fine arts, gives pleasure, and is exceedingly agree- able to look upon ; but it may be assumed as a disguise, as men " assume a virtue though they have it not." It is but the exterior sign of good conduct, but may be no more than skin-deep. The most highly- polished person may be thoroughly depraved in heart ; and his superfine manners may, after all, only consist in pleasing gestures and in fine phrases. On the other hand, it must be acknowledged that some of the richest and most generous natures have been wanting in the graces of courtesy and politeness. As a rough rind sometimes covers the sweetest fruit, so a rough exterior often conceals a kindly and hearty nature. The blunt man may seem even rude in manner, and yet, at heart, be honest, kind, and gentle. John Knox and Martin Luther were by no means Chap. IX.] John Knox and Martin Lnihcr. 245 distinguislied for their urbanity. Tliey liad wi.rk to do wliicli needed strong and determined rather than well- mannered men. Indeed, they uere both tliouiiht to be unnecessarily harsh and violent in their maimer. *'And who art thou," said Mary Queen of Scots to Knox, "that presuniest to school the nobles and sovereign of this realm?" — "Madam," replied Knox, " a subject born within the same." It is said that his boldness, or roughness, more than once made Queen Mary weep. When Kegent Morton heard of this, he said, " Well, 'tis better that women should weep than bearded men." As Knox was retiring from the Queen's presence on one occasion, he overheard one of the royal attendants say to another, "He is not afraid!" Turninjr round upon them, he said : " And why should the pleasing face of a gentleman frighten me ? I have looked on the faces of angry men, and yet have not been afraid beyond measure." When the Eeformer, worn-out by excess of labour and anxiety, was at length laid to his rest, the Regent, looking down into the open gi-ave, exclaimed, in words which made a strong impression from their aptness and truth — "There lies he who never feared the face of man !" Luther also was thought by some to be a mere compound of violence and ruggedness. But, as in the case of Knox, the times in which he lived w^tc rude and violent ; and the work he had to do couhl scarcely have been accomplished with gentleness and suavity. To rouse Europe from its lethargy, he had to speak and to write with force, and even vehemence. Yet Luther's vehemence was only in words. His ajiparently rude exterior covered a warm heart. In ])rivate life he was gentle, loving, and affectionate. He was siinj)le and homely, even to commonness, iond of all common 246 JoJmsons Gruffness. [Chap. IX. pleasures and enjoyments, he was anything but an austere man, or a bigot ; for he was hearty, genial, and even " jolly." Luther was the common people's hero in his lifetime, and he remains so in Germany to this day. Samuel Johnson was rude and often gruff in manner. But he had been brought up in a rough school. Poverty in early life had made him acquainted with strange companions. He had wandered in the streets with Sava^^e for nio:hts tog^ether, unable between them to raise money enough to pay for a bed. AYhen his in- domitable courage and industry at length secured for him a footing in society, he still bore upon him the scars of his early sorrows and struggles. He was by nature strong and robust, and his experience made him unaccommodating and self-asserting. When he was once asked why he was not invited to dine out as Garrick was, he answered, *' Because great lords and ladies did not like to have their mouths stopped ;" and Johnson was a notorious mouth -stopper, though what he said was always worth listening to. Johnson's companions spoke of him as " Ursa Major ;" but, as Goldsmith generously said of him, " No man alive has a more tender heart ; he has nothing of the bear about him but his skin." The kindliness of Johnson's nature was shown on one occasion by the manner in which he assisted a supposed lady in crossing Fleet Street. He gave her his arm, and led her across, not observing that she was in liquor at the time. But the spirit of the act was not the less kind on that account. On the other hand, the conduct of the bookseller on whom Johnson once called to solicit employment, and who, regarding bis athletic but uncouth person, told him he had better "go buy a porter's knot and carry trunks," in howsoever bland tones the advice might have been communicated, was simply brutal. Chap. IX.] Shyness and Reserve. 247 While captiousness of maimer, and the liabit of (hs- puting and contradicting everything said, is chilling and repulsive, the opposite habit of assenting to, and sympathising with, every statement made, or emotion expressed, is almost equally disagreeable. It is un- manly, and is felt to be dishonest. " It may seem difficult," says Kichard Sharp, ''to steer always be- tween bluntness and plain-tlealing, between givin"- merited praise and lavisliing indiscriminate flatterv ; but it is very easy — good-humour, kindhoartedness, and perfect simplicity, being all that are requisite to do \\hat is right in the right way." ^ At the same time, many are unpolite — not because they mean to be so, but because they are awkward, and perhaps know no better. Thus, when Gibbon liad published the second and thii-d volumes of his 'Decline and Fall,' the Duke of Cumberland met him one day, and accosted him with, '* How do you do, 3[r. Gibbon ? I see you are always at it in the old way — scrihUej scribble, scribble r The Duke probably intended to pay the author a compliment, but did not know how better to do it, than in this blunt and apparently rude way. Again, many 23ersons are thought to be stiff, reserved, and proud, when they are only shy. Shyness is charac- teristic of most people of Teutonic race. It has been styled '* the English mania," but it pervades, to a greater or less degree, all the Northern nations. The ordinary Englishman, when he travels abroad, carries liis shy- ness with him. He is stiff, awkward, ungraceful, un- demonstrative, and apparently unsympatiietic ; an" the other stiff and reserved, and parting before tiieir mutual film of shyness had been removed by a little friendly intercourse. Before pronouncing a hasty judg- ment in such cases, it would be well to bear in mind the motto of Helvetius, which Bentham says proved such a real treasure to him : " Four aimer les liomines^ ilfaut attendre jpeuy We have thus far spoken of shyness as a defect. But there is another way of looking at it ; for even shyness has its bright side, and contains an element of good. Shy men and shy races are ungraceful and undemon- strative, because, as regards society at large, they are comparatively unsociable. They do not possess those elegances of manner, acquired by free intercourse, which distinguish the social races, because their ten- dency is to shun society rather than to seek it. They are shy in the presence of strangers, and shy even in their own families. They hide their affections under a robe of reserve, and when they do give way to their feelings, it is only in some very hidden inner-chamber. And yet the feelings are there, and not the less healthy and genuine that they are not made the subject of exhi- bition to others. It was not a little characteristic of the ancient Ger- mans, that the more social and demonstrative peoples by whom they were surrounded should have character- ised them as the Niemec, or Dumb men. And the same designation might equally apply to the modern his social gaucheries, and walked bhouldiTS. 'Gml nmy forgive miles and miles to get the twitch- , sins,' he said, 'hut awkuardnesB inixs out of his face, and the starts | lias no^ forgivenesa m heaven cr and shrugs out of his arms and | earth.' " 2^6 English Love of Home, [Chap IX. English, as compared, for example, with their nimbler, more coramnnicative and vocal, and in all respects more social neighbours, the modern French and Irish. But there is one characteristic which marks the English people, as it did the races from which they have mainly sprung, and that is their intense love of Home. Give the Englishman a home, and he is com- paratively indifferent to society. For the sake of a holding which he can call his own, he will cross the seas, plant himself on the prairie or amidst the primeval forest, and make for himself a home. The solitude of the wilderness has no fears for him ; the society of his wife and family is sufficient, and he cares for no other. Hence it is that the people of Germanic origin, from whom the English and Americans have alike sprung, make the best of colonizers, and are now rapidly extending themselves as emigrants and settlers in all parts of the habitable globe. The French have never made any progress as colonizers, mainly because of their intense social in- stincts — the secret of their graces of manner, — and because they can never forget that they are French- men.^ It seemed at one time within the limits of ^ In a series of clever articles devant lui la terre, I'instrument in the Bevue des deux Mondes, en- titled, ' Six mille Lieues a toute Yapeur,' giving a description of de travail, sinon inepuisable, du moins ine'puise, s'est mis a I'ex- ploiter sous I'inspiration de his travels in North America, j re'goisme ; et nous autres Fran- IMaurice Sand keenly observed the <;ais, nous n'avons rien su en faire, comparatively anti-social jtroclivi- parceque nous nepouvons rien dans ties of the American compared with I'isolement. . . . L'Americain sup- the Frenchman. The one, he says, j porte la solitude avec un stoicisme is inspired by the spirit of indi- admirable, mais effrayant ; il no viduality, the other by the spirit of I'aime pas, il ne songe qu'a la de'- society. In America he sees the truire. . . . Le Fran9ais est tout individual absorbing society ; as in autre. II aime son parent, son ami, France he sees society absorbing: son compagnon,etjusqu' a son voisin the individual. " Ce peuple Anglo- d'omnibus ou de theatre, si sa figure Sazon," he says, " qui trouvait lui est sympathetique. Pourquoi ? Chap. IX.] French Sociability. 25 7 probability that the French would occupy the greater part of the North American continent. From Low«.t Canada their line of forts extended up tlie St. Law- rence, and from Fond du Lac on Lake Superior, alon^ the Kiver St. Croix, all down the Mississippi, to its mouth at New Orleans. But the great, self-reliant, industrious "Niemec," from a fringe of settlements along the seacoast, silently extended westward, settling and planting themselves everywhere solidly upon the soil ; and nearly all that now remains of the original French occupation of America, is the French colony of Acadia, in Lower Canada. And even there we find one of the most strikinjr illustrations of that intense sociability of the Frcncii which keeps them together, and prevents their spread- ing over and planting themselves firmly in a new country, as it is the instinct of the men of Teutonic race to do. While, in Upper Canada, the colonists of Eng- lish and Scotch descent penetrate the forest and the wilderness, each settler living, it may be, miles apart from his nearest neighbour, the Lower Canadians of French descent continue clustered together in villages, usually consisting of a line of houses on either side of the road, behind which extend their long strips of farm- land, divided and subdivided to an extreme tenuity. They willingly submit to all the inconveniences of this method of farmin": for the sake of each other's society, rather than betake themselves to the solitary backwoods, Parce qu'il le regarde ot cbcrche unsocial )le Germans, Enpli.>*h, ati.l son ume, parcc qu'il vit dans son Americans, are sj.readiui: ov.>r semblable autant qu'en lui-mOme. the earth, while the iiiU-nMly Quand il est longtemps seul, il sociabl.Frenchnu-n.nnaMetn. njov de'perit, et quand il est toujoura life without ra<-li otlu-r's wjoi.iy, seul. It meurt." i prefer to stay at home, and \ nu.o« All this is perfectly true, and fails to extend iti>elf Ix-youa it explains why the comparatively France. 8 258 Shyness and Colo7iization, [Chap. ix. as English, Germans, and Americans so readily do. Indeed, not only does the American backwoodsman become accustomed to solitude, but he prefers it. And in the Western States, when settlers come too near him, and the country seems to become '^ overcrowded," he retreats before the advance of society, and, packing up his " things " in a waggon, he sets out cheerfully, with his wife and family, to found for himself a new home in the Far West. Thus the Teuton, because of his very shyness, is the true colonizer. English, Scotch, Germans, and Americans are alike ready to accept solitude, provided they can but establish a home and maintain a family. Thus their comparative indifference to society has tended to spread this race over the earth, to till and to subdue it ; while the intense social instincts of the French, though issuing in much greater gracefulness of manner, has stood in their Avay as colonizers; so that, in the countries in which they have planted themselves — as in Algiers and else- where — they have remained little more than garrisons.^ There are other qualities besides these, which grow out of the comparative unsociableness of the Englishman. His shyness throws him back upon himself, and renders him self-reliant and self-dependent. Society not being essential to his happiness, he takes refuge in reading, • The Irish have, in many res- work on 'The Irish in America,' pects, the same strong social in- " that it is not within the power stinets as the French. In the of language to describe adt:- United States they cluster naturally quately, much less to exaggerate, in the towns, where they have the evils consequent on the un- their " Irish Quarters," as in Eng- happy tendency of the Irish to land. They are even more Irish congregate in the large towns of there than at home, and can no America." It is this intense more forget that they are Irishmen socialism of the Irish that keeps than the French can that they are them in a comparatively hand-to- Frenchmeu.'' I deliberately assert," mouth condition in aU the States says Mr. Maguire, in his recent of the Union. Chap. IX.] Contrast of Nationalities. 259 in study, in invention ; or he finds pleasure in indus- trial work, and becomes tlie best of meclianics. He does not fear to entrust liimself to the solitude of the ocean, and he becomes a fisherman, a sailor, a discoverer. Since the early Northmen scoured the noithorn seas, discovered America, and sent their fleets alou"- the shores of Europe and up the JMediterrancan, the sea- manship of the men of Teutonic race has always been in the ascendant. The English are inartistic for the same reason that they are unsociable. They may make good colon lets, sailors, and mechanics; but they do not make good singers, dancers, actors, artistes, or modistes. They neither dress well, act well, speak well, nor write well. They want style — they want elegance. What they have to do they do in a straightforward manner, but without grace. This was strikingly exhibited at an International Cattle Exhibition held at Paris a few years ago. At the close of the Exhibition, the competitors came up witli the prize animals to receive the prizes. First came a gay and gallant Spaniard, a magnificent man, beautifully dressed, who received a prize of the lowest class with an air and attitude that would have become a grandee of the highest order. Then came Frenchmen and Italians, full of grace, politeness, and chic — themselves elegantly dressed, and their animals decorated to the horns with flowers and coloured ribbons harmoniously blended. And last of all came the exhibitor who was to receive the first prize — a slouching man, plainly dressed, with a pair of farmer's gaiters on, and without even a flower in his buttonhole. " Who is he ? " asked the spfotii- tors. *'' Why, he is the Englishman," was the reply. "The Englishman ! — that the representative of a great country ! " was the general exclamation. But it was s 2 26o Art Ctdture. ' [Chap, ix the Englishman all over. He was sent there, not to exhibit himself, but to show " the best beast," and he did it, carrying away the first prize. Yet he would have been nothing the worse for the flower in his buttonhole. To remedy this admitted defect of grace and want of artistic taste in tlie English people, a school has sprung up amongst us for the more general diffusion of fine art. The Beautiful has now its teachers and preachers, and by some it is almost regarded in the light of a religion. " The Beautiful is the Good"— *' The Beautiful is'" the Ti-ue " — " The Beautiful is the priest of the Benevolent," are among their texts. It is believed that by the study of art the tastes of the people may be improved ; that by contemplating objects of beauty their nature will become purified ; and that by being thereby with- drawn from sensual enjoyments, their character will be refined and elevated. But though such culture is calculated to be elevating and purifying in a certain degree, we must not expect too much from it. Grace is a sweetener and embel- lisher of life, and as such is worthy of cultivation. Music, painting, dancing, and the fine arts, are all sources of pleasure ; and though they may not be sen- sual, yet they are sensuous, and often nothing more. The cultivation of a taste for beauty of form or colour, of sound or attitude, has no necessary effect upon the cultivation of the mind or the development of the cha- racter. The contemplation of fine works of art w^ill doubtless improve the taste, and excite admiration; but a single noble action done in the sight of men will more influence the mind, and stimulate the character to imitation, than the sight of miles of statuary or acres of pictures. For it is mind, soul, and heart — not taste or art — that make men great. It is indeed doubtful whether the cultivation of art Chap. IX.] Art and National Decadence. 261 — which usually ministers to luxury — has done so much for human progress as is generally supposed. It is even possible that its too exclusive culture niav eflrmi- nate rather than strengthen the character, by laviii"- it more open to the temptations of the senses. " It is tlie nature of the imaginative temperament cultivated bv the arts," says Sir Henry Taylor, *' to undermine tlic courage, and, by abating strength of charac^ter, to render men more easily subservient — sequaces^ cereos, et ad manclata ductiles." ^ The gift of the artist greatly diflers from that of the thinker; his highest idea is to mould his subject — whether it be of painting, or music, or literature — into that perfect grace of form in which thought (it may not be of the deepest) finds its apo- theosis and immortality. Art has usually flourished most during the decadence of nations, when it has been hired by wealth as the minister of luxury. Exquisite art and degrading cor- ruption were contemporary in Greece as well as in Rome. Phidias and Iktinos had scarcely completed tlie Parthenon, when the glory of Athens had departed ; Phidias died in prison; and the Spartans set up in the city the memorials of their own triumph and of Athenian defeat. It was the same in ancient Rome, where art was at its greatest height when the people were in their most degraded condition. Nero was an artist, as well as Domitian, two of the greatest monsters of the Empire. If the " Beautiful " had been the " Good," Conimoilus must have been one of the best of men. Ihit according to history he was one of the worst. Again, the greatest period of modern Roman art was that in which Pop(^ Leo X. fiourish(;d, of whosu reign it has been said, that " profligacy and licentiousness 1 ( The Statesman,' p. 3d. 26 1 Paris and Rome. [chap. IX. prevailed amongst the people and clergy, as they had done almost uncontrolled ever smce the pontificate of Alexander A^I." In like manner, the period at which art reached its highest point in the Low Countries was that which immediately succeeded the destruction of civil and religious liberty, and the prostration of the national life under the despotism of Spain. If art could elevate a nation, and the contemplation of The Beautiful were calculated to make men The Good — then Paris ought to contain a population of the wisest and best of human beings. Rome also is a great city of art ; and yet there, the virtus or valour of the ancient Romans has characteristically degenerated into vertUy or a taste for knicknacks ; whilst, according to recent accounts, the city itself is inexpressibly foul.^ Art would sometimes even appear to have a close connection with dirt ; and it is said of ]Mr. Ruskin, that when searching for works of art in Venice, his attendant in his explorations would sniff an ill-odour, and when it was strong would say, " Now we are coming to something very old and fine!" — meaning in art.^ A little common ^ Nathaniel Hawthorne, in his neath its sublime arches, and * First Impressions of France and ornament them with cheap little Italy,' says his opinion of the un- coloui'ed prints of the Crucifixion ; cleanly character of the modern they hang tin hearts, and other Eomans is so unfavourable that he tinsel and trumpery, at the gor- hardly knows how to express it : geous shrines of the saints, in " But the fact is that through the chapels that are encrusted with Forum, and everywhere out of the gems, or marbles almost as pre- commonest foot-track and roadway, , cious ; they put pasteboard statues you must look well to your steps. ', of saints beneath the dome of the . . . Perhaps there is some- ; Pantheon ; — in short, they let the thing in the minds of the people sublime and the ridicidous come of these countries that enables close together, and are not in the them to dissever small ugliness , least troubled by the proximity. from great sublimity and beauty They spit upon tlie glorious pave- ment of St. Peter's, and wherever else they like ; they place paltry- looking wooden confessionals be- Edwin Chad wick's 'Address to the Economic Science and Statistic Section,' British Association Meet- ing, 1SG2). Chap. IX.] The Highest Culture. 263 education in cleanliness, where it is wanting, \\v,\\V\ j)n)- bably be much more improving, as well as wliolcsonio, than any amount of education in fine art. liufUes are all very well, but it is folly to cultivate them to the neglect of the shirt. Whilst, therefore, grace of manner, politeness of beha- viour, elegance of demeanour, and all the arts that contribute to make life pleasant and beautiful, are worthy of cultivation, it must not be at the expense of the more solid and enduring qualities of honesty, sin- cerity, and truthfulness. The fountain of beauty must be in the heart more than in the eye, and if art do not tend to produce beautiful life and noble practice, it will be of comparatively little avail. Politeness of manner is not worth much, unless accompanied by polite action. Grace may be but skin-deep — very pleasant and attrac- tive, and yet very heartless. Art is a source of innocent enjoyment, and an important aid to liigher culture ; but unless it leads to higher culture, it will probably be merely sensuous. And when art is merely sensuous, it is enfeebling: and demoralizing: rather than stren<2:theu- ing or elevating. Honest courage is of greater worth than any amount of grace ; purity is better than ele- gance ; and cleanliness of body, mind, and heart, than any amount of fine art. In fine, while the cultivation of the graces is not to be neglected, it should ever be held in mind that there is something far higher and nobler to be aimed at — greater than pleasure, greater than art, greater than wealth, greater than power, greater than iiitellect, greater than genius — and that is, purity and excellence of character. AVithout a solid sterling basis of individual gotxlness, all the grace, elegance, and art in the world would fail to save or to elevate a Dcople. a 64 Companionship of Books, [Chap. X. CHAPTER X. Companionship of Books. " Books, we know, Are a substantial world, both pure and good, Eound which, with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness can grow. " — Wordsxcorth. "Not only in the common speech of men, but in aU. art too — which is or should be the concentrated and conserved essence of what men can speak and show — Biography la almost the one thing needful."— Car?!/^. " I read aU biographies with intense Interest. Even a man without a heart, like (Cavendish, 1 think about, and read about, and dream about, and picture to myself in all l>os»ible ways, rill he grows into a living being beside me, and I put my feet into his shoes, and become for the time Cavendish, and think as he thought, and do as he did." — George li'tLcH. " My thoughts are with the dead ; with them I live in long-past years ; Their virtues love, their faults condemn ; Partake their hopes and fears ; And from their lessons seek and find Instruction w"ith a humble mind." — SouUvey. A MAN may usually be known by the books he reads, as ^Yell as by the company he keeps; for there is a companionship of books as well as of men ; and one should always live in the best company, whether it be cf books or of men. A good book may be among the best of friends. It is the same to-day that it always was, and it will never change. It is the most patient and cheerful of com- panions. It does not turn its back upon us in times of adversity or distress. It always receives us with the same kindness; amusing and instructing us in youth, and comfortino; and consolins^ us in a2:e. M.eix often discover their aflSnity to each other by the mutual love they have for a book — ^^just as two persons sometimes discover a friend by the admiration which Chap. X.] Companionship of Books, 2,65 both entertain for a third. Tliere is an ohl proverb, "Love me, love my dop:." But there is more wisdom in this: "Love me, love my book." Tlie book is a truer and higher bond of union. IMen can tliitdc, feel, and sympathise with each other throup^h tlu-ir favourite author. Tliey live in him together, and he in them. "Books," said Hazlitt, "wind into the heart; the poet's verse slides into the current of our blood. AA't» read them when young, we remember them wlien ohi. We read there of what has happened to others; we fed that it has happened to ourselves. They are to be had every wdiere cheap and good. "We breatlie but the air of books. We owe everything to their authors, on this side barbarism." A good book is often the best urn of a life, enslirini ug the best thoughts of which tliat life was capable ; for the world of a man's life is, for the most part, but the world of his thoughts. Thus the best books are treasuries of good words and golden thoughts, which, remembered and cherished, become our abiding companious and comforters. "They are never alone," said 8ir Diilip Sidney, "that are accompanied by noble thoughts." The good and true thought may in time of tempta- tion be as an angel of mercy purifying and guard- ing the soul. It also enshrines the germs of action, for good words almost invariably inspire to good works. Thus Sir Henry Lawrence prized above all other compositions Wordsworth*s * Character of the Happy Warrior,' which he endeavoured to embody in his own life. It was ever before him as an exemplar. lie thought of it continually, and often quoted it to others. His biographer says : ''He tried to conform his own life and°to assimilate his own cluiracter to it; and 266 Good Books the Best Society. [Chap. x. he succeeded, as all men succeed who are ti'uly in earnest." ^ Books possess an essence of immortality. They are by far the most lasting products of human effort. Temples crumble into ruin ; pictures and statues de- cay; but books survive. Time is of no account with great thoughts, w^hich are as fresh to-day as when they first passed through their authors' minds ages ago. What was then said and thought still speaks to us as vividly as ever from the printed page. The only effect of time has been to sift and winnow out the bad pro- ducts ; for nothing in literature can long survive but what is really good.^ Books introduce us into the best societv : thev bring us into the presence of the greatest minds that have ever lived. We hear what they said and did ; we see them as if they were really alive ; we are partici- pators in their thoughts; we sympathise with them, enjoy with them, grieve with them ; their experience becomes ours, and we feel as if we were in a measure actors with them in the scenes which they describe. The great and good do not die, even in this world. Embalmed in books their spirits walk abroad. The book is a living voice. It is an intellect to which ono still listens. Hence we ever remain under the infiiienco of the great men of old : " The dead but sceptred sovrans, who still rule Our spirits from their urns." ^ Kayo's 'Lives of Indian Officers.' , tical rules I have to oiFer are these : - Emerton, in his ' Society and \ — 1. Never read a book that is not Bolitude," says ;" In contemporaries, \ a year old; 2. Never read any but it is not so easy to distinguish be- , famed books ; 3. Never read any tween notoriety and fame. Be sure, ■ but what you like." Lord Lytton's then, to read no mean books. Shun maxim is : " In science, read by the spawn of the press or the gossip preference the newest books; in of the hour. . . . The three prac- j literature, the oldest." Chap. X.] Great Writers Immortal. 267 The imperial intellects of the world are as much alivo now as they were ages a.^-o. Homer still lives; and though his personal history is hidden in the mists of antiquity, his poems are as fresh to-day as if they had been newly written. Plato still teaches his trans- cendent philosopliy; Horace, Virgil, and Dante still sing as when they lived ; Shakspeare is not dead : liis body was buried in 1616, but his mind is as nmch alivo in England now, and his thought as far-reaching, as in the time of the Tudors. The humblest and poorest may enter tlie society of these great spirits without being thought intrusivt'. All who can read have got the entree. Would you lauo'h? — Cervantes or Eabelais will lauij:h with vou. Do you grieve ? — there is Thomas a Kempis or Jeremy Taylor to grieve with and console you. Always it is to books, and the spirits of great men embalmed in them, that we turn, for entertainment, for instruction and solace — in joy and in sorrow, as in pros})erity and in adversity. Man himself is, of all things in the world, the most interesting to man. AYhatever relates to human life — its experiences, its joys, its sufferings, and its achieve- ments — has usually attractions for him beyond all else. Each man is more or less interested in all other men as his fellow-creatures — as members of the great family of humankind ; and the larger a man's culture, the wider is the range of his sympathies in all that affects the welfare of his race. Men's interest in each other as individuals manifests itself in a thousand ways— in the portraits which they paint, in the busts which they carve, in the narratives which they relate of each other. " ^Fan," says Enirrson^, "can paint, or make, or think, nothing but Man." Most of all is this interest shown in the fascination 268 hiterest of Biography. [Chap. X. which personal history possesses for him. "Man's sociaHty of nature," says Carlyle, " evinces itself, in spite of all that can be said, with abundance of evi- dence, by this one fact, were there no other: the unspeakable delight he takes in Biography." Great, indeed, is the human interest felt in biography ! AYhat are all the novels that find such multitudes of readers, but so many fictitious biographies? "What are the dramas that peoj^le crowd to see, but so much acted biography ? Strange that the highest genius should be employed on the fictitious biography, and so much commonplace ability on the real ! Yet the authentic picture of any human being's life and experience ought to possess an interest greatly beyond that which is fictitious, inasmuch as it Jias the charm of reality. Every person may learn something from the recorded life of another ; and even comparatively trivial deeds and sayings may be invested with interest, as being the outcome of the lives of such beings as we ourselves are. The records of the lives of good men are especially useful. They influence our hearts, inspire us with hope, and set before us gi-eat examples. And when men have done their duty through life in a great spirit, their influence wiR never wholly pass awav. " The good life," says George Herbert, " is never out of season." Goethe has said that there is no ma,n so common- place that a wise man may not learn something from him. Sir Walter Scott could not travel in a coach without gleaning some information or discovering some new trait of character in his companions.-^ Dr. Johnson 1 A friend of Sir Walter Scott, who had the same habit, and prided liimself on his powers of conversa- tion, cue day tried to " draw out'" Chap. X.] Great Lesso7i of Biography, 269 once observed that there was not a person in the streets but he should like to know liis bioirrapliy — his ex- periences of life, his trials, liis diniculties, his succcssi-s, and his failures. How much more truly mifxht this !)<> said of the men who have made their mark in tlu,' world's history, and have created for us tliat great inheritance of civilization of which we are the ]ios- sessors ! Whatever relates to such men — to tlicir liabits, their manners, their modes of living, their personal history, their conversation, their maxims, their virtue's, or their greatness — is always full of interest, of insti-uc- tion, of encouragement, and of exami)le. The great lesson of Biography is to show wliat man can be and do at his best. A noble life put tairly on record acts like an inspiration to others. Jt exhibits what life is capable of being made. It refreshes our spirit, encourages our hopes, gives us new strength and courage and faith^ — faith in others as well as in our- selves. It stimulates our aspirations, rouses us to action, and incites us to become co-partners with them in their work. To live with such men in tlieir biographies, and to be inspired by their example, is to live with the best of men, and to mix in the best of company. At the head of all biographies stands the Grent Biography, the Book of Books. And wliat is tlie Bil»h', the most sacred and impressive of all books — the a fellow-passenger who sat beside , blasphemy, and philosopliy : is him ou the outside of a coach, but I there any on.- subject that you with inditlerent succlss. At length 1 will favour nu' by oiK-nmi; upon .-' the conversationalist desceniled to i The wiglit writh.-d luscountcnan'-o expostulation. " I have talked to I into a grin : " ^^ir." wii.l he. "can you, mv friend," said he, "on all ' yousay anythinirclev.r ftlHiut/K-;iy. the ordinary subjects— literature, leather f Asini-ht lK^ex|>eoti-.l. tl.o farming, merchandise, gaming, convcrsationaliat wod complfU'ly game-laws, horse-races, suits at , nonplubbod. law, politics, and swindling, audi I 270 Tlie Book of Books. [Chap. X educator of youth, the guide of manhood, and the con- soler of age — but a series of biographies of great heroes and patriarchs, prophets, kings, and judges, culminating in the greatest biography of all, the Life embodied in the Xew Testament ? How much have the great ex- amples there set forth done for mankind ! How many have drawn from them their truest strength, their highest wisdom, their best nurture and admonition! Truly does a great Roman Catholic writer describe the Bible as a book whose words " live in the ear like a music that can never be forgotten — like the sound of church-bells which the convert hardly knows how he can forego. Its felicities often seem to be almost things rather than mere words. It is part of the national mind, and the anchor of national seriousness. The memory of the dead passes into it. The potent traditions of childhood are stereotyped in its verses. The power of all the griefs and trials of man is hidden beneath its words. It is the representative of his best moments, and all that has been about him of soft, and gentle, and pure, and penitent, and good, speaks to him for ever out of his English Bible. It is his sacred thing, which doubt has never dimmed and controversy never soiled. In the length and breadth of the land there is not a Protestant with one spark of religiousness about him whose spiritual biography is not in his Saxon Bible." ^ ^ Coleridge, in his ' Lay Sermon,' of this book from the ^vorks which points out, as a fact of history, Low it is '.he fashion to quote as guides largo a part of our present know- and authorities in morals, politics, ledge and civilization is owing, and history. "In the Bible," he directly or indirectly, to the Bible ; says, " every agent appears and that the Bible has been the main acts as a self-substituting indi- lever by which the moral and in- vidual : each has a life of its own, tellectual character of Europe has and yet all are in life. The ele- l)een raised to its present compara- ments of necessity and freewill are live height; and lie specifies the reconciled in the higher power of mp^rktd and prominent dilFerence an omnipresent Providt-noe, that Chap. X.] History and Biography, 271 It would, indeed, be diflicult to ovorestimate the influence which the lives of the great and goud liave exercised upon the elevation of human character. "The best biography," says Isaac Disraeli, "is a re- union with human existence in its most excellent state." Indeed, it is impossible for one to read the lives of good men, much less inspired men, without being unconsciously lighted and lifted up in tliem, and grow- ing insensibly nearer to what they thought and did. And even the lives of humbler persons, of men of laitht'ul and honest spirit, who have done their duty in life well, are not without an elevating influence upon the cha- racter of those who come after them. History itself is best studied in biography. Indeed, history i% biography — collective humanity as influeucrd and governed by individual men. *' \Vhat is all history," says Emerson, " but the woik of ideas, a record of the incomparable energy which his infinite aspirations infuse into man ?'* In its pages it is always persons we see more than principles. Historical events are interesting to us mainly in connection with the feelings, the sufferings, and interests of those by whom they are accomplished. In history we are surrounded by men long dead, but whose speech and whose deeds survive. We almost catch the sound of their voices; and what they did constitutes the interest of history. We never feel personally interested in masses of men ; but we feel and sympatliise with the indiviilual actors, whose biographies afford the finest and most real touches in all great historical dramas. predestinates the whole in the ' God everywhere ; and all rn oturot moral freedom of the integral parts. \ conform to His dc>crec8 — the Of this the Bible never suffers us righteous hy performance of the to lose sight. The root ix never law, the disolx-du-ut l-y the auf- detached from the ground. It is ferancc of tlio penalty." 2 ^2 Pluta7''c/is ' Lives! [Chap. X. Among the great writers of the past, probably the two that have been most influential in forming the cha- racters of great men of action and great men of thou,2-ht, have been Pkitarch and Montaigne — the one by presenting heroic models for imitation, the other by probing questions of constant recurrence in which the human mind in all ages has taken the deepest interest. And the works of both are for the most part cast in a biographic form, their most striking illustrations con- sisting in the exhibitions of character and experience which they contain. Plutarch's * Lives/ though written nearly eighteen hundred years ago, like Homer's 'Ib'ad,' still holds its ground as the greatest work of its kind. It was the favourite book of Montaigne ; and to Englishmen it pos- sesses the special interest of having been Shakspeare's principal authority in his great classical dramas. Mon- taigne pronounced Plutarch to be " the greatest master in that kind of writing " — the biographic ; and he declared that he "could no sooner cast an eye upon him but he purloined either a leg or a wing." Alfieri was first drawn with passion to literature by readins: Plutarch. '*' I read," said he, " the lives of Timoleon, Caesar, Brutus, Pelopidas, more than six times, with cries, with tears, and with such transports, that I was almost furious . . . Every time that I met with one of the grand traits of these great men, I was seized with such vehement agitation as to be unable to sit still." Plutarch was also a favourite with persons of such various minds as Schiller and Benjamin Franklin, Napoleon and Madame Pioland. The latter was so fosciuated by the book that she carried it to church with her in the guise of a missal, and read it surreptitiously during the service. It has also been the nurture of heroic souls such as Chap. X.] Injl2iencc of Plutarch. ^73 Henry IV. of FniDce, Tureniie, and the Napiors. It was one of Sir AA'illiam Napier's fr.vonrito hooks wli.n a boy. His mind was early imbued by it witli a i)as- sionate admiration for the great heroes of antiouitv; and its influence had, doubtless, much to do with tljo formation of his character, as well as the direction of his career in life. It is rehitcd of him, that in his last illness, when feeble and exhausted, his mind wandered back to Plutarch's heroes ; and he descanted for hours to his son-in-law on the mighty deeds of Alexander, Hannibal, and Cassar. Indeed, if it were possible to poll the great body of readers in all ages whose minds have been influenced and directed by books, it is probable that — excepting always the Bible — tlie immense majority of votes would be cast in favour of Plutarch. And how is it that Plutarcli has succeeded in exciting an interest which continues to attract and rivet tlie attention of readers of all ages and classes to this day '? In the first place, because the subject of his work is great men, who occupied a prominent place in the world's history, and because he had an eye to see and a pen to describe the more prominent events and circumstances in their lives. And not only so, but he possessed the power of portraying the individual character of his heroes; for it is the principle of individuality which gives the charm and interest to all biograj)hy. The most engaging side of great men is not so much what they do as what they are, and does not depend ujion their power of intellect but on their personal attractiveness. Thus, there are men whose lives are far more eloquent than their speeches, and whose personal character is Tar greater than their deeds. It is also to be observed, that \\hilt' the best and most carefully-drawn of I'lutarch's ]H)rtraits are of life-size, many of them are little more than bu.st^. T 2^4 Genius of Phitarch. [Chap. X. They are well-proportioned but compact, and within such reasouable compass that the best of them — such as the lives of Caesar and Alexander — may be read in half an hour. Eeduced to this measure, they are, however, greatly more imposing than a lifeless Colossus, or an exaggerated giant. They are not overlaid by disquisi- tion and description, but the characters naturally un- fold themselves. Montaigne, indeed, complained of Plutarch's brevity. " No doubt," he added, " but his reputation is the better for it, though in the meantime we are the worse. Plutarch would rather we should applaud his judgment than commend his knowledge, and had rather leave us with an appetite to read more than glutted with what we have already read. He knew very well that a man may say too much even on the best subjects . . . Such as have lean and spare bodies stuff themselves out with clothes ; so they who are defective in matter, endeavour to make amends with words." ^ Plutarch possessed the art of delineating the more delicate features of mind and minute peculiarities of con- duct, as well as the foibles and defects of his heroes, all of which is necessary to faithful and accurate portraiture. *' To see him," says Montaigne, " pick out a light action in a man's life, or a word, that does not seem to be of any importance, is itself a whole discourse." He even condescends to inform us of such homely particulars as that Alexander carried his head affectedly on one ^ide; that Alcibiades was a dandy, and had a lisp, which became him, giving a grace and persuasive turn to his discourse ; that Cato had red hair and gray eyes, ■and was a usurer and a screw, sellins: off his old slaves * IMontaigne's Essay (Book I. chap, xxv.) — ' Of the Education of Childi'fu. Chap. X.] PlutarcJis Art, 275 when they became unfit for hard work ; that Crosar was bald and fond of gay dress; and that Cifcro (like Lord Brougham) had involuntary twitchings of his nose. Such minute particulars may by some be thought beneath the dignity of biography, but Plutarch thought them requisite for the due finish of the coin[)lete por- trait which he set himself to draw ; and it is by small details of character — personal traits, I'eatures, habits, and characteristics — that we are enabled to see before us the men as. they really lived. Plutarch's great merit consists in his attention to these little things, without giving them undue preponderance, or neglect- ing those which are of greater moment. Sometimes he hits off an individual trait by an anecdote, which throws more light upon the character described than jtages of rhetorical description would do. In some cases, he gives us the favourite maxim of his hero ; and the maxims of men often reveal their hearts. Then, as to foibles, the greatest of men are not- usually symmetrical. Each has his defect, his twist, his craze ; and it is by his faults that the great man reveals his common humanity. We may, at a distance, admire him as a demigod ; but as we come nearer to him, we find that he is but a fallible man, and our brother.-^ Nor are the illustrations of the defects of great mm without their uses; for, as Dr. Johnson observed, '* If nothino- but the bright side of characters were sliown, we should sit down in despondency, and think it utttrly impossible to imitate them in anything." Plutarch, himself, justifies his method of portraiture 1 " Tant -il est vrai," says Vol- taire, " que les homines qui sunt audcssns des autres par les talents, s'en rapjjrochtnf preiu be not swallowed up in books," he would say to them ; " an ounce of love is worth a pound of knowledge." Wesley's own Life has been a great favourite with many thoughtful readers. Coleridge says, in his preface ' It is not a little remarkable I end ; the universe his only anh ur on^' " In hollow cube | i.mi, ■» Training his deviilib engln'ry, luipal'd , about .MilloU. fore he hud learned uiixthn.;: u 2 101 Books the Inspirers of Youth. [Chap. x. judging by the marks of use on them, they must have been much read and often consulted. While books are among the best companions of old age, tliey are often the best inspirers of youth. The first book that makes a deep impression on a young man*s mind, often constitutes an epoch in his life. It may fire the heart, stimulate the enthusiasm, and by directing his efforts into unexpected channels, perma- nently influence his character. The new book, in which we form an intimacy with a new friend, whose mind is wiser and riper than our own, may thus form an impor- tant starting-point in the history of a life. It may some- times almost be regarded in the light of a new birth. From the day when James Edward Smith was pre- sented with his first botanical lesson-book, and Sir Joseph Banks fell in with G-erard's ^ Herbal ' — from the time when Alfieri first read Plutarch, and Schiller made his first acquaintance with Shakspeare, and Gibbon devoured the first volume of * The Universal History ' — each dated an insj)iration so exalted, that they felt as if their real lives had only then begnin. In the earlier part of his youth, La Fontaine was distinguished for his idleness, but hearing an ode by Malherbe read, he is said to have exclaimed, "I too am a poet," and his genius was awakened. Charles Bossuet's mind was first fired to studv by reading^, at an early age, Fontenelle*s 'Eloges' of men of science. Another work of Fontenelle's — ' On the Plurality of Worlds' — influenced the mind of Lalande in makincj choice of a profession. " It is with pleasure," says Lalande himself, in a preface to the book, which he afterwards edited, " that I acknowledge my obligation to it for that devouring activity which its perusal first excited in me at the age of sixteen, and which I have since retained." Chap. X.] Books the Awakeners of Genius, 293 lu like maimer, Lacepede was directed to tlie study of natural history by the perusal of Bufion's ' liistoiro Naturelle,' which he found in his fatlier's library, and read over and over again until he almost knew it by heart. Goethe was greatly influenced by tlie readiuft of Goldsmith's 'Yicar of Wakefield,' just at the critical moment of his mental development; and he attributed to it much of his best education. The reading of a prose 'Life of Gotz von Berlichingen' afterwards sti- mulated him to delineate his character in a poetic form. " The figure of a rude, well-meaning self-lielper," he said, " in a wild anarchic time, excited my deepest sympathy." Keats was an insatiable reader when a boy ; but it was the perusal of the ' Faerie Queen,* at the age of seventeen, that first lit the fire of his genius. The same poem is also said to have been the inspirer of Cowley, who found a copy of it accidentally lying on the window of his mother's apartment ; and reading and admiring it, he became, as he relates, irrecoverably a poet. Coleridge speaks of the great influence which the poems of Bowles had in forming his own mind. T1m3 works of a past age, says he, seem to a young man to be things of another race ; but the writings of a con- temporary "possess a reality for him, and insj)ire an actual friendship as of a man for a man. J I is very admiration is the wind which f\ins and feeds bis li()j><>. The poems themselves assume the properties of flesh and blood." 1 But men have not merely been stimulated to under- take special literary pursuits by the ])eru doubt tiiat tliey give the highest formers purili.-d KurojK'. It di*- finish to intellectual culture. Tlic tiuguislad the gr<-at patriots of the ancient classics contain the most seventeenth century ; and it haa consummate models of literary art; ] ever since chara^teriw-il our (jniit- and the greatest writexfl have been cst statesmen. " 1 know not how il agS Books Nccessa7des of Life, [Chap. X. Erasmus, the great scholar, was even of opinion that books were the necessaries of life, and clothes the luxuries ; and he frequently postponed buying the latter until he had supplied himself with the former. His greatest favourites were the works of Cicero, which he says he always felt himself the better for reading. " I can never," he says, " read the works of Cicero on ' Old Age,' or ' Friendship,' or his * Tusculan Disputations,' without fervently pressing them to my lips, without being penetrated with veneration for a mind little short of inspired by Cod himself." It was the accidental perusal of Cicero's * Hortensius ' which first detached St. Augustine — until then a profligate and abandoned sensualist — from his immoral life, and started him upon the course of inquiry and study which led to his becoming the greatest among the Fathers of the Early Church. Sir William Jones made it a practice to read through, once a year, the writings of Cicero, " whose life indeed," says his biographer, *' was the great exemplar of his own." When the good old Puritan Baxter came to enu- merate the valuable and delightful things of which death would deprive him, his mind reverted to the pleasures he had derived from books and study. " When I die," he said, " I must depart, not only from sensual delights, but from the more manly pleasures of my studies, knowledge, and converse with many wise and godly men, and from all my pleasure in reading, hearing, public and private exercises of religion, and is," says an English writer, " but in general. They are like persons their commerce with the ancients who have had a weighty and im- appears to me to produce, in those ' pressive experience ; they are more who constantly practise it, a steady- truly than others under the empire ing and composing effect upon of facts, and more independent of their judgment, not of literary \ the language current among those works only, hut of men and events ; with whom they live." Chap. X.] Moral Influence of Books. 297 such like. I must leave my library, and turn over those pleasant books no more. I must no more come among the living, nor see the laces of my faithful friends, nor be seen of man; houses, anJ cities, and fields, and countries, gardens, and \valks, ^vill be as nothing to me. I shall no more hear of tlie afluii-s of the world, of man, or wars, or other news ; nor see what becomes of that beloved interest of wisdom, piety, and peace, which I desire may prosper." It is unnecessary to speak of the enormous moral influence which books have exorcised upon the general civilization of mankind, from the Bible downwards. They contain the treasured knowledge of the human race. They are the record of all labours, achieve- ments, speculations, successes, and lailures, in science, philosophy, religion, and morals. They have been the greatest motive powers in all times. " From the G<)sjx.4 to the Contrat Social," says De Bonald, " it is books that have made revolutions." Indeed, a great book is often a greater thing than a great battle. Even works of fiction have occasionally exercised immense power on society. Thus Kabelais in France, and Cervantes in Spain, overturned at the same time the dominion of monkery and chivalry, employing no other weajtons but ridicule, the natural contrast of human terror. The people laughed, and felt reassured. So 'Telemachus' appeared, and recalled men back to the harmonies of nature. " Poets," says Hazlitt, " are a longer-lived race than heroes: they breathe more of the air of immortality. They survive more entire in their tlioughts and aaint Aufftutine — ' IX Civitate Dei.' " Who can find a virtuous woman ? for her price is fur above nibies . . . !!• " " 1 is known in the gates, imd he sitteth among the elders of ilie land . . . Sf honour are her clothing, and she shall rejoice in time 10 come. She of>eneth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the kw of kindness. She looketh well to liie w.iys Df her husband, and eateth not the bread of Idh ness. Her children arise up and uiU her blessed ; her husband also, and he praiseth her." — Proierbi 0/ ^oUmwii. The character of men, as of women, is powerfully induenced by their companionship in all tlie sta^^es of life. We have already spoken of the influence of the mother in forming the character of her children. 8ho makes the moral atmosphere in which thoy live, and iby which their minds and souls are nourislied, as their bodies are by the physical atmosphere they breathe. And while woman is the natural cherisher of infancy and the instructor of chihlhood, she is also tlw n:uido and counsellor of youth, and the confidant and com- panion of manhood, in her various relations of mother, sister, lover, and wife. In short, the influence of woman more or less affects, for good or for evil, the entire destinies of man. The respective social functions and duties of men and women are clearly defined by nature. Gon, to comfort the suffering. It was cliaracteristic of woman, that she should have been the first to buihl and endow an hospital. It has been said that wlicrever a hmmui being is in suffering, his sighs call a woman to his side. When Mungo Park, lonely, friendless, and faniislied, after being driven forth from an African village by the men, was preparing to spend the night umlcr a tree, exposed to the rain and the wild beasts which there abounded, a poor negro woman, returaing from the labours of the field, took compassion upon him, conducted him into her hut, and there gave him food, succour, and shelter.-^ But while the most characteristic qualities of woman are displayed througli her sympathies and affections, it is also necessary for her own happinoss, as a self-depen- dent being, to dev elope and strengthen her character, * Mungo Park declared that he . joining in a chorus. The air woa was more atiected by this incident sweet and plaintive, antl the word*, than by any other that beftl him in literally translated, were th«\«H; : the course of his travels. Ashe lay j ' The winds roar»'enefactress calkd to the female I tree. He has no mcthi-r to hrinjc part of the family to resume their : him milk, no wife to prin«i hi« task of spinning cotton, in which ; corn.' Chorus— ' I x-t ua pity Iho tliey continued employed far into the night. " They ligi.tened their labour with songs," says the tra- veller, " one of which was com- posed extempore, for I was myself highest degree. I wiu» w) the subject of it; it wns sung by by such unexiK.-ct its name. '*Love," it has been said, "'in the cominon acceptation of the term, is folly ; but love, in its purity, its loftiness, its unselfishness, is not only a consequence, but a proof, of our moral excellence. The sensibility to moral beautv, the foro^etfulness of self in the admiration engendered by it, all prove its claim to a high moral influence. It is the triumph of the unselfish over the selfish part of our nature." It is by means of this divine passion that the world is kept ever fresh and young. It is the perpetual melody of humanity. It sheds an effulgence u})oii youth, and throws a halo round age. It glorifies the present by the light it casts backward, and it lightens the future by the beams it casts forward. The love which is the outcome of esteem and admiration, has an elevating and purifying effect on the character. It tends to emancipate one from the slavery of self. It is 306 Love a7i Inspirer. [Chap. XI. altogether unsordid; itself is its only price. It inspires gentleness, sympathy, mutual faith, and confidence. True love also in a measure elevates the intellect. "All love renders wise in a degree," says the poet Browning, and the most gifted minds have been the sincerest lovers. Great souls make all affections great; they elevate and consecrate all true delights. The sentiment even brings to light qualities before lying dormant and unsuspected. It elevates the aspirations, expands the soul, and stimulates the mental powers. One of the finest compliments ever paid to a woman was that of Steele, when he said of Lady Elizabeth Hastings, "that to have loved her was a liberal education.'* Viewed in this light, \^oman is an educator in the highest sense, because, above all other educators, she educates humanly and lovingly. It has been said that no man and no woman can be regarded as complete in their experience of life, until they have been subdued into union with the world through their affections. As woman is not woman until she has known love, neither is man man. Both are requisite to each other's completeness. Plato enter- tained the idea that lovers each sought a likeness in the other, and that love was only the divorced half of the original human being entering into union with its. counterpart. But philosophy would here seem to be at fault, for affection quite as often springs from unlikeness as from likeness in its object. The true union must needs be one of mind as well as of heart, and based on mutual esteem as well as mutual affection. " No true and enduring love," says Fichte, " can exist wdthout esteem ; every other draws regret after it, and is unworthy of any noble human soul." One cannot really love the bad, but always some- thing that we esteem and respect as well as admire. In Chap. XL] Love a Purifier. 307 short, true union must rest on qualities of character, which rule in domestic as in public life. But there is something far more than mere respect and esteem in the union between man and wife. The feeling on which it rests is far deeper and tenderer — such, indeed, as never exists between men or between w^omen. " In matters of affection," says Nathaniel Haw- thorne, *' there is always an impassable gulf between man and man. They can never quite grasp each other's hands, and therefore man never derives any intimate help, any heart-sustenance, from his brother man, but from woman — his mother, his sister, or his wife." ^ Man enters a new world of joy, and sympathy, and human interest, through the porch of love. He enters a new world in his home — the home of his own making — altogether different from the home of his boyhood, where each day brings with it a succession of new joys and experiences. He enters also, it may be, a new world of trials and sorrows, in which he often gathers his best culture and discipline. " Family life," says Sainte-Beuve, *'may be full of thorns and cares; but they are fruitful: all others are dry thorns." And again : " If a man's home, at a certain period of life, does not contain children, it will probably be found filled with follies or with vices." ^ A life exclusively occupied in affairs of business insensibly tends to narrow and harden the character. It is mainly occupied with self — watcliing for advan- tages, and guarding against sharp practice on the part of others. Thus the character unconsciously tends to grow suspicious and ungenerous. The best corrective • ' Transformation, or Monte r>onf. * * Portraits Conteuiporaius,' iii. 519. X 2 3o8 Man in the Home. [Chap. XL of such influences is always the domestic; by ^Yith■> drawini^ the mind from thoughts that are wholly gainful, by taking it out of its daily rut, and bringing it back to the sanctuary of home for refreshment and rest: '• That truest, rarest light of social joy, Which gleams upon the man of many cares." " Business," says Sir Henry Taylor, '' does but lay waste the approaches to the heart, whilst marriage garrisons the fortress." And however the head may be occupied, by labours of ambition or of business — if the heart be not occupied by affection for others and sym- pathy with them — life, though it may appear to the outer world to be a success, will probably be no success at all, but a failure.^ A man's real character will always be more visible in his household than anywhere else; and his practical wisdom will be better exhibited by the manner in which he bears rule there, than even in the larger affairs of business or public life. His whole mind may be in his business ; but, if he would be happy, his whole heart must be in his home. It is there that his genuine qualities most surely display themselves — there that he shows his truthfulness, his love, his sympathy, his con- 1 Mr. Arthm- Helps, in one of his deeds — I contend that that man Essays, has wisely said " You ob- has not been successful. Wliatever serve a man becoming day by day good fortune he may have in the richer, or advancing in station, or in- world, it is to be remembered that creasing in professional reputation, he has always left one important and you set him down as a successful fortress untaken behind him. That man in life. But if his home is man"s life does not surely read well an ill-regulated one, where no links whose benevolence has found no of art'ection extend throughout the central home. It may have sent lamily — whose former domestics forth rays in various directions, (iiiul he has had more of them but there should have been a warm than he can well remember, look focus of love — that home-nest which' buck upon their sojourn with him is formed round a good mans oa one unblcbsed by kind words or heart."— CZaiww of Labour. Chap. XI.] A Christian Household. 309 sideration for others, his uprightness, his manh'ness in a word, his character. If affection be not the "-overnin'' principle in a household, domestic lile niav be tlio most intolerable of despotisms. Without justice, also there can be neither love, confidence, nor res|)ect, on which all true domestic rule is founded. Erasmus speaks of Sir Thomas More's home as " a school and exercise of the Christian religion." "No wrangling, no angry word was heard in it ; no one was idle ; every one did his duty with alacrity, and not without a temperate cheerfulness." Sir Thomas won all hearts to obedience by his gentleness. He was a man clothed in household goodness; and he ruled so gently and wisely, that his home was pervaded by an atmosphere of love and duty. He himself spoke of the hourly interchange of the smaller acts of kindness with the several members of his family, as having a claim upon his time as strong as those other public occupations of his life which seemed to others so much more serious and important. But the man whose affections are quickened by home-life, does not confine his sympathies within that comparatively narrow sphere. His love enlarges in the family, and through the family it expands into the world. " Love," says Emerson, " is a fire that, kindling its first embers in the narrow nook of a private bosom, caught from a wandering spark out of another private heart, glows and enlarges until it warms and beams upon multitudes of men and women, upon the universal heart of all, and so lights up the whole world and nature with its generous flames." It is by the regimen of domestic affection that the heart of man is best composed and regulated. The home is the woman's kingdom, her state, lu*r worhl — where she governs by affection, by kindness, by the 3IO TJie Woman'' s Kingdom. [Chap. XI. power of gentleness. There is notliing wliich so settles the turbulence of a man's nature as his union in life with a highminded woman. There he finds rest, contentment, and happiness — rest of brain and peace of spirit. He will also often find in her his best counsellor, for her instinctive tact will usually lead him right when liis own unaided reason might be apt to go wrong. The true wife is a staff to lean upon in times of trial and difficulty ; and she is never wanting in sympathy and solace when distress occurs or fortune frowns. In the time of youth, she is a comfort and an ornament of man's life; and she remains a faithful helpmate in maturer years, when life has ceased to be an anticipa- tion, and we live in its realities. What a happy man must Edmund Burke have been, when he could say of his home, *' Every care vanishes the moment I enter under my own roof ! " And Luther, a man full of human affection, speaking of his wife, said, " I would not exchange my poverty with her for all the riches of Croesus without her." Of marrias-e he observed : *•' The utmost blessins' that God can confer on a man is the possession of a good and pious wife, with whom he may live in peace and tranquillity — to whom he may confide his whole possessions, even his life and welfare." And again he said, " To rise betimes, and to marry young, are what no man ever repents of doing." For a man to enjoy true repose and happiness in mar- riage, he must have in his wife a soul-mate as well as a helpmate. But it is not requisite that she should be merely a pale copy of himself. A man no more desires in his wife a manly woman, than the woman desires in her husband a womanly man. A woman's best qualities do not reside in her intellect, but in her affections. She gives refreshment by her sympathies, rather than by her knowledge. " The brain- women/' says Oliver Wendell Chap. XL] Brain-women and Heari-zuomoi. 'x 1 1 Holmes, " never interest us like the heart-women." ^ Men are often so wearied with themselves, that they are rather predisposed to admire qualities and tastes in others different from their own. ''If I were suddenly asked," says Mr. Helps, " to give a proof of the good- ness of God to us, I think I should say that it is most manifest in the exquisite difference He has made be- tween the souls of men and women, so as to create the possibility of the most comforting and charming com- panionship that the mind of man can imagine." ^ But though no man may love a woman for her under- standing, it is not the less necessary for her to cultivate it on that account.^ There may be difference in character, but there must be harmony of mind and sentiment — two intelligent souls as well as two loving hearts : " Two heads in council, two beside the hearth, Two in the tangled business of the world, Two in the liberal othces of life."' There are few men who have written so wisely on the subject of marriage as Sir Henry Taylor. What he * " The red heart sends all its I * ' The War and General Cul- instincts up to the white brain, to ture,' 1871. be analysed, chilled, blanched, and ^ " Depend upon it, men set more so becoiue pure reason — which is value on the cultivated minds than just exactly what we do not want | on tlie accom[)liahments of women, of women as women. The current shoulel run the other way. 'i'he nice, calm, cold thought, which, in women, shapes itself so rapidly that they hardly know it as thought, should always travel to which tliey are rarely able to ap- preciate. It is a common error, but it is an error, that literature unfits women for tiie everyday business of life. It is not so with men. \ou see those of the most the lips via the heart. It does so I cultivated mauls constantly devot- in those women whom all love and I ing their time and attention to the admire The brain- \ mo&t homi'ly objects. Literature women never interest us like tlie '■ gives women a real and proper heart-women ; white roses please ; weight in socii'ty, hut then they le.>s than red." — The Fro/e.^sor even the finest landscape, seen daily, becomes monotonous, so does the most beautiful face, unless a beautiful nature shines through it. The beauty of to-day becomes commonplace to-morrow ; whereas goodness, displayed through the most ordinary features, is perennially lovely. Moreover, this kind of beauty improves with age, and time ripens rather than destroys it. After the first year, married people rarely think of each other's features, and whether they be classically beautiful or otherwise. But they never fail to be cog- nisant of each other's temper. " When I see a man," says Addison, " with a sour rivelled face, I cannot for- bear pitying his wife ; and when I meet with an open ingenuous countenance, I think of the happiness of his friends, liis fainily, and his relations." Chap. XI.] Moral Influe7ice of the Wife, 315 We have given the views of the poet Burns aa to the qualities necessary in a good wife. Let us add the advice given by Lord Burleigh to his son, embodying the experience of a wise statesman and practised man of the world. ''When it shall please God," said he, " to bring thee to man's estate, use great providence and circumspection in choosing thy wife ; for from thence will spring all thy future good or evil. And it is an action of thy life, like unto a stratagem of war, wherein a man can err but once. . . . Enquire diligently of her disposition, and how her parents have been inclined in their youth.^ Let her not be poor, how generous (well-born) soever ; for a man can buy nothing in the market wdth gentility. Nor choose a base and uncomely creature altogether for wealth ; for it will cause con- tempt in others, and loathing in thee. Neither make choice of a dwarf, or a fool ; for by the one thou shalt beget a race of pigmies, while the other will be thy continual disgrace, and it will yirke (irk) thee to hear her talk. For thou shalt find it to thy great grief, that there is nothing more fulsome (disgusting) than a she- fool." A man's moral character is, necessarily, powerfully influenced by his wife. A lower nature will drag him down, as a higher will lift him up. The former will deaden his sympathies, dissipate his energies, and distort his life ; while the latter, by satisfying his affec- tions, will strengthen his moral nature, and by giving him repose, tend to energise his intellect. Not only so, but a woman of high principles will insensibly elevate the aims and purposes of her husband, as one of low principles will unconsciously degrade them. Do ' Fuller, the Church historian, with his usual homely mother-wit, speaking of the choice of a wife, said briefly, " Take the dauc:htor of u irood mother." 3i6 De Tocqtu'ville on Marriage. [Chap. xi. Tocqueville was profoundly impressed by this truth. He entertained the opinion that man could have no such mainstay in life as the companionship of a wife of good temper and high principle. He says that in the course of his life, he had seen even weak men display real public virtue, because they had by their side a woman of noble character, who sustained them in their career, and exercised a fortifying influence on their views of public duty ; whilst, on the contrary, he had still oftener seen men of great and generous instincts transformed into vulgar self-seekers, by contact with women of narrow natures, devoted to an imbecile love of pleasure, and from whose minds the grand motive of Duty was altogether absent. De Tocqueville himself had the good fortune to be blessed with an admirable wife •} and in his letters to his intimate friends, he spoke most gratefully of the comfort and support he derived from her sustaining courage, her equanimity of temper, and her nobility of character. The more, indeed, that De Tocqueville saw of the world and of practical life, the more convinced he became of the necessity of healthy domestic conditions for a man's growth in virtue and goodness.^ Especially did he regard marriage as of inestimable importance in regard to a man's true happiness ; and he was accus- tomed to speak of his own as the wisest action of his life. " Many external circumstances of happiness," he said, " have been granted to me. But more than all, I have to thank Heaven for having bestowed on me true ^ She was an Englishwoman — a j ^ " Plus je roule dans ce monde, Miss Motley. It may be mentioned ' et plus je suis amene' a penser that amongst other distinguished qu'il n'y a que le bonheur domes- Frenchmen who have married tique qui signifie quelque chose." — English wives, were Sismondi, j CEuvres et Correspondence. Alfred de Vigny, and Lamartine. I Chap. XL] De Tocqueville s Wife. 3 1 7 domestic happiness, the first of liunian blessiiij^^s. As 1 grow older, the portion of my life which in my youth I used to look down upon, every day becomes more im- portant in my eyes, and would now easily console me for the loss of all the rest." And agfain, writing' to his bosom-friend, De Kergorlay, he said: "Of all the blessings which God has given to me, the greatest of all in my eyes is to have lighted on Marie. You can- not imagine what she is in great trials. Usually so gentle, she then becomes strong and energetic. She watches me without my knowing it; she softens, calms, and strengthens me in difficulties which disturb me, but leave her serene." ^ In another letter he says : " I can- not describe to you tlie happiness yielded in the lonn^ run by the habitual society of a woman in wliese soul all that is good in your own is reflected naturally, and even improved. When I say or do a thing wliich seems to me to be perfectly right, I read imme'liately in IMarie's countenance an expression of proud satisfaction which elevates me. And so, when my conscience re- ]U'oaches me, her face instantly clouds over. Althougli I have great power over her mind, 1 see with pleasure that she awes me ; and so long as I love her as I do now, I am sure that I shall never allow myself to be drawn into anything that is wrong." In the retired life which De Tocqueville led as a literary man — political life being closed against him by the inflexible independence of his character — his healtli failed, and he became ill, irritable, and querulous. While proceeding with his last work, ' L'Ancien K^gime et la Ftevolution,' he wrote: "After sitting at my desk for five or six hours, I can write no longer ; the machine refuses to act. I am in great want of rest, and of a ' De Tocqueville's ' Jlemoir and Kcmaina,' vol, i. \\ 108. 3i8 Gidzofs Courtship. [Chap. XI. long rest. If you add all the perplexities that besiege an author towards the end of his work, you will be able to imagine a very wretched life. I could not go on with my task if it were not for the refreshing calm of Marie's companionship. It would be impossible to find a disposition forming a happier contrast to my own. In my perpetual irritability of body and mind, she is a providential resource that never fails me." ^ M. Guizot was, in like manner, sustained and encou- raged, amidst his many vicissitudes and disappointments, by his noble wife. If he was treated with harshness by his political enemies, his consolation was in the tender affection which filled his home with sunshine. Though his public life was bracing and stimulating, he felt, nevertheless, that it was cold and calculating, and neither filled the soul nor elevated the character. " Man longs for a happiness," he says in his *Memoires,' " more complete and more tender than that which all the labours and triumphs of active exertion and public importance can bestow. "What I know to-day, at the end of my race, I have felt when it began, and during its continuance. Even in the midst of great under- takings, domestic affections form the basis of life ; and the most brilliant career has only superficial and in- complete enjoyments, if a stranger to the happy ties of family and friendship." The circumstances connected with M. Guizot 's court- ship and marriage are curious and interesting. While a young man living by his pen in Paris, writing books, reviews, and translations, he formed a casual acquaint- ance with Mademoiselle Pauline de Meulan, a lady of great ability, then editor of the Fuhliciste. A severe domestic calamity having befallen her, she fell ill, and De Tocqueville'd ' Memoir and Eemains," vol. ii. p. 48. Chap. XI.] Guizof s Married Life. 319 was unable for a time to carry on tlie heavy literarv work connected with her journal. At this juncture \\ letter without any signature readied her one dav, oflV'r- ing a supply of articles, whicli the writer hopi'd would be wortliy the reputation of the Puhlieiste. The articles duly arrived, were accepted, and publislied. 'Hwy dealt with a great variety of subjects — art, literature, theatri- cals, and general criticism. When the editor at length recovered from her illness, the writer of the articles dis- closed himself : it was M. Guizot. An intimacy sprang up between them, which ri[)ened into mutual afioction, and before long Mademoiselle de Meulan became his wife. From tliat time forward, she shared in all her hus- band's joys and sorrows, as well as in many of his labours. Before they became united, he asked her if she thouo^ht she should ever become dismaved at the vicissitudes of his destiny, which he then saw looming before him. She replied that he might assure himself that she would always passionately enjoy his triumphs, but never heave a sigh over his defeats. When jM. Guizot became first minister of Louis Philippe, she wrote to a friend : " I now see my husband much less than I desire, but still I see him. ... If God spares us to each other, I shall always be, in the midst of every trial and apprehension, the happiest of beings." Little more than six months after these words were written, the devoted wife was laid in her grave ; and her sorrow- ing husband was left thenceforth to tread the journey of life alone. Burke was especially happy in his union with ]\[isH Nugent, a beautiful, afl>^ctionate, and highmind(jects are removed out of their view which may with their remem- brance renew the grief; and in time these remedies succeed, and oblivion's curtain is by degrees drawn over the dead face; and things less lovely are liked, while they are not viewed together with that which was most excellent. But I, that am under a command not to Y 2 22 Portrait of Colonel Jltttchinson^ [Chap. XL grieve at the common rate of desolate women/ while I am studying which way to moderate my woe, and it it were possible to augment my love, I can for the present find out none more just to your dear father, nor con- solatory to myself, than the preservation of his memory, which I need not gild with such flattering commenda- tions as hired preachers do equally give to the truly and titularly honourable. A naked undressed narra- tive, speaking the simple truth of him, will deck him with more substantial glory, than all the panegyrics the best pens could ever consecrate to the virtues of the best men." The following is the wife's portrait of Colonel Hutchinson as a husband : — *' For conjugal affection to his wife, it was such in him as whosoever would draw out a rule of honour, kindness, and religion, to be practised in that estate, need no more but exactly draw out his example. Never man had a greater passion for a woman, nor a more honourable esteem of a wife ; yet he was not uxorious, nor remitted he that just rule which it was her honour to obey, but managed the reins of government with such prudence and affection, that she who could not delight in such an honourable and advantageable subjection, must have wanted a reasonable soul. * Colonel HutchinBon was an The vrife petitioned for leave to nncompromising i-epublican, the- share his prison, but was refused, roughly brave, highmiuded, and AMien he felt himself dying, know- pious. At the Kestoration, he was ing the deep sorrow which his discharged from Parliament, and death would occasion to his wife, from all offices of state for ever, he left this message, which was He retired tt. his estate at Owthorp, conveyed to her : " Let her, as she near Nottingham, but was shortly is above other women, show her- aftcr arrested and imprisoned in self on this occasion a good Chris- the Tower. From thence he was re- tian. and above the pitch of ordi- movedtoSandownCastle,nearDeal. . nary women." Hence the wife's where he lay for eleven months, allusion to her husbands "com- nnd died on September 11th, 1664. mand" in the above passage. Chap. XL] Lady Rachel Russell, 323 "He governed by persuasion, which he never em- ployed but to things honourable and prolitable to her- self; he loved her soul and her honour more llian lier outside, and yet he had ever for lior person a constant indulgence, exceeding the common temporary passii^n of the most uxorious fools. If he esteemed her at a higher rate than she in herself could have deserved, ho was the author of that virtue he doated on, while slio only reflected his own glories upon him. 2VII that she was, was liim, while he was here, and all that she is now, at best, is but his pale shade. " So liberal was he to her, and of so generous a temper, that he hated the mention of severed purses, his estate being so much at her disposal that he never would receive an account of anything she expended. So constant was he in his love, that when she ceased to be young and lovely he began to show most fondness. He loved her at such a kind and generous rate as words cannot express. Yet even this, which was tlie liighest love he or any man could have, was bounded by a superior : he loved her in the Lord as his fellow- creature, not his idol ; but in such a manner as showed that an affection, founded on the just rules of duty, far exceeds every way all the irregular passions in the world. He loved God above her, and all the other dear pledges of his heart, and for his glory cheerfully resigned them." ^ Lady Eachel Eussell is another of the women of history celebrated for her devotion and faithfulness as a wife. She laboured and pleaded for her husband's release so long as she could do so with honour; but when she saw that all was in vain, she collected her ' Mrs. Lucy Hutchinson to her cLJldi'en couccrniuir thier father : 'Memoirs of the Life of Col. Hut- chinson' Cliohn'tt Ed.), pp. *2i)-S0. Y 2 324 Moral Influence of a Wife. [Chap. XI. courage, and strove by her example to strengthen the resolution of her dear lord. And when his last hour had nearly come, and his wife and children waited to receive his parting embrace, she, brave to the end, that she might not add to his distress, concealed tlie agony of her grief under a seeming composure; and they parted, after a tender adieu, in silence. After she had gone. Lord William said, " Now the bitterness of death is passed ! " ^ We have spoken of the influence of a wife upon a man's character. There are few men strong enough to resist the influence of a lower character in a wife. If she do not sustain and elevate what is highest in his nature, she will speedily reduce him to her own level. Thus a wife may be the making or the unmaking of the best of men. An illustration of this power is furnished in the life of Bunyan. The profligate tinker had the good fortune to marry, in early life, a worthy young woman of good parentage. " My mercy," he himself says, " was to light upon a wife whose father and mother were accounted godly. This woman and I, tliough we came together as poor as poor might be (not having so much household stuff as a dish or a spoon betwixt us both), yet she had for her part, * The * On the Declaration of Ameri- can ludependeuce, the first John Adams, after ^yards President of the United States, bought a copy of the ' Life and Letters of Lady Russell,' and presented it to his wife, " with an express intent and desire " (as stated by himself)." that she should consider it a mirror in which to contemplate herself; for, at that time, I thought it extremely l)robal)le, from the daring and tlangcrous career I was determined to run, that she would one day find herself in the situation of I>ady Russell, her husband witli- out a head.'' Speaking of his wife in connection with the fact, ]Mr. Adams added : " Like Lady Russell, she never, by word or look, discoiu-aged me from running all hazards for the salvation of my country's liberties. She was will- ing to share with me, and that her chddren should share with us both, in all the dangerous consequences we had to hazard." Chap. XI.] B liny an and Baxter, 325 Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven,' and ' The Practice of Piety,' which her father had left her when he died.'* And by reading these and other good books, helped by the kindly influence of his wife, Bunyan was gnidually reclaimed from his evil ways, and led gently into the paths of peace. Eichard Baxter, the Nonconformist divine, was far advanced in life before he met the excellent woman who eventually became his wife. He was too laboriously occupied in his vocation of minister to have any time to spare for courtship ; and his marriage was, as in the case of Calvin, as much a matter of convenience as of love. Miss Charlton, the lady of his choice, was the owner of property in her own right ; but lest it should be thought that Baxter married her for "covetous- ness," he requested, lirst, that she should give over to her relatives the principal part of her fortune, and that '* he should have nothing that before her marriage was hers;" secondly, that she should so arrange her affairs *' as that he might be entangled in no lawsuits ;" and, thirdly, "that she should expect none of the time that his ministerial work might require." These several conditions the bride having complied with, the marriage took place, and proved a happy one. " We lived," said Baxter, " in inviolated love and mutual complacency, sensible of the benefit of mutual help, nearly nineteen years." Yet the life of Baxter was one of great trials and troubles, arising from the unsettled state of the times in which he lived. He was hunted about from one part of the country to another, and lor several years he had no settled dwelling-idace. '' The women," he gently remarks in his * Life,' " have most of that s(U-t of trouble, but my wife easily bore it all." In the sixth year of his marriage Baxter was brought before the magistrates at Brentford, fur holding a conventicle at ^26 Cotint Zinzendorf, [Chap. XI. Acton, and was sentenced by them to be confined in Clerkenwell Gaol. There he was joined by his wife, who affectionately nursed him during his imprisonment. "She was never so cheerful a companion to me," he says, "as in prison, and was very much against me seeking to be released." At length he was set at liberty by the judges of the Court of Common Pleas, to whom he had appealed against the sentence of the magistrates, xlt the death of Mrs. Baxter, after a very troubled yet happy and cheerful life, her husband left a touching portrait of the graces, virtues, and Christian character of this excellent woman — one of the most charming things to be found in his works. The noble Count Zinzendorf was united to an equally noble woman, who bore him up through life by her great spirit, and sustained him in all his labours by her unfailing courage. " Twenty-four years' experience has shown me," he said, " that just the helpmate whom I have is the only one that could suit my vocation. Who else could have so carried through my family affairs? — who lived so spotlessly before the world? Who so wisely aided me in my rejection of a dry morality ? Who would, like she, without a murmur, have seen her husband encounter such dangers by land and sea ? — who undertaken with him, and sus- tained, such astonishing pilgrimages? Who, amid such ditficulties, could have held up her head and supported me ? . . . . And finally, who, of all human beings, could so well understand and interpret to others my inner and outer being as this one, of such nobleness in her way of thinking, such great intellectual capacity, and free from the theological perplexities that so often enveloped me?" One of the brave Dr. Livingstone's greatest trials during his travels in South Africa was the death of his Chap. XL] Livmgstone and Romilly. 327 affectionate wife, who had shared his dangers, and accompanied him in so many of his wanderinrrs. In communicating the intelligence of her decease at Shupanga, on the Eiver Zambesi, to his friend Sir Roderick Murchison, Dr. Livingstone said : " I must con- fess that this heavy stroke quite takes the heart out of me. Everything else that has happened only made me more determined to overcome all difficulties ; but after this sad stroke I feel crushed and void of strenpo- this inliuence, without douht, wliich sition sustained and refreshed him, saved him from utter ab-orpti(»n and never more so than when, in his world of rare, nohk-. and during the la>t twelve years of his elevated, but ever-incrt-asingly un- lit'e, his bodily strength was broken, attainable ideas. Hut for it, the and his spirit, though languid, yet .-^ereue sea of abstract thought ceased not from mental toil. The might have held him bccaliiifd for truth is, that Sir William's mar- life; ami in the at-si-nceof all utter- riage, his eomparativcly limited ance of detinit*; knowledge of hiB circumstonces, and the character conclusions, the world n»ight have of his wife, supplied to a nature been left to an ignorant and iuvh- that would have been contented to terious wonder about the uuproiit- bpend its mighty energies in work : able scholar." 334 Prof . Faraday s Married Life. [Chap. XL inspirer, and in part the author, of all that is best in my writings — the friend and wife, whose exalted sense of truth and ri2:ht was mv strono^est incitement, and whose approbation was my chief reward, I dedicate this volume." Not less touching is the testimony borne by another great living writer to the character of liis wife, in the inscrijDtion upon the tombstone of Mrs. Carlyle in Haddington Churchyard, where are inscribed these words : — '• In her bright existence, she had more sorrows than are common, but also a soft amiability, a capacity of discernment, and a noble loyalty of heart, which are rare. For forty years she was the true and lo^dng helpmate of her husband, and by act and word unweariedly forwarded him as none else could, in all of worthy that he did or attempted." The married life of Faraday was eminently happy. In his wife he found, at the same time, a true help- mate and sonl-mate. She supported, cheered, and strengthened him on his way through life, giving him "the clear contentment of a heart at ease." In his diary he speaks of his marriage as " a source of honour and happiness far exceeding all the rest." After twenty- eight years' experience, he spoke of it as " an event which, more than any other, had contributed to his earthly happiness and healthy state of mind. . . . The union (said he) has in nowise changed, except only in the depth and strength of its character." And for six- and-forty years did the union continue unbroken ; the love of the old man remaining as fresh, as earnest, as heart-whole, as in the days of his impetuous youth. In this case, marriage was as — " A golden chain let do-^vn from heaven. "Whose links are bright and even ; That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines The soft and sweetest minds In equal knots." Chap, XI.] Woman as a Coiisola'. 335 Besides being a helper, -woman is empliaticallv a consoler. Her sympathy is nnfailing. (She suothos, cheers, and comforts. Never was this more true than in the case of the wife of Tom Hood, whose ti-ndej* devotion to him, during a life that was a prolonged illness, is one of the most affecting things in biography. A woman of excellent good sense, she appreciated her husband's genius, and, by encouragement and sympatliv, cheered and heartened him to renewed efibrt in many a weary struggle for life. She created about him an atmosphere of liope and cheerfulness, and nowhere did the sunshine of her love seem so bright as when ligliting up the couch of her invalid husband. Nor was he unconscious of her worth. In one of his letters to her, when absent from his side. Hood said : " I never was anything. Dearest, till I knew you ; and I have been a better, happier, and more prosperous man ever since. Lay by that truth in lavender, Sweetest, and remind me of it when I fail. I am writing warmly and fondly, but not without good cause. First, your own affectionate letter, lately received ; next, the remembrance of our dear children, pledges — what dar- ling ones! — of our old familiar love; then, a delicious impulse to pour out the overflowings of my heart into yours ; and last, not least, the knowledge that your dear eyes will read what my hand is now writing. rerliai)S there is an afterthought that, whatever may befall me, the wife of my bosom will have the acknowledgment of her tenderness, worth, excellence — all that is wifely or womanly, from my pen." In another letter, also written to his wife during a brief absence, there is a natural touch, showing his deep affection for her : " I went and retraced our walk in the park, and sat down on the same seat, and felt happier and better." But not only was Mrs. Hood a consoler, she was also 336 Wives as Literary Helpers. [Chap. XI. a helper of her husband in iiis' special work. He had such confidence iu her judgment, that he read, and re-read, and corrected with her assistance all that he wrote. Many of his pieces were first dedicated to her ; and her ready memory often supplied him with the necessary references and quotations. Thus, in the roll of noble wives of men of genius, Mrs. Hood will always be entitled to take a foremost place. Not less effective as a literary helper was Lady Napier, the wife of Sir William Napier, historian of the Peninsular War. She encouraged him to undertake the work, and without her help he would have experienced great difficulty in completing it. She translated and epitomized the immense mass of original documents, many of them in cipher, on which it was in a great measure founded. When the Duke of Wellington was told of the art and industry she had displayed in deciphering King Joseph's portfolio, and the immense mass ol correspondence taken at Yittoria, he at first would hardly believe it, adding — '•'! would have given 20,()00Z. to any person who could have done this for me in the Peninsula." Sir William Naj)ier's handwriting being almost illegible. Lady Napier made out his rough interlined manuscript, which he himself could scarcely read, and wrote out a full fair copy for the printer ; and all this vast labour she undertook and accomplished, according to the testimony of her husband, without having for a moment neglected the care and education of a large family. When Sir William lay on his death- bed, Lady Napier was at the same time dangerously ill ; but she was wheeled into his room on a sofa, and the two took their silent farewell of each otlier. The husband died first ; in a few weeks the wife followed him, and they sleep side by side in the same grave. Many other similar truehearted wives rise up in the Chap. XL] A Galaxy of A^odk Wives, 337 memory, to recite Avhose praises wtmld more than lill up our remaining space— such as Flaxman's wife, Ann Denham, wiio cheered and encouraged her luisband through life in the prosecution of liis art, accompanying him to Eome, sharing in his labours and anxieties,' and finally in his triumphs, and to whom Flaxnian, in the fortieth year of their married life, dedicated his beau- tiful designs illustrative of Faith, Hope, and Cliaritv, in token of his deep and undimmed affection ; — such as Katherine Boutcher, '* dark-eyed Kate," the wife of William Blake, who believed her husband to be the first genius on earth, worked off the impressions of his plates and coloured tbem beautifully with her own hand, bore with him in all his erratic ways, sympathised \\ ith him in his sorrows and joys for forty-live years, and comforted him until his dying horn- — his last sketch, made in his seventy-first year, being a likeness of him- self, before making which, seeing his wife crying by his side, he said, *' Stay, Kate ! just keep as you are ; I will draw your portrait, for you have ever been an angel to me ; " — such again as Lady Franklin, the true and noble woman, who never rested in her endeavours to penetrate the secret of the Polar Sea and prosecute the search for her long-lost husband — undaunted by failure, and perse- vering in her determination with a devotion and single- ness of purpose altogether unparalleled ; — or such again as the wife of Zimmermann, whose intense melancholy she strove in vain to assuage, sympathizing with him, listening to him, and endeavouring to understand him — and to whom, when on her deathbed, about to leave liim for ever, she addressed the touching words, *' ^ly poor Zimmermann ! who will now understand thee ? " Wives have actively helped their husbands in otlicr ways. Before Weinsberg surrendered to its besiegers, the women of the place asked permission of the captord z 338 Devotion of Grotms V/ife, [Chap. XI. to remove their valuables. Tlie permission was granted, and shortly after, the women were seen issuing from the o-ates carrvins: their Imsbands on their shoulders. Lord Nithsdale ov>ed his escape from prison to the address ol his wife, who changed garments with him, sending him forth in her stead, and herself remaining prisoner, — an example which was successfully repeated by Madame de Lavalette. But the most remarkable instance of the release of a husband through the devotion of a wife, was that of the celebrated Grotius. He had lain for nearly twenty months in the strong fortress of Loevestein, near Gor- cum, having been condemned by the government of the United Provinces to perpetual imprisonment. His wife, having been allowed to share his cell, greatly relieved his solitude. She was permitted to go into the town twice a week, and bring her husband books, of which ho required a large number to enable him to prosecute his studies. At length a large chest was required to hold them. This the sentries at first examined with great strictness, but, finding that it only contained books (amongst others Arminian books) and linen, they at length gave up the search, and it was allowed to pass out and in as a matter of course. This led Grotius' wife to conceive the idea of releasins: him : and she persuaded him one day to deposit himself in the chest instead of the outgoing books. When the two soldiers appointed to remove it took it up, they felt it to be considerably heavier than usual, and one of them asked, jestingly, " Have we got the Arminian himself here ? " to which the ready-witted wife replied, " Yes, perhaps some Arminian books." The chest reached Gorcum iu safety ; the captive was released ; and Grotius escaped across the frontier into Brabant, and afterwards into France, where he was rejoined by his wife. Chap. XL] Heine s Wife. 3-9 Trial and suffering are the tests of iiiarriedllfo. Tlicv bring out the real character, and oi'ten tend to |)roduce the closest union. They may even be the spring of tlie purest happiness. Uninterrupted joy, like uninterru})trd success, is not good for either man or woman. \\'h« 11 Heine's wife died, he began to reflect upon the loss he had sustained. They had both known j)overty, and struggled through it hand-in-hand ; and it was liis greatest sorrow that she was taken from him at tlie moment- when fortune was beginning to smile upon him, but too late for her to share in his prosperity. " Alas !" said he, "amongst my griefs must I reckon even har-ifiL " A lump of wo affliction is, Yet thence I borrow lumps of bliss; Though few can see a bhs>ing in 't, It is my furnace and my mint." — £r!iki7ie's Compel Sonnets. "Crosses grow anchors, bear as thou shouldst so Thy cross, and that cross grows an anchor too." — Donne " Be the day weary, or be the day long, At length It riugeth to Evensong." — Ancient Couplet. Practical wisdom is only to be learnt in the school of experience. Precepts and instructions are useful so far as they go, but, without the discipline of real life, they remain of the nature of theory only. The hard facts of existence have to be faced, to give that tuucli of truth to character which can never be imparted by reading or tuition, but only by contact with the broad instincts of common men and women. To be worth anything, character mu>;t be cjipable of standing firm upon its feet in the world of daily work, temptation, and trial ; and able to bear the wt-ar-and- tear of actual life. Cloistered virtues do not count for much. The life that rejoices in solitude may be only 244 Evils of Sechision. [Chap. XII, rejoicing in felfishness. Seclusion may indicate con- tempt for others ; though more usually it means indolence, cowardice, or self-indulgence. To every liuman being belongs his fair share of manful toil and human duty ; and it cannot be shirked without loss to the individual himself, as well as to the community to which he be- longs. It is only by mixing in the daily life of the world, and taking part in its affairs, that practical know- ledge can be acquired, and wisdom learnt. It is there that we find our chief sphere of duty, that we learn the discipline of work, and that we educate ourselves in that patience, diligence, and endurance which shape and consolidate the character. There we encounter the difficulties, trials, and temptations which, accord- ing as we deal with them, give a colour to our entire after-life; and there, too, we become subject to the great discipline of suffering, from which we learn far more than from the safe seclusion of the study or the cloister. Contact with others is also requisite to enable a man to know himself. It is only by mixing freely in the world that one can form a proper estimate of his own capacity. ^Yithout such experience, one is apt to become conceited, puffed-up, and arrogant ; at all events, he will remain ignorant of himself, though he may heretofore have enjoyed no other company. Swift once said : " It is aii uncontroverted truth, that no man ever made an ill-figure who understood his own talents, nor a good one who mistook them." Many persons, however, are readier to take measure of the capacity of others than of themselves. " Bring him to me," said a certain Dr. Tronchin, of Geneva, speaking of Trousseau — " bring him to me, that I may see whether he has got anything in him ! " — the proba- bility being that Kousseau, who knew himself better, Chap. XII.] The School of Experience. 3^5 was much more likely to take measure of Troncliin tlinu Tronchin was to take measure of liim. A due amount of self-knowledge is, therefore, neces- sary for those who would he anythino^ or do anythinf^ in the world. It is also one of the first essentials to the formation of distinct personal convictions. Frederic Perthes once said to a young friend : " You know only too well what you can do ; but till you have learned what you cannot do, you will neither accomplish anv- thing of moment, nor know inward peace." Any one who would profit by experience will never be above asking help. He who thinks himself already too wise to learn of others, will never succeed in doino' anything either good or great. We have to keep our minds and hearts open, and never be ashamed to learn, with the assistance of those who are wiser and more experienced than ourselves. The man made wise by experience endeavours to judge correctly of the things which come under his observation, and form the subject of his daily life. What we call common sense is, for the most part, but the result of common experience wisely improved. Nor is great ability necessary to acquire it, so much as patience, accuracy, and watchfulness. Hazlitt thought the most sensible people to be met with are intelligent men of business and of the world, who argue from what they see and know, instead of spinning cobweb dis- tinctions of what thino:s 0U2:ht to be. For the same reason, women often display more good sense than men, having fewer pretensions, and judging of things naturally, by the involuntary imiavssion they make on the mind. Their intuitive powers are quicker, their perceptions more acute, their sympathies more lively, and their manners more adaptive to particular ends. Hence their greater tact as displayed in the 246 The ScJwol of Life. [Chap. XII. managemeut of others, women of apparently slender intellectual powers often coutriving to control and K^gulate the conduct of men of even the most imprac- ticable nature. Pope paid a high compliment to the tact and good sense of Mary, Queen of William III., when he described her as possessing, not a science, but (what was worth all else) prudence. The whole of life may be regarded as a great school of experience, in which men and women are the pupils. As in a school, many of the lessons learnt there must needs be taken on trust. We may not understand them, and may possibly think it hard that we have to learn them, especially where the teachers are trials, sorrows, temptations, and difficulties ; and yet we must not only accept their lessons, but recognise them as being divinely appointed. To what extent have the pupils profited by their experience in the school of life ? What advantage have they taken of their opportunities for learning ? What have they gained in disci[)line of heart and mind ? — how much in growth of \visdom, courage, self-control ? Have they pre^erved their integrity amidst prosperity, and enjoyed life in temperance and moderation ? Or, has life been with them a mere feast of seliishness, without care or thought for others ? WTiat have thev learnt from trial and adversity? Have they learnt patience, submission, and trust in God ? — or have they learnt nothing but impatience, querulousness, and dis- content ? The results of experience are, of course, only to be achieved by living ; and living is a question of time. The man of experience learns to rely upon Time as his helper. " Time and I aofainst any two," was a maxim of Cardinal Mazarin. Time has been described as a beaiitifier and as a consoler ; but it is also a teacher. It Chap. XII.] Youthful Ardour. 347 is the food of experience, the soil of wist loin. It niuv be the iriend or the enemy of yonth ; and Time will sit beside the old as a consoler or as a tormentor, according; as it has been used or misnsed, and the past life has been well or ill spent. "Time," says George Plerbert, "is the rider tiiat breaks yonth." To tlm yonng, how bright the new- world looks ! — how full of novelty, of enjoyment, of pleasure ! But as years pass, we find the world to be a place of sorrow as well as of joy. As we proceed through life, many dark vistas open uj^on us — of toil, suffering, difhcnlty, perhaps misfortune and failure. Happy tlu-y w^ho can pass through and amidst such trials with a firm mind and pure heart, encountering trials with cheer- fulness, and standing erect beneath even the heaviest burden ! A little youthful ardour is. a great help in life, and is useful as an energetic motive power. It is gradually cooled down bv Time, no matter how frlowinjr it has • ' DO been, while it is trained and subdued by experience. But it is a healthy and hop(,'ful indication of cliaracter, — to be encouraged in a right direction, and not to be sneered down and repressed. It is a sign of a vigorous unselfish nature, as egotism is of a narrow and selfish one ; and to begin life with egotism and self-sullicit^ncv is ftital to all breadth and vigour of character. Life, in such a case, would be like a year in which there was no spring. Without a generous seedtime, there will be an unflowering summer and an unproductive harvest. And )Outh is the springtime of life, in whicii, if there bo not a fair share of enthusiam, little will be attempted, and still less done. It also considerably helps th<; working quality, inspiring confidence and hope, and carrving one through the dry details of business and duty with cheerfulness and joy. J 48 Romance and Reality, [Chap. XII. "It is the due admixture of romance and reality," said Sir Henry Lawrence, " that best carries a man through life. . . . The quality of romance or enthusiasm is to be valued as an energ}^ imparted to the human mind to prompt and sustain its noblest efibrts." Sir Henry always urged upoii young men, not that they should repress enthusiasm, but sedulously cultivate and direct the feeling, as one im|danted for wise and noble purposes. " When the two faculties of romance and reality," he said, " are duly blended, reality pursues a straight rough path to a desirable and practicable result ; while romance beguiles the road by pointing out its beauties — by bestowing a deep and practical conviction that, even in this dark and material existence, there may be found a joy with which a stranger intermeddleth not — a light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day." ^ It was characteristic of Joseph Lancaster, when a boy of only fourteen years of age, after reading ' Clarkson <)n the Slave Trade,' to form the resolution of leaving iiis home and going out to the West Indies to teach the poor blacks to read the Bible. And he actually set out with a Bible and * Pilgrim's Progress ' in his bundle, and only a few shillings in his purse. He even suc- ceeded in reaching the West Indies, doubtless very much at a loss how to set about his proposed work ; but in the meantime his distressed parents, having dis- covered whither he had gone, had him speedily brought back, yet with his enthusiasm unabated ; and from that time forward he unceasingly devoted himself to the truly philanthropic work of educating the destitute poor.^ ' ' Calcutta Eeview,' article on [ ^ Joseph Lancaster was only •Romance and Realitj of Indian ! twenty years of age when (in 1798) i^e." j he opened his first schcKDl in a spare Chap. XII.] Enthusiasm and Pcrsevera7ice, 349 There needs all the force that enthusiasm can give to enable a man to succeed in any great enterprise of life. Without it, the obstruction and difficulty he has to encounter on every side might compel him to suc- cumb ; bat with courage and j^erseverance, inspired by enthusiasm, a man feels strong enough to lace any danger, to grapple with any difficulty. AVhat an en- thusiasm was that of Cohimbus, who, believinn: in the existence of a new world, braved tlie dangers of unknown seas ; and when those about him des2)aired and rose up against him, threatening to cast him into the sea, still stood firm upon his hope and courage until the great new world at length rose upon tlie liorizon ! The brave man will not be baffled, but tries and tries again until he succeeds. The tree does not fall at the first stroke, but only by repeated strokes and after great labour. We may see the visible success at which a man has arrived, but forget the toil and suffering and peril through which it has been achieved. Wlien a friend of Marshal Lefevre was complimenting him on his possessions and good fortune, the Marshal said : " You envv me, do vou ? Well, von shall have these things at a better bargain than I had. Come into tlio court : I'll fire at you with a gun twenty times at thirty paces, and if I don't kill you, all shall be your own. What ! you won't ! Yery well ; recoHect, then, that I have been shot at more than a thousand times, and mora in his father's house, which ' which was ]ilace(l tlio foUowiug was soon tilled with the destitute notice: — "All that will. luay aend Childicu of the neighbourhood, their cliildivn here, and have them The room was shortly found too educated freely ; and those that do small for the numbers seeking ad- not wish to have edu<'ation for mission, and one place after another nothing, may i)ay fur it if tlu-y was hired, until at length Lan- jilease." 'i'hus Joseph I^ncaster caster had a special "building was the ])recursor of our pre*jent erected, capable of accommidai- sy&tem of National Education, ing a thousand pupils ; outside of i 35 o The Apprenticeship of Difficulty. [Chap. XII. much nearer, before I arrived at the state in which you now find me !" The apprenticeship of difficulty is one which the greatest of men have had to serve. It is usually the best stimulus and discipline of character. It often evokes powers of action that, but for it, would have remained dormant. As comets are sometimes revealed by eclipses, so heroes are brought to light by sudden calamity. It seems as if, in certain cases, genius, like iron struck by the flint, needed the sharp and sudden blow of adversity to bring out the divine spark. There are natures which blossom and ripen amidst trials, which would only wither and decay in an atmosphere of ease and comfort. Thus it is good for men to be roused into action and stiffened into self-reliance by difficulty, rather than to slumber away theh lives in useless apathy and indo- lence.^ It is the struggle that is the condition of victorv. If there were no difficulties, there would be no need of efforts ; if there were no temptations, there would be no training in self-control, and but little merit in virtue ; if there were no trial and suffering, there would be no education in patience and resignation. Thus difficulty, adversity, and suffering are not all evil, but often the best source of strength, discipline, and virtue. For the same reason, it is often of advantage for a man to be under the necessity of ha^'ing to struggle with poverty and conquer it. " He who has battled," ^ A great musician once said of a promising but passionless can- tatrice — " She sings well, but she wants something, and in that .something everything. If I were single, I would court her ; I would marry her ; I would maltreat her ; I would break her heart; and iu six months she would be the greatest singer in Europe I '" — Blackwood's Magazine. Chap. XI I. ] Poverty a Stiimchis, 351 says Carlyle, " were it only with poverty and hard toil, Mill be found stronger and more ex[)ert than he wlio could stay at home from the battle, concealed amonpj the provision waggons, or even rest unwatchfullv ' abiding by the stuff.' " Scholars have found poverty tolerable compared \\\\\\ the privation of intellectual food. Kiches weigh much more heavily upon the mind. *' I caimot but choose say to Poverty," said Eichter, *' Be welcome ! so that thou come not too late in life." Poverty, Horace tells us, drove him to poetry, and poetry introduced him to Varus and Virgil and Maecenas. " Obstacles," says Michelet, " are great incentives. I lived for whole years upon a Virgil, and found myself well off. An odd volume of Pacine, purcliased by chance at a stall on the quay, created the poet of Toulon." The Spaniards are even said to have meanly rejoiced in the poverty of Cervantes, but for which they supposed the production of his great works might have been pre- vented. "When the Archbishop of Toledo visited thu French ambassador at Madrid, the gentlemen in the suite of -the latter expressed their high admiration of the waitings of the author of * Don Quixote,' and inti- mated their desire of becoming acquainted with one who had given them so much pleasure. The answer they received was, that Cervantes had borne arms in the service of his country, and was now old and poor. "What!" exclaimed one of the Frenchmen, "is not Senor Cervantes in good circumstances? Why is lie not maintained, then, out of the public treasury?" " Heaven forbid !" was the reply, "that his necessities sliould be ever relieved, if it is those which make liim write ; since it is his poverty that makes the wurld rich I' ^ * Preecott's ' Essays,' art. Cervauu-**. ^^2 The L esso7is of Faihcre. [Chap. XI I It is not prosperity so much as adversity, not wealth so much as poverty, that stimulates the perseverance oi strong and healthy natures, rouses their energy and developes their character. Burke said of himself: "1 was not rocked, and swaddled, and dandled into a legis- lator. * 'Nitor in adversum ' is the motto for a man like vou." Some men only require a great difficulty set in tJieir way to exhibit the force of their character and genius ; and that difficulty once conquered becomes one of the greatest incentives to their further progress. It is a mistake to suppose that men succeed through success ; they much oftener succeed through failure. By far the best experience of men is made up of their remembered failures in dealing with others in the affairs of life. Such failures, in sensible men, incite to better self-management, and greater tact and self-con- trol, as a means of avoiding them in the future. Ask the diplomatist, and he will tell you that he has learned his art through being baffled, defeated, thwarted, and circumvented, far more than from having succeeded. Precept, study, advice, and example could never have tauojlit them so well as failure has done. It has dis- ciplined them experimentally, and taught them what to do as well as what not to do — which is often still more important in diplomacy. Many have to make up their minds to encounter failure again and again before they succeed ; but it they have pluck, the failure wdll only serve to rouse their courage, and stimulate them to renewed efforts. Talma, the greatest of actors, was hissed off the stage when he first appeared on it. Lacordaire, one of the gi-eatest preachers of modern times, only acquired cele- brity after repeated failures. Montalembert said of his first public appearance in the Church of St. Eoch : " He failed completely, and on coming out every one said, CiiAP. XII.] Fij'st Failures of Great Men. 353 * Though he may be a man of talent, he will never be a preacher.' " Again and again he tried until he siio- ceeded ; and only two years after his dehid, Lacordaire was preaching in Notre Dame to audiences such as few French orators have addressed since the time of Bossuet and Massillon. When Mr. Cobden first appeared as a si)eaker, at a public meeting in Manchester, he completely broke down, and the chairman apologized for his faihire. Sir- James Graham and Mr. Disraeli failed and were derided at first, and only succeeded by dint of great labour and application. At one time Sir James Graham had almost given up public speaking in despair. He said to his friend Sir Francis Baring : " I have tried it every way — extempore, from notes, and committing all to memoiy — and I can't do it. I don't know why it is, but I am afraid I shall never succeed." Yet, by dint of perseverance, Graham, like Disraeli, lived to become one of the most effective and impressive of parliamentary speakers. Failures in one direction have sometimes had the effect of forcing the far-seeing student to apply himself in another. Thus Prideaux's failure as a candidate for the post of parish-clerk of Ugboro, in Devon, led to his applying himself to learning, and to his eventual elevation to the bishopric of Worcester. When Boileau, educated for the bar, pleaded his first cause, he broke down amidst shouts of laughter. He next tried the pulpit, and failed there too. And then he tri.'d i)ootry, and succeeded. Fontenelle and Yultaire both failed at the bar. So Cowper, through his dillidence and shyness, broke dowm when pleading his first cause, though he lived to revive the poetic art in England. Montesquieu and Bentham both failed as lawyers, and forsook the bar for more congenial pursuits— the latter leaving be- hind him a treasury of legislative procedure for all '1 A oj^. Struggles of Geiiius. [Chap. XII. time. • Goldsmith failed in passing as a surgeon ; but he wrote the ' Deserted Village ' and the ' Vicar of Wake- field ;' whilst Addison failed as a speaker, but succeeded in writing ' Sir Eoger de Coverley,' and his many famous papers in the * Spectator.' Even the privation of some important bodily sense, such as sight or hearing, has not been sufficient to deter courageous men from zealously pursuing the struggle of life. Milton, when struck by blindness, " still bore up and steered right onward." His greatest works were produced during that period of his life in which he suffered most — when he was poor, sick, old, blind, slan- dered, and persecuted. The lives of some of the greatest men have been a continuous struggle with difficulty and apparent defeat. Dante produced his greatest work in penury and exile. Banished from his native city by the local faction to which he was opposed, his house was given up to plunder, and he was sentenced in his absence to be burnt alive. When informed by a friend that he might return to Florence, if he would consent to ask for pardon and absolution, he replied : " No ! This is not the way that shall lead me back to my country. I will return with hasty steps if you, or any other, can open to me a way that shall not derogate from the fame or tlie honour of Dante , but if by no such way Florence can be entered, then to Florence I shall never return." His enemies remaining implacable, Dante, after a banish- ment of twenty years, died in exile. They even pursued him after death, when his book, ^ De Monarchia,' was publicly burnt at Bologna by order of the Papal Legate. Camoens also wrote his great poems mostly in banish- ment. Tired of solitude at Santarem, he joined an expedition against the Moors, in which he distinguished himself by his bravery. He lost an eye when boarding Chap. XII.] Canioeiis and Michael A ngelo. 2)1^ an enemy's ship in a sea-fight. At Goa, in the East Indies, he witnessed with indignation the cruelty })rac- tised by the Portuguese on the natives, and expostulated with the governor against it. He was in consequence banished from the settlement, and sent to China. In the (bourse of his subsequent adventures and misfortunes, Camoens suffered shipwreck, escaping only ^Yith his life and the manuscript of his * Lusiad.' Persecution and hardship seemed everywhere to pursue him. At Macao he was thrown into prison. Escaping from it, he set sail for Lisbon, where he arrived, after sixteen years' absence, poor and friendless. His ' Lusiad,' which was shortly after published, brought him much fame, but no money. But for his old Indian slave iVntonio, who begged for his master in the streets, Camoens must have perished.^ As it was, he died in a public almshouse, worn out by disease and hardship. An inscription was placed over his grave : — '* Here lies Luis de Camoens : he excelled all the poets of his time : he lived poor and miserable j and he died so, mdlxxix." This record, disgraceful but truthful, has since been removed; and a lying and pompous epitaph, in honour of the great national poet of Portugal, has been substi- tuted in its stead. Even Michael Angelo was exposed, during tlie greater part of his life, to the persecutions of the envious — vulgar ^ A cavalier, named Ruy de Camera, having called upon Camoens to fui-nish a poetical ver- sion of the seven penitential jtsalms, the poet, raising his head from his miserable jialltt, and pointing to his my poor Antonio, vainly suppli- cating fourixnice to purrhaso a little coals. I have not tliem to give him !" The cavalier, Sousa quaintly relates, in his • Life of Camoens," closed his heart and his faithful slave, exclaimed : "Alas ! 1 purse, and quitted the nnjin. Such when I was a poet, 1 was young, and | were the grandees of I'ortugal I — happy, and blest with the love of j Lord Struiigford's Jieimirl^s oti ladies ; but now, I am a forlorn de- : the- Life and Writings of CtniKjeM, eerted wretch ! Bee — there stands , 18-'4. 2 A li o^6 Revenges of Time, [Chap. XII. nobles, vulgar priests, and sordid men of every degree, who could neither sympathise with liim, nor comprehend Ms genius. When Paul lY. condemned some of his work in ' The Last Judgment,' the artist observed that '-'■ The Pope would do better to occupy himself with correcting the disorders and indecencies which disgrace the world, than with any such hypercriticisms upon his art." Tasso also was the victim of almost continual perse- cution and calumny. After lying in a madhouse for seven years, he became a wanderer over Italy ; and when on his deathbed, he wrote : " I will not complain of the malignity of fortune, because I do not choose to speak of the ingratitude of men who have succeeded in dragging me to the tomb of a mendicant" But Time brings about strange revenges. The per- secutors and the persecuted often change places; it is the latter who are great — the former who are infamous. Even the names of the persecutors would probably long ago have been forgotten, but for their connection with the history of the men whom they have persecuted. Thus, who would now have known of Duke Alfonso of Ferrara, but for his imprisonment of Tasso ? Or, who would have heard of the existence of the G-rand Duke of Wurtemburg of some ninety years back, but for his petty persecution of Schiller ? Science also has had its martyrs, who have fought their way to light through difficulty, persecution, and suffering. We need not refer again \(> the cases of Bruno, Galileo, and others,^ persecuted because of the supposed heterodoxy of their views. But there have been other unfortunates amonofst men of science, whose genius has been unable to save them from the ' See Chapter v. p. 125. Chap. XII.] Siiffmngs of Great Men, y^'j fury of their enemies. Thus Bailly, the celebrated French astronomer (who had been mayor of Paris), and Lavoisier, the great chemist, were both guillotined in the first French Kevolution. AVhen the latter, after being sentenced to death by the Commune, asked for a few days' respite, to enable him to ascertain the result of some experiments he had made during his confine- ment, the tribunal refused his appeal, and ordered him for immediate execution — one of the judges saying, tliat *' the Republic had no need of philosoi)hers." In Enghmd also, about the same time. Dr. Priestley, the father of modern chemistry, had his house burnt over his head, and his library destroyed, amidst shouts of " No pliilo- sophers ! " and he fled from his native country to lay his bones in a foreign land. The work of some of the greatest discoverers has been done in the midst of persecution, difficulty, and suffering. Columbus, who discovered the New World and gave it as a heritage to the Old, was in his lifetime persecuted, maligned, and plundered by those whom he had enriched. IMungo Park's drowning agony in the African river he had discovered, but which he was not to live to describe ; Clapperton's perishing of fever on the banks of the great lake, in the heart of the same continent, which was afterwards to be rediscovered and described by other explorers ; Franklin's perishing in the snow — it might be after he had solved the long- sought problem of the North-west Passage — are among the most melancholy events in the history of enterprise and genius. The case of Flinders the navigator, who suffered a six years' imprisonment in the Isle of France, was one of peculiar hardship. In 1801, he set sail from England in the Investi(/ator, on a voyage of discovery and survey, })ro- vided with a French pass, requiring all French governors 358 Vicissihides 0/ Flinders. [Chap. xil. (notwithstanding that England and France were at war) to f^ive him protection and succour in the sacred name of science. In the course of his voyage he surveyed great part of Australia, Van Diemen's Land, and the neighbouring islands. The Investigator, being found leaky and rotten, was condemned, and the navigator embarked as passenger in the Porjpoise for England, to lay the results of his three years' labours before the Admiralty. On the voyage home the Porjyoise was wrecked on a reef in the South Seas, and . Flinders, with part of the crew, in an open boat, made for Port Jackson, which they safely reached, though distant from the scene of the wreck not less than 750 miles. There he procured a small schooner, the Cumherland, no larger than a Gravesend sailing-boat, and returned for the remainder of the crew, who had been left on the reef. Having rescued them, he set sail for England, making for the Isle of France, which the Gumherland reached in a sinking condition, being a wretched little craft badly found. To his surprise, he was made a prisoner with all his crew, and thrown into prison, where he was treated with brutal harshness, his French pass proving no protection to him. What aggravated the horrors of Flinders' confinement was, that he knew that Baudin, the French navigator, whom he had encountered while making his survey of the Australian coasts, would reach Europe first, and claim the merit of all the discoveries he had made. It turned out as he had expected ; and while Flinders was still imprisoned in the Isle of France, tlie French xitlas of the new discoveries was published, all the points named by Flinders and his precursors being named afresh. Flinders was at length liberated, after six years' imprisonment, his health completely broken ; but he continued correcting his maps, and writing out his descriptions to the last. He onlv lived Chaf, XII.] Prison IVoj'kers. 350 long enough to correct his final sheet for the press, and died on the very day that his work was published ! Courageous men have often turned enforced solitude to account in executing works of great ])ith and nioniont. It is in solitude that the passion for spiritual perfection best nurses itself. The soul communes with itself in loneliness until its energy often becomes intense. But whether a man profits by solitude or not will mainlv depend upon his own temperament, training, and character. While, in a large-natured man, solitude will make the pure heart purer, in the small-natured man it will only serve to make the hard heart still harder : for thous^h solitude mav be the nurse of izrcat spirits, it is the torment of small ones. It was in prison that Boetius wrote his * Consolations of Philosophy,' and Grotius his * Commentary on St. Matthew,' regarded as his master work in Biblical Criti- cism. Buchanan composed his beautiful ' Paraph rasts on the Psalms' while imprisoned in the cell of a Portuguese monastery. Campanella, the Italian patriot monk, suspected of treason, was immured for twenty- seven years in a Neajiolitan dungeon, during whicli, deprived of the sun's light, he sought higher light, and there created his * Civitas Solis,' which has been so often reprinted and reproduced in translations in most Euro- pean languages. During his thirteen years' imprison- ment in the Tower, Raleigh wrote his * History uf the World,' a project of vast extent, of which he was only able to finish the first five books. Luther occupied his prison hour's in the Castle of Wartburg in translating the Bible, and in writing the famous tracts and treatises with which he inundated all Germany. It was to the circumstance of John Bunyan having been cast into gaol that we probably owe the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' He was thus driven in upon himsell'; having ^6o Ilhtstrious Prison Writers. [Chap. XII. no oi)portuiiity for action, nis active mind found vent in earnest thinking and meditation ; and indeed, after his enhirgemeiit, his life as an author virtually ceased. His 'Grace Aboundiog' and the 'Holy War' were also written in prison. Bunyan lay in Bedford Gaol, with a few intervals of precarious liberty, during not less than twelve years ; ^ and it was most probably to his prolonged imprisonment that we owe what Macau- lay has characterised as the finest allegory in the world. All the political parties of the times in which Bunyan lived, imprisoned their opponents when they had the op- portunity and the power. Bunyan's prison experiences were principally in the time of Charles H. But in the preceding reign of Charles I., as well as during the Commonwealth, illustrious prisoners were very numerous. The prisoners of the former included Sir John Eliot, Hampden, Selden, Prynne ^ (a most volu- minous prison- writer), and many more. It was while under strict confinement in the Towner, that Eliot com- posed his noble treatise, ' The Monarchy of Man.' George Wither, the poet, was another prisoner of Charles the First, and it was while confined in the Marshalsea * A Quaker called on Bunyan ' Dunster Castle, Taunton Castle, one day with " a message from the and Pendennis Castle. He after- Lord," saying he had been to half "^-ards pleaded zealously for the the gaols of England, and was Eestoration, and was made Keeper glad at last to have found him. of the Records by Charles II. It To which Bunyan replied : "If has been computed that Prynne the Lord sent thee, you would not wrote, compiled, and printed about have needed to take so much eight quarto pages for every work- trouble to find me out, for He ing-day of his life, from his reach- knew that I have been in Bedford ing man's estate to the day of his Gaol these seven years past." death. Though his books were for 2 PrjTine, besides standing in the most part appropriated by the the pilloiy and having his ears cut trunkmakers, they now command otf, was imprisoned by turns in akaost fabulous prices, chiefly be- tbe Tower, ]\Iont Orgue'il (Jersey), cause of their rarity. Chap. XII.] Illustrious Prison Writers'. 361 that he wrote his famous ' Satire to the King.' At tlic Restoration he was again imprisoned in Newgate, from which he was transferred to the Tower, and he is supposed by some to have died there. The Commonwealth also had its prisoners. Sir William Davenant, because of his loyalty, was for some time confined a prisoner in Cowes Castle, where he wrote the greater part of his poem of * Gondibert ' : and it is said that his life was saved principally through the generous intercession of Milton. He lived to repay the debt, and to save Milton's life when " Charles enjoyed his own again." Lovelace, the poet and cavalier, was also imprisoned by the Roundheads, and was only liberated from the Gatehouse on giving an enormous bail. Though he suffered and lost all for the Stuarts, he was forgotten by them at the Restoration, and died in extreme poverty. Besides Wither and Bunyan, Charles II. imprisoned Baxter, Harrington (the author of ' Oceana '), Pcnn, and many more. All these men solaced their prison hours with writimi:. Baxter wrote some of the most remark- able passages of his ' Life and Times' while lying lu the Kino's Bench Prison; and Penn wrote his 'No Cross no Crown' while imprisoned in the Tower, in the reign of Queen Anne, Matthew Prior was in con- finement on a vamped-up charge of treason for two years, during which he wrote his ' Alma, or Progress t)f the Soul.' Since then, political prisoners ot eminence in England have been comparatively few in number. Among the most illustrious were De Foe, who, besides standing three times in the pillory, spent much of his time in prison, writing ' Robinson Crusoe ' there, and many of his best political pamphlets. There also he wrote his *Hymn to the Pillory,' and corrected for the press a 362 Prison Literatitre [Chap. XII. collection of bis voluminous writings.^ Smollett wrote bis ' Sir Lancelot Greaves ' iu prison, wbile undergoing confinement for libel. Of recent prison -writers in England, tbe best known are James Montgomery, who wrote bis first volume of poems wbile a prisoner in York Castle ; and Tbomas Cooper, tbe Chartist, who wrote his * Purgatory of Suicide ' in Stafford Gaol. Silvio Pellico was one of tbe latest and most illus- trious of tbe prison writers of Italy. He lay confined in Austrian gaols for ten years, eiglitof which be passed in tbe Castle of Spielberg in Moravia. It was there that he composed his charming ' Memoirs,' the only materials for which were furnished by his fresh living habit of observation ; and out of even the transient visits of his gaoler's daughter, and the colourless events of his monotonous daily life, he contrived to make for himself a little world of thought and healthy human interest. Kazinsky, the great reviver of Hungarian literature, spent seven years of bis life in tbe dungeons of Buda, Brunne, Kufstein, and Munkacs, during which he wrote a 'Diary of bis Imprisonment,' and amongst other tilings translated Sterne's ' Sentimental Journey ;' whilst Kossuth beguiled bis two years' imprisonment at Buda in studying English, so as to be able to read Shakspeare in the original. Men who, like these, suffer the penalty of law, and seem to fail, at least for a time, do not really fail. Many, who have seemed to fail utterly, have often exercised a more potent and enduring influence upon their race, than those whose career has been a course of uninter- ' He also projected his ' Eeview ' The 'Eeview' consisted of 102 in prison — the first periodical of numbers, forming nine quarto the kind, which pointed the way volumes, all of which were written to the host of ' Tatlers,' 'Guardians,' by Ue P'oe himself, while engaged and ' Spectators,' which followed it. . in other and various labours." Chap. XII.] Sacrifice 7iot Loss. 363 rupted success. The character of a man d(ios not depend on whether his efforts are innnediately ioUowed by failure or by success. The martyr is not a failure if the truth for which he suffered acquires a fresh lustr«? through his sacrifice.^ The patriot who lays down his life for his cause, may thereby hasten its trium})h ; and those who seem to throw their lives away in the van of a great movement, often open a way for those Avho follow them, and pass over their dead bodies to victory. The triumph of a just cause may come late ; but when it does come, it is due as much to those who failed in their first efforts, as to those who succeeded in their last. The example of a great death may be an inspiration to others, as well as the example of a good life. A great act does not perish with the life of him wlio performs it, but lives and grows up into like acts in those mIio sur- vive the doer thereof and cherish his memory. Of some great men, it might almost be said that ihcy have not begun to live until th.ey have died. The names of the men who have suffered in the cause of religion, of science, and of truth, are the men of all others whose memories are held in the greatest esteem and reverence by mankind. They perished, but their truth survived. They seemed to fail, and yet they eventually succeeded.^ Prisons may have held them, but their thoughts were not to be confined bv prison-walls. They ' "A passage in the Karl ofj became a rich vein of thought, ia Carlisle's Lecture on Pope — j wliich I often tjuarrietl, es|K'cially '• Heaven was made for those who , when the sentence \xaii interpr<-t«tl have failed in this world"— struck I by the Cross, which was faduro me very forcibly several years ago : apparently."— L»'/V und Letdrs of w)ion I read it in a newspaper, and liuhertson (of Brighton), ii. '.' i. 'i " Not all who si'cm to fail, have falUd iii(i'-e