Ex Ubris 
 : C. K. OGDEN ; 
 
 
 
 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
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 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE, 
 
 AND EARLIER. 
 
 % glfbleu. 
 
 THOMAS COOPER, 
 
 author of 
 
 'the purgatory of suicides,' 'the paradise of martyrs,' 'the bridge of 
 
 history over the gulf of time," ' plain pulpit talk,' etc., etc. 
 
 IV/TH rOE TRAIT, 
 
 HODDER AND STOUGHTON, 
 27, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 MDCCCLXX.XV,
 
 Printed by Haiell, Watson, & Viney, Limited, London and Aylesbury.
 
 HH 
 
 TO 
 
 HENRY WARDLE, ESQ., J. P., 
 
 OF HIGHFIELD, 
 
 BURTON-ON-TRENT, 
 
 THIS VOLUME IS MOST RESPECTFULLY 
 
 AND GRATEFULLY INSCRIBED 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 114G803
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 A " MEDLEY," I call my book, and readers will 
 ■*^^ say I have done right in giving it such a 
 name : whether I have done right in publishing it, is 
 another question. I never, before, ventured to print 
 anything that presumed to treat on such a variety 
 of subjects. 
 
 The first seven papers are composed, chiefly, of 
 sketches written for a small monthly periodical con- 
 ducted by my valued friend. Rev. Hugh Stowell 
 Brown. He kindly gives me leave to make use 
 of them ; and I have done so — with some altera- 
 tions. 
 
 The Second Series of Letters to Young Working 
 Men, I am allowed to republish by my old and kind 
 friend, Joseph Cowen, M.P., — to whom the Norther)L 
 Tribune belonged. 
 
 2, Portland Place, 
 
 St. Mary's Street, Lincoln, 
 2oth March, 1885.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP. PAGE 
 
 I. THE CHANGES OF LIFE I 
 
 II. POLITICS OF THE PAST 1 3 
 
 in. MORE CHANGES 26 
 
 IV. SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRIKES . . 39 
 
 V. CAUSES OF VICISSITUDE IN TRADE . . -52 
 
 VI. THE GREATEST SCIENCE 62 
 
 VII. WHAT IS OLD AGE ? 76 
 
 VIII. ON THE DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE STATE, VIEWED 
 
 AS A PROBABILITY 84 
 
 IX. ON THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION, HERE AND 
 
 HEREAFTER ...... 94 
 
 X. ON GOING BACK IO9 
 
 XI. CHARLES DARWIN, AND THE FALLACIES OF EVO- 
 LUTION 132 
 
 XII. LETFERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN . . . 163 
 
 XIII. DITTO, SECOND SERIES 238 
 
 XIV. THE PRODIGAL SON 269 
 
 XV. THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH 297
 
 Viii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 XVI. THE ORIGIN OF MAN 3^2 
 
 XVII. ON THE "MESSIAH" OF HANDEL . . . 335 
 
 XVIII. ON THE MISUSE OF LANGUAGE IN CONVERSA- 
 
 fiON 347 
 
 XIX. WHAT OUR MORAL NATURE PROVES . . . 353 
 
 XX. A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION . . . 366
 
 I. 
 
 THE CHANGES OF LIFE. 
 
 A MAN who lives forty years sees many changes 
 in h'fe, if he looks observantly about him ; but 
 the man sees a great deal more who lives twice as 
 long, and thus reaches " the days whose strength is 
 but labour and sorrow." I never imagined that I 
 should live till the Year of Grace, 1885 ; but here 
 I am, at fourscore ; and it is but natural that I 
 should think about the changes I have witnessed, 
 or experienced, in this dear Old England, during my 
 life-time. 
 
 England itself is not changed, that I can tell. It 
 is still the land ' where the sun gilds the weather- 
 cocks some thrice a-year,' as poor Byron sung. We 
 have fair weather and foul, now, as we had when I 
 was young. Yet, I do not remember, in my early 
 time, the occurrence of so many summers of ' rain 
 and ruin,' like the many summers immediately pre- 
 ceding our last summer. * Twenty thousand acres 
 of land rendered uncultivable in the Isle of Ely 
 alone.' So I was told, in the old city of Ely itself, 
 by one of its most intelligent inhabitants. Our last 
 
 I
 
 2 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 summer, however, was so remarkably fine, that I 
 could not help saying to myself — ' The dear old 
 land is not changed after all : though sunshine often 
 leaves us, it is sure to return.' 
 
 Not the dear old land, but its people, and the 
 changes in their condition, socially and otherwise, I 
 am thinking about, chiefly. I am also thinking 
 about the changes in myself : the changes of my 
 inner man, during these fourscore years. That man 
 would be the author of a grand philosophical treatise 
 who could give us a true account and interpretation 
 of the causes of change in men's convictions and 
 opinions. What remarkable changes some t)f the 
 most eminent men of this century have undergone ! 
 Nay, what changes they are undergoing and mani- 
 festing, even at this day. And yet, it may be that 
 their changes would be seen to be less strange than 
 the crowd judge them to be, if their life-course 
 were thoroughly studied : belike, it would be clearly 
 seen that ' the child was father to the man ' : that 
 they were the same men, in reality, all along. 
 
 But I am thinking more about social changes 
 than any other : the changes in the condition of the 
 People of England — and more especially those called 
 ' the Working-classes ' — during this nineteenth cen- 
 tury. The scattered thoughts I contributed to my 
 friend's little periodical — which I have mentioned in 
 the Preface — are so similar to the thoughts which 
 are running through my mind, novv^, that I judge
 
 THE CHANGES OF LIFE. 3 
 
 it better to repeat them — with some slight altera- 
 tion. 
 
 I was but a child when the first decade of the 
 nineteenth century was spent. Yet my remem- 
 brance of what I saw around me, and of the conver- 
 sations of upgrown and elderly persons, about the 
 lot of the poor, and their experiences, are very clear. 
 One proud assertion may be made without fear of 
 contradiction : that, at the beginning of the present 
 century, although England was in the very heart of 
 her great death-struggle with France, she was strid- 
 ing on towards an increase of wealth. The bosoms 
 of men throbbed everywhere with earnestness in 
 carrying on great enterprizes of industry. That 
 stubborn energy which impelled the men of the 
 West Riding to lay down miles of rough paving, as 
 bridle-roads, over the wild moors, for carriage of 
 their woollen cloths to distant markets, on heavily- 
 laden pack-horses, had resulted in the amassing of 
 riches by the manufacturers and dyers of Leeds, and 
 smaller Yorkshire towns. 
 
 And, soon, the genius of Brindley, by the forma- 
 tion and extension of canals, opened the way to 
 wealth for almost every kind of industry and manu- 
 facture in the kingdom. Nor could all the arrogant 
 power of Napoleon — all his attempts to close the 
 ports of Europe against us, by the famous " Con- 
 tinental blockade," check the onward march of our 
 trade. His own necessities often thwarted him.
 
 4 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Just at the very juncture when our bold sailors had 
 succeeded in smuggling forty thousand pairs of boots 
 and shoes into Holland, and the eager Dutch mer- 
 chants had bought them, and his spies had informed 
 him of it, one of his armies was barefoot ; and, not 
 knowing what else to do in his strait, the imperial 
 despot felt himself compelled to give secret orders 
 to one of his marshals to buy the smuggled 
 goods ! 
 
 In spite of that huge, prolonged war, which hung 
 the millstone of eight Jmndred millions of national 
 debt round the sturdy neck of John Bull — John 
 grew rich. The war itself was the fertile source of 
 fortunes to contractors for ropes and sails and 
 hammocks and anchors and cannon and all other 
 supplies for our fleet ; and for clothing and all the 
 panoply of war for our army. And thus, employment 
 of one kind or other, was so plentiful, in all the 
 populous parts of the country, that, if a regular work- 
 man at one particular trade was thrown out of work 
 for a few weeks, he could readily find employment 
 of some kind, whereby to earn bread for himself and 
 family. Wages were good and employment constant 
 all over the agricultural districts — for it was the 
 great time of prosperity for farmers : they and their 
 landlords often grew wanton while the war prevented 
 our obtaining foreign corn, and they could obtain 
 almost any price they willed for their wheat. And 
 wages were good in almost every branch and kind
 
 THE CHANGES OF LIFE. 5 
 
 of work, in the beginning of the present century : 
 except where labourers by hand had begun to ex- 
 perience that cruel struggle against the more cheaply 
 and rapidly productive power of machinery. 
 
 And, because wages were good, working men 
 found no difficulty in turning their hands to other 
 employment, when temporarily thrown out of their 
 regular labour. They could get good food, although 
 corn was dear, and were strong and vigorous, and 
 did not complain, if they had to leave their work- 
 shops for out-of-door labour, and try their skill with 
 spade or pickaxe, for a few weeks. Nay, an ex- 
 change of labour was looked for as a treat, by all 
 handicrafts in the small towns scattered over the 
 great agricultural districts. As regularly as summe» 
 and autumn returned, shoemakers, tailors, saddlers, 
 joiners and carpenters, wheel-wrights, bricklayers 
 and stone-masons, blacksmiths — all who could pos- 
 sibly leave their shops — hastened to the fields to 
 help their customers, the farmers of the neighbour- 
 hood, in the gathering in of their hay and corn. 
 And one often heard a shoemaker or tailor, when 
 he was off the stall or the shop-board, and had 
 grown pot-valiant, boast that he could mow as much 
 grass in one long summer's day, or reap and bind 
 as many sheaves of wheat, as any husbandman in 
 the field ! 
 
 There was want — pinching want — among the 
 feeble-bodied poor, and among the aged, often, as
 
 6 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 there is now. But many of the prosperous mer- 
 chants and gentry took a pride in being kindly to 
 the poor ; and the grateful respect in which such 
 benefactors of the needy were held was unlike any 
 grudging observance of thanks that we ever witness 
 now-a-days. The old poor law of Elizabeth — 
 which her great minister, the large-souled and large- 
 hearted Cecil, devised to prevent the poor from 
 perishing — for they were perishing, by hundreds, 
 when the monasteries were dissolved, and no more 
 " dole " could be dealt out to them at the doors 
 there, — the old poor law of Elizabeth was in force ; 
 and, when I was a child, I often heard the aged 
 poor express thankfulness for the real comfort they 
 experienced in the workhouse. The great evils 
 which were developed by that old law had scarcely 
 any existence then : they grew out of the root-evils 
 of bad nczv laws, as well as bad manners, in the 
 after-times. 
 
 The manners and morals of the working classes — ■ 
 I affirm it on my conscience, and in the teeth of all 
 the boast of our advanced civilization, — were better, 
 in England, in the early part of this century, than 
 they are now. The hearty regard of man towards 
 man was greater : there was greater frankness and 
 openness of dealing, one with another : far less 
 selfishness and less forgetfulness that all men are 
 brothers : a more spontaneous readiness to help one 
 another in difficulty : a more complete and entire
 
 THE CHANGES OF LIFE. 7 
 
 forgiveness of one another, if they happened to 
 quarrel — as they often did — in their drink. A 
 child of the poor, and living among them always, 
 my impressible nature received the stamp of all that 
 was said and done around me, so unerringly that I 
 am sure I am not mistaken. " They were ruder in 
 manners," some critic will suggest. But he that 
 says so, like many other critics, has not read the 
 book. How many working men cultivate manners 
 now-a-days ? Ask them, and you will receive a 
 smile of derision for your answer. I must confess 
 I would much rather witness the shy and simple 
 courtesies of the poor in the old times, than the 
 impudence that often takes the name of independ- 
 ence, among them, now. 
 
 " But they indulged in brutal sports, sir." Ay, 
 the bull-running at Stamford, occurred once a year ; 
 and, now and then, a wandering foreigner was 
 coaxed to let his bear be baited by bull-dogs ; and 
 there was cock-fighting, here and there; and badger- 
 baiting — but that was seldom ; while Staffordshire 
 and Lancashire bred savage bull-dogs and set them 
 to fight. But let not the poor of old times be 
 falsely charged with all the brutality of the old 
 sports. Let it be remembered that not only the 
 middle classes of the past, but the gentry and 
 squirearchy and many of the privileged classes — 
 not excepting even the clergy — were undisguised 
 patrons and encouragers of these brutal sports. So
 
 8 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 that the working classes of old were no worse than 
 theh' betters. 
 
 The commoner sports of labourers and handi- 
 crafts, seventy years ago, were of a less boisterous 
 description. They sought merriment chiefly. At 
 feasts and fairs, at weddings and *' house-warmings," 
 at christenings, and, on every occasion when they 
 could compass it, the young sought the dance. 
 Nay, I have some memories of the aged " footing it 
 featly," much to the admiration and mirth of lookers- 
 on. Maypoles were yet in existence. But five 
 miles from the little Lincolnshire town where I 
 passed my boyhood and youth, the ma}'pole was 
 lowered and readorned with garlands every May- 
 day ; and the festival was kept up till the time of 
 my manhood. And dancing on the green, where 
 the maypole had stood in the memories of their 
 grandfathers and grandmothers, was still practised 
 by the lads and lasses in hundreds of villages. The 
 fiddler — often a blind one — was in almost universal 
 request at that time of day. You might have heard 
 the sound of the fiddle — unless you stopped your 
 ears with your fingers to escape a sensation of 
 horror at the murder of music — every night, in the 
 ale-houses of almost every town in the kingdom. 
 The singing of ballads, recording our sea fights, or 
 the loves of sailors and swains, was also a nightly 
 practice in public-houses in those times of war and 
 public excitement. You heard, now and then, of a
 
 THE CHANGES OF LIFE. 9 
 
 prize-fight, but it was a deed of the professionals, 
 and under the patronage of aristocracy, WrestHng 
 was the great delight among strong husbandmen, 
 and the talk about their prowess often lasted for 
 weeks. 
 
 The sight of a little lad running in the snow 
 without his shoes, for sport, has suddenly sent me 
 back to the time when I was a shoeless little lad, 
 and the street afforded me great plenty of com- 
 panions in the same condition. Shoeless children, 
 ragged children, hatless children : how numerous 
 they were in the streets of our towns, large and 
 small, in the early part of the present century ! 
 Except in such very severe periods of poverty as 
 that experienced by some of our towns in the North 
 of England during the winter which has just passed, 
 we scarcely ever see a shoeless child, in the street, 
 now-a-days. Many causes have contributed to this 
 change. 
 
 There was a worse sight than that of shoeless 
 children, in the times that I am thinking of What 
 were called ' pock-marked ' children, I mean faces 
 pitted with the small-pox, were so numerous, both 
 of upgrown persons and children — ay, both of 
 ' gentle and simple ' — that, I am sure, they were 
 more numerous seventy years ago, than any other 
 faces seen in the street. The drains were all open 
 in the streets, and the cess-pools were all open in the 
 alleys and yards. Who can wonder at the spread of
 
 10 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 disease, in those years ? Leaving these unpleasant 
 memories, I return to my thinking about the habits 
 and customs of the people. 
 
 " And what were the habits of the working classes," 
 asks some one, " as regards thrift and economy ? " I 
 am sure they were far superior to the habits of the 
 working classes now. And I feel sure that they 
 had derived their habits from their forefathers — for 
 they lacked good instructors in the times I am 
 thinking of. Some who have been taught to regard 
 Will Cobbett as an exemplar of all the virtues will 
 be startled when I tell them that /its teaching of the 
 poor was often pernicious. Over and over again 
 he insisted that it was not at all advisable that the 
 working classes of this country should save money. 
 It was much more desirable, he urged, that they 
 should spend all their wages: it was better for trade, 
 and better every way. This was very self-contra- 
 dictory in the man who saved that purse of guineas, 
 when he was a sergeant in the army, and gave it 
 into the confidential keeping of the woman he 
 intended to marry, when she left America for old 
 England. But Will Cobbett, like the rest of us, was 
 often inconsistent with himself. He did not advise 
 working men to save money — but to keep a pig ! 
 And his description of the feast in a poor man's 
 family at the " pig-killing " — his laudation of the 
 luxuries of spareribs and sausages, and pork pies 
 and delicious dcvourin^s of fjristles and other
 
 THE CHANGES OF LIFE. II 
 
 " offals " — and his artistic representation of the 
 glorious pictures hung up in the poor man's kitchen 
 and sitting-room, in the shape of salted hams and 
 flitches — are among the choicest bits of his writing, 
 in his lively little book " Cottage Economy." 
 
 He did not advise the working classes to econo- 
 mise and save money ; but many of them did save, 
 in spite of his mis-teaching. Their forefathers, it 
 was their frequent custom to relate, were a prudent 
 and careful race : in old times, they said, it was a 
 rule among farmers' servants for a man to save a 
 score or two of good " spade-aces " at least — and 
 for a woman to have purchased an outfit of good 
 " menseful " sheets and blankets, and other household 
 necessaries, before lovers thought of marrying. To 
 plunge into a married life in sheer poverty was an 
 act of madness, they said, and the couple that did 
 it deserved to be set in the stocks and pelted with 
 rotten eggs — or, as some severe people said, to be 
 whipped through the streets. 
 
 Good lack ! when I think of the stern way in 
 which the improvidence of " beggars' marriages," as 
 they were called, were denounced by the poor when 
 I was young, and of the reckless way in which I 
 have seen hundreds of penniless boys and girls rush 
 to church or chapel, to be tied together for life — in 
 after years — I almost wonder whether this old earth 
 has not suffered some inexplicable shock, and taken 
 to revolving the wrong way on her axis !
 
 12 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 One word on the most serious of all subjects — 
 Religion, Thomas Paine's " Age of Reason " was 
 eagerly read by some working men, more especially 
 in the manufacturing districts ; and some professed 
 themselves to be Deists openly, but these were few, 
 and Atheism was scarcely named : even the working 
 men inclined to Deism seemed to regard it with 
 horror. Of all England, the West Riding of York- 
 shire was, perhaps, the region where " freethinking " 
 was most common among working men, and tJiere 
 the evil met a powerful counteraction in Methodism. 
 Yorkshire Methodism was, at that time of day, the 
 heartiest and happiest form of piety that was ever 
 experienced in this kingdom. The high standard of 
 holiness maintained by William Bramwell, David 
 Stoner, and others ; the healthy tone of spiritual in- 
 struction from William Dawson and many more ; 
 the exhilarating and inspiring music of Leach, whose 
 tunes were felt to be such soul-touching interpreta- 
 tions of Charles Wesley's hymns, together, fed the 
 flame of Christian faith and feeling till it thawed the 
 ice of unbelief, and prevented it from spreading far 
 over the land.
 
 II. 
 
 POLITICS OF THE PAST. 
 
 POLITICS — and politics so largely involving the 
 fate of the working classes — inevitably crowd 
 upon one's memory, when thinking of the second 
 and third decades of the present century. " Peace 
 and plenty ! God save the King ! " cried poor men 
 as well as rich men when the " Great Peace " was 
 proclaimed, in 1814. The Peace, however, did not 
 really come till Waterloo was fought, in 181 5. But, 
 even before Waterloo was thought of, not only 
 working men but tradesmen and manufacturers 
 began to discover that all their fond expectation of 
 some wonderful prosperity and plenty that Peace 
 would bring, had been only a foolish dream. 
 
 The extensive works were closed which had 
 furnished the materiel of war ; and thousands were 
 thus thrown out of employment. And when more 
 idlers — sailors from the fleet and soldiers from the 
 army — began to mingle with these constrained idlers, 
 their mutterings of discontent soon swelled into 
 groans. With indescribable selfishness, the land- 
 lords of England, backed by the clamour of their
 
 14 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 farmer-tenantry, demanded that tJiey should not 
 suffer, let others suffer what they might. It had 
 been considered certain and sure that foreign corn 
 would be brought in plentifully when war ended, 
 and bread would be cheap. But as farmers could 
 not pay high rents if they had to seU cheap corn, 
 and landlords would not endure any lowering of 
 their rents — the infamous Corn Lazv of i 8 i 5 ivas 
 enacted ! 
 
 There was no power in the country that could 
 confront the power of the landlords. The admini- 
 stration of that day was composed of the veriest 
 tools of tyranny and oppression that ever held office 
 in this country. The curses of the suffering poor, 
 as they mentioned the names of Castlereagh, and 
 Sidmouth, and Eldon, and Liverpool, seem to ring 
 in my ears yet ! Bad harvests added to the misery 
 and sufferings of the poor ; and manufacturers began 
 to feel themselves well-nigh driven to despair. 
 Enterprise had been all expectant upon the Peace ; 
 but landlord -power smote it on the forehead. 
 Enterprise staggered ; and well it might. For the 
 maddened and starving poor threw themselves 
 also as antagonists in its path. They denounced 
 machinery, and wildly strove to destroy it. 
 
 This unreasonable discontent with their employers 
 was mingled with a just discontent with their 
 political rulers, and they expressed their just dis- 
 content loudly. And, now, the wicked government
 
 POLITICS OF THE PAST. 1 5 
 
 sent Olivier, and Castles, and Edwards, their spies 
 among the poor miserable men, to push them on to 
 overt acts of treason ; and Jeremiah Brandreth and 
 other working men were hung at Derby, — and 
 Thistlewood and his associates were hung in London, 
 — and there would have been more hangings had 
 not the strong common-sense of Wellington put a 
 stop to these atrocities. 
 
 " Sidmouth has discovered another plot," said one 
 of the peers to him one day as they were leaving 
 the House of Lords. 
 
 " I am tired of their plots," was the stern reply ; 
 and the Duke set himself to oppose the infamous 
 spy-system, and soon brought it to an end — although 
 he continued to support that long, bad Tory admini- 
 stration of Lord Liverpool. 
 
 Lancashire men need not be reminded of " Peter- 
 loo," and the many other horrors of that time. 
 Imprisonments of the most severe and afflictive 
 nature were endured by many. Hunt was thrown 
 into Ilchester gaol, and Cobbett into Newgate. 
 But, when Cobbett got out again, he fled to 
 America ; and he refused ever to set foot again in 
 England till that bad government was ended. At 
 length Castlereagh cut his own throat ; and, soon 
 after, the Liverpool administration expired of sheer 
 helplessness and incapacity. Canning was placed 
 in power by George the Fourth, through the in- 
 fluence, it was believed, of the king's mistress, the
 
 l6 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Marchioness of Conyngham. But neither Wellington 
 nor Peel would join the new and more enlightened 
 minister. The perpetual worry of office, and the 
 mortifications he had to endure from a powerful 
 opposition, soon killed Canning. The third decade 
 of the nineteenth century closed soon after the death 
 of him who had been a bad ruler, both as regent 
 and king, and with Wellington in full political power, 
 but with such a cry for " Reform " around him as 
 would have frightened any other prime minister. 
 
 The history of the Regency and of the Liverpool 
 Administration would form one of the blackest 
 chapters in the History of England, if it were 
 written with truth and fearlessness. The mean, 
 unclean character of George the Fourth, and his 
 cruelty to his wife, would only form subordinate 
 parts of the severe chronicle : accessories to the dark 
 picture, as one may say. " Such a ministry ought 
 never to have existed," Disraeli himself has said of 
 that vile Tory government. The reckless way in 
 which they sacrificed the interests of England, at the 
 peace, seems almost incredible, if we were not sure 
 that it is fact. 
 
 " What a blockhead was that Lord Castlereagh 
 of yours," said Napoleon at St. Helena, to one of 
 his English visitors, " to sit sprawling his legs under 
 the table, at the Congress of Vienna, smirking at 
 the stars and ribbons on his breast — the toys with 
 which the allies had bamboozled him — instead of
 
 POLITICS OF THE PAST. 1/ 
 
 Standing up boldly, and demanding Egypt. It is 
 the real key of your Indian possessions, and you 
 could have had it, or aught else you had asked for, 
 at the end of the war : Antwerp, for instance, and 
 other continental ports, as depots for your commerce. 
 You had not only given all the strength of your 
 navy and your army to the cause of the allied 
 Sovereigns — but you had subsidized Austria, and 
 Prussia, and other States with millions upon millions, 
 to enable them to carry on the war against me and 
 the French people ; and nothing would have been 
 denied you." 
 
 But that blockheaded and corrupt ministry asked 
 for nothing, and got nothing, as a recompense for 
 all our prodigal expenditure of money and human 
 lives. Their only pride seemed to consist in fawn- 
 ing on the allied Sovereigns, and in trying to destroy 
 freedom and to assimilate English rule to that of 
 the despotisms which were now become triumphant 
 on the Continent. 
 
 The faulty provisions of the old poor law began 
 to be fearfully felt, now taxation, scarcity of work, 
 and scarcity of bread, together with misrule, afflicted 
 the land. Thousands who had to pay heavy poor- 
 taxes experienced as much real want as paupers in 
 workhouses, or those who clamoured for out-door 
 relief. 
 
 The taxes upon knowledge formed a dense 
 barrier against popular enli;;^htenment. A few dar- 
 
 }^
 
 ]8 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 ing men — Cobbett, with his " Register," and Wooler, 
 with his "Black Dwarf," and Hetherington, with his 
 radical publications of many names — fought the 
 battle against power, in spite of imprisonment and 
 loss. No thought about the education of the people 
 ever entered the minds of rulers in those days. 
 Education ! it was the influence they dreaded above 
 all others. 
 
 The Augean stable of bad laws and bad govern- 
 ment, at the close of the third decade of this 
 century, needed more than one political Hercules to 
 wield the besom of Reform, in order to cleanse it. 
 " Reform ! " cried the Whigs, with the mass of the 
 middle and working classes behind them. " There 
 needs no Reform, and there shall be none!" asserted 
 the Iron Duke — who, with the " Sailor King," 
 William the Fourth, began now to fill the shop- 
 windows in caricature. One of these pictures re- 
 presented the king in his state-coach, with the 
 well-known owner of the hooked nose sitting on the 
 box and wielding the whip, with the legend beneath 
 — " The man wot drives the Sovereign." 
 
 The storm soon swelled till even the iron resolve 
 of Wellington quailed, and he gave up office. But, 
 when Earl Grey, and Brougham, and Durham, and 
 Lord John Russell, and Sir James Graham, and the 
 rest took the reins of government, what a stout 
 battle did the Tory Peers fight ! Nobody dreamt 
 that they could be so eloquent, even in defence of
 
 POLITICS OF THE PAST. I9 
 
 their privileges. Their speeches were a wonder, and 
 the debates in the Commons were mighty, and the 
 agitation outside for " The Bill, — the Avhole Bill, — 
 and nothing but the Bill ! " was tempestuous. No 
 political agitation of this nineteenth century has 
 been so great and so general as that which ended 
 in carrying the Reform Bill of 1832. 
 
 The generous part which the working classes took 
 in that struggle was too soon forgotten by the 
 middle classes. Although they knew that the 
 Reform Bill would not enfranchise tliein, working 
 men assisted largely to win the triumph by throw- 
 ing all their energy into the contest. Attwood of 
 Birmingham, and other leading agitators, assured 
 them that their turn should come next — and come 
 soon. But the promises tvere all broken. 
 
 The political history of the fourth and fifth 
 decades of the present century, is a history of the 
 anger of working men with the classes and political 
 parties who made these promises and broke them ; 
 and of their own vain endeavour, amid suffering and 
 disappointment, to win enfranchisement for them- 
 selves. They saw the old municipal corporations 
 broken up, and the middle classes, whom they had 
 helped, rise into local power and importance. They 
 saw the middle classes chiefly benefited by cheap 
 postage. But for the7)i there was the new Poor Law 
 with all its severities — severities which were griev- 
 ously felt even in the happier parts of the country,
 
 20 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 but which were regarded as real cruelties by the 
 hand -loom weavers of Lancashire, the stockingers 
 of Leicester, the nail makers of the "Black Country," 
 and other poor human instruments of labour, who 
 were living almost in a state of famine. 
 
 The working men in London and Birmingham who 
 had been most active in the agitation for the Reform 
 Bill of 1832, seeing themselves coolly deserted by 
 the Whigs and middle-class leaders, commenced an 
 agitation for their own enfranchisement in 1837; 
 and this movement, under the name of " Chartism," 
 soon grew threatening in many parts of the land. In 
 Lancashire and the West Riding political leaders 
 such as Oastler and Stephens, who were not Chartists, 
 swelled the popular discontent by denouncing the new 
 Poor Law. Excesses of feeling were thus raised 
 which issued in violence ; and a violent spirit was 
 engendered which lasted for many years. It was in 
 vain that Frost and his associates were exiled for their 
 foolish Newport riot : it was in vain ih'^i four hundred 
 Chartists were imprisoned in different gaols at one 
 time. Other leaders took their places ; and, unless 
 broken down by suffering, the prisoners, when liber- 
 ated, returned as vigorously as ever to the work of 
 political agitation. For misery gave them crowds of 
 hearers. The enterprize of the country was checked 
 on every hand. The infamous Corn Laws were still 
 preserved by landlord power. The Reformed Parlia- 
 ment was no match for landlords. Manchester men
 
 POLITICS OF THE PAST. 21 
 
 commenced the Anti-Corn-Law agitation ; but the 
 poor would not join them. They scoffingly pointed 
 the new agitators to their own deeds. " What ! has 
 your Reform Bill failed .-* " they cried ; "will not the 
 work of your own hands aid you .'' Give us the 
 franchise — help us to get it — and we will raise }-ou 
 a Parliament that shall speedily abolish the Corn 
 Laws, and all other bad laws." 
 
 But no ! The leaders of the Anti-Corn-Law 
 League would hav^e nothing to do with "The People's 
 Charter," which proposed to give the franchise to every 
 man of one-and-twenty years of age, to have a new 
 Parliament yearly, to vote by ballot, to have equal 
 electoral districts, to have no property qualification 
 for members of Parliament, and that the said members 
 should be paid for their services. 
 
 That angry resistance against manufacturers who 
 espoused the doctrines of Free Trade, from the opera- 
 tives in their employ, who demanded "The People's 
 Charter," seems insane now one looks back upon it, 
 at a distance of between thirty and forty years. But 
 the insanity sprang from poverty in despair — poverty 
 trustless of all help from the better-off classes — and 
 we must think of it as mildly as we can. The wisdom 
 and the beneficence of Richard Cobden's doctrines 
 have been richly proven by England in the years 
 which have succeeded that mistaken combat of the 
 poor against their own true interests. 
 
 Perhaps manufacturers — or, at least, a powerful
 
 22 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 section of them — might have been won over to advo- 
 cate the extension of the franchise to working men, 
 if Chartists had not shown such ill-judged opposition 
 to the Anti-Corn-Law League. But, when the 
 League had gained its object, working men saw at 
 once, that all hope of getting help from manu- 
 facturers for an extension of the franchise was 
 closed. And unless the political earthquake on the 
 Continent, in 1848, had blown the smouldering 
 embers of Chartism again into flame, they would 
 have died out at once. O'Connor's mad land 
 scheme could not have kept Chartism alive. The 
 failure of that scheme served to kill it entirely. 
 Working men had now better and better employ, 
 since Free Trade was established, and enterprise had 
 full scope to push foreign trade. And so they fell 
 to getting bread into the cupboard, and clothes on 
 their backs, and bade " good-night " to politics. 
 
 They could not be drawn into political agitation 
 during the " Cotton Famine"; their common-sense 
 taught them that no complaints of grievances could 
 relieve them — there could be no remedy till the 
 American War was ended. They showed no hot 
 desire when Mr. Gladstone timidly proposed Jiis 
 partial extension of the franchise. They acknow- 
 led""ed no debt of gratitude when Mr. Disraeli 
 startled his own party and the whole country by 
 introducing household suffrage in the boroughs. 
 They showed still more frigid indifference when the
 
 POLITICS OF THE PAST. 23 
 
 ballot was proposed and carried ; and if you spoke 
 of it to them, they declared they did not value it at 
 all. But, as trade grew and flourished, they showed 
 they were not without a perception of their own 
 interests as it regards the rewards of labour. They 
 made higher and higher demands — and they ob- 
 tained them. 
 
 " And what better were they for it ? " asks some 
 reader ; " working men cannot say they had no share 
 in the prosperity of trade; but, now stagnation is 
 felt, what provision have they made for it ?" " What 
 better," I ask again, " are they for the higher wages 
 and prosperous times they have had ? " 
 
 Thank God ! many of them are a great deal 
 better for it. I spend a little time, now and then, 
 in lecturing in various manufacturing towns in 
 Lancashire, and have been deeply gratified by what 
 I have seen and heard. Many a working man has 
 now a house of his own, and some working men 
 are owners of two or three houses. They joined 
 building societies ciuring their prosperity, and this 
 is the fruit of it. Nor are the houses mere hovels. 
 The local boards, in the localities where building is 
 going on, insist on the houses being built in symme- 
 trical rows and on uniform plans. Working men are 
 thus living in houses consisting of several rooms, and 
 having separate accommodations out of doors, with 
 supply of water, etc. Co-operative stores are also 
 spread over almost all the manufacturing districts of
 
 24 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Lancashire and Yorkshire, and their savings in the 
 cost of food enable working men and their families 
 to live, not only without stint of victuals, but on 
 food of better quality. 
 
 Remembering how I saw Lancashire men in rags, 
 and heard their threats of physical force, amid their 
 starvation, forty years ago, what I thus witness is 
 more gratifying to me than I can easily express. 
 A man in rags is a scarce sight indeed, now, in the 
 manufacturing parts of Lancashire ; and as for the 
 women, they are now so gay in dress — but I had 
 better say nothing about tJiem, lest I get into a 
 scrape ! 
 
 Be it understood, however, that there is still a 
 degraded class among working men : the depraved 
 devotees of drink, cock-fighting, betting on horses, 
 dog-races, and on pigeon-flying. I am also sorry to 
 say that the poor colliers do not seem to have risen 
 morally, or to have bettered their physical condition, 
 amid the sunshine of prosperity that visited them, 
 ten years ago. The fact that so many of the houses 
 in which the colliers live belong to the owners of the 
 coal-pits, necessarily confines them to live amidst 
 dirt and squalor. It is true that some owners of 
 coal-pits have built better dwellings for the colliers ; 
 but many hundreds of the poor workers yet tenant 
 most miserable abodes. Many a collier has but one 
 room for his whole family, be it ever so numerous- 
 It is by no means an uncommon sight, in a collier-
 
 POLITICS OF THE PAST. 2$ 
 
 village, to see, in one corner, the wife lying-in, and 
 merely divided from the open room by a screen of 
 sacking, or old clothes — while the husband is eating 
 his meal by the fireside, and his boys and girls are 
 eating their portion, some on stools and some sitting 
 on the floor. 
 
 The degradation to which I have often seen poor 
 colliers reduced, in their mode of living — the thought 
 of the long hours of danger which the poor fellows 
 have to spend in the deep mine — and the hard- 
 hearted carelessness for their condition of those who 
 get thousands by their labour — have often made me 
 writhe with indignation, and wonder that the lowly 
 toilers bore their hardships so quietly. I have 
 mingled a good deal with the colliers in the course 
 of my lecturing life, and have spent many hours 
 in talking with them. JNIany of them have fine, 
 generous minds; and I feel sure it would be possible 
 to raise them as a class, by generous efforts.
 
 III. 
 
 MORE CHANGES. 
 
 HOW strangely uneven our lot in life is cast ! 
 Forty years ago, I had to undergo two years' 
 imprisonment in Stafford Gaol, for trying to get 
 the franchise for working men. The attempt was 
 called ' sedition and conspiracy,' at that time of day. 
 Noiv, in this year of Grace, 1885, both Whigs and 
 Tories have declared that working men ought to 
 have the franchise, and have given it to «//, through- 
 out the land, who are householders ! 
 
 ' No wonder that you chuckle about it, old fellow,' 
 says some reader ; ' but when the Redistribution Bill 
 is agreed to, what do you think will be the result 
 of the first election V I do not think it is the first 
 election that is of so much importance. What will 
 be done when the country has settled down, and 
 accustomed itself to regard the new state of things as 
 what ought to be and must be .■' That is the really 
 important question. No doubt many are casting an 
 eye, often in fear, at the dark future. ' What will be 
 done with the Established Church } ' ' What will be 
 done with the Bishops .-' ' ' What will be done with
 
 MORE CHANGES. 2/ 
 
 the House of Lords ? ' ' What will be done about 
 the Land ? ' and a dozen of other ominous questions 
 will be passing through many minds. 
 
 ' But, I suppose,' some will say, ^ you have no fears 
 as to what may come about in Old England, when 
 you are gone .'' ' You are mistaken who think so. 
 / have great fears. And, chiefly, because working 
 men, after all that has been done, and is still doing, 
 for the education of the young, have no real teachers 
 in politics. So long as that Chartist agitation lasted, 
 even with all its faults, it served to indoctrinate the 
 poor, starving toilers into the knowledge that they 
 had political rights, as well as other people. But 
 when Corn-Law Repeal gave the toilers bread and 
 something to spare — and Feargus O'Connor's mad 
 Land scheme disgraced the Chartist agitation — the 
 workers, as I have already said, gave up politics, 
 and for several years there was agitation for Dis- 
 establishment of the National Church, agitation for 
 Atheism, agitation for Anti-Vaccination, agitation for 
 the ' Claimant,' agitation for teetotalism, — agitations 
 many — but there was no agitation for giving an 
 increase of the franchise to working men. Oh, yes ! 
 There was one agitator, poor Joseph Arch, who 
 urged that half-a-million of agricultural labourers 
 were all without votes, and ought to have them. 
 But who urged that the franchise should be given 
 to lodgers — to all men of twenty-one years of age, 
 who were not householders .-• Yet, who does not
 
 28 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 see, noiv, that t]iat will be accomplished, and very 
 shortly ? 
 
 The last measure of suffrage given by Parliament 
 — Mr. Disraeli's Household Suffrage in the Boroughs 
 — was the most corrupt suffrage that could be 
 devised — although some foolish people regarded it as 
 a great boon. Mr. Disraeli knew what he was about 
 when he proposed it. He knew that it was the 
 suffrage which would include the most ignorant, the 
 most dependent, the most needy, and the most easily 
 bought, of all working men : the men advanced in 
 years, the men who are without education, who have 
 children round them craving every day for bread, 
 who are feeling the approach of helpless old age, 
 and are fearful of losing their employment, and 
 so are ready to do anything for a little money, or 
 to ingratiate themselves into favour with their em- 
 ployers. Chartists saw all this, and taught all this 
 more than forty years ago. They always protested 
 against mere household suffrage in the boroughs as 
 the most corrupt suffrage that could be invented, 
 and the surest suffrage to serve the cause of the 
 Tories. No old Chartist was surprised when Lan- 
 cashire returned Tories at the first election after the 
 suffrage was given to householders in the boroughs. 
 
 " What use have working men made of the 
 suffrage now they have got it .^ " ask some people. 
 "What encouragement is there to enlarge the suffrage, 
 when we see working men crowding to the poll to
 
 MORE CHANGES. 29 
 
 return Dr. Kenealy } " They who ask this seem to 
 forget who the working men were who did this. 
 They were ?iot the unmarried men of one-and-twenty 
 and upwards, who are members of mechanics' insti* 
 tutes, and book clubs, and young men's Christian 
 associations, — -/or tJiey have no votes. They were 
 the poor degraded colhers, iron workers, and potters, 
 who bet on pigeon-flying, dog-racing, and dog-fight- 
 ing, and who loiter away Monday and Tuesday in 
 each week, standing in the market place, or drinking 
 and smoking in low public-houses. 
 
 When Gladstone, filled with noble and generous 
 impulse, cried out in that famous debate — " Are they 
 not our own flesh and blood } " — if Disraeli had 
 sprung up and said " T/iej/ are ; and therefore let 
 us enfranchise all alike — but above all, do not let us 
 leave out the most intelligent and moral of the work- 
 ing classes " — it would have been more to his credit 
 than all the witty, smart things he ever said in the 
 House of Commons put together. If we wish to 
 raise men, it cannot be by denying them what we 
 demand for ourselves — to be governed by our own 
 consent. Nor should we be over keen in marking 
 their blunders when they first begin to exercise the 
 franchise. Who can wonder at their errors when it 
 is remembered that no Go\-ernment, for so many 
 years, put forth any effort to educate the people. 
 Nay, that the strongest and direst struggle by men in 
 power was made against enligliteiimcnt of the people.
 
 30 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 One oftens hears the complaint that working men 
 do not attend places of worship. But it seems to be 
 forgotten that they are only like other people in 
 this respect — that they are no woi^se than their betters. 
 Tens of thousands of the middle classes in London 
 and in all our large towns seldom or never enter 
 a place of worship. Nor are the upper classes re- 
 markable for their strict observance of the Lord's 
 Day. I always feel the censure with which some 
 people visit the working classes to be so hard and 
 unreasonable, because they are expected to be good 
 — although their betters do not set them the 
 example ; and their" rulers, in the past, have striven 
 to brutalize them, rather than to exalt them in 
 morals and intelligence. Instead of complaining of 
 them, let us all make what effort we can to raise 
 them. 
 
 Building of more fine chapels will not attract 
 them. The Gospel of Christ must be carried to 
 them — to their very doors ; and it is time that it 
 was done — for they are still imitating their betters : 
 the Secularists are beginning to call themselves 
 " Darwinians ! " Will Christian young men — I 
 mean such as are born with good common-sense — 
 try to get the real anointing from above, and go out 
 into the lanes and alleys and squares where working 
 men live, and preach Christ to them } Mere muffs 
 will not do for the work. The speakers must be 
 able to talk, and must have something to talk about.
 
 MORE CHANGES. 3 1 
 
 The more knowledge they have of God's word the 
 better, the more knowledge they have of human 
 nature the better, and the more readily they can 
 express their meaning in terse, plain English, the 
 better. Thousands of such teachers are wanted — 
 thousands who are willing to go out into the high- 
 ways and hedges — or into the very dens of squalor 
 and wretchedness, and proclaim Christ. They need 
 not wait to be sent by the churches. Let them take 
 their commission from the compelling sense of duty : 
 that is the best " call " that any man can have. 
 The churches will not be backward to offer them the 
 right-hand of fellowship, when they are known to be 
 doing good. Comparing the characters of our work- 
 ing men with others, I have often spoken plainly, 
 and shall do so as long as I live. I wrote some 
 plain words in 1877, and I think I may as well 
 repeat them now. I do not think they will do any 
 harm ; and I believe they are as much needed now 
 as they were then. 
 
 " Fifty feather beds pawned by the workies, in two 
 days, to get the means for having their usual July 
 railway-trip ! This has just been enacted in the 
 old cathedral city where I am writing : the old city 
 which has lost its slow-coach character, by the in- 
 troduction of large iron-works, which employ some 
 thousands of human hands. The workers threw 
 money away, as if it were dirty water, when they 
 were in full work and had high wages ; and, now
 
 0- 
 
 TIIOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 they are on short work and get little mone}', com- 
 paratively, they pawn their beds, and plunge into 
 debt, to get their revel. Small shopkeepers know 
 what they have to expect : an account-book filled 
 with the names of many who will not be out of debt 
 for months to come, and of some who will never 
 pay : an increase of their embarrassments : sleepless 
 nights and anxious days, and, perhaps, ruin. And 
 what do the workers gain by their revel .'* Health ? 
 No : but the loss of it, to many. They return home 
 jaded ; and go back to their labour with a feeling of 
 sour discontent that they have to work " on dead 
 horse," as they phrase it — to work merely to pay 
 their debts. And, if they do not try to pay their 
 debts — but spend their money at a new shop, as 
 they too often do — their violation of conscience 
 leads to a lower sink of immorality : perhaps, to 
 utter recklessness about right and wrong. 
 
 " Thus far about the workies ; what about their 
 " betters " ? The Contemporary Reviezv, for this 
 month of August, contains an article on " The 
 Horse as an instrument of gambling " that will 
 make some moral people open their eyes widely. 
 The writer announces " the public accession of the 
 Prince of Wales to the turf" ; and assures us that 
 " the running of horses has become surrounded by 
 all kinds of temptations : the horse is in the hands 
 of gamblers. Gentlemen (the italics are the writer's, 
 not mine) degrade themselves by dirtying their
 
 MORE CHANGES. 33 
 
 hands with a betting-book. Men bribe, and stable- 
 boys become corrupt in consequence of the turf 
 having been selected as one of the places where 
 people make haste to be rich. The elements of 
 chicanery which now attend the pastime of horse- 
 racing have given it a bad odour ; and it would be 
 a thousand times better that horse-racing should 
 altogether cease, than that the race courses of 
 Great Britain should continue to be seminaries of 
 swindling." 
 
 The writer also tells us that, last year, " forty-four 
 persons won from ;^200 to ;^300 each, forty-five 
 gained sums ranging from ;^300 to i^5oo, sixty won 
 amounts ranging from ^500 to ^994, and sixty- 
 three persons won sums of ;^ 1,000 and upwards," 
 by betting on horse-races, — while, " the owner of 
 the horse which won the Cesarewitch of last year 
 was able to back it to win him ;^ 100,000." But 
 the most remarkable statement is one which this 
 writer quotes from a popular magazine — "The chief 
 jockey of the period earns in fees as large an income 
 as the Lord High Chancellor of England ; and his 
 fees and presents are said to have amounted last 
 year to over ^13,000. In all probability the three 
 principal jockeys of England will earn, or at all 
 events receive, more money in a year than the 
 whole professional staff of a modern university ! " 
 
 So their " betters " set but a bad example of 
 morals to the working classes. And noblemen and 
 
 3
 
 34 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 gentlemen cannot plead that it is hard, after months 
 of continuous labour, if they cannot have one or two 
 holidays in the year : for noblemen and gentlemen 
 keep holiday all the year round. Nor can they 
 plead that they are tempted to indulge in a revel 
 which they cannot afford, by the offer of railway 
 directors (who must make a revenue, by hook or by 
 crook, now their receipts are so low) to convey them 
 one hundred miles for a shilling, give them three or 
 four days for enjoyment, and bring them back for 
 another shilling. Nor can the petty dissipation of 
 the worker's railway trip be likened to the gigantic 
 sin whose enormities are chronicled so partially 
 by the writer in the Contemporary — for it opens 
 the sluices for a deluge of other sins, and drags 
 thousands of the working classes into the foul mire 
 of gambling. 
 
 Horse-racing means gambling ; and all who join 
 in it, know it : they know it means vice on a large 
 scale — but they engage in it, nevertheless. And 
 many of them do it in spite of the dread rebuke of 
 conscience. My good and kind friend. Dr. Sale, the 
 late Vicar of Sheffield, once gave me an affecting 
 account of a conversation he had in a railway 
 carriage with one of his parishioners, a manufac- 
 turer, who was returning from Epsom the day after 
 the Derby, with considerable winnings. The faithful 
 vicar struck home, and soon discovered that the 
 man, with all his seeming elation, was consciously
 
 MORE CHANGES. 35 
 
 guilty ; and showed it, not only by the changes of 
 his countenance, but by his desperate attempts to 
 " change the subject." It was in vain, however, that 
 he strove to get out of the Christian preacher's 
 power. The vicar pressed the charge of guilt, till 
 the sweat started to the gambler's brow, and he 
 cried, " For God's sake, say no more ! I know it 
 is wrong. I dare not reflect upon it ! " Yet the 
 vicar did not shrink from his duty ; but still urged 
 his reproof, till he thought he had reason to believe 
 that the man would give up his sin. 
 
 More changes ! Among them, we have lately 
 had one which does not come often. We have got 
 a new Archbishop of Canterbury : Dr. Benson. My 
 thoughts about good, departed Dr. Sale, and his 
 rebuke of horse-race gambling, put into my mind 
 another thought : — Could the new Archbishop be 
 persuaded and encouraged also to do a bit of real 
 conscience work, in higher quarters } 
 
 While we had Dr. Benson in old Lincoln, as 
 canon of our noble cathedral, he won a very high 
 reputation, for what were held to be his great quali- 
 ties and salutary influence, among young clergymen 
 and aspirants for clerical office. In Cornwall, as 
 Bishop of Truro, he was also regarded as being 
 highly instrumental in the same kind of work. 
 
 Dr. Benson now ranks next to the Royal Family: 
 above the Lord High Chancellor and Archbishop of 
 York, and above all mere Dukes, Marquises, Earls,
 
 36 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 and so forth, in the land. If I wished to speak a 
 word in the ear of the Prince of Wales, and were 
 to present my request at the door of Marlborough 
 House, or Sandringham, doubtless, a policeman 
 would tell me, very peremptorily, to "walk off" — or 
 he would take me to the lock-up. But, Dr. Benson 
 can have an interview with the heir to the Crown, 
 almost at any time that he asks for it. Will he act 
 like a real Christian minister, and ask for such an 
 interview, and talk to the Prince like a real Christian 
 minister } 
 
 Thus : — 
 
 " Your Royal Highness is, doubtless, a little 
 curious, from the tone of my note to you, saying 
 that I wished for a strictly private interview, — to 
 know what it is that I want to say to you. I must 
 tell you, at once, that I am come to make an appeal 
 to your conscience. By what I hold to be the 
 Providence of God, I am placed next to your illus- 
 trious family, in the order of precedence ; and I am 
 placed thus, with the concurrence, at least, if not by 
 the immediate wish of my sovereign, your Most 
 Gracious mother. Thus doubly compelled, I feel I 
 must perform my conscientious duty, or pronounce 
 myself to be a self-condemned man. 
 
 " / am constituted your spiritual adviser. You 
 are become the avowed and openly proclaimed 
 patron of horse-racing ! Does not your Royal 
 Highness know that the most current literature of
 
 MORE CHANGES. 37 
 
 the day declares horse-racing means gambHng ? 
 And do you not feel that you have been won over 
 by bad advisers to take a most unworthy position ? 
 
 " Gambling ? That is not ail. Horse-racing is 
 become the vice of vices — the curse of the land. 
 For all ranks are drawn ruinously into the en- 
 couragement of it. And the reports are so current 
 — they are, in fact, in almost everybody's mouth — 
 of the huge SIN which holds high festival at great 
 horse-race times, that I cannot suppose you to be 
 ignorant of it. Do you not know what goes on in 
 Doncaster, for instance, during the great race-week, 
 in each September .? Importation of scores of pros- 
 titutes — immigration of scores of practised thieves, 
 thimble-riggers, pick-pockets, gamblers, and cheats 
 of every description — liquor shops open at night — 
 houses of ill-fame all open — drinking, cursing, 
 swearing, and fighting — in plain words, ' Hell broke 
 loose, in the slums of Doncaster I ' 
 
 " Now, I appeal to you, most illustrious prince — 
 I am content on my bended knee to appeal to you — 
 whether you can for one moment continue to hold 
 the infamous and scandalous position report — un- 
 contradicted by yourself and confirmed by your 
 practice — assigns to you. Will you not yield to me 
 at once, and say, ' I will give it all up, and never 
 more, either go to see a horse-race, or bet upon 
 one ' .'' 
 
 " Never mind the jeers of those who have been so
 
 38 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 proud of their bad conquest over you — the gamblers 
 and black-legs, titled and untitled ! You will have 
 the gratitude, the faithful attachment and heartfelt 
 love of all Christian men in the land. 
 
 " Do you not feel that t]iat will be an inexpress- 
 ibly precious exchange for the bad honour rendered 
 you by men with whom you were so lately associated.-' 
 
 " I will not ask your forgiveness. Your Royal 
 Highness knows that I have only done my bounden 
 duty. May God help you to receive my request with 
 instant approval, and give you a long life, and a 
 happy reign, over a grateful and happy people." 
 
 Dr. Benson ! Dare you do this ? Latimer would 
 have done it, if he could live again, and fill your 
 place. Will you do it .-'
 
 IV. 
 
 SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRHvES. 
 
 T HAVE been so bold as to address a word to 
 -*- the Primate of all England ; and, I trust, his 
 Grace will think I have addressed him in real 
 courtesy. I am sure I meant to do so. 
 
 Let me, now, return to my more-accustomed work : 
 that of talking to working men. I wrote as follows, 
 in 1876 : — 
 
 " An intelligent Scottish friend tells me in a letter, 
 the other day, that the prolonged strike of the colliers 
 of Fifeshire, and the iron workers of Glasgow, is 
 inflicting suffering upon the strikers which they 
 endeavour in vain to conceal. The haggard looks of 
 many of the men proclaim their wretchedness. The 
 deprivation which themselves and their families 
 undergo is so great that weak constitutions are giving 
 way, and some are dying for want of food. It is 
 the common talk in the collier villages of Fife, when 
 a corpse is carried out to be buried, " There goes 
 another victim of the strike ! " 
 
 The seeming heroism there is in all this — the 
 resistance to the death of what they consider to be
 
 40 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 wrong — would be admirable, if such heroism were 
 not folly. When furnaces are being blown out, when 
 manufacturers are working their mills on short time, 
 when scarcity of work is the outcry increasingly at 
 home, and trade seems paralysed on the Continent, 
 it seems worse than folly — it seems madness for 
 working men to play the ruinous game of strike. 
 
 No man of common-sense and right reasoning 
 disputes the right to strike, on the part of the work- 
 ing men, when they judge that they are not receiving 
 just wages. But what it is both just and wise to do 
 at one time, it may be very unjust and very unwise 
 to do at another time. And, as the New York 
 Tribune observes, " this is a poor season for strikes, 
 since the supply of skilled labour is evidently in 
 excess of demand in almost every department of 
 industry." 
 
 And, then, the writer goes on to say — " Of the 
 many strikes which we have been called upon to 
 chronicle during the past few months, we do not 
 now recall one which has accomplished the purpose, 
 either of raising wages or of preventing their diminu- 
 tion ; for, there are certain matters which settle 
 themselves, sooner or later, without argument, and 
 the price of labour happens to be one of them. Take 
 the whole mass of strikes, since they came into 
 fashion, and it will be found that they have cost the 
 employed much more than the employer." It is the 
 old lesson, although repeated in America; and work-
 
 SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRHvES. 4I 
 
 ing men are still more unwilling to listen to it in 
 America, than they are in our own country. 
 
 The recent railway riots in America furnish a 
 lesson even for English thinkers. "The most alarm- 
 ing feature of the whole disturbance," says a writer 
 in the Daily News, " was the evidence it gave that 
 there is all over the States a class of working men 
 who believe themselves to have a common cause 
 against employers. It was not alone railway workers 
 of any kind who kept up the struggle. In every 
 place where the strike appeared (we may speak of 
 the strike as if it were one homogeneous pest, like a 
 disease) its numbers were reinforced by labourers of 
 all kinds, who ran to bear arms in the cause, as if 
 they and the rioters were bound together by the ties 
 of a common nationality or religion, or some similar 
 bond, which, in times of trial, is supposed to make 
 brothers of all who acknowledge it." And then the 
 writer tries to solve the mystery of this tendency 
 to band together against employers, in all American 
 labourers. He affirms that because they are chiefly 
 adventurers who merely left Europe to get better pay, 
 they cannot have any care for the laws and social 
 order of a country in which they are strangers, and 
 were sure when hard times came to be unruly in 
 their discontent ; and, not only so, but to be ready 
 to combine in an unruly way to get it. 
 
 I cannot help thinking that this writer's probe 
 does not reach half the depth of the sore. The state
 
 42 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 of feeling I witnessed among ill-paid, starving work- 
 ing men in our old Chartist time, and before the 
 abolition of the Corn Laws, was very much like that 
 which seems to prevail in America, in " hard times." 
 They were nearly all of the " class of working men 
 who believe themselves to have a common cause 
 against employers." However unreasonable their 
 belief was in many instances, it zvas their belief. I 
 discerned little among them of what this writer talks 
 of as " that common devotion to the laws and social 
 order of the country that its own born citizens, how- 
 ever poor, might be expected to have." It was not 
 " devotion to the laws," but fear of the strength of 
 the laws, that withheld starving working men, in 
 1842, from becoming generally unruly in this 
 country. And even fear would not have withheld 
 them, if they could have procured arms as easily as 
 the Americans, from displaying their unruliness in a 
 signal fashion ; and it would have been towards their 
 employers first, from the unreasoning belief that 
 employers were the chief authors of their suffering. 
 
 That a portion of our working population are 
 growing wiser — that they no longer reason in this 
 ?/;^reasoning way — was proved by the sensible 
 conduct of Lancashire working men during the 
 cotton famine. An old incendiary strove, in one 
 corner, to stir up the old bad feeling against 
 employers, but he could not succeed. The common- 
 sense of the workies taught them that their own
 
 SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRIKES. 43 
 
 employers were not the cause of the " cotton famine," 
 and they did not Hsten to him. I wish I could 
 believe that equal enlightenment is shared by work- 
 ing men generally, throughout Great Britain. I fear 
 it is not. Their persistent disposition to strike, at a 
 time when employers find it difficult to keep their 
 foothold in the slippery and downward state of trade, 
 seems to afford no proof of general enlightenment 
 among working men. 
 
 But why is it that they are not enlightened .'' If 
 the Board of Arbitration, composed of employers 
 and employed, which Mr. Mundella succeeded in 
 establishing at Nottingham, can preserve the frame- 
 work knitters from strikes, why should not Boards of 
 Arbitration have the like success elsewhere ? No 
 class of workers were sunk lower than the poor 
 framework knitters at one period, nor had any class 
 of workers a stronger " belief that they had a 
 common cause against employers." Arbitration 
 peacefully settles all their incipient disputes now, 
 and Nottingham framework knitters see that they 
 have a common cause zuith employers. Is there any 
 reason why coal owners and colliers, iron masters and 
 iron workers, should not come to a like sensible and 
 peaceful agreement .-• I cannot think that poor 
 colliers are beyond enlightenment, or are viciously 
 disposed as a class. I have said so before, readers 
 know ; and I believe that a hearty manifestation of 
 kindness, on the part of their employers, would
 
 44 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 prevail with them, as it usually does with other 
 working men. As for our iron workers, they are on 
 a level for intelligence with any class of workers in 
 the kingdom ; and I know no reason why generous 
 dealing should not equally prevail with* them. 
 
 No doubt, I shall be told that many colliers and 
 iron workers are so defiant in their attitude towards 
 employers, that no attempt to bring them to reason 
 by employers could succeed. I should like, however, 
 to see the attempt humanely and earnestly made 
 by employers ; and I devoutly wish it may soon 
 be made. For, if what intelligent and experienced 
 observers are saying be true — that we must not 
 look for a speedy improvement of trade — the con- 
 dition of working men may become so severely 
 straitened, as to bring back the fearful discontent 
 of 1842. From my remembrance of what that was, 
 I humbly pray — God forbid it ! 
 
 In the month of September 1877 (in the small 
 periodical conducted by my friend, Rev. Hugh 
 Stowell Brown — which I mentioned in the Preface), 
 I wrote as follows : — 
 
 The Working Men's Question has not decreased, 
 but grown in interest ominously of late. The old 
 barbarity of evictions from their cottages of the 
 colliers in the county of Durham, has been renewed 
 amidst the yells and execrations of the women, sur- 
 rounded by several bands of police. Weather, such 
 as we have had in this country for some time, will
 
 SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRIKES. 45 
 
 render camping out in the open air a terrible ordeal 
 for the poor women and children ; and must soon 
 put an end to the strikes at the Ryhope and Beau- 
 park collieries. A riot, on a small scale, is reported, 
 by some of the cotton hands at Burnley ; while ten 
 thousand hands, it is affirmed, have turned out on 
 strike at Bolton, resolved not to submit to a reduc- 
 tion of 5 per cent, in their wages. Several thousands 
 of colliers and other workmen are on strike in various 
 parts of the country ; and the " lock-out " on the 
 Clyde of shipwrights, engineers, and other hands 
 is not ended, although there seems to be a o-ood 
 prospect of both men and masters agreeing to an 
 arbitration. This ' lock-out ' has lasted since May 
 and must have entailed an incalculable amount of 
 suffering on the workmen and their families. Must 
 it not, also, have been a time of great sacrifice 
 on the part of the employers ? Where the fault 
 has been, it is not easy to decide, but the whole 
 affair involves a great blunder — and a guilty blunder 
 somewhere. 
 
 Meantime, the poor, starved colliers of Fife, after a 
 ' lock-out ' of fourteen weeks, have been permitted to 
 resume work at a reduction of 10 instead of 20 per 
 cent, in their wages. One naturally asks — Why did 
 not the coal owners say 10 per cent, at first ? It 
 is impossible to decide, without a great deal of 
 information which is never given in the newspapers, 
 who was really at fault, in the beginning, in this
 
 46 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 case. But, knowing that starvation has ended the 
 Hves of some members of the colHers' famihes in 
 Fife and Clackmannan, it may again be affirmed 
 that this ' lock-out ' also has been a great blunder, 
 and a guilty blunder likewise — let the guilt rest 
 where it may. 
 
 With the colliers of South Staffordshire, a 
 struggle of a somewhat different kind has been 
 attempted by the coal owners. The men were 
 asked to work nine-and-a-half hours a day, instead 
 of eight. The words in which the men expressed 
 their refusal prove that intelligence is grov\'ing, even 
 in the ' Black Country.' They said " they were 
 determined not to return to a condition of labour 
 that has stunted the minds and bodies of the 
 mining population. They would not shorten their 
 lives by the means by which they have to live. 
 Masters had taught them it was unwise to exhaust 
 capital when the interest should yield sufficient to 
 live upon ; and their labour was their capital. 
 Labour should be counted by the exhaustive efforts 
 put forth, and not by minutes and hours merely." 
 The men also offered to work on the double-shift 
 system — by which the coal owners would be able to 
 work their mines sixteen hours a day, and thus save 
 nearly half their general business expenses. The 
 reasonableness of the men was fully shown by a 
 meeting of their delegates with some of the leading 
 owners ; they consented to accept a reduction of
 
 SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRHvES. 47 
 
 sixpence a day in working thick coal, and threepence 
 a day in working thin coal — and the quarrel was put 
 an end to, and work resumed. 
 
 The proposal of the employers, and the sensible 
 and temperate resistance of the men, in this last case, 
 is a proof that the poor colliers are not always 
 wrong-headed, even in the Black Country ; and that 
 they are sometimes more reasonable than their 
 employers, is proved in Northumberland also — if the 
 decision given by Mr. Herschell, M.P., be correct. 
 He was appointed umpire in arbitration between the 
 coal owners and miners in that county ; and gave it 
 as his award that the employers had failed to make 
 out a case for reduction of wages. 
 
 The fact that the London Building Trades are 
 not only continuing their demand for higher wages, 
 but that they are gradually winning their demand — 
 by firm after firm yielding it — seems, at first sight, 
 an anomaly in the present increasingly bad trade. 
 Yet there is no mystery in it. Many people who 
 made a good deal of money when trade was so 
 good, and who find they can make no money by 
 trade now, are putting their savings into the erec- 
 tion of new houses, with the belief that trade 
 will again be prosperous, and the houses be 
 wanted. And, although hundreds of houses are 
 empty in London and the suburbs, and scores are 
 becoming empty daily, this rage for building con 
 tinues. The working men know that masters are
 
 48 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 making new contracts to build daily, and thus con- 
 fidently urge their demand for tenpence the hour 
 for their labour. 
 
 Whether all the Building Firms will yield, or how 
 long the struggle will continue, depends 7iot entirely 
 on the continuance of the rage for building — which 
 must cease when people know that houses are 
 deserted by thousands ; but on another most fearful 
 fact not only for the working builders, but for all 
 working men — the return by shoals of working men 
 from America, with disappointed hopes, and, in some 
 cases, in destitution. These men are sure to be 
 clamorous for employment ; and in bitterness of 
 feeling will be likely to snatch at work wherever 
 they can get it, without caring for the interests of 
 other working men. 
 
 One does not covet the sorry reputation of a 
 gloomy prophet ; but I must avow my fear that the 
 approaching winter will be a very troublous one. 
 Generation after generation has been permitted to 
 pass away without the institution of a great system 
 of arbitration, or united council between employers 
 and employed : ignorance and selfishness are still 
 left to fight out every petty battle between them ; 
 and when the dread pressure of a bad harvest and 
 bad trade united, comes to be felt by increased 
 numbers of working men and their families, and 
 insolvency begins to prevail among employers, my 
 heart forebodes that we shall enter on a period of
 
 SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRIKES. 49 
 
 such difficulty as the population of this country have 
 not experienced for many years bygone. 
 
 What is to prevent the impending misery .-' Neither 
 strikes on the part of the workmen, nor lock-outs on 
 the part of employers, can form a remedy. It is an 
 old proverb that common misery makes men friends. 
 I have often seen the truth of the saying fulfilled. 
 My poor friend, Willie Thom, the poet, had a 
 remarkable saying : " If it were not for the Poor, 
 the Poorer would perish," And he was right. The 
 rich and well-to-do know nothing of the very poor. 
 It is only the poor that know of their existence ; and 
 from my childhood, as a child of the poor, how often 
 have I seen the poor combine to help and relieve 
 cases of extreme wretchedness. They ran to do 
 it, I remember well, with eagerness and tears of 
 sympathy. When employers multiply who are really 
 in as great a strait as working men, will the sense 
 of common misery enlarge their sympathy with 
 suffering working men ? 
 
 Hitherto, wherever, and to whomsoever, among 
 employers, I make mention of working men, the reply 
 is — " They should have taken care of their money 
 while they were so well paid for their labour : they 
 are always improvident." And I always reply — 
 What you say is too true ; but t/iej/ are as good as 
 tJieir betters. Were not coal owners avaricious when 
 trade was at its height of thrift } Did they not set 
 the evil example to the colliers who were clamorous 
 
 4
 
 50 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 for higher wages and shorter hours of work ? — and 
 are all who belong to the upper and middle classes 
 provident ? 
 
 Working men are likely to pay a heavy penalty 
 for their folly. Their greedy demand for higher 
 and higher wages sent up the price of eatables and 
 wearables, the price of fuel and the rents of houses ; 
 but they cannot bring dozvn prices and rents, now 
 they have to live on low wages. This seems never 
 to be remembered in the time of prosperity ; and 
 the counsellors to whom working men give ear, seem 
 utterly unaware of the consequences of a reckless 
 demand for higher and higher wages. One of these 
 Oracles — a very favourite one with many workies 
 — was present at a great meeting of colliers at 
 Rotherham the other day ; and a local paper says, 
 " He also spoke of the right of workmen to combine, 
 and asked what would have been the position of the 
 colliers if they had all united as one man ? If the 
 masters had wanted a reduction, the men might 
 have stopped their output, the price of the com- 
 modity would have risen, and then they would have 
 got their fair remuneration for raising it." 
 
 The speaker seemed to forget that many trades 
 besides colliers might play at the same game : 
 stinting production, in order to send up prices. 
 What a state of things we should soon have, if such 
 a game were played by all the trades in Britain ! 
 Houses would be let at a rack-rent, eatables and
 
 SORROWFUL THOUGHTS ABOUT STRHCES. 51 
 
 wearables would be priced like jewellery. But such 
 counsellors of the poor man seem blind to the fact 
 that we cannot live by ourselves, but have other 
 countries to compete with. Their counsel would 
 soon come to naught, if they could persuade work- 
 ing men to adopt it, and put it in practice. They 
 have never been able to do that, hitherto ; and they 
 have but a sorry prospect of being able to do it in 
 the coming winter — when thousands, and hundreds 
 of thousands of the working classes of this country 
 may be brought face to face with the gaunt demon 
 of Starvation.
 
 V. 
 
 CAUSES OF VICISSITUDE IN TRADE. 
 
 THE starvation did not come in the fearful form 
 that I thought it would, in the winter of 
 1877-8. But it has come in a most distressing form, 
 in many parts of the land, during the concluding 
 months of the last year, and the opening months of 
 the present year. In Sunderland, Stockton, Middles- 
 borough, Newcastle-on-Tyne, Hull, Dundee, and other 
 large towns, the want and misery have been great, 
 although generous relief has been actively afforded. 
 Nor have some smaller towns been without their 
 visitation of want and sorrow. Here, in ancient 
 Lincoln, the great iron firms, which are modern great 
 features of the ancient city, have been on short time, 
 or have dismissed many of their hands. There are 
 said to be one thousand workmen out of work, in 
 this city, at the time I am writing. Soup-kitchens 
 and other modes of relief have been provided by 
 those who have good hearts and good pockets ; and 
 so much suffering has been lessened. 
 
 " And does it not all seem very mysterious ? " I 
 often hear tradesmen and commercial men ask one
 
 CAUSES OF VICISSITUDE IN TRADE. 53 
 
 another. " We all remember how trade began to 
 look up, in 1868 and 1869; and how that mar- 
 vellous prosperity began in 1870, and swelled in 
 1871, 1872, 1873 ; and how the decline began in 
 1874, — though we were so unwilling to believe it 
 — but which grew worse and worse — till, now, ten 
 miserable years are gone, we are in this almost 
 hopeless condition. It seems as if Old England's 
 day was gone, and the dark remediless night had 
 set in." 
 
 Nay : nor is Germany's day gone — nor is the 
 true prosperity of France gone, or that of America, 
 either. " But what has become of trade .'' " asks 
 another bewildered soul ; " where has it gone to ? " 
 My good friend, it has neither gone from us to 
 America, or France, or Germany, or any other land 
 on the Continent, for other nations are as badly 
 off as we are. " But do you think the same sorry 
 sights are seen in America and France and Germany, 
 as we see in England — troops of unemplo}'ed men, 
 and empty houses almost without number .'' " The 
 answer is often given in the newspapers. It would 
 be tiresome for me to give the items which are so 
 often repeated. But, let it be noted that the items 
 are always given in what may be called connectional 
 groups — showing that people are trying to trace out 
 the real causes of distress. 
 
 Thus, it is observed by a few who think for them- 
 selves, that if farmers have to sell their wheat at ^2s.
 
 54 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 per quarter — which is less than it costs growing, 
 they cannot buy machinery to till their land ; and so 
 we need not wonder that many of the great iron 
 firms have hundreds of agricultural machines on 
 hand, in England, and in their stores at Pesth and 
 Vienna ; and then, of course, it follows that thousands 
 of men will have to stroll the streets, in unwilling 
 idleness ; and they will crowd, for lodgings, wherever 
 they can find room, and empty houses will abound. 
 I cannot describe the distress I felt last year, in 
 re-visiting some of our large towns. ' This House to 
 Let ' — ' This House to Let,' marked half the houses 
 in many streets, and I did not wonder when people 
 told me, in each town, how many dwelling-houses 
 were reckoned to be empty : thousands in some 
 towns. 
 
 Nor let any one imagine, after all we have read of 
 the ' Protection ' doctrines which have been adopted 
 in the United States of America, that her condition 
 is any better than our own. Wages have been 
 reduced in the States, ten, twenty, and even more 
 per cent., in some instances. One of the newspapers 
 told us, very lately, that working men were leaving 
 America by shoals, and that from two to three 
 hundred stonemasons have returned to one district 
 in Scotland. The American iron firms are sharing 
 disaster with those in England, for the farmers on 
 the Mississippi cannot sell their wheat at remunerat- 
 ing prices, and being, besides, heavily burthened with
 
 CAUSES OF VICISSITUDE IN TRADE. 55 
 
 mortgages, cannot buy machinery : so they cannot 
 buy machinery any more than our EngHsh farmers ; 
 and 100,000 men are unemployed in New York. 
 
 Every man of reflection knows what is the root- 
 evil — the primary cause — of all this distress which, 
 periodically, but most surely, afflicts nations. War 
 —demon War — hellish War — is that root-evil — that 
 primary cause. Who does not know that nearly all 
 History is a record of wars ? The earliest men 
 made discoveries — they learned to hew rocks and 
 trees — they raised great houses and temples : they 
 carved splendid sculptures. Then they quarrelled 
 and robbed one another, and destroyed what they 
 had made with so much labour, and slew their 
 thousands on either side, until utter exhaustion com- 
 pelled them to desist. Anon, the same mad game 
 broke out in another quarter of the earth — then, in 
 another and another ; and so on through all the 
 centuries to the present time. 
 
 After each season of devastation the waste had 
 to be repaired, as well and as quickly as men could 
 repair it — but it was often slowly and imperfectly, 
 and amidst much leanness and suffering. 
 
 Now just repeat the glance I took at the Nineteenth 
 Century, and convince yourself, reader — if you need 
 conviction — that up to this present day, it is but the 
 old historic mad game repeated. 
 
 Fortunes were made by a few who dealt in the 
 materiel of war, in the great Napoleonic time ; but
 
 56 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 there was no general prosperity. Nor could there be 
 while Napoleon's 'Berlin Decrees' and our 'Orders 
 in Council ' were in force — in other words, the 'Con- 
 tinental System,' which shut up the ports of Europe. 
 And, after Waterloo, when the people expected 
 cheap bread, and tradesman thought their halcyon 
 days would come, what followed .'' Starvation and 
 distraction among the poor, breaking of machinery, 
 blanketeering, and Peterloo massacre ; and for the 
 middle classes, insolvencies, proclamations of failure, 
 thick and fast, amazing everybody and filling every- 
 body with dismay, except the Regent : for he only 
 thought or cared for his own vile indulgences. As 
 King George the Fourth, he was no better. Some 
 thought that when old Van went out of office, and 
 the Hon. Fred. John Robinson became Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer, he would discover some remedy for 
 the bad state of things. And, if his own vaunting 
 declaration in the House of Commons could have 
 been taken for truth, a remedy had indeed been 
 found. The country, he asserted, was in an un- 
 exampled state of prosperity : the Agricultural in- 
 terest — the Mercantile interest — the Manufacturing 
 interest — all \YQxe in a state of undoubted prosperity! 
 In a few weeks after, suiasJi went the Banks in almost 
 every part of the land, and consternation and despair 
 sat on every countenance ! " Hurrah for Prosperity 
 Robinson ! " shouted Cobbett. And Robinson kept 
 the nickname till he became Lord Goderich : for
 
 CAUSES OF VICISSITUDE IN TRADE. 57 
 
 Cobbett's nicknames were like the burs that mis- 
 chievous boys throw on your coat : they stuck. 
 
 The Reform Bill came, in spite of the Duke's 
 ' strong government ' and the Tories ; but, although 
 seventeen dreary years had passed, the exhaustion 
 caused by the vast war with France and Napoleon 
 was not ended : trade and commerce did not recover 
 prosperity. And even when the potato famine in 
 Ireland gave Peel an opportunity for obeying the 
 convictions he professed he had derived from ' the 
 unadorned eloquence of Richard Cobden,' and the 
 Corn Laws were abolished, — it took a long time 
 for manufacturers to get facilities for the full use 
 of their golden opportunity. " We had to contrive 
 how, and in what way, best to develop the cotton 
 manufacture," they used to say in Lancashire. 
 
 And tl ley did develop it. To see the building of 
 mills in 1859 and i860, you would have said 
 they meant to cover the whole County Palatine with 
 them. " When is all this monstrous building of 
 mills to end } " I said to aged Peter Whitehead, in 
 his own house at Rawtenstall, in i 860. " When we 
 can get no more cotton" replied the old enthusiastic 
 manufacturer : " we can manufacture for all t' 
 world ! " He little imagined what was coming — the 
 American Civil War, when they could get no more 
 cotton — except the coarse, unassorted stuff from 
 Surat : the manipulation of which was a torture to 
 the poor workers. " Lord, send us some cotton ! "
 
 58 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 cried one of these, in a prayer-meeting. " Amen, 
 Lord !" responded another, "but not Surat !" When 
 the time came they resumed their hard work and 
 hard strife to get money ; and they have succeeded, 
 though many weak strugglers have had to go down. 
 So it has also been with "the manufacturers of York- 
 shire. 
 
 After the great exhaustive wars in the Crimea, 
 and that of the Indian Mutiny, England undertook 
 no very great war. So in 1868 and 1869, trade 
 began to grow vigorous, for men now felt confi- 
 dence in embarking capital. And in 1870 to 1874, 
 we had a most marvellous increase of trade, for we 
 had to supply a great part of the materiel of war to 
 France and Germany, in their fierce struggle ; and 
 our home trade grew mightily — for men spent money 
 luxuriously, since it seemed to be pouring into their 
 lap, with but a small effort to win it, on their part. 
 Thousands spent their money as fast as they got it, 
 both of the middle and working classes. Others 
 took care of it — so that when the decline commenced 
 in 1875, they shrewdly withdrew from trade. And 
 now, in any of the towns of England which shared 
 that wondrous prosperity, you may see scores of 
 villas which were built in the halcyon days, and they 
 are still inhabited by well-to-do people. 
 
 Men have practised what some people call 'hoard- 
 ing ' during these years of decline, in a notable way. 
 They refuse to re-embark in trade, seeing no branch
 
 CAUSES OF VICISSITUDE IN TRADE. 59 
 
 of it which can boast of what they consider to be real 
 thrift. The most serious decHne, or that which has 
 been felt most severely, has doubtless been in the 
 iron trades. And, during this last winter, the misery 
 seems to have cumulated in these branches. 
 
 " But why is it that dearth of trade has smitten 
 other nations as well as ourselves ? " Because the 
 same diabolical exhaustive cause has made suffering 
 common to other nations. Thus, the Crimean War 
 cost 750,000 lives of human beings, and 340 millions 
 of money : Russia, England, France, and Sardinia 
 contributed to swell these items. The Italian War 
 of 1859 cost 45,000 lives, and 60 millions of 
 money : these items must be divided between Italy, 
 Austria, and France. The war between Prussia and 
 Austria, in 1866, cost 45,000 lives and 66 
 millions of money ; and the terrible war betv\'een 
 Germany and France, which seems to have ended 
 the Napoleons, cost France 155,000 and Germany 
 60,000 lives ; and the two powers together 500 
 millions of money. Let not the American Civil 
 War be forgotten, for it cost the North 280,000 
 lives and 940 millions of money, and the South 
 520,000 lives, and 460 millions of money. 
 
 These are the exhaustive causes. Let no man 
 wonder at the failure and misery which has followed, 
 and that it is spread so widely. " But }-ou think 
 that the nations will recover their prosperity .' " 
 Yes : /?ut not in haste. Again, I contend that our
 
 60 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 experience of the earlier part of this century ought 
 to teach us this. I mean the long years of dis- 
 appointed expectation, and fruitless struggles, and 
 much fearful want, included in the history that 
 followed the crowning victory of Waterloo, to the 
 carrying of Corn-Law Repeal. 
 
 " What would hasten the arrival of that prosperity 
 we covet so much ? " The cessation" of all War. 
 For not only would the waste of lives and millions 
 end, but the ' hoarders ' would feel a return of confi- 
 dence to venture anew on trade and commerce, in 
 every land. Let all men use their influence for 
 Peace, who long for Prosperity. 
 
 Old Hobbes of Malmesbury used to say that War 
 was the natural state of Man. In one of the opening 
 pages of his noble ' Rights of Man,' Thomas Paine 
 says if Man had never fallen in Eden, he would never 
 have needed any political Government. And he 
 might have said there could have been no War. Ay, 
 ay, Thomas Hobbes, you were right : War is the 
 natural state of Man, for the natural state of Man is 
 2. fallen state. 
 
 What then } Do we give up ourselves as irre- 
 mediably lost, because we are born with sinful 
 natures ? No, thank God, we know that a remedy 
 has been provided, and we may receive a regenerate 
 nature. Neither are we to give up the world to an 
 endless devastation of wars. We may be drawing 
 nearer to the universal reign of Peace than some
 
 CAUSES OF VICISSITUDE IN TRADE. 6l 
 
 folks think. Why should our Colonies be left to 
 separate from us, when any of them imagine they 
 are strong enough to defend themselves — and thus 
 be not only exposed, but as it were, tempted to 
 pursue the old sinful course of things, and accept 
 a fight with the first nation which opposes them .'' 
 That idea of an ' Imperial Confederation,' when it 
 was first enunciated by my friend, Rt. Hon. W. E. 
 Forster, M.P., laid very powerful hold of my mind. 
 I have eagerly watched, all along, for signs of its 
 recognition and approval, by influential thinkers ; and 
 I am unspeakably glad, now, to find that men of 
 rank and intelligence are declaring their acceptance 
 of it. I most devoutly trust that opposition to it 
 will soon cease ; and all who desire the peace of 
 mankind and the cessation of wars will say, " Now 
 we see how we may begin to establish the real and 
 lasting brotherhood of Men." A few dogged, defiant 
 natures will say, "Oh, let the Colonies alone: let them 
 do as they like ; and do what they think will be the 
 best for themselves." Ah, but so often when men 
 cut themselves off from other men and think they 
 are going to do the best for themselves, it turns out 
 that they do the very worst for themselves. And 
 that is just what my friend wishes to prevent.
 
 VI. 
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 
 
 THERE is one science which, I humbly think, is 
 better worth learning by men in general than 
 all other sciences put together. 
 
 You will find no mention of it in any " Circle of 
 the Sciences," You will discover no philosophical dis- 
 quisition upon it in any of our great encyclopaedias. 
 You will find no learned treatise upon it, under any 
 letter of the alphabet, in any lexicon or dictionary. 
 
 Many an antiquary who would write you a 
 recondite tract, or a critical folio volume, on Stone- 
 henge, or the Keltic Druids, or the Etruscans, or the 
 Phoenicians, or Plato's Atlantis, has been as ignorant 
 of this science as a child. Many an LL.D. or F.R.S., 
 who could tell you the Latin name of every insect 
 and every zoophyte, of every beetle and every spider, 
 of every moth and every butterfly, of every sea-shell 
 and every sea-weed, and every small petrifaction ; of 
 every moss, and every lichen, and every fungus, has 
 often been a mere ignoramus in this science. 
 
 Men who have known a score of languages, and 
 were deep in all the profound mysteries of grammar
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 63 
 
 have often known far less of this science than the 
 peasant who has never learned a letter of the 
 alphabet, and whose hand has become as hard as 
 horn with wielding the flail or grasping the stilts 
 of the plough. 
 
 It is a science which depends on no knowledge 
 of letters or books, on no learned instruction or train- 
 ing by Masters of Arts or Doctors of Divinity. You 
 cannot win a diploma by studying it at any college 
 or university. It is a science which every man must 
 study for himself, and in which he must be his own 
 instructor. 
 
 It is a science which requires intuitive sagacity, 
 unremitting and watchful and acute observation, and 
 the keenest, yet the calmest, clearest, and most 
 candid, judgment. It is a science which we can all 
 be learning every day if we will, for the materials 
 for learning it are within us and around us on every 
 side as we walk through the path of life ; and yet 
 it is so difficult to attain a perfect knowledge of this 
 science that we know of but two Englishmen who 
 became perfect scholars in it : the immortal bard 
 of Stratford-on-Avon and the inspired tinker of 
 Bedford Gaol — Shakspere and John Bunyan. 
 
 I mean the Science of Human Nature : the 
 Knowledge of the Human Heart. And I repeat, 
 that this science is better worth learning, by men 
 in general, than all other sciences put together — for, 
 without it, a man becomes the eas)- dupe of every
 
 64 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 knave and the victim of every trickster. He 
 stumbles along the path of life, making every kind 
 of mistake and every kind of blunder — and, even at 
 fourscore, men will call him a greenhorn, although 
 his head be grey, and his limbs totter for feebleness ! 
 
 It is a truth, and a surprising truth, that there are 
 not only so few profound scholars in this science, 
 but so few earnest students in it. Thousands of our 
 fellow-mortals go from Dan to Beer-sheba and find 
 all barren as it regards the study of human character. 
 They perform the whole pilgrimage of life without 
 ever getting any real knowledge of human nature, 
 either by studying the movements of their own 
 hearts or observing the conduct of others. In other 
 people they can see nothing that they deem worth 
 studying ; and as for what is called introspection, or 
 looking within, they think they have no need of that, 
 they are so near perfection themselves. 
 
 There are others who do busy themselves greatly 
 in observing the conduct and judging the character of 
 their fellow-creatures. But some of these never look 
 at anybody full in the face and fairly ; they only 
 peer at people sideways, through the smoked glass 
 of prejudice and envy, and so they see nothing but 
 deformity and defects even in the fairest and noblest 
 characters. Others are industrious students of 
 human nature in a certain sense — but it is a very 
 mischievous one. They want to know all about 
 people's income, and how they spend it, and what
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 65 
 
 they eat and what they drink, and how they behave 
 to their servants, and what blots there are in the 
 history of their families, and who are their cousins, 
 and uncles, and aunts, and what expectations they 
 have from them, or from their grandfathers and 
 grandmothers, if they happen to have such relatives. 
 These are the people who are called " meddlers " in 
 society, and they are often very troublesome to their 
 neighbours. 
 
 I knew a man, in my youth, an elderly man, who 
 was a great observer of human nature. I will not 
 say of him, as it was said of Oliver Cromwell, that 
 he could look through a man's skin right to his 
 backbone — but he had a most shrewd knowledge of 
 mankind. A young man used to converse with 
 him, occasionally, on this very theme of human 
 character ; and, one day, after a long conversation 
 upon it, the young man said, " Ah ! well ; there are 
 all sorts of people in the world." " Nay," said the 
 elder man, " there is one sort wanting." " What 
 sort is that ? " asked the young man eagerly. " The 
 people," replied the elder man, " who mind their own 
 business, and let other people's business alone." 
 
 He was right. They are otherwise entirely 
 wanting — the people who mind their own business 
 and let other people's business alone — or they are 
 so scarce in the world that you would hardly be 
 likely to find them if you performed a journey on 
 purpose to look for them. 
 
 5
 
 65 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 I am convinced of the scarcity of another kind of 
 people — I mean the people without pride. I never 
 found a man without pride yet ; and — I beg pardon 
 of the ladies ! but — I must say, nor a woman 
 either. Oh ! if pride found its way into the bosom 
 of the first archangel in heaven, who can wonder 
 that it is found universally in our fallen human 
 nature ? It is the primal sin. It was the first 
 human sin. It is the parent of all other sins ; and, 
 I fear, we shall never find a human being without it. 
 You may see it in the lowliest and you may see 
 it in the loftiest. Look at that little, dirty, shoeless, 
 ragged lad ! He has a broken black pipe in his 
 mouth. His father smokes, and his father is a man ; 
 so the little, dirty, shoeless, ragged lad is aping 
 manliness, forsooth ! See that little, mean-clad 
 servant girl ! Somebody has given her sixpence, 
 and she has spent it in a paltry artificial flower ; for 
 she learns that ladies wear artificial flowers, and she 
 wants to be a lady. Such instances of pride, and 
 many others, are harmless compared with the pride 
 of the man who spends thousands upon his house 
 and grounds and furniture — upon his horses and 
 dogs — upon his wines and grand dinners to his 
 fashionable friends — and who hardens his heart 
 against the poor, and will not give the slightest 
 relief to the houseless and the miserable, to the 
 fatherless and the widow. 
 
 To attempt an analysis of the different kinds of
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 6/ 
 
 pride would be a mighty task — the pride of intel- 
 lectual men, for instance ; pride of exact knowledge 
 of some one science ; pride of multifarious know- 
 ledge ; pride of quickness of perception ; pride of 
 logical power ; pride of rapid powers of survey and 
 calculation ; pride of strong common-sense, an ounce 
 of which, Dean Swift said, was worth all the fine 
 sense in the world. One kind of pride may be said 
 to be peculiar to intellectual men, yet not to men 
 of really high intelligence — the pride of thinking 
 differently from other people, the pride of regarding 
 yourself as a person who does not think with the 
 common herd of mankind, and of believing yourself 
 to be superior to ordinary people. 
 
 To a young intellectual man — one just beginning 
 to have the consciousness of intellectual power, and 
 to feel the thrilling pleasure of exercising it — how 
 tempting it is to look upon himself as one who 
 is above the vulgar crowd of human beings ! He 
 begins soon to let you know that he no longer feels 
 himself to be a child ; he has got out of leading- 
 strings, and does not believe in old wives' fables, or 
 the tales of infancy ; he wishes to let you know, 
 most emphatically, that he thinks for himself. 
 
 " Well, sir, and ought we not to think for our- 
 selves ? " asks some young man. Of course you 
 ought to think for yourselves. The man who dare 
 not think for himself is a coward, and the man who 
 will not think for himself is a guilty idler, living a
 
 68 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 life God never intended him to live, for God has 
 made us all rational creatures, and He never intended 
 us to live the life of mere animals. But, it should 
 be the care of every young man who sets up for 
 a thinker, and proclaims himself one, that he does 
 think ; that he does not form opinions on important 
 and weighty subjects by a hop, skip, and jump. It 
 should be remembered that there are some subjects 
 which are all- important : they have relation to our 
 well-being here and our eternal happiness hereafter. 
 The young may be led to form rash opinions on 
 these subjects, which may cost them bitter pain 
 when they get further on in life, and discover their 
 mistake. Scores and hundreds of men, and some 
 of them deeply sincere and earnest as well as intelli- 
 gent men, have done this ; and warning should be 
 taken by their experience. 
 
 One regrets to say that there is the greatest 
 difficulty in enforcing this lesson, with a young man 
 who has begun to take a pride in proclaiming that 
 he thinks differently from other people. With the 
 more intelligent sceptics among the working classes 
 this is the master difficulty. They tell you, at once, 
 that they do not conceive they ought to be influenced 
 in their thinkings by any of the great men of the 
 Past : they may reverence their intellect, but not 
 their decisions. The pertness with which a young 
 sceptic will look an old man in the face, who is 
 thrice the age of the young freethinker — the con-
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 69 
 
 fidence with which he will tell the old man, who has 
 read twice as many books as the other ever heard 
 of, and gone through agonies of thought the other 
 never dreamt of, that he knows more and judges 
 more soundly about every subject than the man of 
 threescore and ten, is marvellous. Yet it is a 
 pertness that must be endured by the man of ex- 
 perience, if he would succeed in trying to induce 
 the young man to tJiink again, and endeavour to 
 come to a lower estimate of his own wisdom. 
 
 That is a pungent anecdote of Sydney Smith, 
 when he was visited by Macaulay just out of his 
 teens. At parting, the old wit led the young egotist 
 to the carriage, and, pushing him in, said, before he 
 closed the door — "Just let me give you one word of 
 advice — If anybody tries to persuade you that you 
 are not the cleverest fellow in England — don't you 
 believe 'em ! God bless you ! good-bye ! " 
 
 And was Sydney Smith never guilty of egotism, 
 when he was young .' — tartly asks some admirer of 
 Macaulay. Yea, doubtless ; and lamented it, and 
 groaned over it, a thousand times. For the wiser 
 a man grows by experience, the more deeply he 
 regrets past errors and follies. And the mortification 
 and shame he feels while reflecting on his own 
 foolishness, make him tender over the young, and 
 earnest in directing them to a wiser course. 
 
 But how difficult it often is to impress the young 
 fellows with a conviction that you are advising them
 
 JO THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 from sheer disinterestedness, or a real wish for their 
 welfare. The roguish twinkle in their eye will often 
 proclaini that they are setting the old fellow's 
 preaching down to the credit of his conceit. 
 
 " We know we are young," they will say : " you 
 are always reminding us of that. But it does not 
 follow that, because we are young, we are foolish. 
 You tell us of our want of experience ; but it is not 
 true that ' experience makes fools wise.' Your old 
 saws, that you are quoting so frequently, are often 
 worth nothing." And the lads are right. Experi- 
 ence never makes fools wise — but it always makes 
 wise men wiser. 
 
 One does not want to see young men all becoming 
 mere spoonies, and having nothing to say for them- 
 selves. One likes to see a little modesty in a youth 
 — but not over much of it. If a young man dare 
 not venture an opinion of his own, people will soon 
 say, it is because he has not the brains to form 
 one. A little self-reliance and self-assertion are un- 
 doubtedly necessary to give a young man a chance 
 of making his way in the world. We do not desire 
 to see young men put down, in conversation, or 
 debate, because they are young. The great lesson 
 to be learned by the young is that which we all 
 should practise, more and more ; introspection — as 
 the learned call it : looking witJiin. 
 
 If we would be true proficients in this, the 
 Greatest Science, the culture of the habit of intro-
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 71 
 
 spection is the essential first part of it. We can 
 only understand human nature in others, by study- 
 ing it, first, in ourselves. It is solely by comparison 
 that we learn to understand human nature in others. 
 We have no rule by which to measure others, if we 
 have not taken the ' gauge and dimensions ' of our- 
 selves — or striven honestly to do it. We cannot 
 a.scertain the worth and weight of another's character 
 if we have never put ourselves into the scale of 
 honest self-examination. 
 
 True it is, that we have often sudden impressions 
 of character — impressions at first sight — usually 
 unfavourable to the character of a person whom we 
 meet for the first time. All observers of human 
 nature have this kind of experience. And, what is 
 most remarkable, we are liable to have this bad 
 impression, of the bad character, of one who has 
 been commended to us for his moral worth. " What 
 a mistake my friend has made in telling me that 
 there is so much that is good in this man — why, 
 surely, the fellow is a rogue !" we suddenly think 
 and say to ourselves. Perhaps when the interview 
 is over — during which we have been very curt in 
 our utterances — we begin to reflect, and to regret 
 our curtness. " What must the man have thought 
 of my unmannerly behaviour ? " we ask ourselves : 
 " I was scarcely civil to him. What right had I to 
 treat him thus, after receiving such recommendations 
 of him from my true and tried friend .'' How
 
 72 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 foolishly superstitious it is to yield to these sudden 
 impressions, as if one had some supernatural gift of 
 reading the human heart ! " 
 
 And then we determine that we will forcibly 
 repress all our bad feeling, and show such perfect 
 courtesy to the suspected ' rogue,' the next time we 
 meet him, as shall completely efface from his mind 
 any uneasiness or displeasure which our roughness 
 may have caused him. And, perhaps, an intimacy 
 follows — an intimacy that may be called friendship ; 
 and it may last some time. But, the discovery 
 comes at last — and comes bitterly — that our first 
 impression regarding this man, as bad as it was, was 
 the true one. The oldest and deepest students of 
 human nature unite to assure us that such has been 
 their experience, again and again. 
 
 How is this ? Does the soul of a man sometimes 
 look so significantly through his eyes, and give such 
 an unmistakable expression to his face, that a close 
 observer cannot fail to read the living manuscript 
 unerringly .? It must be so. The so-called sciences, 
 imperfect as they may be, of Lavater and Gall are 
 alike founded in truth. Thousands of facts you may 
 gather from sculpture and painting, show that men 
 always had a belief in something like what we call 
 ' Physiognomy ' and ' Phrenology.' And, we feel 
 sure that Da Vinci has not erred in giving such 
 a villainous face to Iscariot, in the immortal picture 
 of The Last Supper : Judas must have looked like
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 73 
 
 the incarnate demon that the Saviour pronounced 
 him to be, when he had fully yielded up his soul to 
 the dominion of Sin. In like manner, we all feel 
 sure, that, although the word ' phrenology ' had never 
 been uttered in the sixteenth century, none of us 
 could have stood in the company of men wearing 
 such heads on their shoulders as Bacon and Shak- 
 spere, without the conscious awe that we were in the 
 presence of high and commanding intelligences. 
 
 Nor, is it so mysterious, after all, that we should 
 have these sudden impressions respecting the cha- 
 racter of our fellow-creatures. We need not have 
 recourse to the old doctrines of sympathy and anti- 
 pathy — natural, spiritual, or magnetic — to account 
 for it. Many a rogue may deceive a saint, by look- 
 ing harmless after a fashion ; but that fashion will 
 be seen through by the man who hath his eyes 
 open : the man who knows that — 
 
 " One may smile and smile — and be a villain." 
 
 The seeming harmless look of the rogue cannot 
 deceive that man. 
 
 Yet, your very shrewd, very suspicious student of 
 human nature is not to be admired : he who has 
 become so embittered by the faithlessness of others, 
 and the suffering it has caused him, that he openly 
 avows — " Sir, I make it a rule to take every man for 
 a rogue, until I prove that he is honest." Such a 
 student of human nature is not to be admired, for
 
 74 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 he must cause himself daily misery. There can be 
 no happiness for such a man. He must live like a 
 traveller whose path lies through a dim wood, where, 
 he believes, thieves or murderers may be lurking for 
 him on every side, and so he must keep a sharp look- 
 out at every step, lest they pounce upon him. There 
 can be no rest for such a man, except when he 
 reaches his night's lodging, locks himself up in his 
 bedroom — after carefully looking under the bed and 
 into the clothes-closet — snuffs out his candle, — and 
 then rolls himself up in the sheets and blankets, 
 sighing, " Thank God, the rogues can neither see me, 
 nor get at me, now ! " 
 
 We cannot afford to live every day and hour 
 in this world with a perpetual look-out for roguery. 
 Neither queens nor beggars pass their lives here, with 
 a consummation of happiness at command ; and we 
 are foolish indeed if we mar the little share of happi- 
 ness that we have by cultivating the habit of always 
 suspecting evil in those around us. Let us enjoy all 
 the good which God sends us ; and, above all, the 
 goodness of our fellow-creatures : the goodness they 
 display by acts of kindness, and looks of sympathy, 
 and words of cheerfulness and affection — in brief, all 
 the goodness which appears in them, and which we 
 have cause to believe is not mere appearance. 
 
 " But, my dear sir, you cannot believe everybody 
 — you cannot trust everybody." Of course, we 
 cannot. And so we must fall back on the old
 
 THE GREATEST SCIENCE. 75 
 
 lesson : we must be students of human nature; and we 
 must begin by looking tvithin. That will give us 
 more unerring skill in measuring the characters 
 of others, than we can possibly derive from sudden 
 and mysterious impressions. While, on the other 
 hand, it will take away the sharp eye of suspicion 
 in us, and render our judgments less harsh. For, 
 we shall scarcely be human if we do not learn to 
 judge all men with increasing mildness and tender- 
 ness, the more we discern our own weakness and 
 imperfections. An intolerant and censorious old man 
 cannot be a good man. He can never have practised 
 honest self-examination ; or he would have seen so 
 much of his own folly as to render him tolerant with 
 others. Nor can he be a wise man ; or he would 
 know that people set down his censoriousness to his 
 own familiarity with sin. They say, he is so quick 
 in spying out other people's knavery because he is so 
 deeply steeped and practised in it himself.
 
 VII. 
 
 WHAT IS ' OLD AGE ' ? 
 
 SOME people may think that I am starting a 
 very frivolous and foolish inquiry ; but I assure 
 them that I am putting what I more and more feel 
 to be a very serious question. It is 'true that my 
 perplexity is caused by the men of science — who are 
 perplexing everybody with one assertion or another 
 — but my perplexity is none the less for all that. 
 
 The men of science all tell us (with the exception 
 of one surgical authority, who says that the enamel 
 of our teeth lasts many years), that the matter of 
 our bodies is perpetually changing — so that in seven 
 or eight, or in ten years, at most — we have not a 
 particle of the body left that we had so many years 
 ago. Ergo, since I, for one, have not a material 
 particle left in viy body, that I had ten years ago, my 
 body must be a yoting body, though I am now four- 
 score years old ; in other words, I am an old man. 
 So, then, I am an old man with a young body ! 
 
 A young body .-' How can that be, seeing I have 
 only few teeth left, and the few that I have are not 
 worth having .-* How can that be, since my hair is
 
 WHAT IS ' OLD AGE ' ? JJ 
 
 nearly all grey ? How can that be, seeing that my 
 eyesight is becoming very imperfect for objects which 
 are near ; I cannot see to write or read without spec- 
 tacles or an eye-glass, although I can see far-off 
 objects as plainly and clearly as ever ? And my 
 digestive powers will only assimilate certain kinds of 
 food to my general system. And the action of the 
 heart is so soon disturbed, as to render me very 
 uneasy, if I forget myself, and set off to walk at the 
 same pace as I used to walk when a youth, or attempt 
 to jump over a hedge when an orchid or some scarce 
 flower tempts me, or yield to emotion, and preach or 
 lecture with excitement. And my knees fail me if I 
 climb, but much more when I descend stairs or a hill. 
 And I begin to feel a pitiful weariness all over me 
 after a little unusual exertion — so that I am inclined 
 to cry out with Hamlet's friend, when he heard the 
 ghost speak under his feet, " Oh, day and night ! but 
 this is wondrous strange ! " For the men of science 
 assure me that this body of mine is a young 
 body, since I have not had any particle of it more 
 than ten years ! 
 
 And, now, about the powers of the mind. My 
 memory is strangely treacherous in the record of 
 daily acts and occurrences. If I did not keep a list 
 of the names of the persons to whom I write, day by 
 day, I should be writing to them again, as if I had 
 not written before. Nor can I call up the names of 
 persons whom I have seen of late without great
 
 78 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 difficulty, very often. Nay, of late, I am often unable 
 to call up familiar names in history ; and this strange 
 incapacity has begun to beset me, occasionally, while 
 lecturing, and so I am obliged to describe the historical 
 person or place by what, in rhetoric, they call a peri- 
 phrasis. And, what frets me still more, in winter 
 time, when I am not daily flower-gathering, I lose the 
 name of a flower, and cannot remember it for hours 
 after the friend has gone away, with whom I wanted 
 to talk about it. 
 
 All this is more mortifying than I can express to 
 one who used to remember everything at one time of 
 day, and used to wonder how others did to forget any- 
 thing. And all this is the more strange, because my 
 memory of childhood and youth is still so vivid. I can 
 call up before the eye of my mind the faces of my 
 old playmates and companions, and tell all their 
 names, without a moment's hesitation ; and I can 
 recall scenes, occurrences, or experiences of early life 
 and passages of books I read early, as vividly as ever, 
 though I cannot always remember in what book I 
 read some things which are very remarkable, or from 
 whose conversation I learned them. I think my per- 
 ception, judgment, reason, are as clear and vigorous 
 as they ever were — but those who know me are the 
 best judges of that. 
 
 Now, the men of science — woe worth 'em ! — want 
 to perplex me still more by getting me to believe 
 that my material brain (which, they assure me, is
 
 WHAT IS ' OLD AGE ' ? 79 
 
 four-fifths water, and the other fifth so much fat, 
 albumen, acids, and salts, and a little phosphorus) 
 thinks, judges, reasons, wills, remembers, perceives, 
 and is the seat of consciousness. But, if it be so, 
 how comes my memory to be so defective, seeing my 
 brain is so young — seeing that I have only had the 
 particles of matter that compose it so very few 
 years ? I should like to learn what answer the 
 said " men of science " can give to that query. 
 
 But the more important query I would put to 
 them is this : How is it, if the brain remembers, that 
 I remember so perfectly the names of persons and 
 places, and the facts, familiar to me, some fifty and 
 some sixty years ago — and yet the particles of the 
 brain I had then, ceased soon after, to be a part 
 of my brain .-' Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury, 
 although reckoned to be a very strong-minded 
 man, had a theory of memory which seems disproved 
 altogether by our experience. He likens the memory 
 to the waves formed in a pond when you throw a 
 stone into it ; the circles becoming fainter as they 
 recede from the point where the stone fell into 
 the water ; and so, he says, our memory of facts 
 becomes weaker the more we advance in age and 
 recede from the time when we first learned the facts. 
 This is, certainly, a mistake of the stout sceptic, so 
 far as my own experience is concerned. I wonder 
 what he would have said if one could have had a 
 few words of talk with him, and he is one of the
 
 8o THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Sturdy old fellows I should like to have seen and 
 talked with vastly. 
 
 My own conviction is strong and clear, that the 
 old records of memory are not kept by the brain, but 
 by that spiritual essence — that mysterious something 
 — which constitutes my real self And so it is not 
 wonderful to me that I have such vivid remembrances 
 of what occurred, and what I experienced, when I 
 was young ; the wonder to me is, that the new 
 particles of my brain which are now forming do not 
 constitute as perfect an instrument for the mind, my 
 real self, to use, as the particles of the brain did 
 when I was younger. My wonder is as great about 
 the new particles of the brain, as about the new 
 particles which are now forming the other parts of 
 my body. 
 
 " But, have the men of science no theory where- 
 with to answer your queries and dissipate your 
 perplexities 1 " some one may ask. They have a 
 theory, but it does not lessen my perplexity. 
 
 In their philosophical jargon they say that a new 
 " law " sets in when we reach the age of forty, or, in 
 some cases, not long after. Thus, the action of the 
 arteries — or what we call the pulse — ceases to be 
 regular, and the blood no longer forms exactly the 
 same substance as in earlier life ; our bones are less 
 and less worth the name of bones as we become aged, 
 for they come to consist of earth more than of real 
 bone ; and so the bones of the aged are brittle and
 
 ^VHAT IS 'OLD AGE ' ? 8 1 
 
 soon broken ; and several parts of our bodies take 
 a more rigid form, or have a tendency to ossify ; 
 even the bronchial tubes take this rigid form, a 
 surgeon tells me, and that is the reason why bronchitis 
 is often so speedily fatal to aged people. 
 
 I repeat, this theory of the men of science does 
 not lessen my perplexity, for it is no answer to my 
 real difficulty. It does not give me the why or 
 wherefore that I seek. Since the kind of food we 
 eat is about the same, and the constituents of the 
 air we breathe are the same, why, I ask, does not the 
 blood furnish as good material for the formation of 
 bone now as it did when I was thirty or forty years 
 younger — and why does it notv form so much earth ? 
 Why are so many parts of the body rigid that used 
 to be so flexible } Why do the eyes fail that used 
 to be so powerful .'' 
 
 Plain folk who know nothing about science will 
 say to me — " My dear fellow, be content ! You are 
 growing old, and your body is wearing out. Why 
 should you marvel at the decay of nature } Your 
 experience is what we must all experience as we 
 grow old. It is common to man, and common to 
 all the animals, doubtless." 
 
 My dear plain folk, I answer, I am as willing to 
 be content as you are — only it is not a fact that my 
 body is wearing out, or that what I experience is a 
 decay of nature. How can my body, or yours, be 
 " wearing out," while they are being perpetually 
 
 6
 
 82 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 renewed? How can there be any "decay of nature" 
 in bodies which are perpetually receiving new 
 particles of matter and losing the old ? You cannot 
 doubt that we are undergoing this perpetual change, 
 for we are compelled to supply the loss of the older 
 particles of our bodies by eating and drinking, and 
 breathing the oxygen of the air, in order to form 
 new blood. And we cannot arrest this change we 
 are undergoing by changing our food. If we could 
 live on nectar and ambrosia — suppose we knew where 
 to get 'em — our blood, now we are old, would still 
 form earthy matter instead of bone, and so on, 
 perversely. 
 
 The answer is «^/ furnished by the men of science, 
 with their gibberish about " law." They know 
 nothing about such a law. It is the word they are 
 ever using to hide their ignorance, and to juggle us 
 into the belief that they are wondrously knowing. 
 It is high time that every man of common-sense 
 treated the word with derision, when it is used as 
 the men of science so often use it. 
 
 We know nothing about any law in the case ; 
 we only know that the change in our bodies is a 
 fact. Why such a change should be experienced by 
 human creatures at the age of forty or thereabouts, 
 and why it should not occur at four hundred years 
 instead, we do not know, nor can the men of science 
 tell us. And why a dog should be old at a dozen 
 years, and a horse at twenty — or why the eagle, the
 
 WHAT IS ' OLD AGE ' ? 83 
 
 raven, and the swan, with the tortoise, and some 
 other creatures, should live to one hundred years, 
 nobody can tell us. They are simply facts ; we 
 know nothing about any laiv making it so. " It is 
 the will of the Maker," would be the allegement of a 
 plain Christian man ; but the men of science reject 
 that sort of thinking. They must conjure up a law 
 for everything, although they do not believe in a 
 laiv-niakcr. But how can a law make itself, or how 
 can blind, unintelligent, unconscious force make a 
 law }
 
 VIII. 
 
 ON THE DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE STATE, VIEWED 
 AS A PROBABILITY. 
 
 THERE is no point in which modern Sceptics 
 seem more fully agreed and more positive, than 
 that there is no future state— no life for Man after 
 the present life. The people who call themselves 
 Agnostics — that is to say, Know-nothings, are at 
 one with the Atheists, on this point : they say they 
 know nothing about a Future State. They can see 
 no proof of it. They cannot see why Man should 
 be likely to live again, any more than other animals. 
 And they think the most sensible people in the world 
 are those who give themselves the least trouble about 
 it, — who make themselves as happy as they can in 
 the present life, and do not expect to live again 
 after death. Thus Mr. Frederick Harrison, and 
 others, admire the feeling of Harriet Martineau, who 
 said she felt so much calm satisfaction in the belief 
 that she would cease to live — cease to exist con- 
 sciously — after death. 
 
 I. But this is a very uncommon feeling. So much
 
 DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE STATE. 85 
 
 SO, that we can scarcely help feeling startled on hear- 
 ing that any one — and, especially any highly-intelli- 
 gent person, like Miss Martineau — professes to have 
 such a belief or conviction, and to be so perfectly 
 happy with it. 
 
 One has heard people of little thought, who 
 professed to be sceptical, say, in a light and careless 
 manner, " Oh, I see nothing so alarming in what you 
 call annihilation : it is only like going to sleep, and 
 never waking. I see nothing alarming in it." But 
 really thoughtful people do not talk in that manner. 
 The desire to live again, after death, is so general 
 among us, that we expect to hear almost everybody 
 agree in the thought. Annihilation — for ever ceasing 
 to be conscious — seems to us so appalling that we 
 usually shudder at the conception. I must confess 
 this is my own feeling. If there be no existence for 
 me after the present life, it seems to me that I might 
 as well never have lived at all. I love life. I am 
 thankful for it. To me simple existence, without 
 pain, is happiness. But I am happy, not only 
 because my present life is enjoyable, but because I 
 expect a continuance of existence, after what we call 
 death. If you tell me that I am to live no more 
 after this life, then, it seems that you take up the 
 greatest stone to throw at me, that you can find. 
 For it will destroy my happiness. I shall not be 
 thankful another hour for life, if you assure me that 
 I am to die like a dog, and never more be conscious.
 
 86 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 I should, thenceforth, have to wear in my heart the 
 cancer of despair; and it would render me perpetually 
 miserable. 
 
 This desire to live again — to possess continued 
 existence after death — is so common, that we have all 
 long been accustomed to talk of it, as natural. Such 
 was the prevailing custom before Modern Scepticism 
 began to spread its doctrines. And, whatever 
 Modern Sceptics may say, the desire, hope, and wish 
 to live again, after death, being so widely spread, 
 seems to afford some ground for our belief in the 
 doctrine of a Future State. At any rate, I think we 
 may call this the First Reason for such belief on the 
 side of Probability. 
 
 2. But, Secondly, as Bishop Butler reasons, 
 ' because we know not at all what death is in itself,' 
 we cannot reason that it is the cessation of our 
 existence. An objector may say — " But we know 
 that death is unconsciousness." Well, and so is 
 sound sleep ; and it is the same when we swoon. 
 We have not ceased to exist, in either case, for we 
 revive into consciousness. And why may it not be 
 so with death ? 
 
 ' Oh, but the case is very different,' says the 
 objector : ' in death, the body decays and finally dis- 
 appears.' But is the body myself or yourself.'' If 
 the body disappears, is that a proof that I cease to 
 exist, or that you cease to exist } Our bodies have 
 changed several times during our lives. The body I
 
 DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE STATE. 8/ 
 
 had when an infant is no longer mine ; and where the 
 material particles are which composed it, I know not : 
 perhaps existing in vegetable or animal forms, in the 
 different quarters of the globe. The body I had when 
 a boy — when a youth — when I was thirty, — forty — 
 fifty — sixty — seventy years of age — they are no 
 longer attached to me : flesh and blood, and brains, 
 and bones — they are all gone ; — but / remain. / 
 am conscious that I have existed all this time, not- 
 withstanding all the changes. 
 
 Lord Brougham considered this to be an un- 
 answerable proof that the soul continues to exist 
 after death. Having existed in spite of its separation 
 from several bodies, successively, he could not see, 
 any more than Bishop Butler, why it should not 
 continue to exist ununited to any body, or, perhaps, 
 to some new body — some new and subtile form of 
 matter. 
 
 3. But, Thirdly, ' God is a Spirit ' — that is to say. 
 He is Mind : Immortal Mind. And so we hardly 
 expect Mind to be destroyed. Not that we are 
 naturally immortal, because God is. ' Who only 
 hath immortality, dwelling in the light which no 
 man can approach unto, whom no man hath seen, or 
 can see ' — says the Apostle Paul to Timothy. " Who 
 only hath immortality " — that is to say, natural im- 
 mortality. IVe have no natural immortality. If we 
 had, we should be independent of our Maker. But, 
 neither we, nor any other order of created beings
 
 88 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 are independent in their existence. God supports us 
 every moment, or we should cease to exist. The 
 highest Archangel could not exist one moment, if 
 God did not keep him in existence. No more could 
 a grain of sand. 
 
 Now, although we cannot annihilate one single 
 particle of matter : we can only change its form, or 
 its state, or its condition : yet we never doubt that 
 God can annihilate matter : we see no reason to 
 doubt it. No material substance seems to us to be of 
 such a peculiar nature, or value, that God could never 
 will to destroy it. But, as I said before, we hardly 
 expect Him to annihilate mind, or spirit. For He 
 Himself is mind, or spirit ; and we hardly think He 
 will annihilate that which resembles His own nature. 
 I think we may venture to call this our Third 
 Probability for expecting a Future State. 
 
 4. But, Fourthly, God endows Mind, or Spirit, 
 with such attributes as to render it, in our concep- 
 tion, of such a lofty nature, compared with matter, 
 that we can hardly think He would create a soul 
 with the intent to annihilate it. 
 
 Let the first seeds of knowledge be sown in the 
 jT^ind — let it once begin to have a thirst for know- 
 ledge, and how quickly the desire grows, and the 
 struggle strengthens to know more. Think of the 
 eagerness with which students fasten on the quest 
 for languages, or the sciences. And remember the 
 fact — so strongly proven in the lives of Humboldt
 
 DOCTRIXE OF A FUTURE STATE. 89 
 
 and others — that the more a man knows, the more 
 he desires to know. Once formed, you cannot 
 satisfy man's passion for knowledge : we desire to 
 know even God Himself. 
 
 All this seems to indicate, very plainly, that we 
 are not born simply for this world — born to get 
 a little stinted knowledge here, and then perish 
 utterly. No : I think we may safely set down INIan's 
 unquenchable thirst for knowledge as a Fourth 
 Reason on the side of Probability for our belief in 
 a Future State. 
 
 5. But Fifthly. We treated our First Reason — the 
 simple wish to live again — too simply. We must 
 remember that our wish to live again after death 
 is not simply a dread of annihilation — a desire for 
 continuous life merely. It is a wish for a happy 
 life : a wish to be happy for ever. Now, we cannot 
 suppose that our Maker has implanted such a desire 
 within us, solely to mock us — to fill us with blank 
 disappointment. And just so it is with the passion 
 for knowledge that we were just now speaking of. 
 We cannot think our Maker would so construct our 
 natures as to mock us. The unquenchable desire 
 for knowledge, and the ever-present desire for happi- 
 ness, which are so natural to Man, must indicate, we 
 think, that He Who made us intends to gratify us. 
 
 6. But Sixthly. There is a widely-prevailing 
 mistake among writers who call themselves Free- 
 thinkers. They assert that it is well-nigh an invari-
 
 90 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 able fact, that as the body is so is the mind. While 
 we wear the body of a child, we possess only 
 childish intelligence: as we advance to manhood our 
 intelligence increases and strengthens ; and, as age 
 comes on, decline of intellect accompanies debility 
 of body ; and, as we sink into the decrepitude of age, 
 we usually sink into vacancy of mind, and forgetful- 
 ness of all things. 
 
 But this is not true. So far from our mental 
 condition being equal when we are children, it is 
 very unequal. How bright some children are com- 
 pared with others ! And if all children were 
 properly attended to, the bright children would well 
 repay tlie expense of their culture ; and the world 
 would soon be much fuller of intellectual and moral 
 benefactors of the race than it is. If their parents, 
 and those who had the care of them, had not 
 perceived the precocious genius of the young Milton, 
 and Bacon, and Newton, and Pascal, and Mozart, we 
 might have lost some of their precious gifts to the 
 world ; and many a child of the poor might make a 
 figure in the world and be a blessing to it, if his 
 parents had the means to afford him due culture. 
 
 And, then, it is not a fact that from the age when 
 Man reaches his bodily prime — that is to say, from 
 forty to fifty, as his material frame begins to decline, 
 so his mind loses its powers, and he gradually sinks 
 into imbecility. The memory of many men is 
 strong, even at fourscore, while the reflective powers
 
 DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE STATE. 9I 
 
 are stronger than ever they were. The judgment 
 of a man of sixty, in ahuost any case of practical 
 business, or serious and weighty concern, is sounder 
 than ev^er it was when he was younger ; and men 
 value it more : nay, it is often so at seventy, and 
 sometimes at fourscore. 
 
 7. But, Seventhly, there is one fact so strongly 
 attesting our spiritual nature, and, therefore, render- 
 ing our Future State of Existence the more probable, 
 that I often wonder more is not thought and said 
 about it. I mean, not only the retention in our 
 memories of the facts of childhood, boyhood, youth, 
 early manhood, and mature life, even to old age ; — 
 but the sudden, the instantaneous way in which 
 some fact of childhood, or youth — or say, of thirty 
 or forty years ago — will flit across the mind — nay, 
 stand before our mental vision as vividly as if it had 
 happened but yesterday. 
 
 You have, all, experience of this kind. When I 
 have these visitations, I stand still, and ask myself 
 — ' How came this to my consciousness ? ' Your 
 philosophers would be ready to reply — ' No doubt 
 by association of ideas.' But I so often can trace 
 no such association that I very strongly opine the 
 grand phrase — ' The Law of Association of Ideas ' — 
 is only a phrase invented to conceal ignorance. 
 
 Perhaps, I suddenly see Thomas Miller's face, and 
 hear him say words he uttered to me in play, in 
 Sailors' Alley, at old Gainsborough. I can trace no
 
 92 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 cause for such a sudden remembrance, yet there we 
 were together on that spot, and the face is the same, 
 and the voice is the same — and yet it is now more 
 than seventy years ago since we were at play, in 
 that alley! Now, my body — flesh and bones and 
 blood and brain — having changed I know not how 
 many times within eighty years, — how can I doubt 
 that there must be some spiritual principle of God's 
 creation, somehow connected permanently with this 
 body while it lives in its present state, — which is, 
 mysteriously, the unfailing depositary of the memory 
 of our life-passages, whatever they may be ? Will 
 it be, as Coleridge thought it would be, that when 
 we put off the body — this frail tabernacle— the 
 soul will be able to trace all her past history, from 
 the first moment of her existence ? 
 
 Oh, who can doggedly set it down that the 
 spiritual something which not only exists through 
 all the changes of the body, but registers and keeps 
 the memory of its acts and words and thoughts for 
 scores of years, — as fresh as if they were but things 
 of yesterday ; — which takes note of all Nature, and 
 measures and gauges all things, — nay, aspires to 
 know what the infinite I AM is Himself, shall cease 
 to be ? Does it seem likely that God so deals with 
 His highest work — (for it is His highest work, to 
 make a soul higher than the forming of suns and 
 planets) — as to cease to support its existence ? — to 
 annihilate it ?
 
 DOCTRINE OF A FUTURE STATE. 93 
 
 8. The rewards for good and punishments for 
 evil doing, in this life, are often uncertain, and are 
 often, as we think, not proportionate to what is 
 deserved : so we seem, naturally, to expect the due 
 fulfilment hereafter — or, otherwise, the government 
 of God would not, we think, be one of rectitude. 
 
 9. Remorse for crime argues that all is not ended 
 here. If Man have not a natural conscience, as 
 Butler argues ; if his judgment of right and wrong 
 depends on the training of his understanding and 
 reason ; yet the poignancy of conviction for sin — 
 the impossibility of 'killing conscience' — in many 
 criminals, is so great, that if they be not under the 
 power of conscience, it seems very much like it. 
 The hardness with which some few criminals suffer 
 shows the intense power of the Will developed in 
 some men : it may not result from the absence of 
 conscience, but from the ascendancy of the will over 
 conscience in such particular men. 
 
 10. The Utility of a Future Life, and of our full 
 belief in it, for our good conduct and happiness 
 here, strengthens the presumption that a belief in a 
 Future Life is not a mere conceit. 
 
 So much on the side of mere Probability. Chris- 
 tianity gives us Certainty : for Christ brought Life 
 and Immortality to light.
 
 IX. 
 
 ON THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION, HERE AND 
 HEREAFTER. 
 
 [A Discourse delivered chiefly to the Working Classes in various 
 parts of England.^ 
 
 "Be not deceived: God is not mocked: for, whatsoever a 
 man soweth, that shall he also reap. For, he that soweth to 
 his flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption ; but he that 
 soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting." 
 — Galatians vi. 7, 8. 
 
 RETRIBUTION is the doctrine maintained by 
 St. Paul in this text : retribution — a doctrine 
 you will find maintained by all religions that have 
 ever existed, and contained in all reltt^ious literatures 
 which have ever been written — notwithstanding the 
 denial of this doctrine, by some bold people, in our 
 day. 
 
 " Retribution, sir," says some plain man : " it is a 
 hard-sounding word : what does it mean .'* " 
 
 Retribution means due punishment for wrong- 
 doing — ^just punishment for wrong-doing — sure and 
 certain punishment for wrong-doing — unescapable 
 punishment for wrong-doing — punishment which God
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF RETRTRUTIOX. 95 
 
 has irrevocably affixed to wrong-doing, and which 
 is sure to overtake the wrong-doer, some way or 
 other, sooner or later, 
 
 " I don't believe in the truth of such a sweeping 
 doctrine, sir," says some objector. " Talk to me 
 about retribution and the sure and certain punish- 
 ment of wrong-doers ! Don't we see wrong-doers 
 go unpunished every day ? Do not men lie and 
 swindle and cheat, every day, and get money, and 
 rise in the world ? Do not rich men grind the faces 
 of the poor, and ride in chariots, and live in splendour; 
 and when they die have pompous funerals, and 
 fine paragraphs to their praise in the newspapers? 
 Pooh, pooh, sir ! Don't talk to us about what you 
 call ' retribution.' In this world vice triumphs and 
 villainy bears the bell." 
 
 Very true, my friend ! What you say is too true. 
 But you have not disproved the truth of the great 
 doctrine of Retribution, for all that. You are only 
 leading us back to the old, old problem which has 
 puzzled our race for five thousand years. They 
 discussed it in Hieroglyphic Egypt, in old Sanscrit 
 India, in ancient, mysterious China ; and that it 
 was the subject of controversy among the ancient 
 Hebrews, the Book of Job attests powerfully. Lord 
 Byron calls the Book of Job the ' oldest drama and 
 the grandest poetry in the world.' And, in that 
 ' oldest drama ' the great subject of dispute is this 
 same doctrine of Retribution. Job, or A}'oub, is an
 
 96 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Eastern Emir, or noble, who has lost all his riches, 
 and has been smitten with a fell disease — tells the 
 Poet — through the agency of a great malignant 
 spirit — Satan, or Shatan — and he sits on the ground 
 trying to relieve the irritation of his skin, with a 
 piece of broken pottery. And he bursts into that 
 speech of sublime despair which reminds us so much 
 of the distracted King Lear in Shakspere. 
 
 " Let the day perish wherein I was born, and the 
 night in which it was said, There is a man child 
 conceiv^ed. 
 
 " Let that day be darkness. Let not God regard 
 it from above, neither let the light shine upon it. 
 
 " Let darkness and the shadow of death stain it. 
 Let a cloud dwell upon it. Let the blackness of the 
 day terrify it. 
 
 " As for that night, let darkness seize upon it. 
 Let it not be joined to the days of the year : let it 
 not come into the number of the months. 
 
 " Lo ! let that night be solitary ! let no joyful 
 voice come therein ! " 
 
 And so he continues in what we must call a 
 strain of sublime misery. And his three especial 
 friends come to mourn with him, and to comfort 
 him : Eliphaz the Temanite, and Zophar the Naama- 
 thite, and Bildad the Shuhite. You have all heard 
 of ' Job's comforters ' ! 
 
 " Ay, ay," say you ; " we have met with too many 
 of the race, in life's journey."
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION. 9/ 
 
 And when these so-called comforters come to 
 Job, and Hsten to his speeches, instead of comforting 
 him, they profess to be shocked and indignant, 
 because he declares that he knows not why God has 
 inflicted so much punishment upon him. He will 
 not rebel against God — but he cannot understand 
 why he is made to endure so much affliction. 
 They argue that instead of complaining, he ought to 
 acknowledge that he deserves all his suffering ; and 
 that there must be some secret sin which he ought 
 to confess, and which is the chief cause of his dread 
 affliction. " Doubtless, } e are the people, and 
 wisdom shall die with you ! " says Job, and declares 
 that he has no secret sin to confess. His friends 
 renew their attack in a similar strain, and insist upon 
 it that there is some great guilt which he has con- 
 cealed. He has either oppressed the poor, or done 
 some great wrong ; and he is, therefore, deservedly 
 punished. " Miserable comforters are ye all ! " says 
 Job ; and he tells them he shall not play the 
 hypocrite by pleading guilty of sins which he has 
 not committed. He has not oppressed the poor ; but 
 it has been his delight to relieve and befriend them. 
 And he bursts out into that beautiful language which 
 Handel has set to such beautiful music, — 
 
 " When the ear heard me, then it blessed me ; 
 and when the eye saw me, it gave witness to me : 
 
 " Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the 
 fatherless, and him that had none to help him. 
 
 7
 
 98 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 " The blessing of him that was ready to perish 
 came upon me, and I caused the widow's heart to 
 sing for joy." 
 
 In the close of the book the grand dramatist 
 represents the Almighty as speaking out of the 
 whirlwind, and confounding Job's comforters. And 
 God teaches Job that he should not question Divine 
 Government, and Fie restores Job's riches — but He 
 does not solve the problem of retribution for Job. 
 
 In the 73rd Psalm we have Asaph taking up the 
 problem. He tells us that his feet had well-nigh 
 slipped, when he saw the prosperity of the wicked. 
 They are not in trouble as other men, says Asaph : 
 their eyes stand out with fatness : they have more 
 than heart can wish. But, as to God's people, he 
 declares that waters of a full cup are wrung out to 
 them ; and he thinks he has cleansed his heart in 
 vain, and washed his hands in innocency. The 
 puzzle is too great for the mind of Asaph : the 
 problem was so mysterious, he says, that it was too 
 painful for him. ' Until,' says he, ' I went into the 
 sanctuary of God,' ' then,' he says, ' he understood 
 their end': that is to say, he entered into deep re- 
 verential reficction. — And that is the only process by 
 which we shall be able to cope with this problem of 
 Retribution, so as to satisfy ourselves of its truth. 
 We can never come to right conclusions on profound 
 questions, by rash and hasty judgments. Let us 
 imitate Asaph.
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION. 99 
 
 I shall never forget the behaviour of a Jew 
 Atheist in London, twenty-eight years ago, when I 
 was in the habit of holding discussions with Sceptics 
 in the Hall of Science, City Road. I had just been 
 quoting the words — " I am a jealous God, visiting the 
 sins of the fathers upon the children unto the third 
 and fourth generation " — and he burst out in anger, 
 " I hate such a God. I won't worship your Jehovah. 
 He is as bad as Moloch !" " But," I said, "you know 
 He is the God of your fathers." '■ I know that," he 
 said, " but I won't have a God Who, they say, 
 commits such an injustice as to visit the sins of 
 the fathers upon the children unto the third and 
 fourth generation." 
 
 " Now," said I, " will you just calmly reflect for a 
 moment that if you could banish God out of exist- 
 ence, you have not banished that fact out of 
 existence, that the sins of the fathers are visited 
 upon the children unto the third and fourth genera- 
 tion .' Look at the undeniable facts, that the sins of 
 the fathers are visited upon the children, often to the 
 third and fourth generation, in the transmission of 
 disease — in the form of bad habits and practices — 
 in poverty and want. And, again," I said to the 
 Jew, " remember that all this demonstrates real bene- 
 volence in God. He determines that men shall 
 understand that sin is sinful ; and therefore He sur- 
 rounds man with judgments which are most likely 
 to deter man from sinning. God not only affixes
 
 100 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 physical pain to the performance of sin, and ruin of 
 circumstances, and other penalties ; but He lets the 
 penalties fall on their children, that parental feeling 
 may be called into action as a preventive to sin. 
 And we all know that a man can often be deterred 
 from acting wrongly, when he remembers it would 
 bring punishment on his children. Nay, we know 
 that such a consideration will deter him when nothing 
 else will." 
 
 Let every one who wishes to come to a fair and true 
 reckoning on the doctrine of Retribution remember 
 this : that God is the Moral Governor of the whole 
 Human Race. He knows that, as Moral Agents, 
 we influence one another. We may venture to say 
 that in most of the sins men commit they injure 
 others as well as themselves. Whole families are 
 often ruined by the evil example of parents. Even 
 in a shop of working-men, how often the bold 
 wickedness of one or two men will ruin a whole 
 company, though it consist of many scores. And 
 it is the same with higher society. See when there 
 is a wicked Court — like that of George the Fourth — 
 how open wickedness spreads among the nobility. 
 
 Now God, as the All-Wise One, knows all the 
 complications of sin, and how it spreads among 
 many and is not confined to one. And so He sends 
 the due retribution sometimes on a family — some- 
 times on a tribe — or even on a nation. " The 
 iniquity of the Amorites is not yet full " — you
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION. 10 1 
 
 remember, is a Scriptural expression. God lets sin 
 accumulate, lets it ripen and come to a head, and 
 then the punishment falls and overwhelms all who 
 are in any way involved in the sin. The Bible gives 
 us signal instances of this kind, and we have it even 
 in modern history : in the history of the Bourbons 
 of France, and of our own Stuarts. 
 
 Again, let all who wish to come to a fair and true 
 reckoning on the doctrine of Retribution, take note 
 how observable and clear it is that there is no corrupt 
 favouritism with God. If His own people do wrong 
 He does not exempt them from retribution. Mark 
 how Jacob suffered for his meanness and deceit ; 
 he sowed' deceit and he reaped deceit. After his 
 trickery to his brother Esau, mark how he was 
 tricked again and again, by Laban ; and remember 
 how he had to crouch and bow and tremble before 
 Esau, when he had to meet him, so many years after 
 their separation. And again think how he was 
 punished for his sin, in the sorrow he had for his 
 son Joseph. Oh, no! God does not except His own 
 children from the great law of Retribution. Think 
 of David, and the rebellion of his son Absalom, and 
 the bad conduct of some of his other children. His 
 great black sin in the matter of Uriah was forgiven ; 
 but he had to ' sup sorrow for it ' (to use an old 
 English phrase) ; he had to undergo retribution to 
 the end of his life. 
 
 The instances of retribution in the Bible are
 
 I02 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 numerous ; but have we not witnessed them in our 
 own day — Napoleon the Great and Napoleon the 
 Little ? 
 
 " Well, sir," says another objector, " I have listened 
 to you very attentively ;' but I must tell you I think 
 you have only made out a sort of faulty case ; you 
 have not established the fact that there is a sure and 
 certain law of Retribution, either for nations, families, 
 or individuals. You know well enough that there 
 are cases in history which are against you, and so 
 there are of families, and so there are of individuals. 
 We do not see Retribution always : quite the con- 
 trary, only sometimes, as everybody knows. 
 
 " Now, if, in every case. Retribution were as clear 
 and evident, as it is in the case of the First 
 Napoleon, we could not doubt your doctrine. After 
 shedding — or causing to be shed — the blood of 
 perhaps one million of human beings, he lives six 
 years at St. Helena, tortured with that most shudder- 
 ing of tortures — cancer of the stomach. But, to this 
 is added the million-fold cancer of the soul — 
 Remorse ! How complete a realisation it seems of 
 the fable of old ^Eschylus : Jupiter condemning 
 Prometheus to be chained to a rock in Caucasus, and 
 to have a vulture perpetually gnawing his liver — the 
 vulture of Remorse ! 
 
 " But, you know, you cannot make the proof of 
 your doctrine rest on the tortures of Napoleon. We 
 see some good people pass very comfortably through
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION. IO3 
 
 life, while others meet with very vile usage. And 
 we see some rascals justly punished; but we fear the 
 greater number of them not only escape punishment, 
 but they prosper and triumph. 
 
 " Nay, there is one great historical fact you seem 
 to have forgotten altogether. Wrong increases in a 
 family for generations, and they riot in it — when 
 suddenly, the family come to nought, and one poor, 
 comparatively unoffending member bears all the 
 disgrace the family have merited, and he only suffers, 
 while those who lived before him escaped punishment 
 altogether, and rioted in wrong to the end of their 
 
 existence — " 
 
 Stay, stay, my friend, you are forgetting that, 
 hitherto, we have only been dealing with the ques- 
 tion of Retribution here: we have now to deal with 
 Retribution hei-eaftei'." 
 
 " You may save yourself the trouble of entering 
 on that subject," interjects some sceptical hearer : 
 " I don't believe in, or expect, any hereafter^ 
 
 Then why do you take any interest in the question 
 of Retribution ? Of what real consequence can it 
 be to you ? Paul thought the doctrine of great 
 consequence, or he would not have given us these 
 warning words — " Be not deceived : God is not 
 mocked. Whatsoever a man soweth that shall he 
 also reap."' And the words that come after 
 show that Paul meant not only reaping here — but 
 reaping hereafter. Do not conclude, then, without a
 
 104 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 little more thinking that all the royal forerunners, 
 for instance, of the poor unfortunate Louis XVI. of 
 France, escaped the punishment due to their wrong- 
 doing, although some of them lived in such royal 
 riot here. I must leave you who say you expect no 
 hereafter to think more about it, and attend now, to 
 St. Paul's words : " He that soweth to his own 
 flesh " — what is that ? He that follows the bent of 
 his own fallen nature. 
 
 For our natures are fallen. We feel they are. 
 Our natural inclination is not to self-denial, but 
 to indulgence. We show it from childhood. Our 
 natural inclination is not to humility, but to pride. 
 We show it from childhood, I repeat. And we show 
 it all along through life. How soon an unregenerate 
 man is offended ! " You insult me, sir ! " says he ; 
 and his eyes flash and his cheeks redden, and he is 
 very much inclined to strike. Our natural inclina- 
 tion is not to the ' charity that thinketh no evil,' 
 but to the disposition that easily believes evil of any- 
 body. For nothing delights the unregenerate mind 
 so much as the hearing of -a bit of good rotten 
 scandal ; and the more rotten it is, and the more it 
 smells, the more acceptable it is. 
 
 But, if you would see a more full and awful 
 account of fallen human nature, listen to the black 
 catalogue of sins which St. Paul presents to the 
 Gentiles, in the close of the first chapter of the 
 Epistle to the Romans — and remember the catalogue
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION. 105 
 
 is true of all Gentiles, of ourselves among them. I 
 shall not read it all to you : only the last five verses : 
 " And, as they did not like," etc., etc. 
 
 " But, sir, do you mean to say that we are all 
 born with an equal propensity to evil, and to all 
 these evils which Paul mentions .? " 
 
 No : I do not. But we are each and all born 
 with the propensity to evil, and some of us with a 
 propensity to many evils : others, it may be, to 
 fewer. 
 
 If any man doubts the dire Scriptural truth that 
 we are born in sin — that the carnal mind is enmity 
 against God — let him begin to seek religion, and 
 he'll soon find that he is naturally prone to evil. 
 So long as a man is living in sin — living a jolly life 
 — taking his pipe and glass in the tap-room — or 
 more respectably, his glass (3f brandy and water and 
 his cigar, in the inn-parlour — he laughs at your 
 Methodism and cant about being a sinner, and a 
 fallen creature. But let the Spirit of God lay hold 
 of him and lead him to seek religion, and he will 
 soon begin to cry out with Paul, before he got out 
 of his struggle with sin, and began to be holy — 
 before he got out of the seventh chapter of Romans 
 into the eighth, as an old preacher used to say — 
 " When I would do good, evil is present with me ! 
 Oh, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me 
 from the body of this death ! " 
 
 " Well, now," another is saying, " what do you
 
 I06 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 really hold to be the truth about a Future State ? 
 What do you hold to be the real truth as it regards 
 Future Punishment ? " They that sow to their own 
 flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption." St. Paul 
 uses t1ie old Greek word ^6opa. The lexicons 
 render it ' corruption,' 'decay,' ' destruction,' * ruin.' 
 Our old translators have chosen the first rendering. 
 The Rev. Edward White, and some other scholars 
 consider these expressions as literal, and judge that 
 although all sinners will be punished for a season — 
 for a term merited by their degree of sin — they will 
 eventually be annihilated. I have said, over and 
 over again, that I cannot receive such a doctrine. 
 Some of you, no doubt, have heard me say that 
 the doctrine of Mr. Maurice and dear Charles 
 Kingsley seems inviting. I acknowledge that there 
 is something very winning and very attractive in the 
 belief that God will eventually banish all pain and 
 suffering, and all sin and evil out of His universe, 
 and that happiness and holiness shall reign in it for 
 ever — but the proof of this is not so clear to me. 
 (i) I do not know, since God can permit, or endure, 
 the existence of sin and suffering in His universe 
 now, why He cannot endure it for ever. (2) And, 
 if any one tells me that they cannot think there can 
 be punishment for ever in the Future State, for sins 
 we have committed in our short existence here : the 
 punishment seems so disproportionate, that it seems 
 unjust — I ask, how do you know what kind of
 
 THE DOCTRINE OF RETRIBUTION. 10/ 
 
 punishment and what amount of it sin deserves ? I 
 cannot reckon up what my sins deserve. I dare 
 not take God's place and pronounce judgment — and 
 remember, you must not. 
 
 " But we understand, sir, that the Greek words, 
 aicou and atwvto? do not mean ever and everlast- 
 ing." Just so: their literal meaning is rtf<? an'd age- 
 lasting, and 'for ever and ever' is literally ' the ages 
 of the ages.' But such an expression as that is just as 
 mysterious as everlasting. I don't think you can 
 really gather anything to guide you from the literal 
 meaning of the Greek words, because you see the 
 same Greek word is used to express the misery of the 
 bad, and the happiness of the good. And we have 
 no authority for applying one interpretation to the 
 one state, and another interpretation to the other, 
 
 I must confess to you, I cannot agree with any 
 of the schemes that have been put forth so earnestly 
 of late. I cannot help remembering that Eternity 
 is a long chalk. Eternity .■* For ever ? How do 
 we know, and how can we conceive what God will 
 do with His moral agents throughout eternity .'' 
 What will He do with the Angels — with Men — with 
 Fallen Spirits ? We do not know. 
 
 Let us have one word on the brighter side — 
 for, thank God ! there is a brighter side. " They 
 that sow to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap 
 life everlasting." God has no pleasure in the 
 death and destruction of sinful men. He wills
 
 I08 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 that all should come to Him. Have you not often 
 felt His good Spirit striving with you ? Oh, hsten 
 to His voice, yield to His holy striving : begin to 
 sow to the Spirit — begin to lift up your heart in 
 prayer — begin to strive against sin — cry out to God 
 to help you. He is sure to help you, if you ask 
 Him. If you had been as willing to be saved, as 
 God is to save you, you would have been saved 
 long ago. 
 
 Remember, you must sow, if you mean to reap. 
 If you covet everlasting life, with all the blessedness 
 of heaven, you must live for it. You must not 
 expect heaven, if you do not pray, if you do not 
 strive to get thither. You have been sowing the 
 tares and noxious weeds of sin, it may be for many 
 years — Oh, give up that evil practice, fall at God's 
 feet in repentance and confess your sin, and begin 
 to sow the seed of prayer and holy desire and holy 
 strife for a new heart, a regenerate nature and a 
 prospect of heaven. God help you so to do ; and 
 bring us all to heaven, at last, for Christ's sake ! 
 Yes : we may all reach the mansions there, if we 
 will. Don't imagine you are to live no more, after 
 this little life here. There is a nobler life for you — 
 the ' life everlasting.' The life where you shall see 
 'the King in His beauty,' and enjoy His purity and 
 love and sweetness, for ever.
 
 X. 
 
 ON GOING BACK. 
 [A Discourse addressed chiefly to Secularist Working Men.^ 
 
 " From that time many of His disciples went back, and 
 walked no more with Him. Then said Jesus unto the twelve, 
 Will ye also go away ? Then Simon Peter answered Him, 
 Lord, to whom shall we go ? Thou hast the words of eternal 
 life."— John vi. 66, 67, 68. 
 
 " 1\ /r ANY of His disciples went back." I fear 
 -i» V J. many of His disciples are going back nozv. 
 Many who were His disciples from preserving the 
 creed of their childhood ; and many who hav^e been 
 His disciples by Christian profession in riper years. 
 We live at a time when many are going back — 
 some to worldliness of life and indifference to spirit- 
 ual religion ; and many more to open scepticism 
 and denial of all religion. Among the working 
 classes, scepticism has hardly existed for a full 
 century, in this country. For, the working classes 
 were not the readers of Hobbes, and Shaftesbury, 
 and Morgan, and Anthony Collins, and Woolston 
 and Toland, in the last century, since but very few 
 of them could read. It was amonsr the middle
 
 no THOUGH IS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 classes and the aristocracy that the disciples of the 
 old English Freethinkers were found. Unbelief, 
 open and declared, began among the working 
 classes in London and the manufacturing districts, 
 with the publication of Thomas Paine's ' Age of 
 Reason.' That was their class-book, once. But the 
 ' Age of Reason ' contains no Atheism or Mate- 
 rialism ; and so it has ceased to be their class-book, 
 now. For Unbelief now takes bolder and more 
 defiant forms, among the working classes ; and 
 Unbelief, among them, is rapidly and fearfully 
 increasing. 
 
 And who can wonder at that ? Of late years, 
 a Broad Church has sprung up in the State Church, 
 on one side, and a Ritualistic Church, on the other. 
 And, thus, the working classes, disgusted with the 
 superstitious practices of the one, have been encou- 
 raged to doubt, with the other. And, now, the 
 Men of Science — the men whom public opinion had 
 come to enthrone as the highest men of their age, 
 because of the benefits which Science has conferred 
 on mankind, and the increased convenience and 
 comfort it has given to their daily life — the Men 
 of Science have become the avowed disciples and 
 teachers of Unbelief. 
 
 The older race of scientific men, the grand Dis- 
 coverers — the really great Men of Science — Newton 
 and Boyle and the Herschells, and the rest — were 
 ever and anon telling m.mkind that the more
 
 ON GOING BACK. I I T 
 
 completely they opened the secrets of Nature, the 
 more they were humbled and over-awed by the 
 proofs of God's glorious existence, and wisdom, and 
 power. But, the smaller and modern men of 
 Science — who are not Discoverers, but presumptuous 
 theorists and prophets that something marvellous 
 will be discovered, some time, are all declaring that 
 nothing which they can see in Nature proves design, 
 or contrivance. So declares Herbert Spencer and 
 Professor Tyndall and Professor Huxley, and the 
 rest : Nature proves no design, no contrivance. All 
 we see is the result of Evolution. All is the result 
 of the working of the unintelligent, unconscious, 
 blind Forces of Matter, which are Eternal. Nature 
 proves no personal God, says Professor Tyndall : 
 the very existence of one is unthinkable^ says 
 Herbert Spencer. 
 
 And, thus, the 'Masses,' as they are called — the 
 Working Men who have to toil with hand and brain 
 to win their bread, and who have received no 
 College education — no skilled instruction — but have 
 been left to instruct themselves, or go without 
 instruction, altogether — have been encouraged and 
 emboldened, not only to go back, but to go farther 
 back. The writings of Bishop Colenso were eagerly 
 snatched up by sceptical working men, with a shout 
 of triumph, when they first appeared. But scep- 
 tical working men welcome with still greater triumph, 
 and lean still more confidently upon, the theories of
 
 112 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 the Men of Science — that is to say, emphatically, of 
 the Men of Knowledge — for that is the literal 
 meaning of the word ' Science.' " If the Men of 
 Knowledge do not know what is right, and what is 
 true — who can know ? " say the working men who 
 are Unbelievers — " if they cannot guide mankind as 
 to what is to be believed and received for truth — 
 who can guide us ? " 
 
 Nor, is doubt and disbelief confined to Working 
 Men, to the Men of Science, and a section of the 
 Clergy of the State Church. The Aristocracy have 
 caught the infection. Our Russells and Seymours 
 are writing Atheistic books ; and the Middle Classes 
 are crowding to the sable flag which bears a Death's- 
 head and cross-bones, and proclaims that there is 
 no Personal God — no All-seeing and Eternal Judge 
 — and no accountability to Him — for there is no 
 conscious hereafter for man. Thus Doubt and 
 Disbelief are filling the minds of thousands. The 
 late Archbishop of Canterbury, while addressing his 
 clergy, a while ago, expressed his alarm at the con- 
 dition of thought and opinion, in this country ; and 
 more lately. Dr. Ellicott, the Bishop of Gloucester, 
 expresses still greater alarm. As yet, the intellectual 
 earthquake has not shaken the more rural districts ; 
 but in our manufacturing towns and villages, and 
 in London, men's minds are unsettled ; and this 
 unsettlement, as I have said, extends to thousands. 
 
 Many who are thus unsettled have not reached
 
 ox GOING BACK. IIj 
 
 the dread stage of complete Disbelief. They are 
 feeling an unwillingness to give up their belief of a 
 Future Life, and embrace entirely the new doctrine 
 of Evolution, which gives tlie unrelenting death- 
 blow to their old belief, and proclaims, unmistak- 
 ably, that when our life ceases here we lie down 
 with the dogs, and are done with— for we are 
 conscious no more, for ever. All men are not so 
 utterly sunk in the corruption and degradation of 
 Vice, that they care nothing about dying like dogs 
 and perishing for ever. Men, in general, have a 
 shuddering feeling at Nothingness. 
 
 " Why shrinks the soul 
 Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? " 
 
 exclaims Cato, in the once popular play of Addison. 
 And if the ansvver he gives is not the true one — 
 
 " 'Tis heaven itself that points out an hereafter, 
 And intimates eternit}' to Man " — 
 
 I say, if that be not the true answer, there is, at 
 least, something within us which shrinks back at 
 the thought of Nothingness — of our becoming utterly 
 extinct and unconscious, for ever. 
 
 Thus, while the sceptical theories of the day are 
 unsettling the belief of thousands, the thousands 
 get no happiness from the sceptical theories ; and 
 therefore, in their hearts — if not with their tongues 
 — the thousands still ask the question which Peter 
 asks in the text — " To whom shall we go ? " 
 
 8
 
 I 14 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Was there any likeness between the real character 
 of the ' Many ' who were going back in Christ's 
 time and the thousands who are going back into 
 Doubt and Disbelief now ? " From that time many 
 of His disciples went back," says St. John, " and 
 walked no more with Him " — followed Him no 
 longer. " Many of His disciples " : — What kind of 
 disciples were they, and who were they ? Not the 
 ' twelve,' for Christ addresses them when the others 
 are leaving Him. Who, and what kind of disciples 
 were they who ' went back and walked no more 
 with Him ' ? Walked no wore ivitli Him. They 
 must have met with some signal disappointment to 
 their expectations. They must have discovered that 
 Jesus was not the person to give them what they 
 wanted. His declarations must have very plainly 
 revealed to them the fact that they would never 
 obtain their heart's wish and desire from Him — or 
 they would not have gone back never more to walk 
 with Him, or follow Him. Who, and what kind 
 of disciples were they .'' They could not have 
 been in quest of that ' eternal life ' that Peter talks 
 about. 
 
 The Gospel writers generally use the word 
 ' disciples ' to describe the twelve apostles, or chosen 
 companions of Christ ; but they sometimes apply 
 the name more diffusively — so as to include those 
 of Christ's hearers who believed that He was the 
 promised Messiah, and wrought His miracles by
 
 ON GOING BACK. 1 15 
 
 Divine power. Among the n:iembers of the crowds 
 that followed the Saviour, there would be various 
 degrees of belief. Some would feel a real confidence 
 that He was the promised Messiah — ' the Son of 
 David ' — the true Redeemer foretold by the prophets. 
 Others, would be unstead}', half-believers — men who, 
 one day, manifested zeal for the new Prophet, and, 
 on another, were drawn into disbelief by agents of 
 the priests and other sordid, hypocritical Pharisees, 
 and of the proud, unbelieving Sadducees. While 
 others would have a feeble faith in Christ — just 
 sufficiently strong to lead them to go after Him, 
 in the hope that they would get clearer evidence 
 of His Messiahship, by-and-by. But Christ Him- 
 self shows us that our poor fallen human nature 
 was as mean then as it is now- — for He declares 
 that the Many sought Him, not because they saw 
 His miracles, but because they ate of the loaves 
 and were filled. 
 
 This, then, was the mean, selfish, paltry motive 
 for which the Many — the majority of the crowd — 
 followed Christ ! He who ' knew what was in Man, 
 and needed not that any should tell Him,' declares 
 it to be the fact. When Christ showed them that 
 He would not let them take Him, by force, to make 
 Him a temporal king — that He did not come to 
 set up a temporal kingdom — to reign at Jerusalem, 
 and drive away the Romans, and make the Jewish 
 nation into a great pre-eminent people who should
 
 Il6 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 win homage and tribute from all the nations of the 
 earth — and when He showed them that they must 
 not expect Him to work miracles and feed them 
 with bread, without their working for it — but that 
 they must receive Him as the spiritual bread from 
 heaven— must believe that His Divine Father gave 
 them this spiritual bread — must feed upon Him 
 with their spirits — must spiritually eat His flesh 
 and drink His blood — they went back, in super- 
 cilious scepticism and scorn, and ' walked no more 
 with Him.' 
 
 They had followed Him for material bread ; but 
 He offered them spiritual bread. They and their 
 desires were of the earth, earthy : He was the Lord 
 from heaven. They wanted a Saviour who would 
 satisfy their physical wants, without their exertion 
 of any more labour : He told them that He came 
 to raise their fallen spiritual natures from the 
 degradation of sin and to make them new creatures. 
 They wanted Him to make a coarse heaven, full 
 of physical enjoyment, for them, on earth : He told 
 them that they must be born again, and thus be 
 enabled to live purer and holier lives here, that 
 they might be fitted for the purity and eternal 
 happiness of heaven. But they ' went back, and 
 walked no more with Him ' ! 
 
 My dear friends, have you not begun to recognise 
 a close likeness between the Many who went back 
 and walked no more with Christ, when He was on
 
 ON GOING BACK. II/ 
 
 earth, and the Many who are going back and 
 walking no more with Him, now ? 
 
 What the great mass of mankind still seek is, a 
 heaven on earth — a heaven of their own framing — 
 a heaven where all their physical wants and earthly 
 desires shall be satisfied, without anxiety and 
 without labour : a heaven on earth where there 
 shall be no more twinges of conscience, and where 
 they shall hear no more of a reckoning for sins 
 hereafter. He who will promise men this earthly 
 heaven is still the Messiah that the majority of men 
 seek. It was the Messiah they sought in Christ's 
 time ; and it is the Messiah they seek still. 
 
 When I was younger, men believed that they 
 had found such a Messiah. He proclaimed himself 
 to be the Regenerator of Human Society. The ' old 
 moral world ' was to be swept away, and he would 
 institute the ' New Moral World.' He had the most 
 consummate confidence in himself: a quality without 
 which you cannot win the confidence of others. He 
 believed himself to be infallible ; and, therefore, 
 thousands were attracted to believe in him. He 
 affirmed that he had discovered the true secret ot 
 happiness, and it resulted from his discovery of one 
 great fundamental truth : that Maiis character is 
 formed for hiui, not by him. He proclaimed that 
 Men ought to be grateful for the discovery of this 
 great truth, because it shows them how all things 
 ma}- be rendered pleasant for them here, and how
 
 Il8 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 they may be delivered from the bugbear of a reckon- 
 ing hereafter. " Man is the creature of circum- 
 stance," proclaimed the new Messiah, Robert Owen. 
 " Place him in good circumstances, and Man will 
 be good : place him in bad circumstances, and he 
 will be bad. What Man does he cannot avoid 
 doing. There is no guilt in human actions, and 
 there ought to be no praise and no blame." 
 
 You cannot wonder that men reasoned — then, 
 there is no vice and there is no virtue. Nor, can 
 you wonder that they went on to put the reasoning 
 into practice. Harmony Hall was opened — after 
 the failure of some other experiments — Harmony 
 Hall, at Tytherly, in Hampshire, was opened — where 
 this new heaven on earth was to be realised — where 
 the New Moral World was to be instituted. Disciples 
 flocked to it — some to lodge there for a few days 
 or weeks, and see how they liked it : many of these 
 departed soon, and never returned. Others went 
 to settle there, and said they meant to remain. I 
 had a long account given to me some years ago 
 by Isaac Ironside of Sheffield, whom, notwithstand- 
 ing all his eccentricities, no one who knew him 
 would suspect of falsehood. It was a sorry account, 
 indeed, which he gave me ; and I shall trouble you 
 with very little of it. 
 
 He turned his little property into money and 
 put it into the estate and establishment at Harmony 
 Hall, and took his young wife with him to live
 
 ON GOING BACK. II9 
 
 there, with the resolution that that, in future, should 
 be their home. " We'll have done," said he, " with 
 the old, bad, immoral world, and we'll live in the 
 New Moral World, now, to the end of our lives." 
 1 must not tell you the long story he told me about 
 quarrels, and fighting with chairs, and other queer 
 transactions. I will just give you one feature of 
 my friend's story, and then end it. Not long after 
 the opening, a bit of cardboard was placed, con- 
 spicuously, in the great dining-room, which was also 
 the great dancing-room, every night — to say that 
 one of the inmates had lost a jewelled brooch, and 
 begged that any one who had found it would restore 
 it. But it was not restored ; and a few mornings 
 after, another bit of cardboard appeared, intimating 
 that a gold necklace was missing. When the bits 
 of cardboard numbered half-a-dozen, their contents 
 were copied on one larger cardboard. But this 
 had soon to be copied again, and again recopied, 
 until the cardboard was ' an awful-looking thing, 
 both for its size and contents — to be found as a 
 Register of Facts in the New Moral World. For 
 it showed that scores of ornaments — brooches and 
 pins and necklaces and bracelets — had been stolen, 
 and that the thieves were determined thieves, and 
 would not give up their plunder. 
 
 And, at length, their Messiah, Robert Owen, the 
 governor of the establishment, solemnly summoned 
 the company together, and pointed to the long list
 
 120 THoU(JHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 of thievery, and asked them if they called tJiat living 
 in the New Moral World ; and he told them that 
 he was ashamed of them. And they laughed him 
 to scorn, and desired that a new governor might 
 be appointed in his stead. And he left them, 
 accordingly, and then they soon fell to pieces. The 
 strangest thing of all was, that Robert Owen 
 steadfastly believed in his own infallibility and 
 Messiahship to the end — though all his schemes 
 for a New Moral World failed, and — except a few 
 — men ceased to believe in him. 
 
 The Men of our day — of the present generation 
 — have got a new Messiah — a Messiah with many 
 heads — Science. Science is their new Messiah. 
 Science, the great wonder-worker. Science, which 
 has given us Steam-power, and Gas-light, and Gal- 
 vanic-batteries, and Telescopes and Microscopes and 
 Electrical Machines, and Spectrum Analysis and 
 Hundred-ton Cannon and Iron-plated Ships of War, 
 and — Evolution ! Science, which the Men of Science 
 affirm declares that there is no Eternal Intelligence 
 — no Almighty and All-wise Creator ; but, that the 
 Forces of Matter — Gravity and Heat and Light 
 and Electricity and Magnetism — are eternal : for 
 Matter itself is eternal. And either Carbon and 
 Oxygen and Hydrogen and Nitrogen, and the Alkalies 
 and the Acids and the Metals are eternal — or, other- 
 wise the one primal Matter from which they are 
 all derived, and which constituted the original
 
 ON GOING BACK. 121 
 
 Atoms and Molecules of the Universe, is eternal. 
 And that what we call ' Life,' in Plants and Animals, 
 is the result of the working of the Forces of Matter ; 
 and Man's intelligence is — simply — 'cerebration': a 
 result of the working of the brain, which is so much 
 water and fat, and albumen and phosphorus and 
 osmozome, and a few acids and salts ; — and that these 
 think, are conscious, will, determine, design, and 
 contrive. Man's life is like that of the beasts : 
 there is both a beginning and an end to it, here. 
 And so men need not trouble themselves about sin, 
 for there is none ; and there will be no reckoning 
 hereafter, 
 
 "Come forth, ye honoured heralds of Science ! " — 
 thousands are saying in their hearts — " come forth, 
 and proclaim the reign of Reason and the coming of 
 the real — the rational Millennium ! Let the high- 
 priests of Science step forth — so high and unerring 
 in their intelligence — and let us crown them with 
 wreaths of laurels and roses — for they have broken 
 the bondage of the human mind, and dissipated the 
 slavery of superstition and priestcraft. 
 
 " We need not be troubled, any more, now, with 
 puzzles either of the Old or New Testament. Let 
 all the old ron)ances about Miracles be accounted 
 simply, as Tales for the Nursery. Let the bugbear of 
 a future state of rewards and punishments be driven 
 out of human memory. Let it be heard of no more; 
 and let us now live rational lives, enjoying all the
 
 122 THOUGHTS AT FOURSC<^RE. 
 
 pleasures that are within our reach ; and let us 
 trouble ourselves, no more, about prayer and 
 religion ! " 
 
 Stop ! Do you remember what John Stuart 
 Mill, your dead prophet, said ? Do you remember 
 what Strauss and Renan say ? and what the author 
 of the new book, 'Spiritual Religion,' says? — Christ's 
 system of morality is the most perfect ever given to 
 the world, and He was the most perfect exemplar. 
 Himself, of the goodness that He taught. And 
 hearken to what Christ proclaims — " What shall it 
 profit a man, if he gain the whole world, and lose 
 his own soul ? ' ' He that heareth My word, and 
 believeth on Him that sent Me, hath everlasting 
 life. . , . Verily, verily, 1 say unto you. The hour 
 is coming, and now is, when the dead shall hear the 
 voice of the Son of God ; and they that hear shall 
 live. . . . Marvel not at this : for the hour is coming, 
 in the which all that are in the graves shall hear 
 His voice, and shall come forth, they that have done 
 good unto the resurrection of life, and they that have 
 done evil to the resurrection of condemnation," 
 And listen to the man who, from being the dire 
 persecutor of the new religion, became its fervent 
 apostle and martyr — " Be not deceived : God is 
 not mocked ; for, whatsoever a man soweth that 
 shall he also reap. For he that soweth to his flesh, 
 shall of the flesh reap corruption ; but he that soweth 
 to the Spirit, shall of the Spirit reap life everlasting."
 
 ON GOINCx BACK. 1 23 
 
 " We have done with Christ and Paul, too," cry 
 the disciples of Evolution : " we're going back, and 
 we'll walk no more with either Christ or Paul. 
 We're going back from our old superstitious fears 
 and scare-crows about a future state, and about sin 
 and guilt and punishment. Science is our guide : 
 Science and the Men of Science. We are only a 
 part of the Material Universe ; and there is no 
 spiritual nature. And as for what you call Con- 
 science and the Moral Nature, as Mr. Darwin shows, 
 they are evolved from the nature of animals. " Lower 
 animals, especially the dog," says Mr. Darwin, " mani- 
 fest love, reverence, fidelity, and obedience ; and it 
 is from these elements that the religious sentiment 
 in man has been slowly evolved." We'll be troubled 
 no more about the Moral Nature and Conscience." 
 
 Will you not .-' You cannot help being so troubled. 
 The voice within you will speak, though you turn 
 a deaf ear to every preacher. You cannot silence 
 the voice of Conscience. If you try to persuade 
 yourself that you are only the Creature of Circum- 
 stance, and that you are not accountable to a Higher 
 Power for your thoughts and words and actions, 
 Conscience will disturb you, in spite of yourself. 
 When you do wrong, you know you do wrong ; and 
 remorse will torture you, even in the street. It will 
 torture you when you are in the dark, and no human 
 eye sees you : it will torture you in the midst of 
 your pleasure and your stolen and guilty joys. You
 
 124 THOUGHTS AT FUURSCORE. 
 
 might as well try to tear the skin off, in one sheet 
 from your back, as to get quit of Conscience. If you 
 can lay it asleep for a few days, it will awake and 
 visit you with greater terrors. If you try to drown 
 it in drink, it will make you tremble when you are 
 sober. And, if you exercise all the strength of your 
 depraved will, and be determined to sear Conscience 
 as with a red-hot iron, you will feel that you become 
 a base, degraded creature, sunk in sin and vileness 
 and corruption. You will feel you are base, and 
 you will hate yourself You know that this is true. 
 Whenever you have striven to stifle Conscience, and 
 get yourself to believe that you were not guilty, you 
 could not succeed. You cannot kill Conscience, 
 You have not the power to do it ; nor will all the 
 pernicious reasonings of modern philosophers enable 
 you to do it. 
 
 Hark ! Do you not hear that voice, and that 
 solemn question ? "Will ye also go away.?" Has 
 not the Holy Spirit often taken those words of 
 Christ and uttered them within your soul ? " Will 
 ye also go away .'' " Stop and consider ! The voice 
 of the Holy Spirit has often brought you to a serious 
 pause when you have been weighing over again the 
 words of the philosophers, and the reasonings of the 
 doubters, and when you have been thinking of the 
 value of what you are giving up, in giving up 
 Christianity. " Will ye also go away ? " Do you 
 still answer, We are going back, we'll walk no more
 
 ox GOING BACK. 1 25 
 
 with Christ, we'll give up all faith in Christianity ? 
 But God does not give }-ou up. You are often com 
 pelled by His inward strivings to look at the points 
 of the Christian Evidence that seem undeniable and 
 irrefragable. You know you are. They often come 
 upon you with an overwhelming force. But you get 
 back again to your old sceptical reasonings — I know 
 all about it, for I have gone through it all myself — 
 and, in the misery and agony of your sense of 
 difficulty, you inwardly cry — '• To whom shall I 
 go .■" " But j-ou do not say, " Lord, to whom shall 
 I go ? " You do not ask the question, as Peter 
 asked it. You do not ask God for light. You do 
 not go to Him for guidance. You do not pray — 
 for the philosophers tell you it is useless and foolish 
 — they treat prayer with scorn and ridicule. " I am 
 not a praying man ! " says, so scornfully. Professor 
 Tyndall. " Let a number of your praying people 
 attend a sick man in one room, and a number of 
 medical men attend a sick man in another room, 
 and let us see which will be healed first : put the 
 value of prayer to the proof ! " cry the men who 
 claim to be the leaders of modern thought. 
 
 But, in spite of all their proud scorn and in spite 
 of all their ridicule, the value of prayer is real, my 
 doubting and disbelieving frien J. If you wish to get 
 light you must pray to the God of light. Remember 
 that " God is light, and in Him is no darkness at 
 all." You will get the unerring light from Him, and
 
 126 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 from none else. He made your mind, and He has 
 access to your mind, every moment ; and, if you do 
 pray to Him, and continue to pray to Him, you are 
 sure to get light from Him Who is the true light, 
 and Who lighteth every man that cometh into the 
 world. Prayer is the only resource you have for 
 getting the true light, my friend, let the philoso- 
 phers say what they will. Their opinions are very 
 changeable. They have changed again and again, on 
 many important subjects, in the course of my short 
 life. 
 
 It will be an awful case for you, my friend, if you 
 refuse to pray, and die in darkness, and find }'ourself 
 mistaken : find that the Future State is a reality — 
 find yourself before the Eternal Judge, and feel that 
 you deserve His sentence of condemnation. You 
 should not venture such a step in the dark, my 
 friend. You ought to be very sure that there is no 
 sufficient evidence for the Truth of Christianity, and 
 no likelihood of a Future State, before you settle 
 down into dogged disbelief, and say you will neither 
 inquire any more, nor pray any more. Perhaps, you 
 are the father of a family, or the head of an im- 
 portant section of Society, and your example is 
 looked up to, and you are drawing many into dis- 
 belief by your example. Ought you not to consider, 
 very seriously, what you are doing .'' Should you 
 not be very anxious to be perfectly right ? Will 
 you not be very guilty, if you not only fall into the
 
 ON GOING BACK. 12/ 
 
 pit of ruin yourself, but drag others into it ? — your 
 children — your companions — those who look up to 
 your example ? 
 
 Had you not better listen to Peter's reply to 
 Christ — * Lord, to whom shall we go ? Thou hast 
 the words of eternal life ' ? Would not real Chris- 
 tianity make you happy ? I mean Christ's ozvn 
 Christianity : not the so-called Christianity of any 
 mere man, or sect of men. I mean the Christianity 
 of which He Himself was — as even the sceptical 
 philosophers now say — the highest and most perfect 
 personal example. Can you deny that if all the 
 human world were like Christ, it would be a happy 
 world ? If we all had His purity and holiness of 
 character. His meekness and patience, His pity for the 
 wretched and suffering, His zeal to help and relieve 
 them — if we all, like the Saviour, loved all mankind, 
 and strove to do everybody good — would not this 
 human world, amid the natural world with all its 
 beauty, be something like a heaven on earth .■' 
 
 Do not tell me that there are many religious 
 professors who are not what they ought to be — that 
 there are many hypocrites. Christ denounced the 
 hypocrites. Hypocrisy is not religion. I do not ask 
 you to be hypocrites : I ask you to become true and 
 devoted Christians. 
 
 Did you ever think of the value of Peter's words 
 — of the preciousness of their full meaning — 'Thou 
 hast the words of Eternal Life ' .-* Peter does not
 
 128 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 mean that Christ teaches Science. Christ did not 
 come to do that. He knew that Men would pursue 
 Science for themselves, and that God had given 
 them powers of mind wherewith they may pursue 
 Science ; and that though they might yield, for a 
 time, to self-conceit, and make many errors and 
 mistakes, yet they would, doubtless, reach the truth 
 at last, and find the Truths of Science and the 
 Truths of Revelation in perfect agreement. Christ 
 did not come to teach Science ; but to deliver the 
 words of eternal life. He did not come to interfere 
 with Governments, or to remodel all human institu- 
 tions and set them on the right basis. He came to 
 give men the living words that should centre in 
 Men's souls, and lead them, themselves, to set all 
 institutions right, in the course of time. He came 
 to make Men new creatures. He came to atone for 
 Man's sin, that Man might know his sins forgiven, 
 and so lead a grateful and holy life here, and then 
 share in the blessed life hereafter. The men of 
 Science are teaching Materialism, and that there is 
 no hereafter. But, remember, Christ teaches the 
 contrary, and He teaches it positively. Remember 
 that all Christ teaches of His power to forgive sin 
 and to make men holy, — remember that all He 
 teaches about the reality of the future life, — He 
 teaches positivel^^ He has perfect confidence in 
 the perfect truth, in the infallible correctness, of His 
 own teachings. Whatever insidious doubts philoso-
 
 ON GOING BACK. 1 29 
 
 phers may cast upon Christianity and His teachings — 
 Christ has none. Listen to Him ! — 
 
 "I am the way, the truth, and the Life: no man 
 Cometh unto the Father but by Me." " I am the 
 vine, and My Father is the husbandman. ... I am 
 the vine, ye are the branches, . . . without Me ye 
 can do nothing." " I am the good shepherd, and I 
 lay down My Hfe for the sheep. I have power to 
 lay it down, and I have power to take it again." 
 " I am not alone, but the Father is with Me." 
 " Come unto Me, all ye that labour, and are heavy 
 laden, and I will give you rest." " I go to prepare 
 a place for you, that where I am there ye shall be 
 also." " I am the resurrection and the life : he that 
 believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he 
 live ; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me, 
 shall never die." 
 
 All these are the words of eternal life. Christ 
 came to give eternal life : the life of pardon and 
 holiness and happiness, is to be begun here, and 
 to continue for ever, hereafter. It is eternal life. 
 Will you part with your vain reasonings to have 
 this life : this eternal life ? Christ waits to give it 
 you. " Ye will not come unto Me that ye may 
 have life," He says. He invites you to come. He 
 turns none away — " Whosoever cometh unto Me, 
 I will in no wise cast out," He declares. 
 
 Remember who it is that says, " Will ye also go 
 ■ away ? " My dear friend, whether you believe it 
 
 9
 
 130 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 or not, Christ died for you, Christ died to save you, 
 Christ endured the agony in the garden of Geth- 
 semane for you — when, ' being in an agony He 
 prayed the more earnestly.' 
 
 I cannot explain to you all the mystery of the 
 Saviour's suffering ; nor, of the Father's love in 
 giving His Son for us all : but I tell you He came 
 to redeem us all. Christ's agony and suffering 
 receive no explanation, for me, on the Unitarian 
 scheme. If He merely came to show us a perfect 
 'xample, and such suffering closed His life — the 
 suffering becomes more mysterious still. That He 
 suffered thus for the sins of all men — and that ' God 
 was in Christ, reconciling the world unto Himself, 
 not imputing their trespasses unto them ' — and that 
 thus, all the prophecies in the Old Testament were 
 fulfilled — and that God's Moral Government is 
 cleared — removes so much of the veil of mystery, 
 as ought to raise in us gratitude and love in return 
 for God's everlasting love that led Him to give His 
 Son for us. 
 
 I cannot explain other Mysteries to you. I 
 cannot tell you why God suffered Evil and Pain to 
 come into His Universe. Perhaps it could not be 
 otherwise ; I cannot say ; and I advise you all 
 never to trouble yourselves with such a question as 
 the Origin of Evil, for you will never be able 
 to solve it. We are all conscious that we share 
 the Evil there is in the world, and our best and
 
 ON GOING BACK. I31 
 
 wisest way is to cry to God to help us to over- 
 come it. 
 
 You who are going back cannot overcome it. 
 No man yet won the victory over his depraved 
 nature, who did not ask God to help him. If you 
 resolve to walk no more with Christ, you will sink 
 into more depravity. You must sink : it will be 
 impossible for you to rise. 
 
 Young Christian man ! you who have been brought 
 up with the practice of family prayer, and Sunday- 
 school instruction and attendance on worship — 
 have you been listening to this vain philosophy, and 
 have you got entangled and puzzled and mystified 
 with it .-* And are you thinking of withdrawing 
 from the Church } At your peril you take such a 
 step ! If you cease to profess religion, you will soon 
 become a prey to temptation. You will think, 
 ' Well, I may join in this worldly practice, or the 
 other : it has no harm in itself ; and as I am no 
 longer a professor, it does not much matter that I 
 yield a little.' Oh, beware how Vice creeps round 
 the heart, till, with serpent coils and poisonous fang, 
 it completes a man's ruin ! 
 
 What ! are you still resolved to go back ? Listen 
 to the Saviour who came to save you, how He still 
 cries — ' Will ye also go away } ' God help you to 
 listen to Him, and to return to Him and cleave to 
 Him, for ever ! Amen.
 
 XI. 
 
 CHARLES DARWIN ; AND THE FALLACIES OF 
 EVOLUTION. 
 
 [A Discourse delivered chiefly to Working Men, in various parts 
 of the Country.] 
 
 WHAT is called the ' Civilised World ' seems to 
 be fast losi<ig its celebrities. Germany still 
 retains her Bismarck, as her pre-eminent man ; but 
 France — strange to say— has no pre-eminent man. 
 Italy has lost her last pre-eminent man — the old 
 knight-errant of Freedom, Garibaldi; and America 
 has lost both her Emerson and Longfellow. Out of 
 the four pre-eminent men of which our own country 
 boasted, three have gone — Carlyle, Darwin, and 
 Disraeli ; and ' the old man eloquent,' Gladstone, 
 alone remains. 
 
 The high celebrity of Thomas Carlyle and 
 Benjamin Disraeli extended over many years ; and 
 the pre-eminence of William Ewart Gladstone has 
 been far .from evanescent. Mr. Darwin's great 
 celebrity can only be said to date from 1859, when 
 his book, ' The Origin of Species, by Natural Selec-
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. I 33 
 
 tion,' set the world on fire — to use a customary 
 phrase. He had been long known, and held . in 
 high regard, among Men of Science ; but it was not 
 till the publication of his famous book that he 
 became a celebrity, in the popular sense. 
 
 And who ivas Charles Darwin ? The grandson 
 of a man who was also a celebrity, in his way — Dr. 
 Erasmus Darwin, known for his curious book, 
 ' Zoonamia ; or, the Loves of the Plants ' — a book, 
 containing a theory which has some resemblance to 
 the theories afterwards broached by his grandson. 
 But the name of Dr. Erasmus Darwin was as 
 much known for his conversational contests with 
 Dr. Johnson, as from his authorship of ' Zoonamia.* 
 The good old doctor, you know, was in the habit 
 of visiting Lichfield, his birthplace — where he was 
 always gladly received by his friends ; and Dr. 
 Erasmus Darwin being one of the intellectuals of 
 Lichfield, was naturally brought into contact with 
 Johnson, at these visits. We all remember Boswell's 
 descriptions of the sonorous voice and magisterial 
 style of Johnson, when he took a part in conver- 
 sation. How he would be victor in an argument, 
 whether he were wrong or right ; and how he would 
 knock a man down with a long word, if he could 
 not win the victory any other way. Now, Dr. 
 Erasmus Darwin was not to be knocked down with 
 a long word — and so the conversation of the two 
 doctors sometimes approached a quarrel.
 
 134 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 The son of Dr. Erasmus Darwin hardly appears 
 to have reached the mental robustness of his 
 father ; but he seems to have held a respectable 
 rank in his profession as a physician — he was also 
 a Fellow of the Royal Society, and so must have 
 had some knowledge of Science — and we may be 
 sure that he was a man of good common-sense, for 
 he married a good wife. She was the daughter of 
 Josiah Wedgwood, th'e founder of the prosperity of 
 the Staffordshire Potteries. 
 
 I will read you a somewhat delectable paragraph 
 from a Shropshire paper, kindly sent me by a friend. 
 It sheds a kindly light on the memory of our Charles 
 Darwin's father : 
 
 SHROPSHIRE WORTHIES. 
 
 DR. DARWIN {November i^ih, 1876). 
 
 Robert Waring Darwin settled down to a life-long practice 
 as a physician at Shrewsbury in 1786. His father brought 
 him to Shrewsbury before he was twenty-one years of 
 age, and gave him jQ20. His uncle sent him a like sum, 
 and this was all the pecuniary aid he ever received. After 
 he had been in practice for six months, he had between 
 forty and fifty patients, which was more surprising because 
 there were in the town, three physicians, six surgeons, and 
 divers apothecaries. He visited the poor without reward, 
 and helped them in other ways, sending fruit and wine to 
 their homes. For full fifty years his practice was wonder- 
 ful. His little yellow carriage, made to fit him, his two 
 sleek horses, and steady coachman, were continually on the 
 road. He sat as if carved in stone, his unimpassioned, mild.
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. I 35 
 
 and thoughtful face inspiring confidence and respect. His 
 height was more than six feet, his bulk was proportionate, 
 and became enormous as age increased. He was a great 
 feeder, and, it was said, could eat a goose as easily as other 
 men do a partridge. He married Susan Wedgwood, who 
 entered zealously into all her husband's pursuits. He took 
 great interest in botany and geology, and the gardens at 
 The Mount were noted for their choice flowers and shrubs. 
 The beauty, variety, and tameness of his pigeons were well 
 known in the neighbourhood. He died 15th November, 
 1848, aged eighty-two. On the morning of his death, the 
 lowest cottager in the streets leading to The Mount had 
 darkened the windows, and his children stood at the door 
 weeping. Dr. Darwin's love of youngsters was a striking 
 feature of his character. He and his daughters established 
 the first infant school in Shrewsbury at a cost of ^300. 
 
 The father of Charles Darwin decided on making 
 his son into a physician — from sheer fondness, I 
 suppose, for his own profession. So Charles, while 
 very young, was sent to the University of Edinburgh, 
 where the ' Faculty ' was considered to be at its 
 height of scientific excellence. The trial was short. 
 Dr. Jameson, the chief medical professor, sent word 
 to the father that his son Charles had better be sent 
 to some other university — for the youth had no 
 inclination for medicine, and would not attend to 
 the college lessons. So the father next removed 
 Charles to Cambridge, with the intent of making 
 him into a clergyman — but neither did the young 
 man feel inclined to enter the Church. Nor does 
 he seem to have had any inclination for study of any
 
 136 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 kind. No love of Nature was awoke in him, as yet. 
 He said that his only love of Nature, at that time, 
 was to hunt foxes and shoot partridges. 
 
 Charles Darwin, however, did not waste life for 
 any long period, in mere love of sport. He attended 
 some lectures of Professor Henslow, who had recently 
 held the chair of mineralogy, and now held that of 
 botany. Professor Henslow, like his great contem- 
 porary, Dr. Whewell, the famous Master of Trinity, 
 was commonly held to ' know everything.' But, 
 unlike the great Dr. Whewell, he was bland and 
 affectionate in his bearing towards young men ; and 
 he soon won the regard and respect of Charles 
 Darwin. Strangely enough, Darwin, at first, fastened 
 on Entomology as his favourite study ; and became 
 so earnest a student that he discovered a new insect. 
 It was soon duly placed in British Entomology ; and 
 thus Charles Darwin started, even at the outset of 
 his study of Science, as a discoverer. 
 
 When he was two-and-twenty, through the interest 
 of Professor Henslow, and with his own eager desire, 
 he was appointed Naturalist, on board the Beagle^ 
 which ship was about to be sent out on a voyage 
 of discovery, in the Pacific. They visited Brazil — 
 they sailed through the Straits of Magellan — they 
 visited the island of Terra del Fuego, Fiji, and 
 New Zealand. The experience gained in this 
 voyage was considered to be of great value by 
 Darwin himself.
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. 137 
 
 At the age of thirty-one, he married, and settled 
 for Hfe, on a small property at Down, near Becken- 
 ham, in Kent. Of course, he visited London 
 occasionally, to attend the meetings of the Royal 
 Society and other meetings of Men of Science. 
 Yet, he may be said to have led a retired and 
 plodding life, in the rural home he had chosen. He 
 became a general and constantly observant student 
 of all Nature around him — he was in constant corre- 
 spondence with zoologists, botanists, geologists, and 
 all kinds of scientific men. 
 
 It was at a meeting of the Linnaean Society, in 
 1858, that his views as to the 'Origin of Species,' 
 and those of Mr. Alfred Wallace, were broached. 
 Mr. Wallace, you will remember, gave up the lead 
 to Mr. Darwin, and did not put his own views into 
 print, till after the publication of Mr. Darwin's book, 
 in November, 1859. 
 
 Mr. Darwin gave great alarm to many thinking 
 people, by the issue of his book. They saw that 
 he had only hinted at what really must form a part 
 of his theory ; and they felt sure that when his 
 meaning was fully told, not only the doctrines of 
 Revealed, but of Natural Religion, would be shaken. 
 
 " But, do you consider," some may ask, " that Mr. 
 Darwin proclaimed Atheism, by the publication of 
 his book ? " No : for, although in the early editions 
 of the ' Origin of Species,' Mr. Darwin never ex- 
 pressed himself piously, nor even reverently (that I
 
 138 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 remember) of God, he uses the term 'Creator' several 
 times. That term is the only one by which Mr. 
 Darwin indicates that he had some kind of a belief 
 in the Eternal Author of all things. And, be it 
 observed that Mr. Darwin never puts a single 
 adjective of any kind before the word. It is simply 
 'The Creator.' He never says 'good' Creator, or 
 ' wise ' Creator, or ' Almighty Creator.' So that one 
 cannot help doubting whether the writer of the book 
 had any decided belief in the existence of God, at 
 that time. 
 
 And another important fact must be remembered : 
 that almost all who were foremost to express 
 agreement with Mr. Darwin, were also foremost to 
 express their unbelief in religion — their Agnosticism, 
 their Materialism, and, in some cases, their Atheism. 
 Some of the Germans, who seemed to be enraptured 
 with the doctrine of ' Natural Selection,' were terribly 
 out-spoken even with Mr. Darwin's use of the word 
 ' Creator.' " Creator ! " said Carl Vogt, "why do you 
 talk about a Creator ? You have turned Him out 
 of doors. You have left Him nothing to do, by 
 your theory. Pray talk no more about a Creator, 
 but keep to your Philosophy, which shows us that 
 we can do without Him." 
 
 Now, notwithstanding all these bold sceptical 
 declarations of persons who shared Charles Darwin's 
 views, it is by no means clear as to what were his 
 real religious views, or what changes they underwent.
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. 1 39 
 
 I hold in my hand a small note which will set some 
 of you a-thinking. I was lecturing at Beverley, in 
 Yorkshire, two years and a half ago, when this note 
 was sent to me. 
 
 " The Vicarage, Beverley : 
 
 " Ttmday, Sept. K^th, 1882. 
 
 " My Dear Sir, — I heard your lecture last night with 
 
 pleasure ; and I beg to inform you that, five weeks ago, I 
 
 sent a letter to Mr. Darwin's son, addressed to my uncle, 
 
 the late Professor Eadie, from his father, — in which he says 
 
 that he can with confidence look to Calvary. 
 
 " Wishing you great success in your lectures here, 
 
 " I remain yours respectfull}^ 
 
 " Robert Eadie, F.R.G.S. 
 " Thos. Cooper, Esq." 
 
 I do not know luhen Charles Darwin told Pro- 
 fessor Eadie that he ' could with confidence look to 
 Calvary ' — or what he really meant by it. We were 
 told some time ago that young Mr. Darwin is now 
 trying to collect his father's letters, that he may 
 publish them. Of course, he will insert the letter 
 to the late Professor Eadie. Let us hope we shall 
 have some explanation of it. 
 
 I wish Mr. Darwin had told us his mind fully 
 about God's existence. But he did not. And as 
 he has now gone to his account, we must leave him 
 in the hands of his Maker — knowing that the Judge 
 of all the earth will do right with him, as He will 
 with every one of us. 
 
 Whatever might be his errors, he was, undoubtedly.
 
 I40 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 a benefactor to his race. He set one great example 
 to mankind in the exercise of that excellent quality 
 of mind — patience. His last book is a wonderful 
 instance of it. More than forty years ago he thought 
 that worms — Earthworms — chiefly formed the moist 
 mould which so generally covers the earth, to a 
 great depth, in some places. He kept worms in 
 pots for several years, and marked how they lived 
 and worked. And, then, he spread a quantity of 
 broken chalk over a field near his house, and then 
 waited thirty years before he had a trench dug across 
 this field, and found the chalk, in every part, seven 
 inches below the surface — showing what the Earth- 
 worms had done in thirty years : they had covered the 
 field with mould seven inches in thickness — so that 
 they made nearly a quarter of an inch of mould each 
 year. The man who could wait thirty years for the 
 proof that he wanted was no ordinary man. Such 
 patience is but seldom heard of. Men ruin their 
 prospects and their fortunes very commonly by 
 precipitancy and haste. 
 
 His good temper was another fine quality. When 
 men attacked him, he took a kindly notice of them. 
 He knew that some of his adherents would take up 
 the cudgels for him — but he did not hastily join in 
 the fight. He stuck to his study of Nature, searching 
 into things which some people would think trifling — 
 but which were all important to him, as he knew 
 they were to mankind.
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. I4I 
 
 His modesty was another fine quality. He never 
 seemed to be puffed up with the extraordinary- 
 praise that some people bestowed upon him ; and 
 he was always ready to acknowledge the merits of 
 others. 
 
 But his sincerity is the virtue in him which 
 deserves the highest admiration, because it was this 
 quality of mind which rendered his labours of the 
 highest value. He believed he was on the right 
 track in developing his theory ; and, be it remem- 
 bered, he stuck to it, whatever men might say 
 against it — but was never dogmatical about it. He 
 always called it his ' theory ' : sixty times, or there- 
 abouts, the expression ' my theory ' occurs in the early 
 editions of ' the Origin of Species.' He did not 
 vapour and say, ' I have discovered a great truth and 
 you are all bound to believe it.' No, no ; he called 
 it his ' theory,' like a sincere, upright, and truthful 
 man — because he knew it was only a theory, and 
 therefore might, one day, be disproved. He shows 
 himself to be fond of his ' theory ' : he wishes every 
 body to believe in it — but that one might expect 
 from such an earnest man, who so thoroughly believed 
 in his own theory — himself. 
 
 I have said that I wished Mr. Darwin had told 
 us his mind fully about the Almighty Maker. He 
 simply says, first, that the Creator may have given 
 existence to three or four primordial forms of being — 
 but, afterwards he tells us, he thinks it was but one.
 
 142 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 He thinks the Creator made one primordial form — 
 perhaps microscopical — and all the plants and all 
 the animals and Man, too, have come from that 
 primordial form, in the lapse of millions of millions 
 of years. ' It is all a question of time,' says Mr. 
 Darwin, which is just what Haeckel says, the Ger- 
 man Evolutionist. But Sir William Thompson and 
 Professor CroU and Professor Tait, all famous mathe- 
 maticians, say that the earth has not existed so long 
 as Mr. Darwin and Sir Charles Lyell thought. So 
 you see these celebrated men of Science do not agree 
 exactly in all their opinions. 
 
 Mr. Darwin stuck to his own theory, which he 
 always called ' Natural Selection ' — never espoused 
 the doctrine of ' Spontaneous Generation ' — and used 
 the term ' the Creator ' to the end. 
 
 Haeckel, the great German, and Mr. Herbert 
 Spencer prefer the word ' Evolution,' and Herbert 
 Spencer declares a Personal God to be unthinkable, 
 while Haeckel proclaims the broadest Atheism. 
 
 The objection I wish to impress on the minds of 
 all who hear me — the objection to all theories of 
 Evolution — and, therefore, to Charles Darwin's theory, 
 is that there is no Fact-proof — I am coining a 
 word on purpose — to establish any of these theories. 
 We never see the routine of Nature altered, as it 
 regards living creatures : they all take their life from 
 living creatures. Some of the very lowest kinds of 
 them separate into pieces, and the pieces become
 
 CHARLES DARWIX. I43 
 
 whole living creatures of the same species. The 
 way in which the more predominant animals, beasts, 
 birds, reptiles, fishes, insects, — like our own species, 
 — begin their existence is in the form of an egg. And 
 the most skilful microscopists, it is declared, can see 
 no difference in the eggs. 
 
 If he had before him an egg from the womb of 
 a lioness, another from that of a rabbit, an eagle or 
 a pigeon, a whale or a mackerel, the most skilful 
 microscopist could not tell to which creature any one 
 egg belonged, unless he knew beforehand. With the 
 most patient and diligent observation he watches, 
 and sees the egg change into what is called the 
 mulberry-mass, and then take other forms, until, at 
 length, it takes the form of a fish, and so remains — ■ 
 while another passes on and takes the form of a 
 reptile — another still further, and takes the form of a 
 bird — another that of a quadruped, and another that 
 of a human being. 
 
 This study is called ' Embryology ' ; and it is 
 fixed upon as giving what Huxley and others con- 
 tend is irrefragable proof that we human creatures 
 are, simply, developments of animal nature, which 
 thus proceeds, step by step, in the Embryon state. 
 Let it be noted, however, that the fact needs qualify- 
 ing (or the statement of it). The resemblance is >/ot 
 complete, in every instance : in some instances it is 
 remarkable, and in others the resemblance is but 
 slight. Had you and I, each, at a very early period
 
 144 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 of our existence, the form of a fish ? Not exactly ; 
 but a form something like some part of a fish. Did 
 we afterwards resemble a reptile ? The heart and 
 some other part of us were like parts of a reptile ; 
 and so on for our resemblance to a bird, or a beast. 
 
 I repeat, we never see the routine of Nature 
 altered, as it regards the successions of animal life. 
 The insect lays a number of eggs, and the eggs 
 become caterpillars — some of them minute and some 
 of them large, devouring creatures, which have holes 
 at their sides for breathing, and walk fast on short 
 stumpy legs or feet. The caterpillar hangs itself up 
 in a pendent coffin, and becomes an aurelia or chry- 
 salis ; and, at length, there bursts from the chrysalis 
 the imago, or winged insect — sometimes covered 
 with a very beautiful adornment of colours, and 
 gifted with eyes which have thousands of lenses. 
 The beginnings of Life are very humble, compared 
 with this, in frogs and fishes. The mature animal 
 casts out spawn, and the new animals are developed 
 from egg-spawn. Quadrupeds, together with the 
 whale and a few other marine creatures, bring forth 
 their yoimg alive — while the birds lay their eggs, 
 having formed a nest by instinct, and sit upon the 
 eggs till the young birds chip the shell and begin to 
 breathe the air. 
 
 This is all routine in Nature. We never see it 
 altered. Mr. Darwin or Professor Huxley never saw 
 it altered : they never heard of its having been
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. I45 
 
 altered. The insect always comes to the imago 
 state by the same steps : egg, caterpillar, chrysalis, 
 and insect. And every kind of insect always comes 
 to maturity as that kind of insect, and no other : the 
 caterpillar of the cabbage-butterfly never develops 
 into the Admiral, or the Camberwell Beauty : the egg 
 of the Gamma Moth never develops into the Sphinx 
 Atropos, or Death's-head Moth. So it is with the 
 fishes, the reptiles, the birds, the mammalia : the 
 spawn of the Stickleback or Gudgeon never develop 
 into Barbel or Pike : the eggs of the Lizard never 
 develop into Crocodiles : the eggs of the Hedge 
 Sparrow or Linnet never produce Falcons or Vul- 
 tures : the foetus of a Rabbit or a Guinea-pig never 
 develops into a Mastiff or a Lion. 
 
 Now, how, — seeing this daily and hourly routine 
 of Nature, as it regards the production of living 
 creatures, — how can Huxley assert that Evolution 
 is proved ? We do not see it. Evolution lacks the 
 rca/ proof : Fact-proof, as I have called it. Give us 
 Fact-proof and we will receive the doctrine, whether 
 it be called Evolution, or Development, or Natural 
 Selection, or Transmutation of Species. 
 
 Huxley holds that Geology gives him positive 
 proof of Evolution. He has traced the gradual 
 formation of the Horse, through a succession of 
 forms, beginning with one no bigger than a cat, up 
 to the Horse of our period. Agassiz, whose death 
 was such a loss to Science, would have told him that 
 
 10
 
 146 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 he had no proof that the very small animal was the 
 progenitor of the larger one. This was what Agassiz 
 maintained to the end. " We find a succession of 
 similar forms, but we have not the slightest proof 
 that one is derived from the other," are his words, 
 in his work on " Classification." 
 
 There is one thought to which I venture to call 
 your special attention. It may be that what is 
 called ' Evolution ' has become popular because it 
 really gratifies our fallen human nature. We do not 
 like the mystery with which we are surrounded in 
 Nature. We fancy there is a something we can 
 understand better, in the notion that one animal is 
 but an advancement from another. Time, circum- 
 stances, or surroundings have each contributed to 
 the change. 'Descent with modification ' — 'Natural 
 Selection ' — ' Survival of the Fittest ' — " Oh, why 
 should it not be so .-' The theory is far more com- 
 prehensible than your Creation scheme : }-our notion 
 that God made a few forms of a simple kind at 
 first — the petrifactions of which we find in the 
 earliest Palaeozoic rocks : that after certain changes 
 had been brought about by water or other agencies, 
 He substituted more advanced animal and vegetable 
 forms for the simpler ones which had been destroyed : 
 and that the Maker acted on the same process, as 
 the successive Geologic changes came about — 
 Devonian rocks and then Carboniferous, Magnesian 
 Limestone and New Red Sandstone, Lias, and
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. 147 
 
 Oolite and Chalk — substituting new vegetables and 
 animals as the older were swept away by mighty 
 deluges, or other catastrophes — Oh, sir! whatever 
 people may say about the genius of Cuvier and the 
 rest, their notions seem very clumsy, very clumsy 
 indeed ! " 
 
 And there is no wonder that men talk that way, 
 when professors like Huxley endeavour to render 
 our ideas of creation as clumsy as possible. " How 
 can we conceive of the likelihood of God taking a 
 mass of clay and moulding it into a certain form, 
 when he made Man ? But such is the common 
 idea." So he says, 
 
 ' Common idea. Professor Huxley ! ' It may be 
 the common idea with half-idiots ; but no man of 
 intelligence has such a conception of God's way 
 of creating. " Let there be Light ; and there was 
 Light !" we read in Genesis; and our reason — nay, 
 our common-sense — should lead us, if we really 
 believe in God's existence, to conclude that a 
 simple act of His will is His mode of creation. 
 He willed that the Universe should exist, and it 
 did exist. He willed that Matter should exist, and 
 it did exist. He willed that Suns and Systems 
 should exist, and they do exist. He willed that 
 Vegetable and Animal forms should exist — perhaps 
 — on some millions of planets rolling around their 
 different Suns. He willed the flowers should exist 
 — some in seed, some in bud, some in flower, and
 
 148 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 they did exist. He willed that varied animal forms 
 should exist— some to tenant the water, some to take 
 their flight in the air, and some to inhabit the earth ; 
 and He said — that is. He willed — " Let us make 
 Man in our image, after our likeness, and let them 
 have dominion," etc. "So God created man in His 
 own image : in the image of God created He him." 
 
 The Geological Record shows that the earth was 
 prepared for Man before God created him ; and 
 Palaeontology shows that Man was prefigured long 
 before he came. 
 
 You have all heard of Haeckel's pedigree of 
 Man, comprising twenty-two generations — from the 
 Moneron to Man ; and how he insists that the 
 Anthropoid Apes are our grandsires, and our real 
 fathers are the Pithecanthropoi, or Dumb-Ape-Men, 
 who first learnt to talk. We never find any relic of 
 our fathers, for, says Haeckel, they, doubtless, lived 
 chiefly in the island of Lemuria — which is now sunk 
 in the Indian Ocean! 
 
 But how came the theory of Evolution as it was 
 first presented to us by Mr. Darwin to be altered .'' 
 What originated this conception of Haeckel .'' you 
 will ask. What led him to imagine that there must 
 be an intermediate race of creatures, coming between 
 us and the higher Apes .'' 
 
 I. Yes : that is an important question — for the 
 answer to it forms one of the reasons — nay, the very 
 first and commanding reason, why we should not
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. I49 
 
 believe that we came out of any kind of Apes what- 
 ever. I mean that Man is a being with an intellect 
 having no limit of power that we can fix or deter- 
 mine, while the highest Apes are merely wild 
 animals found in the tropical forests, and living in 
 the practice of mere animal instincts. This was the 
 fact which led Alfred Wallace to differ from Mr. 
 Darwin, in the outset of this ' new-Philosophy.' 
 
 Think of what Man has done, and then think of 
 the poor Apes living in their savage state in the 
 woods and never coming out of that state, all these 
 thousands of years. What has Man done ? He has 
 dug into the earth and brought up the ores of gold 
 and silver and platinum and copper and tin and lead 
 and iron and subjected them to fiery treatment, and 
 then moulded them into such shapes as suited his 
 purposes. With the tools and instruments formed 
 from metals, he can hew the rock, and mould that 
 into forms that suit his purposes, and he can fell the 
 trees of the forest and make them serve his purposes 
 as well. Can an Ape do the same ? Did you ever 
 hear of an Ape that made a knife, an axe, a saw, a 
 pair of scissors, a chisel, a gimlet — ^that made nails 
 and drove them into planks with a hammer — and 
 
 constructed a raft of wood to pass over a stream 
 
 or made use of a staff as a lever to raise a piece 
 of timber — or constructed a wheel and pulley — or 
 made a rule and measured feet and inches — or con- 
 structed a pair of scales with a set of weights — or a
 
 I50 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 set of measures for solids or liquids ? Did any of 
 you ever hear of an Ape that invented a rat-trap or 
 made a wheelbarrow ? 
 
 We are merely speaking of the beginnings of 
 human civilisation, you know, at present. But the 
 very fact of these beginnings must have driven our 
 modern philosophers to think. And so, at length, 
 one said he suspected, and another said he doubted, 
 and they saw that their whole theory of Evolution 
 must slip away if some more likely link than the 
 Anthropoid Apes could not be found to connect 
 Man with the Beasts. But they could not find such 
 a link; and so Haeckel invented the Pithecanthropoi 
 or Dumb-Ape-Men. But then, you know, they are 
 sunk in the Indian Ocean ! 
 
 2. Again : when they began to consider the theory 
 more fully, they found it to be undeniable, after all 
 their flourishes of the resemblance of Man to the 
 Ape, that the average brain of the Apes is not 
 more than half the size of the average brain of 
 Man, The measurement of brain in the highest 
 Ape — the largest measurement yet found — is stated 
 to be thirty-four cubic inches ; and the brain of the 
 lowest human savages is stated to be sixty-eight 
 cubic inches. It is common to find a human brain 
 measuring ninety-four cubic inches ; and the brains 
 of the highest intellectual men reach a hundred. On 
 the other hand, the brain of a male orang-outang, 
 which had a body as bulky as a small-sized man,
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. I5I 
 
 was found to measure only twenty-eight inches ; and 
 the brain of a gorilla, which had a body as heavy as 
 that of any ordinary man, only measured thirty-four 
 cubic inches. 
 
 It was this remarkable difference in the size of the 
 brains of Apes compared with the brains of men — 
 even of the lowest savages — which led Mr, Wallace 
 — (whose name, you will remember, was associated 
 with that of Mr. Darwin, in the origination of the 
 theory of ' Natural Selection ') — to protest against 
 the application of the theory to Man. A human 
 savage, Mr. Wallace contends, possesses a brain 
 which he only uses in part. He has more brain 
 than he needs. He is evidently provided with a 
 brain ready for instruction : a brain fitted for civili- 
 sation. But you could not civilise an Ape : he has 
 not a brain fitted to receive instruction and civilisa- 
 tion. 
 
 Note the stuffed Gorilla in the British Museum. 
 How the lumpy brow protrudes, and the head slopes 
 backward, leaving no room for a forehead ! A 
 phrenologist would tell you that there is no room 
 there for ' causality and comparison,' for ' ideality 
 and constructiveness,' nor any for ' benevolence ' : in 
 brief, he would assure you that the animal before 
 you is only an animal : you could not deal with it 
 as having what we call a mind. And what little we 
 know about the gorilla proves it. He goes to the 
 wood fires which the black natives of Africa make
 
 152 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 in the wet seasons — for they run away when they 
 see him coming ; and he remains till the fire is burnt 
 out, warming himself — but he never has the sense to 
 put a stick on to keep the fire in, although there 
 is a pile of wood close at hand. But the lowest 
 human savage would have put the stick on, and as 
 many sticks as were needed. 
 
 Neither can the gorilla, or any other Ape, point 
 with his finger — for that is a sign of civilisation. 
 An Ape ' must be cunning to do it,' as we say — • 
 seeing he has not the sinews and muscles, in the 
 hand and forearm, which would enable him to do it. 
 God does not throw the furniture of the bodies of 
 the animals He makes away. He gives each animal 
 a body, and the kind of intelligence suited to it. 
 
 Since I have mentioned Mr. Wallace, we will just 
 glance at his other reasons for differing from Mr. 
 Darwin. We will return to the primary topic — 
 Man's immense mental or intellectual superiority to 
 the Apes ; but we wall, if you please, spend a few 
 moments in looking at Mr. Wallace's reasonings con- 
 cerning other differences between Man and the Apes. 
 
 3. The Apes are covered with hair and Man is 
 naked. But Mr. Darwin's theory of Natural Selec- 
 tion could not — or ought not — to have stripped the 
 hair from Man's body, if he came out of the Apes, 
 for Mr. Darwin most explicitly declares that Natural 
 Selection always makes useful changes in the frames 
 of the creatures, and never any that are for their
 
 CHARLES DARWIN, 1 53 
 
 injury. But if Man were, at first, half an Ape and 
 could not speak, he needed a good thick coat of fur 
 to keep him warm. Nothing could have benefited 
 him more than a good thick coat of hair. So Mr. 
 Wallace concludes, and very sensibly, that since all 
 human beings — even the rudest and savagest — are 
 naked by nature, they could not have come out of 
 the Apes by Natural Selection. 
 
 4. Mr. Wallace also points to other differences 
 in the body of Man, as compared with the Apes, 
 and argues they are proofs that although all other 
 animals may have come into existence by Evolution, 
 Man has not. The Apes can walk upright ; but it 
 is not natural to them : they are evermore getting 
 on all-fours. But the walking on all-fours is a 
 painful method to us : some of us could not support 
 it for a minute without pain. 
 
 Cuvier — the greatest of all zoologists, whose 
 system the Evolutionists do not like — places Man 
 in an order by himself, 'Bimana,' or Two-handed 
 animals ; and terms the Apes and Monkeys, 
 ' Ouadrumana,' or Four-handed animals : for he 
 contends they have no feet : their hinder limbs, as 
 well as the fore-limbs, are furnished with hands. 
 They are neither fitted to walk upright nor on the 
 ground — but to live in trees : they are expressly 
 climbing animals. But how different is the hand of 
 either the gorilla, the chimpanzee, or the orang- 
 outang, from the hand of a mm ! The thumb is so
 
 154 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 imperfectly and so differently placed that it gives the 
 hand no variety of power — while the human hand, 
 as Mr. Wallace observes, " has all the appearance of 
 an organ prepared for the use of civilised Man, and 
 one which was required to render civilisation possible." 
 He means that Man's hand, directed by his mind, 
 renders him the master of the world in which he lives 
 — which, you know, cannot be said either of Apes or 
 Monkeys. 
 
 5. Professor Henslow has a remark worth notice. 
 The higher Apes are found only in tropical climates ; 
 and they seldom live long when brought to Europe. 
 The cold kills them. It would not appear, then, 
 that they are the ancestors of Man, for he can live 
 in every climate. Darwin found the black natives of 
 Terra del Fuego — the extreme south of America 
 — perfectly naked, and sleeping on the bare ground 
 without any covering. Naked, remember, notwith- 
 standing the cold climate; and yet the Apes, although 
 covered with hair, die when they are brought to 
 Europe. 
 
 6. Man's gift of Language, alone, one thinks, 
 ought to convince the Evolutionists that he does not 
 come out of the Beasts. 'Oh,' say they, 'animals 
 all utter sounds which are understood among them- 
 selves.' What a childish observation. Sounds ! 
 Man does not merely utter distinct sounds ; but he 
 writes his speech. He invents marks, quite arbitrary 
 marks, to represent his thoughts, and can send them
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. 155 
 
 to his fellow-men on the other side of the globe, 
 thousands of miles off: he can hand down the marks 
 to his posterity, and mankind can read his thoughts 
 even thousands of years after his death. The Apes ! 
 Where are their writings ? Why, nobody can teach 
 them to talk. You can teach a parrot, a jay, a 
 magpie, a jackdaw, or a starling, to talk : that is to 
 say, to utter imitative words — but they do not know 
 what the words mean. If you could teach an Ape or 
 a Monkey even to do that, it would be something — 
 but you cannot teach them one word of human 
 speech. The languages of Man are countless — but 
 in not one of them can you teach an Ape or a 
 Monkey one word. 
 
 7. We have Man's history for several thousands 
 of years — but it contains no account of a civilised 
 Ape or Monkey. Egypt reveals her mighty pyramids, 
 her lofty obelisks, her gigantic statues, her tombs 
 hewn in the rock, the walls covered with paintings 
 having colours as vivid as if they were finished but 
 yesterday. Among the painted figures are the Green 
 Monkey and the Gibbon Ape, each with a chain 
 round its neck, a captive taken in the forest, and led 
 for show, as a curiosity. What such animals are 
 now, they were then ; and some of these painted 
 figures are 4,000 years old. No reader of the 
 hieroglyphics ever discovers any account of how the 
 Apes and Monkeys came to help the Egyptians when 
 they embalmed the bodies of Men and stored them
 
 156 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 away, by thousands, in the mummy caves — or to 
 help them to build the grand temples and cities 
 of Thebes, with its hundred gates, and Memphis, and 
 Luxor, and Carnac — or, above all, the wondrous 
 pyramids. 
 
 Babylon had also her hundred gates, her tunnel 
 under the Euphrates, her hanging gardens, her walls 
 on which three chariots could drive abreast, and 
 other wonders — but Herodotus does not tell us that 
 Apes or Monkeys assisted the architects. 
 
 Nineveh— did they render any assistance there .-" 
 Did they help to carve you monstrous winged bulls, 
 and winged lions, in marble, which almost appal a 
 visitor to the British Museum, as he sees them for 
 the first time ? Did Mr. George Smith find any 
 record of the intellectual achievements of the Apes, 
 when he read in the cuneiform letters on cylinders 
 of hardened clay those records confirming our Bible 
 account of the Deluge — did he find such accounts, 
 I say ? 
 
 India is always reckoned to be one of the native 
 countries of the Apes ; but neither in the Vedic 
 hymns, nor any other fragments that remain of its 
 ancient literature, is there any catalogue of the 
 deeds of civilised Apes. We are never told that 
 they mastered the mysteries of the Sanscrit : that 
 most ancient and most difficult of all languages, the 
 attempt to master which has driven many an Euro- 
 pean scholar to despair.
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. 157 
 
 Let US leave the childhood of antiquity, and come 
 to its manhood. The broken marbles of Ionic 
 Greece have lately reached the British Museum — 
 and the splendid ruins from the Parthenon of Athens 
 hav^e been there many years. But no inscription tells 
 us that Apes ever handled the mallet and chisel to 
 create those sculptures which no modern artist can 
 equal. 
 
 Imperial Rome has left its triumphal arches and 
 columns — the noble ruins of grand aqueducts and 
 amphitheatres and temples — and, above all, the 
 records of its gigantic power ; but we are never told 
 by Livy or Tacitus that they were Apes, and not 
 men, who formed the Roman legions, and were the 
 chief gladiators in the public games. 
 
 The Middle Ages — as they are called — take one 
 glance at them : the great age of cathedral building 
 in Europe. Think not only of the gorgeous St. 
 Peter's at Rome — the graceful interior of Milan — 
 and the vast pile of Cologne — but lift your gaze 
 to one of our own cathedrals — and then inquire if 
 the Apes helped to build them ; try to imagine a 
 a number of Apes building a cathedral — if you can. 
 
 And, now, think of our modern civilisation — the 
 civilisation of our own life-time : think of the 
 thousands of miles of railroads in Europe and 
 America and elsewhere : think of the magnificent 
 bridges in various lands : think of the lines of 
 telegraphic wires and of our discoveries in electricity :
 
 158 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 think of the steam-ships of the world : think of the 
 war-ships with their plates of armour — and think of 
 a company of apes working in an iron foundry and 
 helping to pour out the melted metal into moulds ! 
 
 Think ? but we are only glancing at our modern 
 material civilisation. We are not thinking of what 
 is best worth thinking about. Think of the written 
 records of Men's thoughts for perhaps eight or ten 
 thousand years : from the first roll of Genesis to the 
 last page of Darwin. Think of the Poets and Philo- 
 sophers and Orators of old Greece and think of 
 the great intellectual Men of modern times What 
 d'ye think of a Gorilla writing another Iliad or 
 Odyssey 1 What d'ye think of a Chimpanzee 
 writing a new ' Paradise Lost ' } What d'ye think of 
 an Orang-Outang composing another ' Lear,' another 
 ' Macbeth,' another ' Hamlet,' or * Othello ' .? Oh ! 
 how could any man ever dream that Man is only 
 an improved Ape — that the Apes are our grand- 
 fathers } — that we really come out of the Anthropoid 
 Apes, who were the fathers of our fathers, the Pithe- 
 canthropoi, who lived on the island Lemuria, which 
 is sunk in the Indian Ocean .-' 
 
 If there were time we might pursue our questioning 
 in the other important directions, comparing Man 
 with the Apes. We might consider, for instance, 
 that Man is a mathematical creature. He counts, he 
 reckons, he measures, he deals with shapes, figures, 
 and proportions. Can one of the Apes perform a
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. I 59 
 
 sum in addition, subtraction, multiplication, or divi- 
 sion ? Are any of them skilled in algebra ? Can 
 any of them show us the difference between length, 
 breadth, and thickness ? — or the difference between a 
 plane and a solid ? — or the difference between a 
 triangle and a square, between a circle and an oval, 
 between a cube and a globe ? Has an Ape ever 
 tried to measure time ? has one ever invented either 
 an hour-glass or a dial, a clock or a watch ? 
 
 8. Let us come to what is still more important 
 than all we have hitherto considered : Man is a 
 Moral Agent. The Apes have Perception, Memory, 
 Affections, and Will — but we have no evidence that 
 they possess the Moral faculty we call Conscience. 
 The Apes associate with each other, it is said, but 
 seldom : the monkeys go in troops. From all we 
 are able to judge of the monke}'s when they are 
 captured, they are the most mischievous, thievish 
 rascals in existence. We never heard any even of 
 our modern philosophers assert that Monkeys have a 
 conscience. And the Apes have given no evidence 
 of having one — though Mr. Darwin thought if we 
 began with the dog, which has fidelity and other 
 fine qualities, we might reason it out that Man's 
 conscience originated with the animals. But nobody 
 says we descended from the dogs ; and nobody 
 proves to us that any Ape possesses a conscience. 
 How strange that we should be so different from our 
 jjrand fathers !
 
 l6o THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 And why is it our grandfathers don't grow wiser 
 and nobler, if Evolution be true ? Where is the 
 Evolution ? We want to see it. Mr. Darwin very 
 piously says we ought to reverence our ancestors. 
 But what can we reverence in an Ape or a Monkey .■' 
 Do they improve — do they advance intellectually .-* 
 Read Charles Waterton's ' Wanderings in South 
 America,' and learn how the Monkeys live in the 
 primeval forests of the Equinoctial regions, near the 
 great rivers of Amazon and Oronooka. 
 
 When you have read Waterton's account of the 
 primeval forests and the animal tribes that inhabit 
 them, reconsider Civilised Man, his crowded cities, 
 his busy and orderly manufactories, his habitations, 
 his garments, his prepared food, his inventions, his 
 carriages, his ships, his telescopes, his microscopes, 
 his powerful machinery, his libraries with their 
 millions of books — and believe, if you can, that the 
 Apes are our grandfathers. 
 
 No, no : we cannot believe that we come out of the 
 Anthropoid Apes. We cannot acknowledge either 
 the Gorilla, the Chimpanzee, or the Orang-Outang as 
 our blood-relations. We acknowledge that God has 
 made of one blood all the nations of Men on the 
 earth — but not the Apes and Monkeys ; and we fall 
 back on the earliest declaration of Man's origin there 
 is in the world : " So God created Man in His own 
 image : in the image of God created He him." 
 Why is the declaration repeated in the same sentetice ?
 
 CHARLES DARWIN. l6l 
 
 Doubtless, to impress the great truth which the 
 declaration sets forth more fully and completely 
 upon the mind. The repetition seems to anticipate 
 that the truth of the declaration might be denied 
 
 When the sacred record declares that God created 
 Man in His Own image, it means His Moral and 
 Spiritual Image. Man is a being with a conscience, 
 as we said before. The more fully his intellectual 
 and moral nature is cultivated, the more authorita- 
 tively Conscience asserts its power over him. It 
 condemns him when he does wrong. And, if he 
 endeavours to excuse himself, Conscience says, ' No 
 no ; you know you are a scoundrel, and it is of no use 
 your attempting to deny it. ' And if, in spite of the 
 power of Conscience, Man will persevere in sin, he 
 becomes a morally degraded being. 
 
 And Man is also created in the Spiritual nature or 
 image of God : a nature which enables him to com- 
 mune with God, as a Spirit. No ape or monkey can 
 commune with its Maker. Neither of them can lift 
 up the heart to God in prayer. 
 
 Man, at first, was holy, and his communion with 
 God was high and exalted. He fell, and forfeited 
 his purity ; and we are thus fallen creatures, as de- 
 scendants from fallen creatures. But God sent His 
 Son into the world to save Man : not to save the 
 Apes — not to render them holy and fit for heaven : 
 Christ died for all Men — but not for one Gorilla, 
 Chimpanzee, or Orang-Outang that ever was born into 
 
 I I
 
 l62 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 the world. No, no : Jesus Christ is the Saviour 
 of Men, not of monkeys, 
 
 Man is a spiritual being ; and " God is a Spirit," 
 says His Son ; and " they that worship Him, must 
 worship Him in spirit and in truth." " For, the 
 Father seeketh such to worship Him," Christ also 
 says. So, then, although we are indeed fallen spirits, 
 we can be restored, and thus be able to have fellow- 
 ship with the ' Father and the Son ' — the highest 
 privilege, the most ineffable bliss that any creature 
 can enjoy. God help us all to seek that restoration 
 with all our hearts, for Christ's sake !
 
 XII. 
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 
 
 T N the ' Plain Speaker ' of 1 849, I published 
 ^ ' Eight Letters to the Young Men of the Work- 
 ing Classes.' They were afterwards republished, in a 
 pamphlet ; but that has been long out of print. 
 When I say hundreds of young working-men ex- 
 pressed their hearts' thankfulness for the Letters, I 
 am strictly within the bounds of truth. And more : 
 many of them came to the resolve to be men of 
 reading and reflection, and formed plans of study 
 which led not only to their intellectual, but also to 
 their social advancement. 
 
 Some of these young men, now grown up, and 
 taking an active and influential part in public life, 
 have desired me, over and over again, to republish the 
 Letters. But I demurred to the propriety of their 
 request, because I saw that I could not comply 
 with it without making considerable alterations, in 
 order to adapt the counsels to our altered circum- 
 stances. For instance, many of the books I recom- 
 mended may now be considered almost obsolete —
 
 l64 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 except for the mere lovers of old books ; and there are 
 many passing sentences and remarks in the original 
 Letters which it would be useless to repeat. So I 
 have curtailed some of the Letters, considerably. 
 
 One thing I have not done which some may think 
 I ought to have done. I address Working-men as 
 they were ; an unenfranchised mass of men. Why 
 do I not remind them that their circumstances are 
 now altered .'* Because they do not yet possess the 
 privileges promised. I want to see them start in 
 the new political race, and know how they thrive in 
 it, before I change my tone in talking to them. 
 
 Letter L 
 
 " This above all — To thine own self be true ; 
 And it must follow, as the night the day, 
 Thou canst not then be false to any man." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 Men of the Future, — The style of the apostrophe 
 may seem somewhat French ; but I do not use it 
 for the sake of effect — a custom too common with 
 our neighbours. I aim to impress upon your minds 
 at the outset, a weighty consciousness that to you 
 belongs an important part in the great theatre of life. 
 Some of you may be destined to be actors on its 
 public stage — for the great changes of Europe fore- 
 show that our order cannot long remain unen- 
 franchised in England ; and with the possession of
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING iMEN. 165 
 
 the Franchise a broad path will be opened for the 
 public exercise of native talent. While by those 
 who, from indisposition to mingle in the strife of 
 the great world, may remain spectators, respon- 
 sible duties will have to be performed. 
 
 Loving my country, passionately, for its tran- 
 scendent literature, its heroic line of patriots, its 
 " noble army of martyrs," its inexhaustible and invin- 
 cible energy in enterprise and discover}', in industry 
 and invention, — I long to be helpful in leading you 
 to the resolve which shall calmly and yet earnestly 
 proclaim, in your daily life, rather than in your words 
 — " whatever deprivations we may suffer, whatever 
 wrongs we may for a while have to endure, whatever 
 difficulties we may have to encounter, — we will do 
 our part to make this England, and ourselves, worthy*^ 
 of our fathers' memories ! " 
 
 Let no hard-minded scoffer persuade you that this 
 would be the language of romance. True and 
 worthy emotions, justified by reason, never deserve 
 that censure. The realm of peerless Alfred, — the 
 cradle land of Shakspere, — that earth made sacred 
 by the ashes of Wickliffe and Latimer, by the blood 
 of Hampden and Sydney, — the soil on which were 
 reared Chaucer and Milton, Byron and Shelley, — 
 where Bacon arose to remodel all human knowledge, 
 Newton to span and gauge the circles and depths of 
 the material universe, and Locke to form anew the 
 science of the mind, — the land where the godlike phi-
 
 l66 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 lanthropist Howard, the "circumnavigator of charity," 
 first drew breath, — shall anyone be able to persuade 
 you that it is romantic to feel unsubduable and glow- 
 ing emotion while remembering that " this is your ov^n 
 — your native land ? " — romantic to say, you will do 
 your part to render the future England, and your- 
 selves, worthy of such glorious memories ? 
 
 What shall we do, — do you say, — to prove that 
 we are animated by these high, but rational emotions? 
 I answer — strive, in spite of all difficulties and depriva- 
 tions, and with the cheering faith that i\\ey for you 
 are but temporary, to raise yourselves morally and 
 intellectually, — and so, shame those who say you 
 are not fit for the franchise into the perception that 
 you deserve it better, perhaps, than themselves, and 
 that you must and will have it. 
 
 Let me have your attention, however, while I 
 endeavour to propound this answer, more at large ; 
 and regard this answer as that of one who has par 
 taken of your oppressions and sufferings, and who, 
 therefore, speaks in sympathy and affection while he 
 speaks faithfully. 
 
 To rise morally, it is necessary that our order 
 ■ should display true brotherhood for its own members ; 
 courtesy, kindness and conciliation towards the 
 upright and sincere of other classes ; and a deter- 
 mination to shun all the vices of every class, but 
 especially the vices of our oppressors. 
 
 Some years ago, when the " aristocracy of trades "
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 6/ 
 
 was rampant, the workman, whose wages were low, 
 was often scorned as loftily by his better paid fellow 
 labourer, as the latter was scorned in turn by his 
 purse-proud employer. At that time, a public-house 
 in Birmingham would have two parlours — one with 
 the door labelled, simply, " Button-makers " and 
 the other with the hinged entrance distinguished 
 as that of " Gentlemen Button-makers." If the 
 humble workman who was earning but a pound per 
 week stumbled, by mistake, into the room where the 
 " Gentlemen Button-makers," who could earn their 
 five pounds weekly, were sitting over their spirit and 
 water, he would at once be ordered to " leave the 
 room," — and that in no gentle fashion. Those days 
 are gone by, and much of that repulsive spirit of 
 aristocracy is ended among working men. But 
 there is too great a leaven of it remaining. Be 
 assured, however, it must go altogether, if working 
 men would aid each others' happiness. Estrange- 
 ment from each other, by any cause, must delay the 
 winning of your rights ; and I crave leave to say, 
 with all deference, in many other respects, to Jeremy 
 Bentham and his disciples, — that you have rights, 
 and natural rights too, — and that one of those 
 natural rights is the Franchise ; but estrangement 
 arising from the culture of the basest and most 
 sordid species of pride, must keep you morally low 
 and degraded, by engendering the bitterest feelings 
 on either side. To make common cause successfully,
 
 l68 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 for Democracy, you must begin with democratic 
 practice among yourselves. 
 
 Commutual help, too, as far as you can give it, 
 is your duty. I mean, to your brothers who will 
 work, and do work — when they can get it. The 
 begging " profession " is just now receiving some 
 formidable blows from the public press ; and you 
 have as much cause — ay, and more, — to wish im- 
 posture of this kind put an end to, as the rich have ; 
 for you suffer more heavily by it than they. But 
 the prevalence of imposture must not harden your 
 hearts against the relief of real want, when you have 
 it in your power ; and your power, though small, 
 may often avail to save a brother from starvation. 
 Do not direct your poorer brother to the rich man 
 for help, if you have the slightest power to help him 
 yourselves. If the rich man be unwilling to help 
 you, will your poorer brother stand a better chance 
 with him .-' 
 
 And how often will some little service aid another, 
 which will cost you nothing } No one knows, but 
 he who makes the experiment, what an amount of 
 happiness can be diffused in a neighbourhood, or in 
 a company of workmen, by setting the example of 
 kindliness and mutual help. The exchange of 
 services might have made the world happy before 
 now. Try to begin it — to infuse that spirit into the 
 minds of all with whom you have to do ; try it 
 perseveringly, and you will commence the world's
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 69 
 
 truest and greatest reform. All social and political 
 oppressions will fall before it. Try it, and feel the 
 sweetness of creating kindliness and goodwill in your 
 own circles ; remembering that the element of good- 
 ness has an inherent expansive power ; that it will 
 ■ spread itself, and that you cannot limit the extent 
 of your example by what you witness of its effects. 
 
 You will hear it objected, that to show this dis- 
 position will speedily subject you to all kinds of 
 disadvantage ; that the elder working men in an 
 establishment, who partake of the taint of a bad 
 system, will soon lay upon you all kinds of burdens, 
 — some of them by way of mockery, — if they find 
 you willing to bear them from a spirit of philan- 
 thropic chivalry. But I am not urging you to 
 a voluntary slavery : your own good sense will 
 preserve you from that. You cannot fail to with- 
 stand tyranny with calmness and dignity, — if, from 
 a conviction of its injustice and evil influence you 
 have devoted yourself to the struggle for putting it 
 down, and have chosen kindliness as your polished 
 weapon, because assured of its super-excellence. Do 
 you know any intelligent man who recommends 
 goodwill by precept and example ? Mark him, and 
 you will find him speak out plainly against an 
 oppressor. Do not believe the unthinking neglecters 
 of self-discipline who tell you that the truly " gentle "- 
 man must needs be a sneak ; they do not know 
 what they are talking about.
 
 I/O THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 I say this to you because you are young, and 
 therefore you can form the habits which will issue 
 in your own happiness, as well as aid the world's, 
 and your country's moral advancement. It is not 
 the upgrown oak which can be bent, but the sapling. 
 And if you imbibe the manners of some men of 
 mature years, who were formed under a bad system, 
 and caught their habits of harshness and selfishness 
 from it, what can you become but tyrants to those 
 who grow up under you ? while, if you remodel the 
 customs and reform the bearing of working men 
 towards each other, how easy will it be for the 
 young to learn of you when you become mature ; 
 and how consoling, then, will be the reflection that 
 you are likely to leave the world better than you 
 found it .'' 
 
 Let me say a word on your relations to your 
 employers. You may be conscious, in some 
 instances, that the terms under which you serve 
 them are hard, nay unjust. You may be looking to 
 a time when the " Organization of Labour " shall 
 banish the servile notions at present entertained of 
 the relationship between the capitalist and workman. 
 These " new ideas " as they are called, I know, are 
 more widely extended, even in England, than some 
 people believe them to be, and are far more widely 
 extended than others wish it to be believed they are. 
 Whether these ideas are capable of realization, 
 France, in spite of all apparently increasing
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 17I 
 
 obstacles, — will, ere long, put to the proof. You 
 have a right to ponder upon them. Your duty to 
 yourselves, and to the world, if you believe it can be 
 made happier by the removal of Inequality, demand 
 that you should ponder upon them. But while your 
 present relations subsist, discharge your bond 
 honourably and faithfully. You engage to perform 
 certain labour under given terms. Consider the 
 engagement as sacred. Rather go beyond it than 
 fall short of it. Your honour, your truth, must be 
 maintained, even under a system you may think 
 unjust. Above all things cultivate the esteem of a 
 kindly employer. Refuse no little occasional over- 
 service for him. Your common-sense will direct 
 you to stop when encroachments might be made 
 upon your time or strength, from the growth of his 
 selfishness by your over-yielding. But resolve to 
 prove to the capitalist that you are a man of honour, 
 though but a working man. This will do more to 
 remove his prejudices against the extension of the 
 franchise to our order than twenty homilies, though 
 ever so eloquently spoken or written. 
 
 I must presume to advise you on some nearer 
 relations in life. Your parents, — whatever may be 
 the maxims some may laughingly utter in your ear, 
 — must never be left without help, if you can help 
 them. There will be plenty of advisers to tell you 
 that you have a right to consult your own interest 
 and pleasure, and to leave an aged father or mother
 
 1/2 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 to the parish, or to penury. If you heed them, 
 reflection in after hfe will lead you to regard their 
 words as syllables of deadly poison. Neglect of 
 filial duty brings the keenest torment ; for the ever- 
 recurring remembrance is that the opportunity is 
 gone, — that the error cannot be remedied. Or, if 
 this torment be unfelt, it is because the heart is 
 seared, and the man is thoroughly degraded. 
 Nothing brings such welcome satisfaction to the 
 mind, in after-life, as the consciousness that though 
 a parent passed to the grave amidst pain and 
 suffering prolonged, we did all that we were able to 
 do to relieve the sufferer, and to gladden, in some 
 degree, the downward path of sorrow. I never yet 
 knew a good man who was a bad son. I have not 
 seen any man aid in making the world happier or 
 better who was careless of relieving the sorrow or 
 want of an aged parent. If England were filled 
 with unfilial children, the sun might be ashamed to 
 shine upon it, and it were better sunk in the sea ; 
 for with the extinction of the first natural affection 
 its inhabitants would cease to be men, and sink 
 below some of the brutes. 
 
 If you wish to bear that highest of all names 
 then, worthily, be jealous over your own hearts, if 
 you feel you are losing filial affection, or growing 
 disposed to prefer some vain pleasure to the dis- 
 charge of its dictates. Above all, do not marry, to 
 leave a parent in helpless want.
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 73 
 
 Why so much marrying in early life, under any 
 circumstances ? I must urge the question, even if 
 you be offended with it. I am no disciple of 
 Malthus, as the working men of London can testify 
 for the present, and the men of the Midlands for the 
 past. This country, if properly cultivated, and freed 
 from restrictions on industry, could feed three times 
 its number of inhabitants now ; and there can be no 
 limit placed upon what science and commerce could 
 enable it to do for the generations to come. But, 
 amidst its disabilities of imperfect cultivation, the 
 fetters of its industrial system, and the unjust and 
 unequal distribution of what it does produce, why 
 bring increasing numbers into the world to toil and 
 suffer, and thereby increase your own suffering ? 
 True, there are others who consider themselves at 
 liberty to " increase and multiply," and to live upon 
 your earnings, in riotous plenty ; but you cannot 
 revenge yourselves upon them by marrying im provi- 
 dently. This evil system under which we live must 
 be changed by other means. 
 
 Self-denial must aid your deliverance. The more 
 the toilers under the present system are increased, 
 the lower the price of toil must be depressed. I 
 need not repeat that doctrine in your ears. It has 
 been often and painfully repeated, as if it were an 
 eternal truth. I do not believe it to be so ; and 
 devoutly trust the time will come when all will 
 esteem it a sacred duty to toil, when the universal
 
 174- THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 toil will be comparatively light and yet suffice to 
 give plenty to all. But ages must elapse before 
 that true millennium arrives. 
 
 What does duty prescribe for the present world 
 of Inequality ? What is your part in it ? You 
 know what it is already to dread the want of labour; 
 and some of you, no doubt, experience its actual 
 want. Two years may produce a great change in 
 this country. Ten years an effectual one. Recent 
 events in neighbouring nations foreshow a more 
 rapid advance in freedom than our fathers ever knew. 
 And with the demand for political freedom there is 
 now combined a new, — and to you, — a more impor- 
 tant demand. If there were no better reason to 
 give, why not reject your purposes of marrying till 
 you see what answer is secured for that demand > 
 
 But, suppose the evils of bad legislation, and of 
 faulty industrial systems, are likely to last to the end 
 of this century, all experience will show you that 
 you are likely to gain by avoiding early marriages. 
 By such labour as you can obtain, you may, perhaps, 
 be able, to save a little for housekeeping by the 
 time you are thirty. And why marry earlier ? You 
 will be, or ought to be, wiser by that time ; you will 
 be better able to govern a family, from knowledge 
 of yourselves and the practice of self-discipline ; you 
 will have acquired some years' knowledge of your 
 wife's disposition — for the wisest men are guilty of 
 folly (witness even Milton !) when they marry on
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 75 
 
 slight acquaintance ; and your increased knowledge 
 of the world will enable you to encounter augmented 
 cares with strength for bearing them, in defiance of 
 the difficulties it may raise in your way ; while the 
 direction you will be able to impart to your children 
 will be better worth their receivinsf. 
 
 Above all, you need years for the cultivation of 
 your minds, to render yourselves free and happy 
 citizens of an enlightened country, — such as I fer- 
 vently hope every young English working man may 
 become in a few years. This is the cogent reason 
 why you should remain single. To share, as a true 
 and affectionate husband ought to share, the cares 
 of his wife, and of a young family, most fearfully 
 cuts off prospects of great mental improvement for 
 a working man. Your law-and-tax-makers have not 
 facilitated your education. If you were at school 
 when children, you learnt little there that you feel 
 you ought to know now ; and the great work of 
 self-culture is necessary. I purpose, most respect- 
 fully to say a little in a future letter on the plans 
 and subjects of study, which I think deserving 
 attention ; but I have, first, a little more to say on 
 morals and habits, 
 
 I observed before, that to rise morally, it was 
 necessary that our order should display a deter- 
 mination to shun all the vices of every class, but 
 especially the vices of oppressors. 
 
 Disdain, then, to murder time and to murder
 
 i;6 TIIOUCxIITS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 moral principle, by card-playing, or gaming of any 
 description. A man ought to be ashamed to claim 
 the attribute of real intelligence who plays at cards. 
 Shuffling bits of dirty pasteboard with black and 
 red spots on them — for precious hours ! — hours that 
 can never be recalled ! What, is there no golden 
 volume to read — no science to learn — no language 
 to acquire — no kindred mind within reach, with 
 whom to converse — no chapter of the human heart 
 to study — no health to be gained even by a solitary 
 walk — no book of Nature to read^nothing sensible, 
 or worthy of a human being to be done } Are 
 you driven to this most drivelling of all idiotisms, 
 in order to render life less burthensome .-* And 
 then, the ill-temper, the sordid feeling, and other 
 evils it often fosters. Let the titled, who fatten on 
 your toil, and yawn for very weariness of idle ease and 
 pleasure, and who would often give pounds for the 
 invention of a new pleasure while hundreds are 
 famishing, play at filthy cards ; — but do not you 
 so degrade yourselves. 
 
 Xhe increasing passion for dancing, among you, 
 is, to me, very grievous. How will you fill your 
 brains by dangling your heels ? I shall be told it 
 is necessary for health, in closely pent-up cities. I 
 am sorry, if it be ; but, for the life of me, I cannot 
 understand how it can contribute to health to work 
 yourselves into a heat for prolonged hours, and go 
 home in the cold air after midnight, and that so
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. I// 
 
 much wearied that your Hmbs are stiff the next 
 morning. It is a lame excuse for an idle and 
 frivolous and time-consuming and brain-robbing 
 custom. The moral standard of England will not 
 be raised by each of your order excelling Taglioni 
 in graceful agility, if you could attain such perfection. 
 Away from it, working men, if you mean to rise 
 to the moral dignity which will render it impossible 
 to keep you virtual bondsmen. 
 
 Scorn, also, to imitate the titled oppressors in 
 the fondness they display for tinsel and false orna- 
 ment. Be ashamed to wear a showy watchguard, 
 or a gaudy shirt-pin, much more a ring, — on 
 Sundays or holidays. Every such silly toy dero- 
 gates from man's claim to sense. Be men — not 
 tilings. Decent clothing, cleanliness, neatness, all 
 become the working man. He has a right to be 
 well clothed ; but he ought to leave it to suckling 
 lords to play the fopling. 
 
 Intemperance, — though it is not, as some people 
 say, the curse of your order, peciiliai'ly, — shun, at its 
 first approaches, as you would a serpent. Degrad- 
 ing as it is, its power is nevertheless insidious, and 
 can scarcely be resisted when once yielded to ; nor 
 without immense difficulty, broken, when it has once 
 conquered the man. 
 
 I must not moralise further. I will only say, in 
 conclusion — be true men, in every sense. Disdain 
 to tell a lie, or to act one — for friend or foe — in 
 
 12
 
 178 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 seriousness or in jest. Be thus the vanguard of 
 your order in its moral march ; and the triumph 
 of your freedom cannot long be delayed. 
 
 Letter II. 
 
 " For me the day 
 Hath duties which require the vigorous hand 
 Of stedfast application ... let it pass ! 
 The night's my own : they cannot take my night ! " 
 
 KiRKE White. 
 
 Men of the Future, — To emulate the Men of 
 the Past, in the acquirement of deep learning, is 
 not a passion even with our university " scholars " 
 of the present day, who permit themselves to be 
 far outshone by the laborious students of Ger- 
 many. It can scarcely, therefore, be expected that 
 you, — who have no erudite teachers to instruct 
 you, no large libraries at command, and no leisure, 
 save the hours which you can spare from necessary 
 labour or snatch from sleep — should generally 
 distinguish yourselves by profound scholarship. 
 
 Not but that there have been artisans, even in 
 the humblest ranks of Labour, who have won 
 imperishable names for devoted perseverance in 
 study, and for their noble triumphs over the most 
 discouraging difficulties. And they of our order who 
 are born with the precious gift of genius will con- 
 tinue to add to its triumphs, in spite of hardships, in 
 defiance of all obstacles.
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 79 
 
 But, though we may fairly contend that the 
 greater number of the greatest names of genius have 
 belonged to the children of Labour, — yet, this 
 precious gift is the inheritance of only the minority 
 of any class ; and my present purpose (in fulfilling 
 the promise I presumed to give,) is to assist, if 
 possible, the majority of young working men, in the 
 direction of their studies. They who are endowed 
 with high genius will mark out their own path. I 
 speak but to those who possess an average portion 
 of intelligence : and shall, therefore, prescribe nothing 
 that might deter or repulse them by its seeming 
 abstruseness. 
 
 Let me commence by telling you, that experience 
 has taught me how greatly some people err, by 
 prescribing the same modes and the same kinds of 
 study to every enquirer. Some minds which do not 
 reach, in the compass of their powers, what would 
 strictly be termed genius, are often found to excel 
 in some particular line of mental pursuit, by fixed 
 application, and by slow but sure progression. 
 Others feel an unconquerable aversion to the rigid 
 study of any single branch of science or literature ; 
 and yet contrive to amass together an immense fund 
 of rich and varied information. Industry dis- 
 tinguishes both classes of minds ; or, the man with 
 the particular tendency would be but a groper after 
 one idea which he never grasped, and the versatile 
 man would remain through life a mere smatterer.
 
 l8o THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Resolve — application — energy — perseverance : 
 these are the secrets of advancement in knowledge ; 
 not the particular modes of study, or the particular 
 books that may be read. Be resolved to learn some- 
 thing. That is the first requisite. Apply yourself to 
 it with the spirit of an earnest man, and as if it were 
 worth learning, — not playing at fast and loose with 
 it, — sometimes advancing a little, then forgetting 
 what you have learned, and then having to begin over 
 again ; but persevering till you feel at home in your 
 pursuit, and till you reach a point in your study, 
 where every new light shed upon it by the progress 
 of the age finds you prepared for its reception. 
 
 " I have no time for study," is the silliest and 
 most culpable excuse that any man can make for 
 indolence and negligence. Every working man 
 ought to be ashamed of it. If you have not time — 
 make it from sleep, as I did. This is the language of 
 a " plain speaker " ; but I hope you do not expect 
 me to trifle with you. 
 
 There was a warrior in the classic times who 
 could not sleep for thinking of the laurels of his 
 rival. Think of the glorious names some men have 
 won, — by the literary triumphs they have gained, by 
 the grand discoveries they have made, by the preg- 
 nant truths they have heralded and diffused, by the 
 world-wide good they have done ; and then, remem- 
 bering that many of these were born among the 
 lowly, had no other help than from themselves, and
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. l8l 
 
 had to trample down difficulties innumerable in their 
 path to success, — sleep in indolence and negligence 
 if you can. 
 
 But, remember, you will grow no wiser by sleep- 
 ing — for knowledge does not often come in dreams ; 
 while your health might suffer no material injury by 
 occasionally cutting off an hour or two of slumber. 
 Your time to make the experiment is iioiv. In a few 
 years it may be too late ; and, besides, the years 
 you defer the work of self-culture must be years of 
 comparative ignorance with you — and you ought to 
 feel self-degraded by reflecting that self-neglect 
 reduces you to that condition. 
 
 If I could use words of fire, — syllables of light- 
 ning, — they should be employed, if by such means I 
 could arouse you to the noblest of all aspirations — 
 that of becoming truly intelligent men. 
 
 Have you an inclination — I will not suppose you 
 to have reached that state of the will which may 
 be called a resolve — to know something of the 
 mathematics } What can prevent you, if your mind 
 be constituted for such studies .-' Have you greater 
 hardships to endure than poor Gifford, whose cruel 
 master took away from him pens and ink, pencils 
 and slate, and reduced him to the necessity of 
 secretly beating out pieces of leather, and working 
 his questions in algebra upon them with the point 
 of an awl ? 
 
 Do you think you could like — I will not suppose
 
 1 82 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE, 
 
 you have reached a strong desire — to learn some- 
 thing of languages ? What hinders you if there be 
 a grain of ability in your mental organization ? Are 
 you subjected to greater deprivations, surrounded 
 with deeper discouragements, than were Alexander 
 Murray, Heyne, Carey, — or even Dr. Samuel Lee, 
 once a lowly carpenter, and now (or until the last 
 few weeks) a Regius Professor in the University of 
 Cambridge, and acquainted with twenty languages ? 
 
 Read the ' Pursuit of Knowledge under Difficul- 
 ties,' published in three little shilling parts, by 
 Charles Knight, and written by my intelligent 
 acquaintance, Mr. Craik. If it does not rouse you 
 to shake off the thraldom of indolence and irresolu- 
 tion, I know not what will. Compare your difficul- 
 ties with those of the great host of noble spirits 
 chronicled in these little volumes, and say if you 
 ought to proclaim that intellectual advancement is 
 for you " impossible " — a word which Napoleon said 
 ought not to be in any vocabulary ! 
 
 Neither be discouraged with a fear that you have 
 not the constitution of mind fitted for the particular 
 study to which you may feel even a slight inclina- 
 tion. Try : that is the magic word. The very 
 inclination for any particular study is a good omen 
 that you may excel in it. 
 
 For the mathematics, any shilling system of 
 arithmetic will form an opening. Colenso's Algebra, 
 which is not a dear book, makes the analytical
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 83 
 
 arithmetic easy to the most average capacity ; and 
 Simson's Euclid, which is to be had everywhere 
 cheap, is so plain that it only requires thought — 
 which if you are not willing to bestow, you can learn 
 nothing. You need no teacher but your book ; and 
 the triumphs of unassisted conquest are ever the 
 most honourable, as well as gratifying. 
 
 For the languages, if you wish for soundness, not 
 to say a plurality of knowledge in tongues, the Latin 
 deserves your primary struggle. I know that it has 
 become a fashion with innovators to decry this 
 stately porch to the magnificent Greek — and even 
 the all-perfect Greek itself — as not worth the labour 
 of an attempt at entrance. But I have never known 
 a skilful grammarian, in my life, who was ignorant 
 of Latin ; and if there were no other reason for 
 advising you to attempt learning it, I would say — 
 try to learn Latin for the sake of the clear insight 
 into the nature of grammar which it will give you. 
 
 A dictionary will help you to unlock the meaning 
 of Eutropius with ease ; and his abbreviation of 
 Roman history once mastered — Cssar, Nepos, 
 Virgil, and, successively, all the treasures of the 
 majestic Roman tongue will lie open to — your 
 perseverance. The Greek — the most beautiful and 
 most valuable of all languages — will be an easy 
 conquest, after you can begin to read a Latin 
 classic. 
 
 If you must ask the tradesman's question — "What
 
 1 84 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 use is it ? " which really mearrs " What can I gain by 
 it ? " and that too often in a sordid sense, — I answer, 
 It will give you the key to unlock a grand treasury 
 of thought — the most valuable riches to every man 
 who does not pride himself on being merely an 
 animal. Good translations may give you some of 
 these riches ; but there is a treasury of thought, — a 
 new and elevated source of ideas, opened by the 
 knowledge of a language, in itself It resembles 
 rather the acquirement of an additional mind, if I 
 may so speak, than the mere reading of a new book, 
 or of many books. 
 
 But, if the arduousness of this task affright you, 
 and yet, you are disposed to attempt a language, 
 the French is mere child's play. I mean the learn- 
 ing to read it — for which the commonest understand- 
 ing and memory, possessed by any man who can 
 read an English newspaper, will suffice. Grammars 
 are abundant ; but stout old Cobbett's is undoubtedly 
 the plainest. The pronunciation cannot be learned, 
 except from a native Frenchman, or one who has 
 companied with the French people. "What use is 
 it } " will not be asked about a living language, I 
 hope. 
 
 And yet, if it should still be asked about this, 
 or any other elementary knowledge ; or, if you fear 
 that people who think the only real business of life 
 is to learn how to " get on," that is, how to get 
 money — should scoff to find you employed in
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 185 
 
 endeavouring to advance your mind ; remember that 
 their ridicule breaks no bones. Turn from their 
 mistaken censure, and think how much real elevation 
 you will lose by yielding to it ; how deeply you 
 may regret neglecting your youthful opportunity, 
 if you let it go by, and reach mature manhood 
 without the knowledge you may then find possessed 
 by others, in whose presence you may feel humbled 
 and mortified. Remember that knowledge is no 
 burthen, while ignorance is often an intolerable and 
 oppressive life ; that knowledge once obtained, costs 
 you nothing to keep, while ignorance may subject 
 you to expense as long as you live. Imagine 
 yourself the new and superior being you will be in 
 ten years' time, with those ten years devoted to all 
 the useful study your necessary labour and your 
 health will permit ; and then imagine what will be 
 your reflections in ten years' time, if you continue 
 mentally indolent, and then remember what you 
 miglit have been. 
 
 Do you feel resolved to be an intelligent man .'' 
 Lose not a moment in putting your resolve into 
 practice. Prepare a blank book, write down your 
 resolution ; and in that book, from time to time, 
 register a brief record of your doings. Let there 
 be something done every day. Whatever be the 
 particular study you enter upon, be a daily student. 
 Five minutes (ay, five minutes ! I know it well from 
 the hard — but what I regard now as the glorious —
 
 1 86 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Past) may often be the full extent of time that you 
 can look into a book during one day ; for an 
 unusual pressure of labour must be met, when it 
 comes, by the poor working man. But, let not the 
 precious five minutes be lost. I have often learned 
 more in some such golden five minutes than in an 
 hour at another season ; and you will often have 
 the same experience, if you become a serious and 
 devoted student. 
 
 And the brief time allotted for meals — make that 
 also a time for study. From fourteen I began to 
 employ every meal-time in reading or study : book 
 in one hand, and cup or saucer in the other at 
 breakfast ; and even at my humble dinner, if the 
 book were one that must be held up, I could dis- 
 pense with knife and fork, and use a spoon. Let 
 none despise the lowly chronicle ! None but a 
 working man knows what the toiler has to struggle 
 with. How often have I swooned, and fallen off 
 my seat upon the floor, at the close of a long day's 
 labour over the last, — having repeated my tasks in 
 language over and over again during the day — been 
 at work from six to ten — and having had three 
 hours' reading and a walk on the hills and through 
 the woods above Gainsborough, before I sat down 
 to work at six in the morning. 
 
 Young working men, forgive my telling you this. 
 I want to see you in earnest about your own mental 
 advancement. I want you to elevate our order —
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 87 
 
 the order to which belonged the world's wonder, 
 Shakspere, the woolstapler's and butcher's son : — 
 Ben Jonson, the bricklayer ; the " learned " Ben 
 Jonson, as well as great dramatic poet : — and Burns, 
 who " followed his plough, in glory and in joy, 
 along the mountain side." I will not recall to 
 your memory more of the thousand-fold list of 
 glorious working men's names, now. It may form 
 a theme of itself, some other time. Only begin to 
 emulate them ; and that without delay. 
 
 I will say no more at present. In a future Letter 
 you must permit me, if you please, to take up the 
 topic of your general reading. 
 
 Letter III. 
 
 " Endeavour thus to live ; these rules regard ; 
 These helps solicit ; and a steadfast seat 
 Shall then be yours among the happy few 
 Who dwell on earth, yet breathe empyreal air — 
 Sons of the morning." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Men OB' THE Future, — In books is registered 
 all that remains of the wisdom of the Past, and all 
 the general knowledge of the Present. There is, 
 therefore, no means of becoming a well-informed 
 man, except by reading. There can be no excep- 
 tion to the truth of this remark, unless for general 
 travellers, who see society under varied forms, and
 
 l88 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 in many climes, and thus test human nature for 
 themselves. But jw^ have to labour for bread-, and, 
 unless an irrepressible spirit of adventure be native 
 to a man's constitution, it is not likely that he will 
 venture to make the tour of Europe, depending on 
 the chances of obtaining labour as a means of living, 
 while he observes foreign manners. 
 
 The book — the book, must be your great resource. 
 And what a world of enjoyment — what a never- 
 failing solace in the midst of hardships — does 7'ead- 
 ing open to you ! How eloquently true are these 
 words of Sir John Herschel — the son of the great 
 working man who discovered Georgium Sidus, with 
 the telescope fashioned by his own hands ! 
 
 '* Were I to pray for a taste which should stand 
 me in stead under every variety of circumstances, 
 and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me 
 during life, and a shield against its ills, however 
 things might go amiss and the world frown upon me, 
 it would be a taste for reading. . . . Give a man 
 this taste, and the means of gratifying it, and you 
 can hardly fail of making him a happy man. . . . 
 You place him in contact with the best society in 
 every period of history, — with the wisest, the 
 wittiest, the tenderest, the bravest, and the purest 
 characters who have adorned humanity. You make 
 him a denizen of all nations, a contemporary of all 
 ages. The world has been created for him " 
 {^Address on the opening of the Eton Library, 1833).
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 1 89 
 
 No feeble words of mine can be necessary to 
 enforce the truth thus admirably set forth, by one of 
 the greatest living men of science. I know that it 
 is felt by many of you. I only wish it were felt by 
 all. Our enfranchisement would then become an 
 immediate possession. For, never let it be forgotten 
 that it is the loant of knowledge among the millions 
 which keeps us out of the possession of Freedom. 
 Even the intelligent are prevented from breaking 
 their bonds, by the unintelligent. Ponder on this, 
 while at labour ; and you will see a depth of truth 
 in it that will make your hearts burn to spread 
 knowledge. All history will confirm it : you will, 
 age after age, see the intelligent Few bursting their 
 bonds — but in vain ! — the unintelligent Many bring 
 back slavery, more or less resembling the Past. 
 " Knowledge is power " is the profoundest axiom 
 of the profoundest English thinker : perhaps, it is 
 the most profound saying ever uttered since man- 
 kind existed. 
 
 In my second letter, I observed that some " feel 
 an unconquerable aversion to the rigid study of any 
 single branch of science or literature, and yet con- 
 trive to amass together an immense fund of rich and 
 varied information." It is chiefly to this class of 
 minds, among working men, that I now address 
 myself. Our noble English tongue affords almost 
 boundless materials for their taste : it is a mine of 
 mental opulence that the longest life, even with com-
 
 190 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 plete leisure, spent in reading, cannot exhaust. The 
 only difficulty is to make selections. 
 
 First and foremost, let me say — Shakspere 
 should be the young Englishman's familiar acquaint- 
 ance. You may mark off some five hundred 
 authors in a book-catalogue, and if you were to read 
 over all they ever wrote, they would not furnish you 
 with a tithe of Shakspere's wisdom. His know- 
 ledge of the human heart, his acquaintance with the 
 laws of mind, are alike the source of wonder. The 
 deepest thinkers discover the greatest riches in him. 
 " The inexhaustible mine of virgin treasure in our 
 Shakspere" is a phrase of Coleridge — the greatest 
 genius, scholar, and philosopher combined, of his 
 own day. This is the summary of his testimony 
 to Shakspere's value : — 
 
 " I have been almost daily reading him since I 
 was ten years old : — the thirty intervening years 
 have been unintermittingly, and not fruitlessly, 
 employed in the study of Greek, Latin, English, 
 Italian, Spanish, and German, — and the last fifteen 
 years, in addition, far more intensely, in the analysis 
 of the laws of life and reason as they exist in man, 
 — and upon every step I have made forward in 
 taste, in acquisition of facts from history or my own 
 observation, and in knowledge of the different laws 
 of being and their apparent exceptions, from acci- 
 dental collision of disturbing forces, — at every new 
 accession of information, after every successful exer-
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 19I 
 
 cise or meditation, and every fresh presentation of 
 experience, I have unfailingly discovered a propor- 
 tionate increase of wisdom and inhiitioii in Shak- 
 spere." 
 
 If Coleridge, after fifty-five years of refined train- 
 ing, found an author who lived two centuries before 
 him always in advance of him on subjects which 
 demand the greatest stretch of the human powers, 
 — what must be the value of that author to working 
 men who can never command a one-hundredth part 
 of Coleridge's other means of instruction, nor a tenth 
 part of his leisure for learning ! 
 
 It will be replied by some, that Shakspere has 
 blots. True : and so has the sun, — but you must 
 look through a piece of smoked glass to see them. 
 Read him, working men, — read England's — the 
 world's — yoH7' Shakspere ; and if the glory of his 
 brightness does not make you forgetful of his ' blots ' 
 — your experience will be very different from that 
 of any thinking man I have ever met. 
 
 You will not expect me to spend many syllables 
 on other poets — though the theme would be tempt- 
 ing. In a word — next to Shakspere, you cannot 
 say that you are acquainted with the true standard 
 of poetry unless you have companioned with the 
 sublimity of Milton, the fervour of Byron, the feeling 
 of Burns, the thought of Wordsworth, the beauty of 
 Keats. 
 
 Prose fiction : you ought to be acquainted with
 
 192 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 it ; but, to become " novel readers " in the common 
 acceptation of the term — you ought to shun as you 
 would dram-drinking, or taking opium. I have 
 known people reduced to sheer imbecility by each 
 of the three corrupting and ruinous habits ; and the 
 novel-drunk imbeciles were the most imbecile. If 
 the thirst for knowledge moves you to read, you will 
 be jealous over yourselves, and not willingly read 
 for excitement's sake. It is the knowledge of 
 character you will find in Fielding, Smollett, Scott, 
 and Dickens, — and not the exciting interest of their 
 stories, — that will lead you to relieve an hour with 
 their volumes, when overworn with labour, and unfit 
 for sterner thought or study. 
 
 But sterner thought than that of poetry or prose 
 fiction must employ your leisure, if you would turn 
 it to solid account in acquiring the Knowledge 
 which is Power. There is the mighty volume of 
 Nature to be studied — that volume in which the 
 learning of our times is a thousand times richer 
 than all the ages preceding. Astronomy, Geology, 
 Chemistry, Mechanics, Zoology; Botany, — of these, 
 and all the branch sciences into which they are 
 divided, — the books of our contemporaries contain 
 treasures of experimental knowledge the value of 
 which to mankind is beyond price, even now ; but 
 only in the great Future, when all shall share the 
 benefits of knowledge, will the full value of Science 
 be known. The great tendency of the thought of
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. J 93 
 
 our age is to science ; and if you be ignorant of it, 
 you can scarcely be said to belong to the age in 
 which you live. 
 
 The nomenclature of all these sciences may be 
 easily mastered, — and how cheaply ! William and 
 Robert Chambers, in the three- halfpenny numbers 
 of their ' Information for the People,' furnish you 
 with it. In their recent issue, too, of this work, 
 they have added an outline of all that is new in 
 science, — while they point you to authorities who 
 deal with their subjects more deeply. And even if 
 the works they refer to are beyond your reach, when 
 the technical terms of a science are mastered, and 
 an outline of it is laid up in the mind, you can 
 scarcely take up a newspaper, or a fugitive periodical, 
 in this scientific age, without finding some fragment 
 of information, which you can add to your stores 
 of that species of knowledge. 
 
 Independent of the great practical uses of science, 
 it is the elevation which some branches of it, — such 
 as Astronomy, — give to the mind ; it is the reliance 
 on fact, and 071 fact only, which it teaches the judg- 
 ment, for which you ought to cleave to science with 
 ardour. Science is transforming the world — it is 
 leading us on to changes that will render the reign 
 of the power of craft and force impossible. In it 
 are concentred our firmest hopes for universal human 
 happiness ; and you must not, you cannot, unless you 
 be faithless to yourselves, remain ignorant of Science. 
 
 13
 
 194 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 And then, the Laws of Mind, with all the acute 
 and curious discussions concerning them, from the 
 time of the Greeks till now : no man who takes 
 any pride in being esteemed a thinker, can remain 
 ignorant of them. Let me entreat any of you who 
 feel an aversion to rigid study, not to be impelled 
 from opening a volume on Mental Philosophy by 
 the prevalent notions, attached by superficial people, 
 to the word ' Metaphysics.' None of you who have 
 not made the experiment know what keen delight 
 is to be reaped from a page of such inquiries. I 
 need not profess to you that I feel rapture in 
 conversing with the mind of Shakspere or Milton ; 
 but I declare to you that I have often had far more 
 ecstatic pleasure in a solitary hour at midnight 
 devoted to Locke on the Understanding, or Jonathan 
 Edwards on the Will, — and even- to some inferior 
 metaphysicians, — than I have enjoyed from any 
 volume of poetry. In my humble opinion the range 
 of that man's intellectual powers must be contracted, 
 who can derive no intense pleasure from discussions 
 on the very nature and laws of these powers. 
 
 I do not say that this species of inquiry can rank 
 with physical science in practical value ; and it 
 would be absurd to say that metaphysical inquiries 
 generally are attended with certainty — the grand 
 charm of physical science. But, as a healthy 
 exercise for the powers of the mind, an hour — if it 
 be even an hour of battle — with Berkeley or Locke,
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. I95 
 
 with Hume or Butler, with Hartley or Dugald 
 Stewart, will be found of value, of incalculable 
 value : strengthened by contest about the impalp- 
 able, the mind will be found stronger and of keener 
 appetite when it turns to the real and practical. 
 
 Moral Philosophy is a realm of inquiry into which 
 you can scarcely fail to be led, if you enter on a 
 course of metaphysical reading. The doctrines of 
 morals are intimately connected with religion, and, 
 for reasons which must be evident to you, I shall 
 here avoid all discussion on such subjects, simply 
 observing that, as a moral teacher and exemplar I 
 regard Christ as the highest and most worshipful. 
 My views of creeds have altered, in the lapse of years, 
 and with reflection ; but ever since I was able to 
 think, my opinion, in this respect, has remained 
 unaltered. Yet, as I know that none of my order 
 who have learned their alphabet are unacquainted 
 with their New Testament, — I leave this weighty 
 subject to the heart and mind of every reader — re- 
 commending it to his own unbiassed, unprejudiced, 
 and most conscientious consideration. 
 
 A very important theme for you, young working 
 men, remains to be treated. And feeling it to be "so, 
 I deem it necessary to treat it more largely. Poetry 
 elevates and refines the man, and unfolds to him 
 the resources of expression ; Science brings us within 
 the sympathies of the present, and even gives us 
 some glimpses into the Future and mental Philo-
 
 196 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 sophy sharpens the intellect and unfolds to us, at 
 least, some of the laws of our own thoughts ; but the 
 Past, and what mankind have thought and done in it, 
 and Jioiv they caused the Present to be what it is — 
 the busy and diversified, the exciting and instructive 
 volume of History must be read to find the impor- 
 tant solution of these pregnant questions. " Read 
 history with the greatest attention," says Locke, " for 
 to be ignorant of what happened before one was 
 born, is to be always a child." A profound remark ; 
 and, indeed, Locke could not pen a shallow one. 
 
 The key to the condition of society and of the 
 individual man, nozv, is to be found in the record of 
 the Past. History will show you how events have 
 necessitated succeeding events — till it brings you to 
 a comprehension of the result, the Present. And he 
 who most fully understands how the Past has produced 
 the Present, is most likely to foresee what kind of 
 Future will arise. 
 
 The causes why the Many have been, through so 
 many ages, and in all climes, subject to the Few ; 
 the impediments to knowledge ; the sources of 
 opinions which still divide the world ; these, and con- 
 sid-erations of less importance — such as the allusions 
 of poets, which often cannot be understood without 
 history — make a knowledge of it imperatively neces- 
 sary. It is here especially that you will find the 
 fine remarks I have already quoted to be verified ; 
 that you will be placed " in contact with the best
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 197 
 
 society, . . . with the wisest, the wittiest, the tenderest, 
 the bravest, and the purest characters who have 
 adorned humanity " ; that each of you will be made 
 " a denizen of all nations, a contemporary of all 
 ages." 
 
 A plan is, above all things, necessary in reading 
 history properly. I am talking to young men, and 
 therefore consider them as having opportunity to 
 carry it out, by perseverance, — even if a few years 
 (of their very spare hours) be employed in so doing. 
 
 First, then, let me recommend you to read Plu- 
 tarch's Lives. You will find the translation by the 
 Langhornes easy of access (and you should not read 
 an earlier translation). The interest of the portraits 
 drawn by the biographer is indescribable. If you next 
 take up the translation of Rollin's ' Ancient History,' 
 you will enter on it with the advantage of having, 
 as one may say, a private acquaintance with each 
 great character whom Rollin successively introduces 
 on the historic stage. 
 
 I recommend the books to you which combine, in 
 my humble opinion, real excellence with easiness of 
 access. Some of you, no doubt, know that a revo- 
 lution is taking place in the writing of history. 
 Niebuhr, the great German scholar and thinker, has 
 been to history what Bacon was to philosophy : he 
 has set it on new foundations. A large part of 
 ancient history is now considered to be mythical 
 merely, and not fact. If Grote's magnificent 'History
 
 198 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 of Greece ' be within your reach, you will see this 
 distinction made in the spirit of Niebuhr's philosophy. 
 In Rollin you must make allowances for credulity ; 
 but, at the same time, you must give the writer 
 credit for relating his vast story as he found it 
 related in the old writers. 
 
 Ferguson's 'History' of Rome may follow Rollin. 
 It is not democratic in spirit, although it is the 
 narrative of a republic ; but it is clear and orderly. 
 Niebuhr's History is the grand work ; but having 
 been only recently translated, it is dear and difficult 
 to get hold of: a remark which, I am sorry to say, 
 is also applicable to the excellent work of Dr. 
 Arnold — the nearest approach to Niebuhr's, and 
 even preferred to his, by some competent judges. 
 
 After Ferguson you will enter on the most superb 
 treat you will ever experience in history, — the 
 transcendent ' Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 Empire ' by Gibbon. Critics differ in their estimate 
 of his style ; but, with all its occasional exuberance, 
 it is regarded as a most masterly adaptation to his 
 subject. As a word-painting it is perfect — for all 
 his figures live and move before you ; and the 
 accuracy of his facts and critical knowledge have 
 lately been tested by Guizot, who has gone labor- 
 iously over all his authorities. 
 
 Let me here recommend you, however (and in the 
 instance of Gibbon alone), to lay down the book at 
 the end of the 14th chapter, and to read the three
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 199 
 
 first centuries of Neander's * Ecclesiastical History.' 
 Remember, you are now crossing the great Bridge 
 which connects Ancient and Modern History — (for 
 such is the valuable work Gibbon has performed for 
 mankind) — and you must perform the passage with 
 all circumspection. The history of the Church 
 colours all that follows in Europe, and you must be 
 acquainted with it. Taking up the ' Decline and 
 Fair again, at the 15 th chapter, take care to read 
 Neander, thenceforth, as nearly as possible, century 
 for century, with Gibbon, till you come to the end 
 of his work — when you will be left to finish Neander 
 or to read the remainder at some other time. There 
 is even another divergence which you will find of 
 advantage, — namely, when you have come to the 
 splendid chapter in which Gibbon enters on the 
 history of Mahomet, procure, if possible. Sale's trans- 
 lation of the Koran, and read over the very learned 
 and interesting ' Preliminary Discourse ' of the trans- 
 lator. It will give an increased zest to your perusal of 
 Gibbon, as well as prepare you for a finer apprecia- 
 tion of the philosophy of his highly-written chapter. 
 I might have recommended other divergencies, but 
 I am indisposed to bewilder you. What I Jiave 
 recommended, let me entreat you to observe. 
 
 You will now be prepared for the history of your 
 own, or any other modern country. 
 
 We have, now, a really good History of England: 
 Mr, Green's. We have, besides, the works of Free-
 
 200 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 man, Macaulay, Froude, and others, who, in various 
 styles of excellence, have produced histories of 
 different periods of our History — but none of them 
 have given us a complete History. 
 
 Prescott's Histories of Mexico and Peru, Motley's 
 Dutch Republic, D'Aubigne's 'History of the Refor- 
 mation,' are all excellent books, and so is Hallam on 
 the ' Middle Ages ' — though some may call it anti- 
 quated. 
 
 The most important portions of modern history 
 to us, are the history of our own Commonwealth, 
 and that of the French Revolution. Mr. Carlyle's 
 ' French Revolution ' you are sure to read ; but also 
 read Thiers' ; and Lamartine's ' Girondists.' John 
 Forster's ' Lives of Eliot, Hampden, Pym,' etc., must 
 be read, in order to get a thorough understanding of 
 our great Commonwealth period ; and your reading 
 will not be complete unless you read Mr. Carlyle's 
 'Letters of Oliver Cromwell.' 
 
 I might have mentioned fifty other books of high 
 value ; but the perusal of those which I have men- 
 tioned will furnish you with their names ; and if 
 time and opportunity permit, you can extend the 
 catalogue for yourselves practically. 
 
 Methods for arranging your knowledge, for classi- 
 fying it, and securing it, as you proceed, so as to 
 make it available for life, I will endeavour to suggest 
 in a future letter.
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 201 
 
 Letter IV. 
 
 " Child of a nobler chivalry 
 Than e'er was known by devotee 
 Who bore the Cross to Palestine, — 
 Would' St thou make the victory thine ? 
 The battle must with skill be fought : 
 The close-knit panoply of Thought 
 Thou must calmly, bravely don : — 
 Youthful soldier, gird it on ! " 
 
 Men of the Future, — The digestion and arrange- 
 ment of your knowledge, it must be evident to 
 you, should be carefully attended to, while you are 
 searching for facts, and collecting the materials of 
 information. It is possible for a man to be a labo- 
 rious reader, and yet to be unable to bring forth 
 his knowledge for the enlightenment of others, — 
 through want of a clear arrangement of it, in his 
 own mind. Such a man's brain resembles a bae, 
 well filled it may be, but wherein the material con- 
 tents are jumbled and shaken together, — so that 
 nothing can be found when it is wanted ; or if it 
 be readily found, it is by mere chance of its being 
 shaken out first. 
 
 Solid knowledge is only to be gained by the 
 practice of making written notes, — I do not mean 
 of every book that you read ; but of such volumes 
 as contain a clear development of some particular 
 branch of science, a distinct and judicious record 
 of some important period of history, or a logical
 
 202 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 disquisition on some great questions in morals or 
 criticism. 
 
 Do not be startled with the apparent difficulty 
 of accomplishing these labours. I remember that 
 your leisure hours are few ; but I am recommending 
 what I have proved, by experience, to be practicable 
 for young working men. A note-book is of the first 
 value to you. Do not make extracts upon loose 
 scraps of paper. That was my error, before I was 
 twenty ; and then, feeling restless until I had arranged 
 and systematised these fragments, I began to enter 
 them in a volume — but to transcribe the multifarious 
 pile was too much for patience. Have a note-book^ 
 though it may cost you a few shillings : fill it up, 
 regularly ; and form your index to it, as you go 
 on. The occasional writing will be a relief to three 
 or four hours' close reading ; and a valuable thought, 
 once entered into your book, will be a treasure 
 for life. 
 
 I recommend one general note-book to you, 
 because I am sure you will find it much more 
 serviceable and convenient than several note-books. 
 When a young man discovers his own great blame, 
 in having trifled away precious time, and awakes, 
 with something like a passion, to the determination 
 of having solid knowledge, he is in danger of 
 systematising too far. I felt all this, about twenty- 
 one ; for although I had not trifled as some trifle, — 
 I felt that I had been very blamable in squandering
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 203 
 
 many precious hours wherein rich knowledge might 
 have been gathered. Not satisfied with the one 
 note-book, I began to form sectional books, for 
 theological extracts, scientific extracts, philological 
 extracts, and so on. But the systematising faculty 
 once awakened, there was no end to the desire of 
 rearrangement ; — till I clearly saw that the one 
 general note-book, zvitJi its regular index, was, after 
 all, the best thing I could have. 
 
 There are some books, however, which it would 
 not satisfy you to have read, and culled for a few 
 extracts. You will feel the necessity of performing 
 a greater labour upon them : I mean, if your minds 
 be really and earnestly intent on attaining perfect 
 knowledge — or, at least, skill — in some particular 
 department of inquiry. It will depend on the bent 
 of particular minds to determine what books these 
 may be ; but an analysis — do not be alarmed at 
 the word — of some books must be performed. 
 
 One of the books which I analysed by ivriting, 
 most perfectly, when about twenty-one, was Dr. 
 Blair's ' Lectures on Rhetoric and the Belles Lettres.' 
 It contains rules for composition, critical remarks on 
 the style and taste and genius of the most celebrated 
 writers, and, in brief, a complete introduction to the 
 art and mystery of expressing thought in language. 
 Better books than Dr. Blair's — for aught I know — 
 may have been published ; but I have read none 
 of the more modern works on ' Elocution,' ' Style,'
 
 204 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 and so on. I have taken them up, and glanced 
 over them ' but seeing nothing new or profound 
 in them, I have not thought it necessary to read 
 them through. And I question whether any of you, 
 if you perform for yourselves what I did, with Blair, 
 will ever think it necessary to read slight works 
 on taste and style, afterwards. From the time that 
 the true principles of taste and style are distinctly 
 and fully seated in your mind, you will go on to 
 form your own judgments on whatever you read, 
 and to do this with confidence. 
 
 My analysis was written on common letter-paper 
 doubled, so that each sheet formed eight pages, — 
 which I found to be a convenient form for reading 
 afterwards. It extended, as well as I remember, 
 to fifty or sixty pages, and contained every rule 
 given by Blair for the judgment of style, and every 
 description of the figures of rhetoric, with the chief 
 examples, — but all compressed into the smallest 
 compass, so that every subject might be viewed 
 rapidly, presented at once to the mind. Some seven 
 or eight years after it was written, 1 gave this 
 analysis away to a young man ; but I am sure it 
 would do him little good, — because it was not the 
 work of his own brain after reading Blair's text. 
 
 Another labour of this kind which I performed 
 about the same period, was an analysis of Dr. Samuel 
 Clarke's famous ' Demonstration of the Being and 
 Attributes of God.' I do not think so highly of
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 20$ 
 
 this work as I did then ; but, presenting, as it does, 
 the most perfect display of the a priori argument 
 for a Deity, it not only put me in possession of the 
 strongest reasonings on this important subject, but 
 it was a grand training in logic. With Chancellor 
 King's ' Inquiry into the Doctrines of the Primitive 
 Christian Church,' I performed a similar labour ; — 
 and, whatever modifications my opinions have since 
 undergone, I reckon none of these labours to have 
 been valueless. 
 
 Could I realise Byron's fervid wish, ' Give me my 
 youth again ! ' I would begin, much sooner, with a 
 labour I entered upon much later — that of drawing 
 up a chronology of History. To make this fully 
 available to the memory, it should not be a mere 
 list of dates, with some notable battle, birth or death 
 of a remarkable person, or important political trans- 
 action affixed to the year. Ages, rather than years, 
 should be numbered ; they should be characterised 
 by their respective development of ideas ; and the 
 names of the great men who figured in them, should 
 be associated in the mind. The ages, thus chrono- 
 logised, would be of very disproportionate lengths : 
 the Mythical Age of Greece, for instance, would 
 comprise hundreds of years, — while the Age of 
 Pericles would comprise but a {qw. The import- 
 ance of its deeds, the advancement of its civilisation, 
 and the greater splendour of its leading characters, — 
 would often, however, direct you to the propriety
 
 206 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 of singling out a comparatively short period, and 
 classing it as an Age in your chronology, and conse- 
 quently, in your mind. I know nothing that can 
 be thought of greater importance than your obtain- 
 ing this clearly-defined knowledge of history — so 
 as to enable you to say, at once, who lived in such 
 an age, and what distinguished such an age, in any 
 country. 
 
 I refrain from prescribing other subjects for your 
 labour of analysis. They must be determined, as I 
 observed before, by the bent of different minds. 
 Once begun, this kind of labour will grow into a 
 keen delight. You will feel that you have mastered 
 what was before so imperfectly possessed. You will 
 bear the knowledge about with you, and be able, 
 easily, to summon it forth for practical use ; while 
 an occasional lapse of memory can be readi-ly 
 supplied by a reference to your written notes. 
 
 And now, how glowing will be the sense of a new 
 power which you will be conscious of attaining — 
 that of expressing ideas correctly, forcibly, gracefully. 
 Your analysis of other men's thoughts and systems 
 cannot fail to give you this power ; and you will 
 feel yourselves impelled, almost irresistibly, to the 
 composition of independent essays on favourite 
 subjects of thought. Even if these should never see 
 the light, in the form of fugitive articles in any of the 
 numerous cheap periodicals of our time, they will 
 often be reverted to, in your meditative hours, and
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 20/ 
 
 read with pleasure, — or, perhaps, with a conscious- 
 ness of your mental growth since the period at which 
 they were penned. 
 
 Examples of the Essay, as a distinct form of 
 writing, abound in our language, — from the stately 
 and majestic compositions of Lord Bacon (a little 
 volume which contains greater riches of thought than 
 any book of English prose, that could be named) ; 
 — to the clear and graceful sentences of Addison, in 
 the Spectator; — and the homely and unadorned 
 Mother English of Cobbett. Let none of these be 
 neglected, when they come in your way : indeed. 
 Bacon should be possessed by you, and read and re- 
 read by you. His wisdom was even more profound 
 than Shakspere's : his name is second in Eno-lish 
 literature, only because his powers were less versatile 
 than those of our incomparable dramatist. 
 
 Some of you will think I have prescribed what it 
 is beyond the power of working men to accomplish. 
 If you think so, try, at least, to compass as much of 
 it as you can. But do not, I conjure you, yield to 
 these weak and cowardly fears of your own ability. 
 You have no conception of what you can do, till 
 you can enter earnestly and devotedly upon a trial. 
 Think of the hours you have mis-spent in trifling, 
 —the years that have rolled away without solS 
 advancement in knowledge. Be resolved that the 
 Future, with you, shall not be like the Past. Three 
 —five— seven— even ten years may remain to some
 
 208 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 of you, to be devoted to diligent study, before the 
 season arrives when you must mix with the deeper 
 cares of life. Think of how much you can do in 
 these years ; and resolve you will do it. 
 
 Let me, now, turn to a subject on which I feel 
 increasing anxiety — the formation of a large and 
 effective band of public speakers and teachers, for 
 my own order. The want of these is our greatest 
 want. At present books are doing all, or nearly all, 
 that is effectually done for us. The speakers who, 
 for some years past, have been most cordially received 
 by working men, were unable to help forward the great 
 work of intellectual regeneration and advancement. 
 They possessed no stores of reading : they were not 
 men of cultivated minds. Oppression had girt them 
 up to political antagonism ; and they went forth to 
 rouse their order and to speak out its mind against 
 class-tyranny. Their history will make an impor- 
 tant chapter, one day, in the political and social 
 chronicle of Britain ; but this will only be when Time 
 has taught the thinker to excuse their errors, from 
 a consideration of their wrongs, and their deep sense 
 of those wrongs. 
 
 No fact in the modern history of the working 
 classes is more to be regretted than the desertion of 
 them by the more intellectual of their order. I do 
 not mean that these, in every instance, deserted the 
 interests of working men ; but that they suffered 
 themselves to be repulsed and beaten off from teach-
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 209 
 
 ing their own order, by the violence of a few who 
 were mis-led and mis-taught ; and offered their 
 talents to the middle classes. Some of them, doubt- 
 less, have done good service in that direction. But, 
 too often, they have contracted a conventional 
 smoothness which unfits them to return to the 
 teaching of working men ; and which has had a 
 worse tendency — the creation of a belief among the 
 suffering and oppressed that these now ' respect- 
 able ' orators never were heartily attached to the 
 ranks from which they sprung. 
 
 If, when spurned and reviled by the mis-taught 
 few, they had sought other audiences of their own 
 order, they might have created a new and powerful, 
 because more moral agency, for winning the enfran- 
 chisement of the toiling classes than any that has 
 hitherto existed. I aim to inspire some of you 
 with the resolve to train yourselves so as to be able 
 to create this new agency. The latent faculty of the 
 orator often exists where neither the possessor nor 
 any of his young acquaintances suspect it to dwell. 
 First attempts at speech-making, even in a limited 
 circle, much more in an enlarged one, are, pro- 
 verbially, frequent failures. 
 
 There is but one effectual preparation for all young 
 men who yearn to become real instructors by public 
 speaking — that of writing out their thoughts, and 
 committing the main body of the writing to memory. 
 I own, I have known some * popular ' speakers who 
 
 14
 
 2IO THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 never, in their lives, made this preparation ; but I 
 must declare that I wondered how they became 
 popular, — seeing that what they uttered might rather 
 be called sounds than thoughts. Sounds, too, of a 
 somewhat wearisome monotony : there was so little 
 change of words,- — ^so bald and barren a uniformity 
 of phrases. 
 
 Let me recommend to every young working man 
 who has never ' spoken in public,' — to use the 
 common phrase, — but feels desirous of devoting him- 
 self, wholly or in part, to the instruction of his order, 
 to form, at first, an association with a few select 
 spirits who are intent on the same purpose, — that 
 they may assemble weekly as a ' Mutual Improve- 
 ment Society,' or Discussion Club. Such was my 
 beginning, when about sixteen years of age ; and 
 I must be forgiven, if you please, for offering 
 advice as taught by experience ; because I feel more 
 sure of being right, while so doing, than I could if I 
 were to counsel you upon theory. 
 
 In the little society to which I refer, and which 
 was formed at Gainsborough, in Lincolnshire, we 
 discussed such questions as ' Which is the best of our 
 kings since the Norman Conquest, and which the 
 worst .'' ' 'Is Astronomy or Geography the more 
 important science ? ' 'Is the miser or the spend- 
 thrift the more pernicious member of society ? ' I 
 might record twenty other questions which remain, 
 pleasingly associated, in my memory. I only
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 211 
 
 mention these, to show that we chose subjects which 
 could be discussed with some certainty of coming to 
 a correct conclusion. In another little association 
 which I joined about twenty, we entered on questions 
 of a profounder nature, chiefly in theology and 
 metaphysics. In both societies, we took the chair 
 by routine, and not by election. The chairman of one 
 week, at the close of the night's discussion, produced 
 three questions to the .meeting, of which one was 
 selected ; and he himself opened the debate, the 
 following week. This was our most essential rule ; 
 for it did not leave both question and discussion to 
 chance. 
 
 Either the reading of a luritten essay on the 
 question, or a speech was permitted to every member. 
 / almost invariably ivrote, and read, my essay ; and 
 the consequence was, the gradual formation of a 
 style, and a consciousness of facility and copiousness 
 of expression, compared with the members who 
 always spoke extemporaneously. I recommend the 
 same to you ; and am certain you will prove the 
 benefit of it. 
 
 When some period has been passed in a prepara- 
 tory school of this kind, you can try your skill in 
 the delivery of an oration at some of the numerous 
 institutions which now abound. But do not )-ead 
 your essay there. Rather have every syllable you 
 propose uttering committed to memory, and deliver 
 it by rote — if you fear to fail — than lecture, that is,
 
 212 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 read, before an audience which is assembled to hear, 
 and not to discuss. No man who reads a discourse 
 to an audience can make a due impression on their 
 minds and hearts. 
 
 A good field of exercise will be opened to many 
 of you, in some of our numerous Literary and 
 Mechanics' Institutions. Repetitions of a discourse 
 are not possible there ; and the healthful demand 
 upon your thinking powers will be great. 
 
 My humble concluding advice shall be grounded, 
 again, on experience. Persevere with writing out 
 your discourse entire until you acquire a conscious- 
 ness of power to talk freely and effectively, with only 
 a part of your oration prepared in writing, and fixed 
 in the mind by reading it over repeatedly. The 
 peroration or winding-up of a discourse (and which 
 is called ' the application ' among the preachers), 
 I found to be the first preparation in writing that 
 I could lay aside. When the main body of a 
 discourse has been successfully gone through, a 
 speaker, tolerably well practised, easily finds utterance 
 to enforce what he has pleaded. Next, I found it 
 possible to express myself with facility in the main 
 body of a discourse — so long as I took care to sketch 
 out the chief points of an argument, and to collect 
 the facts to support it. But it was long before I was 
 satisfied to omit the preparation of a written exor- 
 dium (or ' introduction,' as it is termed in the pulpit), 
 and to fix it, almost word for word, in my memory.
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKIxXG MEN. 2I3 
 
 Let it encourage you, however, to learn, that 
 thought and practice at length enable a public 
 speaker to appear at his post without trepidation, 
 when all written preparation has been abandoned. 
 He may, now and then, resort to it ; especially when 
 grappling with some new difficulty in thought, and 
 feeling the necessity of simplifying his propositions 
 so that all who hear him may understand him. But, 
 with the mind trained through years, stored through 
 laborious hours or nights of reading, and the tongue 
 practised in forms of expression, — all becomes easy; 
 and a man whose heart is in his work deserts his 
 arm-chair, in a moment, to address ' winged words ' 
 to thousands, feeling the highest ecstasy in the fervid 
 outpouring of his heart and intellect. 
 
 Such a man many of you may become. Aspire 
 to it — for the ambition is noble. Read, think, devise, 
 and act ! Look around on the sufferings of your 
 order. Remember that their woes can never be 
 permanently assuaged till Knowledge is diffused. 
 Be not content to live merely to perform your 
 manual labour, to get a scanty recompense, to eat 
 and drink, to sleep, — and then to rise to-morrow to 
 pursue the same dull round : a round of stagnant 
 thought, of sterile existence. ' Be each a soldier in 
 the strife.' Let the band of moral champions for 
 Progress and Enfranchisement be multiplied by each 
 of you trying to do something in the struggle ; and 
 out of the trial there cannot fail to come — victory.
 
 214 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Letter V. 
 
 " Tell out thy heart with truth, and be no ape 
 Of other men's perfection in the grace 
 Of speech. Who speaketh from the heart, will reach 
 The heart. That citadel once gained, the man, 
 The crowd, obey their helmsman, who thus guides 
 The bark of human purposes to port." 
 
 Old Drama. 
 
 Men of the Future, — I am gratified to learn, 
 by many letters, as well as some conv^ersations with 
 young men, that my humble exhortations to you 
 have not been fruitless ; and that a fervid desire is 
 growing up among you, not only to perfect your own 
 knowledge, but to be instrumental in teaching others. 
 I am earnestly asked to describe more at large the 
 parts or divisions of a public address, — to give rules 
 for its composition, — and, what is still more difficult, 
 for its delivery. Let it be understood that in endea- 
 vouring to comply with these requests, I am only 
 .affording you the imperfect judgment and taste of an 
 individual. What I may say will be found to differ 
 with the judgment and taste, more or less, of others, 
 it may be of deeper discernment and more perfect 
 taste than myself You will regard what I say as 
 the simple fruit of reflection and experience ; and 
 not as dictation, but as friendly advice. 
 
 First, of the parts or divisions of a public address, 
 or oration. In some works on Rhetoric, you will 
 find these minutely separated into many. I think
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 215 
 
 three terms are sufficient for describing them : the 
 exordium — the subject — the peroration. 
 
 I. T\i^ exordhan, ox introduction, is so necessary 
 a part of an oration, that no skilful speaker ever 
 omits it. The resources of a man's mind are more 
 fully discovered by his introduction than by any 
 other part of his speech. A commonplace mind 
 displays no skill in the construction of an exordium. 
 He seems to begin as a matter of course, and to get 
 into his subject as well as he can ; and the conse- 
 quence is that his audience becomes wearied, before 
 he has uttered half-a-dozen sentences. A question, 
 an anecdote, a striking saying, — either his own, or 
 the axiomatic remark of some great intellect, — such 
 are the resources of the real orator, to awaken and 
 fix attention, from the commencement. Very often, 
 the wonder or curiosity of his hearers is raised to 
 learn how he will make the beginning wind into the 
 subject ; and at other times it seems to plunge them 
 into its depths and difficulties at once, and they are 
 engrossed with its importance, from the first sen- 
 tence, and become eager to accompany him into an 
 entire sifting of its perplexities. An audience, how- 
 ever, is always sensitive under an exordium which 
 is too startling ; and an experienced speaker takes 
 care not to excite expectation too much. He finds 
 it best to be natural, above all, in his opening sen- 
 tences. Gesture is almost always avoided, in an 
 opening, by the best speakers : however striking are
 
 2l6 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 their first sentences, they do not ' stretch forth the 
 hand ' — but let them fall on the mind by their own 
 weight and vigour. 
 
 The length of an exordium cannot be prescribed 
 by fixed rule ; but must be determined by the 
 nature of the subject. It looks poverty-stricken in 
 thought to have short introductions, perpetually ; 
 but the demand that must be made upon the time of 
 an audience, while treating some pregnant subjects, 
 requires that the exordium be curtailed. On the 
 other hand, a long introduction is often employed, 
 by an adept in speaking, to clear up the treatment 
 of the subject, by dismissing some points that would 
 otherwise encumber it. 
 
 Figure and embellishment may often be used with 
 great effect in an introduction. Mellifluous sentences 
 uttered during the first ten or fifteen minutes of a 
 discourse, win the ear, like an overture, in music. A 
 speaker whose highest aim is to instruct, rather than 
 please, will condescend to use them, in his introduc- 
 tion. I do not mean that musical sentences are to 
 be despised, at any time, or in any part of a dis- 
 course ; but strength is the great quality of speech to 
 be cultivated. To be harmonious, or even pretty, in 
 his phrases, is pleasing in a speaker ; but he must 
 wield force to produce great effects — and this can 
 only be displayed in terse, vigorous periods. 
 
 2. The subject or main body of a public discourse, 
 should have two attributes ; clearness and fulness.
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 21/ 
 
 If some question in morals or metaphysics be treated, 
 clearness is, above all, necessary, — for argument 
 must be largely resorted to. If the discourse be 
 upon science, fulness is more requisite. If the theme 
 be history, biography, or politics, a clear and, so far 
 as time will allow, a full statement of facts — often in 
 chronological order — will be absolutely necessary. 
 In the latter case, the memory must be stored ; for 
 it looks lame or lazy to refer to dates upon paper. 
 He who aims to be a workman worthy of his profes- 
 sion, will never condescend to take out papers, how- 
 ever small, to assist his memory. He had better 
 run the risk {if ufiavoidable, and only then) of being 
 a little inaccurate, than resort to memorandums : he 
 will lose less by it, in the estimation of his audience. 
 A young orator should most resolutely determine, 
 while making his preparations, not simply to store 
 his facts well up in the memory, — but to endeavour 
 to recite them without inflicting weariness on his 
 hearers. No matter how dull and prosily an his- 
 torian may relate an event, Genius can dress it up 
 • — group its figures as in a picture — breathe upon 
 them, and give them life. Some brief reflection, 
 too, or pithy remark, should be skilfully thrown in, 
 occasionally, to relieve the narrative, — if the dis- 
 course be historical. Yet these should not seem far- 
 fetched. It is better to give the graphic narrative 
 simply, than to mar it with conceits. Never mind 
 the hypercritics who say you have ' no philosophy,'
 
 2l8 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 and can only relate what you have read. The 
 people want more of these relations of what you 
 have read. It is the teaching from fact which is most 
 needed. If the people are to be trained to read, 
 you must tell them what there is in books. Declama- 
 tion has too long constituted the stock-in-trade of 
 public speakers ; and that is the cause why the 
 people have profited so little by it. 
 
 Examples of perseverance, self-sacrifice, honour, 
 uprightness, heroism, patriotism, philanthropy, and 
 all true nobleness — how do they abound in bio- 
 graphy and history ! Can the people have better 
 subjects for reflection than the sayings and doings of 
 the great and good ? Is not the bare recital of such 
 themes calculated to produce more healthy thought 
 in them, than all the vapid declamation which is 
 esteemed so original in some talkers } And how 
 easy it is for young speakers to get up a discourse 
 upon such subjects ! This great and useful business 
 of public speech has been too long represented as a 
 mystery : a something which only the most ' highly- 
 gifted,' as they are called, could possibly perform 
 with any chance of success. It has been supposed 
 it must 'all come out of a man's own head,' or 'he 
 must have a head like an almanac,' as they say in 
 old Lincolnshire — to be a public speaker. Believe 
 me, there is no inspiration about it. Read and tJiink 
 — that is the whole secret. Even deficiencies in 
 voice and utterance may be remedied by practice.
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 219 
 
 Remember, Demosthenes is said to have been com- 
 pelled to talk with pebbles in his mouth to cure a 
 shuffle in his speech ; and to shout to the roaring 
 waves, to strengthen his puny voice — and what did 
 he not become ! Who has equalled him ? 
 
 Even when treating poetry, it is better to treat of 
 the life of the poet, as the basis of the theme. All 
 great poets of whose lives we know anything, have 
 had deeply eventful lives. They were all great 
 wrestlers with men and things ; had all to sound the 
 depths of sorrow, or to join in the stern combat 
 with opposition, pride and tyranny, or malice, or to 
 experience the pangs of neglect and disappointment. 
 What fruitful themes for reflection — for appeals to 
 the heart of the listener ! Specimens of poetry, let 
 rne observe, should alz^'ays be recited. I have never 
 known but one person who could enchain the atten- 
 tion of an audience by reading poetry — my excellent 
 friend, W. J. Fox ; but then his reading is perfect 
 music. An imperfect reciter always pleases more 
 than even a tolerable reader. 
 
 Neither is the possession of the first poetry, in the 
 memory, a treasure to be despised. I regard my 
 committing to memory of the first three books of 
 ' Paradise Lost,' of the whole play of ' Hamlet,' and 
 of some thousands of lines of Byron, Burns, Coleridge, 
 Wordsworth, Scott, Keats, etc., at twenty-one, as my 
 best helps to the riches of language, and the fit 
 placing of words. The frequent repetition of these,
 
 220 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 while I sat at work, not only watered the dryness 
 of the repetition of Latin verbs, and so on, but it 
 inevitably led to reflection on the reason why one 
 word was employed in lieu of another. If a man 
 wants a rich English vocabulary, he can find it 
 in Milton and Shakspere — or nowhere. Do not 
 complain of leanness of language, young men : 
 commit the masters of the language to memory — 
 not by niggardly patches, but by large portions. 
 " This, like everything else you recommend to us, 
 requires time and labour" — you will reply. Just so: 
 can you expect to acquire mental, any more than 
 sordid, riches — by idleness, or indulgence in sleep, 
 or trifling .-' 
 
 But I am wandering away from the * subject ' : 
 another word or two, and I will leave it. Orderly 
 arrangement for the eye, of dates, or facts, assists 
 the memory a great deal. You will find the eye, 
 even while you are delivering your subject, going 
 down a leaf, to a certain place, for a fact or date. 
 So much does the memory depend on locality. 
 Just as you remember the position upon a page 
 where you found a particular remark in a book. 
 Never destroy, or copy into another form, your list of 
 dates or facts — unless )'Ou mean to lose the remem- 
 brance of what it contained. 
 
 3. The peroration, or winding-up of a discourse, 
 must be anxiously provided for by the young orator 
 — if he wishes to fasten w^hat he has set forth in
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 221 
 
 * the subject ' upon the mind. It must not, there- 
 fore be lifeless. Warmth, vigour, intensity, must 
 be employed. Beware, however, of rant, and turgid 
 and unmeaning phrases. Rather seek to get deeper 
 hold of the heart and mind, up to the last moment 
 — than to excite. The appeal to diity should now 
 be the great theme. Let not your audience leave 
 you without the feeling that they have something to 
 do. Strive to make the idler and trifler leave the 
 room with a sense of self-blame and uneasiness — ■ 
 but not without hope. But remember, if you be 
 idle and trifling yourself, you cannot do this with 
 any true effect. Let there be a moral aim in 
 your peroration. But you cannot enforce this, or 
 attempt to enforce it, without being conscience- 
 stricken, if you be immoral yourself How closely 
 must the life of the successful teacher blend with his 
 teachings, or his conscious hypocrisy will destroy 
 his vigour, and render him unnatural ! And if he 
 come often before the same audience, they will soon 
 see through his affectation, and his teachings w^ll 
 becme useless. 
 
 The peroration you will find to be the first part 
 of a discourse, the writing out of which you can 
 dispense with. In the course of years, the mind 
 learns to glance back quickly over ' the subject,' — 
 to recall its chief points and press them vividly on 
 the attention of an audience, — and to draw matter 
 of earnest exhortation from the whole, combining it
 
 222 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 with applications to the particular time, place, or 
 circumstances of the hearers. The real power of a 
 man's energy and enthusiasm is displayed, if he have 
 any, in his peroration ; his understanding, reason, 
 and memory, in his ' subject' ; and his invention, in 
 his exordium. 
 
 With some reluctance, I add a few words on the 
 delivery of a public discourse. My first advice is — 
 be yourselves, and not imitators. You had better 
 lack some graces, than borrow those which will look 
 ////graceful in you. The daw, you know, was a 
 seemly, though sober-coloured bird, in her own 
 feathers ; but when she borrowed the peacock's 
 plumes, all the crowd of birds pecked at her. To 
 be any man's ape, however great he be, can only be 
 apish. Sooner or later, imitation brings a man into 
 derision, and then into neglect. Remember that 
 all truly great men were thansehcs. Look at the 
 individuality of every celebrated man. Who was 
 Shakspere's model } By whom did Milton, Burns, 
 Byron, or Shelley form themselves .^ They looked 
 at models, ay, and that intensely ; but their own 
 strength would not permit them to be imitators. 
 
 So it is in oratory. Every sensible man is eager 
 to see and hear the pattern men of the day : but he 
 does not try to imitate them. The pattern men are 
 no imitators — or they would cease to be pattern 
 men. Who does W. J. Fox imitate .'' No one. He 
 is utterly unlike any other living speaker ; and is the
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 223 
 
 most polished, and, perhaps, the most perfect of them 
 all. But if we hear any one, in London, affect to 
 imitate his modulations, or the march of his sen- 
 tences — there is a laugh at the imitator, as a man 
 who dare not walk on his own legs. People talk of 
 George Dawson as an imitator of Thomas Carlyle. 
 Nothing can be more ridiculously untrue. The 
 massive strength of Air. Carlyle's conversation and 
 thought is utterly distinct from the perpetual suc- 
 cession of brilliant points in the oratory of Mr. 
 Dawson. I know no two men more unlike. I hold 
 Dawson to be as thoroughly original in his oratory 
 as any public speaker I ever heard. If he had been 
 an imitator, the name of so young a man would not 
 have been noised through England. 
 
 " What action do I recommend .? " is a question 
 
 put by several. I answer again — be yourselves be 
 
 natural. If any general rule can be given, it is that 
 you should never begin with action, and should 
 restrain it all the way through, rather than cultivate 
 it. It will depend much on your temperament 
 whether you can use it with success. In some parts 
 of ' the subject,' but especially in the peroration, 
 action is not only admissible— but what some people' 
 would think an approach to storm may occasionally 
 be tolerated. Passion may often have its way, and 
 with great grace, in the latter part of a discourse ; 
 but be rational when you begin ; it is only an auc- 
 tioneer orator who tears away from the beginnincx,
 
 224 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 and always seems to cry ' going, going,' with a threat 
 of his outstretched arm, Hke a hammer. 
 
 I must confess, I am old-fashioned enough to 
 admire good action in oratory ; but it is not often 
 beheld — indeed the two remarkable living men I 
 have mentioned, use little action of any kind. And 
 yet Demosthenes was great by action ; but it was 
 greater in Pericles to fold his hands in his cloak, and 
 still strike the people with awe, " like Jove with his 
 thunderbolts," as saith, magniloquently, Walter 
 Savage Landor. 
 
 Letter VI. 
 
 " Let us read with method, and propose to ourselves an end 
 to which all our studies may point. The use of our reading is 
 to aid us in thinking." — GiBHON. 
 
 Men of the Future, — Being assured, by many 
 letters, as well as various conversations, that a 
 goodly number of you have entered diligently on the 
 course of historical reading I presumed to recommend 
 to you, some months ago, — I now beg to introduce 
 to your notice the names of a few books in miscel- 
 laneous literature, which will be found to be greatly 
 beneficial to you. 
 
 The love and contemplation of Nature, are rich 
 sources of happiness. As a help for creating these 
 healthful habits of the mind, I know no book like 
 White's ' Natural History of Selborne.' Those of
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 22$ 
 
 you who may not have read this unpretending 
 volume, little know what a gem of a book it is. 
 Yet you must not expect sentiment in it. It is a 
 simple record of minute facts and observations on 
 birds, flowers, and, in short, on the commonest 
 appearances in the natural world ; but it is highly 
 suggestive, and never fails to induce inquiry and 
 reflection ; and, thence, to lead the mind to the 
 cultivation of cheerfulness. Every young working 
 man should read this book. It will lead the dweller 
 in a populous city out into the country, where his 
 mind and body will, at once, derive health ; and to 
 the country resident it will open up sources of 
 intelligent and quiet enjoyment which, for lack of 
 reading it, he might have failed to perceive were 
 within his reach. Walton's 'Angler,' is usually 
 classed with White's ' Selborne.' It is not so un- 
 exceptionable in excellence ; but no devoted reader 
 will remain unacquainted with it. I write but mere 
 hints ; and have no room for enlarged commendatory 
 descriptions. Suffice it to say, that these books 
 must not be -judged by their titles. They contain 
 a world of worth which must be proved to be 
 properly estimated. 
 
 Should the reader feel indisposed to seek delight 
 in the quiet path of contemplation, to which books, 
 like these, are valuable helps, he can have no objec- 
 tion to receive delight and instruction from the 
 more stirring narratives of travellers. No novel or 
 
 15
 
 226 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 romance unfolds such powerful excitement as books 
 of travel. The escape of Clapperton, naked, from 
 his pursuers in the heart of Africa ; the opening of 
 the Tombs of the Kings by Belzoni ; and fifty other 
 equally exciting narratives of reality might be 
 instanced, as far out-rivalling the highly-wrought 
 descriptions of merely imaginary writers. Bruce, 
 Mungo Park, Richardson, Rae Wilson, Stephens, — 
 in a word, any describer of his adventures in Africa 
 or Egypt, will be read with interest. Sorrow's 
 ' Bible in Spain,' and ' Gypsies in Spain ' ; Lamar- 
 tine's ' Pilgrimage to the Holy Land ' ; Sir Francis 
 Head's ' Rough Notes ' ; Brydone's * Tour in Sicily 
 and Malta ' ; Matthews's ' Diary of an Invalid ' ; 
 Davis's * Sketches of China ' ; Basil Hall's ' Loo- 
 choo ' ; may each be recommended as first-rate 
 books of travel, — and are all within reach by sub- 
 scribers to any ordinary library, while some of them 
 are published in a very cheap form. I forbear to 
 mention volumes which are less accessible ; but if I 
 appeal to any young working man whose mental 
 appetite is fully set on edge, he will do as I did 
 when younger — seize on every volume of travels and 
 voyages that comes in his way, be it modern or out 
 of date ; and he will never find his time lost in 
 reading it ; for every such volume will extend his 
 knowledge of the world and of man. 
 
 So many books of this description have been 
 published since the foregoing sentences were written,
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN, 22/ 
 
 that I must forbear to mention any of them ; for, in 
 truth, I have found time to read but few of them. 
 
 Books which serve to create or direct a taste for 
 Art, should also be read by young working men, 
 whenever the opportunity offers. Among the works 
 which I remember most gratefully, as having assisted 
 me in this direction, when younger, are Lady 
 Morgan's ' Life of Salvator Rosa ' (one of the most 
 eloquently-written books in the language) ; Ben- 
 venuto Cellini's ' Memoirs ' (which Horace Walpole 
 said was more interesting than any novel) ; and 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds' ' Discourses ' (more abstruse 
 than either of the other two) ; and some descrip- 
 tions of the galleries in England by Hazlitt, in the 
 London Magazine. I know not whether Hazlitt's 
 sketches were ever collected in a volume : they were 
 among the most delightful things in the best 
 magazine, for original articles, ever published in 
 England ; — for Charles Lamb, Allan Cunningham, 
 Hazlitt, John Keats, John Clare, and others, were 
 contributors to the London, in its palmy days, — 
 and every number was hailed with eagerness ; 
 though Thomas Campbell was then editing the Neiv 
 Monthly, and Hogg, and ' Christopher North,' and 
 * Delta ' were rendering each number of Black- 
 word a rich literary treat. — I speak of threescore 
 years ago. 
 
 The works of Disraeli the elder — especially his 
 ' Curiosities of Literature,' ' Calamities of Authors,'
 
 228 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 and ' Quarrels of Authors,' — belong to the wholly 
 miscellaneous class of books ; but working men, 
 after making themselves acquainted with history 
 and general literature, should avail themselves of an 
 opportunity to read these valuable books. They 
 contain the fruit of the reading of years, by one of 
 the most diligent of readers ; and a variety of 
 information may be collected from them that it 
 would not, otherwise, be easy to obtain. 
 
 I shall only add a few words on another branch 
 of literature, and then conclude the present letter. 
 The most enlarged reading of history would be imper- 
 fect without biography. In fact, some biographies 
 are great treatises of history in themselves — such 
 are the ' Lives ' of Plutarch ; such is Middleton's 
 ' Life of Cicero,' and such are Mr. Forster's lives 
 of the English Commonwealth men, which I have 
 mentioned in a former paper. Any biography which 
 throws a light upon history will, therefore, be eagerly 
 read by the earnest student. But there is a distinct 
 class of biographies which lay open the workings of 
 the heart, and present the portraiture of their subject 
 in such life-like colours, that we seem to be in his 
 presence. Boswell's 'Life of Johnson ' stands first in 
 this class ; and I should be inclined to place Moore's 
 ' Life of Byron,' and Lockhart's ' Life of Scott,' 
 immediately after it. While our language affords 
 a few masterpieces of this class of writing, it is, 
 however, singularly deficient in earnestly-written lives
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 229 
 
 of Howard, Bernard Gilpin, Wicklifife, Sir Thomas 
 More, Sir Walter Raleigh, Daniel Defoe, Locke, Sir 
 Isaac Newton, Lord Bacon, Milton, Sir William 
 Jones, and some other of the greatest men our 
 country has produced. The PEOPLE'S BRITISH 
 Plutarch, in fact, has yet to be written. 
 
 Meanwhile such ' Lives ' as exist of these illus- 
 trious Englishmen should be diligently read by 
 young working men, whenever and wherever they 
 are within reach. Never mind the prejudiced colour- 
 ing which is thrown over some of these biographies. 
 Note deeply the facts : and draw your own conclusions 
 as to the consistency of any particular act related 
 by the biographer. I forbear to draw up a list of 
 biographies which, however imperfect, are the best 
 worth reading ; for I should be tempted to swell it 
 to a great length. To speak truth, I never thought 
 any biography that ever fell into my hands utterly 
 worthless, however ill-written. The idiosyncrasy 
 of each particular man presents something worth 
 studying, and treasuring up in the mind. And 
 if I had to be closed up again within four walls 
 for a year or two, and were to be told that I 
 could only be allowed to select my books from 
 one class of literature, — I should reject poetry, 
 philosophy, history, and language, — and name bio- 
 grapJiy. It is at once the most deeply instructive 
 and entertaining kind of literature in existence. 
 
 I propose directing your attention to some other
 
 230 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 branches of literature, in another paper. In the 
 meantime, do you read and think more earnestly 
 than ever — for the real joys of learning are only 
 tasted by the most earnest student. 
 
 Letter VII. 
 
 "Read, not to contradict and confute; nor to believe and 
 take for granted ; nor to find talk and discourse ; but to weigh 
 and consider." " The unlearned man knoweth not what it is 
 to descend into himself, and to call himself to account ; nor 
 the pleasure of that most pleasant life, which consists in our 
 daily feeling ourselves become better." — Bacon. 
 
 Men OF THE Future, — No language — not even 
 the glorious Greek — possesses a more magnificent 
 catalogue of the highest class of books — the books 
 of the wise — than our noble English tongue. I 
 presumed to urge on your zeal the necessity of 
 acquiring an elementary knowledge of science, lan- 
 guage, and history, in the outset of study, as your 
 first and most imperative work. In my last brief 
 letter, I mentioned a few books for occasional reading. 
 Let me now point you to the richest part of the 
 storehouse of English prose. I mean to those 
 writers who are evermore the companions of the 
 most highly educated and reflective minds — because 
 their wisdom is enshrined either in the fullest and 
 grandest periods, or it is conveyed with such winning 
 quaintness, as to charm the ear with music, while 
 the mind is won by intelligence.
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 23 1 
 
 Among these transcendent writers there is error 
 to be found, of course : you do not expect to find 
 the product of any human mind without it. The 
 subjects on which some of them treat may also seem 
 uninviting to some of you. But if a man be in 
 earnest in his search for wisdom, he will not confine 
 his reading to authors who, he is aware beforehand, 
 think as he thinks. And if we desire to know all 
 the richness of our language, our walk must be 
 taken into fields of literature, some of which are 
 neither popular nor utilitarian. 
 
 The great name affixed to the motto above must 
 be mentioned first in this list ; but I need not dwell 
 upon it, having already commended his book of 
 thought-gems — the ' Essays/ to your notice. Hooker 
 and Jeremy Taylor — both divines — claim the next 
 place. They are authors who have carried the 
 harmony of the language to its perfection. But 
 how diverse their manner ? Note the stately march 
 of this passage of Hooker : 
 
 " But so it is, the name of the Light of Nature 
 is made hateful with men ; the Star of Reason and 
 Learning, and all other such like helps, beginneth 
 no otherwise to be thought of, than if it were an 
 unlucky comet ; or as if God had so accursed it, 
 that it should never shine or give light in things 
 concerning our duty in any way towards Him, but 
 be esteemed as that star in the Revelation, called 
 Wormwood, which, being fallen from heaven, maketh
 
 232 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 rivers and waters in which it falleth so bitter, that 
 men tasting them die thereof. A number there are 
 who think they cannot admire as they ought the 
 power and authority of the word of God, if in things 
 divine they should attribute any force to man's 
 reason ; for which cause they never use reason so 
 willingly as to disgrace reason. Their usual and 
 common discourses are unto this effect. First, ' The 
 natural man perceiveth not the things of the Spirit 
 of God, for they are foolishness unto him ; neither 
 can he know them, because they are spiritually 
 discerned.' By these, and the like disputes, an 
 opinion hath spread itself very far in the world ; 
 as if the way to be ripe in faith were to be raw 
 in wit and judgment ; as if reason were an enemy 
 to religion, childish simplicity the mother of ghostly 
 and divine wisdom ! " 
 
 And then — the unsurpassable sweetness of these 
 passages of Jeremy Taylor : 
 
 *' It is a mighty change that is made by the death 
 of every person, and it is visible to us who are alive. 
 Reckon but from the spritefulness of youth, the fair 
 cheeks and the full eyes of childhood, from the 
 vigorousness and strong flexure of the joints of 
 five-and-twenty, to the hoUowness and dead pale- 
 ness, to the loathsomeness and horror of a three- 
 day's burial, and we shall perceive the distance to 
 be very great and very strange. But so I have seen 
 a Rose newly springing from the clefts of its hood
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 233 
 
 and at first it was fair as the morning, and full with 
 the dew of heaven, as a lamb's-fleece : but when a 
 ruder breath had forced open its virgin modesty, 
 and dismantled its too youthful and unripe retire- 
 ments, it began to put on darkness, and to decline 
 to softness, and the symptoms of a sickly age ; it 
 bowed the head, and broke its stalk, and at night 
 having lost some of its leaves, and all its beauty, 
 it fell into the portion of weeds and worn-out 
 faces." 
 
 " As when the sun approaching towards the gates 
 of the morning, he first opens a little eye of heaven, 
 and sends away the spirits of darkness, and gives 
 light to a cock, and calls up the lark to matins, and 
 by-and-by gilds the fringes of a cloud, and peeps 
 over the eastern hills, thrusting out his golden horns, 
 like those which bedecked the brows of Moses when 
 he was forced to wear a veil, because himself had 
 seen the face of God ; and still while a man tells 
 the story, the sun gets up higher, till he shows a 
 fair face and a full light, and then he shines one 
 whole day, under a cloud often, and sometimes 
 weeping great and little showers, and sets quickly — 
 so is a man's reason and life." 
 
 Fragments like these may suffice to show any 
 reader of taste that if he would learn where the 
 wealth of our language is to be found, he must not 
 look for it in the slipshod writing of to-day ; but 
 must search for it in such unfashionable volumes
 
 234 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 as the ' Ecclesiastical Polity,' and the * Holy Living 
 and Dying.' 
 
 Sir Thomas Browne is another of these deeply 
 reflecting and yet richly-ornamental writers. Some 
 of our every-day authors have not as much thought 
 in an entire volume as he has in a page. What 
 grandeur of expression as well as depth of reflection 
 there is in this extract : 
 
 " A great part of antiquity contented their hopes 
 of subsistency with a transmigration of their souls — 
 a good way to continue their memories, while, having 
 the advantage of plural successions, they could not 
 but act something remarkable in such a variety of 
 beings ; and, enjoying the fame of their past selves, 
 make accumulation of glory unto their last durations. 
 Others, rather than be lost in the uncomfortable 
 night of nothing, were content to recede into the 
 common being, and make one particle of the public 
 soul of all things, which was no more than to return 
 into their unknown and divine original again. 
 Egyptian ingenuity was more unsatisfied, contriving 
 their bodies in sweet consistencies to attend the 
 return of their souls. But all was vanity, feeding 
 the wind, and folly. The Egyptian mummies, which 
 Cambyses or time hath spared, avarice now con- 
 sumeth. Mummy is become merchandise ; Mizraim 
 cures wounds, and Pharaoh is sold for balsams." 
 
 Our glorious Milton's prose often equals the most 
 superb passages in these four writers ; and some
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 235 
 
 paragraphs in Sir Walter Raleigh's ' History of the 
 World ' are nearly as majestic in style. Their 
 music, but more often their sententiousness and 
 pregnancy of meaning, is resembled in Owen Felt- 
 ham's * Resolves,' in Bishop Hall, and quaint Thomas 
 Fuller. 
 
 In my humble opinion, we have but two living 
 prose writers who will be placed by posterity in the 
 highest class of useful and majestic thinkers : Thomas 
 Carlyle, and Walter Savage Landor. Many exam- 
 ples of excellence might be selected especially from 
 the 'Sartor Resartus' of Mr. Carlyle ; but I forbear. 
 Mr, Landor's name is less popular ; but his learning 
 is richer, his taste infinitely more polished, and his 
 mind not less powerful, than Mr. Carlyle's. There 
 is not nobler eloquence in the whole compass of the 
 language, than that contained in the following brief 
 extract from the ' Imaginary Conversations.' The 
 dialogue is between Kosciusko, the great Polish 
 patriot, and Poniatowski, the favourite Polish general 
 of Napoleon, who was drowned in the escape from 
 Dresden : the conversation is supposed to take 
 place during Kosciusko's exile. 
 
 " K. — 'We hear many complaints of princes and 
 of fortune ; but believe me, Poniatowski, there never 
 was a good or generous action that met with much 
 ingratitude. 
 
 " P. — Is it possible you can say so } you, to whom 
 no statues are erected, no hymns are sung in public
 
 236 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 processions ; you, who have no country, — and you 
 smile upon such injuries and such losses ! 
 
 " K. My friend, I have lost nothing : I have re- 
 ceived no injury. I am in the midst of our country 
 day and night. Absence is not of matter ; the body 
 does not make it. Absence is the invisible and 
 incorporeal mother of ideal beauty. Were I in 
 Poland, how many things are there which would 
 disturb and perhaps exasperate me ! — Here I can 
 think of her as of some departed soul, not yet 
 indeed clothed in light, not exempted from sorrow- 
 fulness, but divested of passion, removed from 
 tumult, and inviting to contemplation. She is 
 dearer to me because she reminds me that I have 
 performed my duty towards her. Permit me to go 
 on. I said that a good or generous action never 
 met with much ingratitude. I do not deny that 
 ingratitude may be very general ; but even if we 
 experience it from all quarters, there is still no 
 evidence of its weight or its intensity. We bear 
 upon our heads an immense column of air ; but 
 the nature of things has rendered us insensible of it 
 altogether. Have not we also a strength and a 
 support against what is equally external — the breath 
 of worthless men } Very far is that from being much 
 or great, which a single movement of self-esteem 
 tosses up and scatters. Slaves make out of bar- 
 barians a king or emperor ; the clumsiest hand can 
 fashion such misshapen images ; but the high and
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 2^ 
 
 discerning spirit spreads out its wings from preci- 
 pices, raises itself up slowly by great efforts, acquires 
 ease, velocity, and might, by elevation, and suns itself 
 in the smiles of its Creator." 
 
 Some of you will say — " You are again directing 
 us to books many of which are difficult to reach." 
 True : but let me tell you that I reached and read 
 many of them before I left the stall ; and that, too, 
 in an obscure and apparently unfavourable town like 
 Gainsborough, in Lincolnshire. Only be in earnest 
 about books — make keen and restless inquiries after 
 them — keep them clean when people lend them to 
 you (excuse my telling you that, for it is by no 
 means unimportant, you will find) — and return them 
 punctually — and you will have a wider and wealthier 
 circle of reading than, perhaps, you may have hoped 
 for. Do not scorn to borrow books, in order to get 
 knowledge. Look for the time when you shall have 
 it independently ; and plod on, unweariedly, — reap- 
 ing meanwhile a present reward in what you are 
 learning.
 
 XIII. 
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 
 
 [Second Series : selected from the ' Northern Tribune ' 
 0/1855.] 
 
 Letter I. 
 
 T COMMENCE a second series of familiar and 
 -*- friendly letters to you, my younger brethren, the 
 " Men of the Future," with a deep consciousness of my 
 own imperfections. But, if we all waited till we had 
 attained our ideal standard of mental and moral 
 excellence, before we attempted to incite others to 
 commence the struggle for attainment, the world 
 would progress but slowly. However broken and 
 imperfect may be the utterance of mind to mind, 
 yet a few words of earnestness, from one who has 
 experienced the combat with difficulty, may have 
 their fruition in stirring up some to diligence with 
 that faith — together with the encouraging remem- 
 brance that my former Letters drew forth acknow- 
 ledgments of benefit written and spoken, from many 
 scores of young working men — I again venture to 
 address you. The last day of 1854 found me en-
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 239 
 
 gaged in endeavouring to impress a number of young 
 working men in London with a conviction of the 
 Value and Right Use of Time ; and this first letter 
 will take its tone, and in part, its expression, from 
 the state of mind, in which I then spoke. 
 
 It seems to me that we are too neglectful of some 
 particular times that might be turned to practical 
 benefit. In the fall of the leaf, in the bareness and 
 outward death of winter, in the return of the flowers 
 and songs of spring, and in the glory and refulgence 
 of summer, we can all find a common lesson. Man 
 is a part of the great system of Nature. His birth 
 and childhood, his youth and manhood, his old age 
 and death, have all their resemblances in the outward 
 growth and decay of things around him. They 
 remind him of his own little life, its changes, its 
 shortness and uncertainty, and its end. And a man 
 must be strangely devoid of reflection who does not 
 ask himself at the close of a year — "How have I 
 spent the year which is now ending ? Shall I live 
 through the next year.? And, if so, how shall I 
 deport myself, as I proceed with the pilgrimage I 
 have to make through life ? " 
 
 Scarcely any of us, old or young, are without such 
 thoughts. The worst of it is that, in the majority 
 of cases, these are but passing thoughts : thoughts 
 soon dissipated, and only raised naturally in the 
 ^ind by the recurrence of the saying, " The last day 
 in the old year is come again ! "—or, by the change
 
 240 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 of the figures 1853 to 1854, or 1854 to 1855. 
 They are not thoughts that dwell in the mind, and 
 deepen there, and take the healthful form of reflec- 
 tion. Reflection : the only inward process by which 
 the mind can be raised and strengthened, the heart 
 corrected and improved. You may surround a man 
 with outward circumstances that will have a powerful 
 effect in ameliorating his character. On the cha- 
 racter of a child outward circumstances are almost 
 all-powerful. You may mould a child almost as you 
 please, if you thoughtfully study its organization. 
 It is the " creature of circumstance " : that is to say, 
 of education directed to its organization. And the 
 upgrown man is still the " creature of circumstance " ; 
 but now the phrase (which is strictly philosophical) 
 has a more compound meaning. Man's moral, as 
 well as his intellectual, nature and power are now 
 developed. Education — that is to say, the institu- 
 tions, customs, and practices of society (for it is 
 education all the way through with us : our education 
 is not consummated by our having learnt to read 
 and write, at school : educo — to lead out of, to lead 
 on : we are led on, educated, by the entire expe- 
 rience of life) — acting upon our original constitution, 
 and knowledge. And, now, from knowledge, educa- 
 tion, and organization, is evolved a moral power, 
 which has its spring or commencement in the act 
 of reflection. 
 
 What is Reflection — does any one ask } Think-
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 24I 
 
 ing — thinking — thinking, until, from all the stores 
 of our knowledge and experience, we collect motives, 
 present them to the mind, keep them before it so 
 as to create, resolve, and act upon it ; and still 
 keep them before it, so that our resolve may be 
 strengthened, and our action continued. I know 
 not in what better way to define reflection. There 
 are processes of the mind which partake of the 
 nature of reflection without amounting to it, in the 
 value and effective sense of the word. Thus a man 
 may call up his past experience, and please or 
 sadden himself by looking at it, as he would by 
 looking on an old portrait of himself ; but if he 
 collect no motives and form no resolves for action, 
 while doing this he has only been mnshig : he has 
 not been reflecting in the full and proper sense of 
 the word. Again, a man may not only recall the 
 experience of the past, but throw forward his imagi- 
 nation into the future : he may say to himself — ' Ah, 
 when I was in such and such circumstances, I did 
 so and so ? If the like circumstances recur this 
 coming year, I wonder how I shall act } And if 
 entirely new circumstances occur, I wonder how I 
 shall act, and what the result will be .-" 
 
 Well, but this is only reverie : it is not reflection, 
 in the worthy and potential sense of the word. Re- 
 flection is thinking and thinking on, till motives 
 grow into giants and compel the will, resolve is 
 formed, strengthened, rendered unsubduable, and 
 
 16
 
 242 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 action — decided and continuous action — is produced. 
 Reflection is the grand mental lever by which a 
 man's own character is raised and purified, so as to 
 render him consciously more noble to himself, to 
 make him more instrumental of good to all living 
 around him, and, perhaps, to future generations. 
 Without reflection a man is characterless, save that 
 you call him the mere creature of impulse, and then 
 you have no dependence on him : he may start off 
 and run a race against nothing and nobody to the 
 north, when you are employing all the cogency of 
 reason, and arguing till you sweat, to persuade him 
 that it will be for his unspeakable felicity to go south. 
 But a reflecting man is a man of character, and you 
 know where to have him when you are talking to 
 him : he does not go by fits and starts, like the 
 creature of impulse : he has a line of action regu- 
 lated by reason : and he is always valuable as a 
 friend, or an ally in any undertaking, because when 
 you have once won him you are likely to keep him, 
 so long as you act truthfully. 
 
 May I hope that you are men of reflection, and 
 that the very youngest among you come in some 
 degree under that designation .? Then, you will 
 appreciate the object I have in view. I aim not 
 only to persuade you that Time is valuable, but that 
 the time which remains to each of you — even if 
 some of you l>ave already spent the greater part of 
 your lives — is of more value to you than the time
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 243 
 
 3'ou have already lived ; and, therefore ought to be 
 spent with more intelligent husbandry. If I may 
 illustrate the value of Time by the value of money, 
 I would ask you, which is now of the most value to 
 you, the money, be it ever so little, you have in 
 your pocket now, together with the money you 
 expect to earn next week, — or the money you have 
 already spent in the course of life ? Why, if you 
 have spent hundreds, nay thousands, it is all of less 
 value to you (unless it have secured some beneficial 
 result as interest, or in any other form), than a 
 single sixpence you may now possess, or a single 
 pound you expect to earn next week. The past is 
 gone and spent : you cannot recover it, by a wish, 
 to spend over again. It is so with Time : it is so 
 with human life. The last day of 1854 will never 
 return : that hour to which the clock last pointed 
 can never be recalled. Thus every remaining day 
 and hour becomes of increased value and importance- 
 to us. 
 
 I do not mean anything so foolish as that we are 
 never to recall the past — never to heave a sigh that 
 we have misspent it. That is utterly impossible 
 with a reflecting mind : and it is reflection that I 
 am enforcing. I only wish to im.press on your 
 minds and my own, a thorough conviction that all 
 remembrance of the past is valueless to us, unless it 
 aids us to make improvement in the future. The 
 man who has wasted a fortune, and only idly
 
 244 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 deplores it, whimpers, and tells us if he had his 
 chance to come over again he would do better, is 
 but a foolish fellow, and disproves his own words by 
 his idleness. He should be doing better now, to 
 make us believe him, 
 
 ' Remember that time is money,' says Franklin — 
 and his saying has, doubtless, laid the foundation of 
 many a man's fortune — ' Remember that time is 
 money.' Most true : and we may follow out his 
 idea, and give it more elevated meanings. Remember 
 that time is Knowledge — that Time is Truth — that 
 Time is Character — that Time is Power — that Time 
 is Usefulness — that Time is Happiness. All this is 
 equally as true as that Time is Money. Time is 
 7iot money, if a man loses the time in which he 
 might have got it : it is only money lost. Time is 
 Money to the man who uses time to get it. And, 
 in the same sense. Time is Knowledge, Truth, Cha- 
 racter, Power, Usefulness, and Happiness. And 
 these, my brothers, are the right and noble uses of 
 Time. 
 
 Letter H. 
 
 I. The Right Use of Time is to get Knowledge. 
 You must begin there. You can neither have 
 Truth, nor Character, nor Power, nor Usefulness, nor 
 Happiness (in the elevated sense) without Know- 
 ledge. What says that ancient Eastern man, in
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 245 
 
 the Book of Proverbs ? They say it was King 
 Solomon ; but the highest name could not give 
 value to the words : for beauty and sense they excel 
 many men's words as much as a child's penny 
 necklace is transcended in value by a string of 
 oriental pearls. 
 
 " Happy is the man that findeth wisdom, and the 
 man that findeth understanding. For the merchan- 
 dise of it is better than the merchandise of silver, 
 and the gain thereof than fine gold. She is more 
 precious than rubies ; and all the things thou canst 
 desire are not to be compared unto her. Her ways 
 are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are 
 peace. Wisdom is the principal thing : therefore 
 get wisdom, and with all thy getting get understand- 
 ing. Exalt her, and she shall promote thee : she 
 will bring thee to honour when thou dost embrace 
 her. She will give to thine head an ornament of 
 grace : a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee." 
 
 This is not spoken of any restricted and particular 
 kind of wisdom ; but, of all true wisdom — of all know- 
 ledge which enlightens and enlarges and purifies the 
 mind. And that knowledge deserves this eulogium 
 you may easily satisfy yourselves. Compare an 
 ignorant and illiterate man with one whose powers 
 and capabilities are stored and cultivated, and you 
 see how vast is the superiority of the one to the 
 other. How low, how grovelling are the tastes and 
 desires of the man whose mind has never been
 
 246 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 opened by culture ! How rude are his amusements, 
 and sometimes, how brutal ! What narrow and 
 confined notions he has of things — what a blank the 
 great Book of Nature, with all its beauty, appears 
 to him ! True, such a man is often far more to be 
 pitied than blamed. His " betters " have taken no 
 care of him. They did not desire to see him get 
 knowledge, and become a man worthy of the name. 
 
 But what then .'' Shall we succumb beneath our 
 disadvantages, and be crushed into indolence and 
 helplessness by the faulty arrangements of Society ? 
 That would be to revenge ourselves upon ourselves. 
 If a working man refuses to educate himself, because 
 he has been unfairly dealt with, he himself must 
 suffer the chief loss. No : there is a nobler thought 
 than that : it is to resolve to conquer difficulties, and 
 to remember that our conquest will be all the grander 
 because our difficulties were so great. What is the 
 value of that boast on the part of that " well-born " 
 young man, who was cradled in silk and pillowed 
 on velvet, — who was instructed in grammar and 
 languages, in the history of nations, and the laws 
 and triumphs of science, from his childhood, — who 
 had well-paid masters to wait upon him and smooth 
 every difficulty in his path, — to guide him over the 
 stepping-stones without wetting his feet, and over 
 the flints without cutting his toes, — who was 
 "crammed" and pushed early into a University, cheered 
 forward in the acquirement of learned honours, and
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 247 
 
 who had wealth to purchase a grand library, and to 
 surround himself with the best books in profusion, — 
 what is the value of his boast compared with the 
 real honour due to those who have won a name in 
 the history and literature of their country, in spite 
 of poverty and want, of hardship and neglect ? 
 
 How did they do it ? By remembering that the 
 first and most necessary use of Time was to get 
 knowledge. None of them could command large 
 leisure, any more than yourselves. They had to 
 earn their daily bread by the sweat of their brow 
 and the labour of their hands, in the outset of life, 
 like yourselves. I need not remind you of names. 
 I have often done so, until I fear to weary you with 
 them. Recall them, for yourselves ; and remember 
 that these distinguished labourers might have said — 
 what some of you may be tempted to say — " I 
 have not time : I must give it up : I shall never 
 be able to make anything out ! " But they were 
 neither mental cowards, nor mental idlers. They 
 reflected, they gathered motives, they resolved — and 
 they worked and won ! Above all, they were 
 economists of Time. They did not waste it. They 
 perceived how precious every spare five minutes was 
 in value. It is this that you, my brothers, should 
 remember. You have no leisure days — except your 
 Sundays — to build upon in your calculations for 
 making acquirements. You may have very few 
 leisure hours in the week. But how many minutes
 
 248 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 have you ? How many in the morning — how 
 many at noon — how many in the evening ? How 
 many do you waste on idle and useless — and, 
 perhaps, worse than useless — conversation ? How 
 many in unnecessary sleep ? What say you ? " We 
 must take care of our health." Then will you have 
 health and ignorance — or sacrifice a little health 
 now, and get knowledge ? Now, I say ; for it is 
 now that you can safely forego a measure of sleep ; 
 you cannot so safely forego it when you become 
 older. How much time do you waste in dancing } 
 I must again — and in spite of the charge of, "Puritan 
 ism " — bear my testimony against that consumption 
 of precious time in frivolity. I do not say it is 
 wrong — I believe it to be right — that on some 
 festive occasions you enjoy a dance ; it is against 
 this dancing — dancing — dancing, every week, and 
 many evenings of a week, that I protest. You may 
 dance all your brains down into your heels ; but you 
 will not be the wiser for that. How much time — 
 I must speak out and reiterate my speaking so long 
 as the accursed evil lasts — how much Time do you 
 waste — do you murder, I mean — in the shuffling 
 about of those dirty bits of pasteboard with the 
 black and red marks upon them } Never touch these 
 " Devil's books," as a good old Methodist used to 
 call them when I was a bOy, — never touch them ; 
 never be entangled in their sottish seductions, and in 
 all the petty wrangling and spite — or, otherwise, the
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 249 
 
 empty and silly laughter — that card-playing creates. 
 It is an employment for knaves or idiots — but not 
 for you. " We must have relaxation ! " do you say .'' 
 I am ashamed to hear young men talk about it. 
 They are, many of them, so relaxed already that 
 one may expect to see the next generation become 
 a race of very effeminate creatures, if the same 
 example goes on. Relaxation ! Rest ! Think of 
 work — of brain-work — if you mean to get Know- 
 ledge. 
 
 Will you make the year 1855 a year of solid 
 acquirements .'' Get a blank book ready, and make 
 your entries in it — first of your resolves, and then of 
 your progress. Be faithful with yourselves. Write 
 it down when you relapse into negligence, and again 
 resolve ; and not only resolve, but do better. Divide 
 your time, be it ever so scanty. Whatever you 
 resolve to do, be methodical in doing it, if you mean 
 to do anything well. Method — 'method, is half the 
 battle. Begin, too, at the beginning. If you deter- 
 mine to learn a language, get hold of the grammar 
 first. Trust to no ' Hamiltonian ' systems for a 
 foundation. Translated lessons will be a grand help 
 to you when you have laid your foundation in a 
 knowledge of the grammar ; but if you attempt to 
 learn a language without first learning the grammar, 
 you will never be more than a smatterer, and be 
 ever finding that you ought to begin over again. 
 So, with the mathematics ; get your Euclid, and
 
 250 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Stick to him till you thoroughly understand the first 
 book : do not attempt to go further until you have 
 mastered that, though you may have to go through 
 it half-a-dozen times. I need not commend the 
 acquirement of a language to you. It will open to 
 you a new and delightful region of thought ; — not 
 to mention its practical advantages in unfolding the 
 meanings of words in your own tongue, if it be the 
 Latin you acquire ; — or in enabling you to talk a 
 living speech, or read it, if it be the French that you 
 master, or the German, or any other modern tongue. 
 To master the propositions of Geometry not only 
 familiarizes the mind of a man with mathematical 
 allusions which abound in books, and gives him an 
 acquaintance with great and scientific truths, but 
 schools him in the truest logic : a good acquaintance 
 with Euclid gives the mind a sounder discipline in 
 reasoning than all the treatises on Logic that may be 
 within reach. 
 
 Method should be observed in your endeavour to 
 acquire any other branch of Knowledge, if you mean 
 to acquire it solidly. In a science, the nomencla- 
 ture should be mastered. For instance, in Natural 
 History, or Zoology, the great net-work of divisions 
 into classes, orders, etc., should be mastered, so that 
 you may be able at once to assign an animal to the 
 "Pachydermata," the "Carnivora," the " Ruminantia," 
 the "Rodentia" — and so on. I need not commend 
 a knowledge of Zoology to you. Is there a more
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 25 I 
 
 delightful and healthful employment of the intellect 
 than in tracing the great plan of Nature in her 
 development of the varied faculties of living beings, 
 and their wondrous adaptations to their circum- 
 stances ? And Human History — that great register 
 of our race — how imperfect must a man's knowledge 
 of Man be who is unacquainted with what Men have 
 done and said and thought, during these thousands 
 of years, and in different climes ? The facts of 
 History are of course its most useful riches ; but 
 these cannot be stored up in the mind, so as to be 
 found when wanted, without Method. Some fami- 
 liar acquaintance with Chronology is necessary. I 
 do not mean that a voluminous chronological table 
 should be committed to memory, beginning with 
 " 4004 B.C. the world was created," and ending with 
 " November Sth A.D. 1854, the Battle of Inkermann 
 was fought." But the memory should be able, in a 
 moment, to recur to the dates of great events, and 
 to the grand eras which were formed by the contem- 
 porary existence of certain great men : the represen- 
 tative groups of human greatness. 
 
 I will not weary you with dwelling longer on this 
 head — for, already, I may be charged with repetition. 
 I will only say — Learn the alphabet, that you may 
 be able easily to spell : learn to spell that you may 
 be able easily and with delight to read, in the great 
 book of universal and useful Knowledge.
 
 252 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Letter III. 
 
 The right and noble uses of Time, I said, my 
 brothers, were to attain Knowledge, Truth, Character, 
 Power, Usefulness, and Happiness. With the 
 attainment of Knowledge I have dealt very imper- 
 fectly and briefly ; and yet I must be more brief in 
 the imperfect remarks I have to offer on what I have 
 suggested to be the other great uses of Time. 
 
 2. The right use of Time is to get hold of Truth. 
 You cannot reach Truth without first acquiring 
 Knowledge ; and you are not likely to reach it with- 
 out a good deal of Knowledge. They say Pope was 
 wrong when he said " A little learning is a dangerous 
 thing." But he was right — never poet was more 
 right, in the way in which he said it. He did not 
 mean that stolid and lumpish ignorance was prefer- 
 able to a little knowledge : he meant that a little 
 knowledge is a dangerous thing because, for want of 
 greater, it leads a man to imperfect and erroneous 
 conclusions. He knew that a totally ignorant man 
 may be compared to a totally blind man, who can 
 neither discern forms nor colours ; and a man with 
 a little knowledge to one who sees things under a 
 dim twilight, when neither forms nor colours can be 
 accurately distinguished, for an angular object may 
 appear rounded, and a bright red but a dull brown, 
 by a dim twilight ; while the man of large culture 
 and information may be compared to the man who
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 253 
 
 beholds objects in the broad light of noon, when 
 forms and shapes stand out in their symmetry and 
 due proportions, and colours wear their proper bril- 
 liancy and beauty. 
 
 An ignorant man usually remains in the mere 
 prejudices given him by those who had the earliest 
 care of him ; or he sees nothing, mentally, as it 
 really is. You ask him for his ideas of great truths ; 
 but how formless, how misshapen, how ^grotesque 
 and unsightly, are the responses to your questions ; 
 It is as if you were to resort to a quack-enchanter 
 who professed to " call up spirits from the vasty 
 deep," and, behold, when he has waved his wand for 
 the summoning forth of forms of awful stature and 
 surpassing grandeur and beauty — only owls and 
 bats obey his rod, and flutter before your disap- 
 pointed vision ! A man of little knowledge is, 
 usually, either a zealot and a bigot, — or he is an 
 intolerable bore, — or he is an overblown nuisance 
 of conceit and vanity. Some men who are called 
 " learned and able," are really men of little know- 
 ledge, and so become bigots. One pursuit, and that 
 a dull one, narrows the mind, until the man says 
 there is no worthy knowledge but that which he 
 pursues : every other path but his leads to vanity 
 and error, and his only leads to truth. How does 
 he know, when he has never tried any other road ? 
 Is it worth while to argue with such a man, unless 
 he will give up his premises — his bigotry, in plain
 
 254 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 language ? Again : a man by fondness for some 
 one pursuit may ignore the excellence and useful- 
 ness of all others. He may be really excellent in 
 his one pursuit ; but because he will insist on per- 
 petually and unseasonably introducing it, he becomes 
 what is so expressively called — a bore. Then there 
 is the Smatterer : the man who deprecates the stu- 
 pidity of confining yourself to one pursuit, and rest- 
 lessly attempts many ; but only flits, like a butterfly, 
 through the garden of Knowledge, resting nowhere 
 long enough and industriously, to gather ought worth 
 gathering. He knows so little of anything, that he 
 is not through the A. B.C. of anything ; and yet he 
 is all vanity and conceit and self-sufficiency. Truth ! 
 What does he know about it .'' " As much as a horse 
 knows of a new shilling," as they say in Yorkshire. 
 Yet, if you happen to express a doubt of his correct- 
 ness when he takes upon himself to " pronounce," he 
 will, very likely, give himself airs, and tell you " You 
 don't understand the subject." 
 
 " A little learning is a dangerous thing : 
 Drink deep — or taste not of the Pierian spring." 
 
 Drink deep : let your draughts of Knowledge be 
 copious. Get all the knowledge you can on all 
 subjects : get the clearest and most complete know- 
 ledge you can of every subject. That is the surest 
 mode of arriving at Truth. If Truth be hid in a 
 well, according to the old proverb, then it must be
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 255 
 
 the man who reaches to the bottom, and searches 
 most carefully, patiently, and perseveringly, who will 
 find her — must it not ? What right has a man to 
 pronounce positively on any subject, if he have not 
 all the data necessary to form an accurate judg- 
 ment ? Can a man pronounce justly on a question 
 of planetary revolutions, if he does not know that 
 the orbits of the planets are elliptical and not circu- 
 lar ? Can a man be expected to decide a difficult 
 question in chronology who scarcely knows whether 
 Oliver Cromwell lived before or after JuHus Caesar ? 
 Have I any right to pronounce on the value of a 
 man's character without knowing his antecedents ? 
 Has any man a right to sum up, or is he able to 
 sum up, a question of evidence, when he knows 
 scarcely anything of either the nature or rules of 
 evidence ? 
 
 Believe me, my brothers, you will find the man of 
 broad, solid, extensive culture to be often the least 
 positive of men on subjects which many people are 
 so positive about. On such matters he learns to 
 say with Socrates, " All that I know is, that 1 
 know nothing." While on some other subjects 
 which many hold to be full of holy and mysterious 
 Truth, though it is, according to their solemn con- 
 fession, incomprehensible, — he pronounces positively 
 "Where is your evidence ? " he asks. There is none. 
 " Then I deny your Truth — comprehensible or in- 
 comprehensible," he rejoins ; " where there is no
 
 256 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 evidence there can be no Truth, for there is — 
 nothing ! " 
 
 Since Truth cannot be had without evidence, the 
 value of large and complete knowledge becomes 
 more apparent. Yet I say not that we are always 
 to refuse our credence where our knowledge is 
 incomplete, because the evidence is necessarily 
 scanty ; and I must confess that I dislike to witness 
 a supercilious sneer at the masterly reasoner, Butler, 
 when in the famous " Analogy," he urges the fact 
 that we often have to credit only probable evidence ; 
 and maintains the wisdom of credence and of action 
 upon it, often when we have but a slight balance of 
 probability. 
 
 It may be deemed that I should have said less 
 about the difficulty of acquiring Truth, and have 
 directed my remarks chiefly to showing Truth's 
 value. Nay : I have dwelt most strongly on what I 
 feel to be the necessary point : the absolute necessity 
 of earnest and complete search to obtain it. As for 
 its value, I need not be "so superfluous" as to spend 
 many words in ptoclaiming it — since all men profess 
 either to have it, as do the majority of mankind ; or 
 to be most anxiously seeking for it, as do the little 
 minority. I need not sound the praise of what all 
 men declare — or nearly all men — that they have 
 found, and that they assert, trumpet-tongued, to be 
 the most valuable possession they have. I only say 
 — get it, even at the cost of hours, months, and
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 257 
 
 years of laborious search. Get it because it is the 
 only healthful food on which the mind can grow and 
 flourish. If a man were shown that his physical 
 food were mixed with slow poison, and that, if he 
 persisted in taking it, his eyesight would fail, his 
 limbs shrink and be crippled, and his whole life soon 
 come to a close, would he not be reckoned either a 
 criminal or a lunatic ? Can a milder judgment be 
 passed on the man who is indifferent about being 
 nourished mentally by the pure and salutary food of 
 Truth, and is content to be poisoned with Error .-' 
 
 3. The right use of Time is to acquire Character. 
 We must obtain knowledge to get hold of Truth ; 
 and we must get hold of truth, that it may take 
 hold of us. Tell us not of a man's knowledge, if it 
 does not lead him to grasp at truth : talk not of 
 his seizure of truth, if he does not maintain it with 
 his tongue and embody it in his character, so as to 
 become, most unmistakably and thoroughly, a truthful 
 man. It is not a right and earnest use of time, it 
 is but amusing ourselves, to search into truths as 
 mere speculations : we must maintain and exemplify 
 the truths. I don't mean scientific truths, such as 
 gravitation or attraction. Gravity is independent of 
 our volition ; and we can no more increase or de- 
 stroy the gravity of a single particle of matter than 
 we can add a cubit to our stature, or take one 
 away from it. 
 
 But we can maintain intellectual and exemplify 
 
 17
 
 258 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 moral truths. Does a man discover that some 
 doctrine he had hitherto held in common with his so- 
 called " orthodox " friends is unfounded on evidence .'' 
 Is that his clear conviction, after large, patient, 
 and persevering search ? Let him say it out, man- 
 fully — but courteously ; and not seek to curry favour 
 with his orthodox friends. Does a man dread con- 
 siderable detriment to his circumstances if he speaks 
 out manfully } I would rather he spoke out under 
 any circumstances, so that truth could be advantaged ; 
 but, under no circumstances can he commit himself 
 to a palpable denial of truth and maintenance of 
 falsehood, and retain character. He will lose it, even 
 in the eyes of those whom he thus meanly seeks to 
 please. They will inwardly despise him, while they 
 admit him to the diluted radiance of a moonbeam 
 smile. Character is never solidly reputable, it wins 
 no true respect, unless it be of a piece with a man's 
 professed convictions. No man acquires a character 
 worth having who professes to believe certain truths, 
 and to regard the efficacy of moral rules, and who 
 yet lives in the daily and open violation of them. 
 
 I do not say that many men act up to their full 
 convictions concerning moral conduct, at all times, 
 in all places, and under all circumstances. There 
 was one who was in earnest for moral purity, if ever 
 man was ; and yet we find him exclaiming, " Oh, 
 wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from 
 the body of this death ? " And he had before said,
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 259 
 
 " When I would do good, evil is present with me." 
 Could that great truthful heart and soul have more 
 plainly confessed his sense of the struggle it takes 
 to attain and preserve moral purity ? Depend upon 
 it, the man who says he never falls, is either never 
 tempted or tried, or he is ignorant of his own 
 nature ; or, what is worse, a hypocrite. The lines of 
 Thomas Moore assert a severe truth respecting the 
 pretender to moral perfection : 
 
 " Vain was the man, and false as vain, 
 Who said — were he ordained to run 
 His long career of life again, 
 
 He would do all that he had done." 
 
 Let us remember, however, that though immacu- 
 late perfection of moral character is not to be attained, 
 the right use of Life is to preserve our rectitude 
 as uniformly as possible. Close reflection and self- 
 examination as to the motives on which we speak 
 and act, and a faithful and oft-repeated lessoning of 
 ourselves on rectitude, will help us to preserve it. 
 And it is a great advantage of our being creatures of 
 habit, that the more constantly we endeavour to act 
 up to our convictions of moral rectitude, the more 
 deeply rooted will be our attachment to it, the keener 
 our self-condemnation when we fall into error ; and 
 by that very sensitiveness our likelihood to err be- 
 comes less. 
 
 Let not what has been said of the value of con- 
 sistency of character — of the necessity of a man's
 
 26o THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 character being of a piece with his professed con- 
 victions—lead you into the error of some weak 
 people who make a bugbear of consistency. " I must 
 do so and so," say they ; " it is contrary to what I 
 have hitherto done. The folks will say I am always 
 changing ! " What of that — if you change for the 
 better ? If you become sensible that you have been 
 going wrong, will you not have indescribable satis- 
 faction in beginning to go right ; and will it not 
 be a joyful song to sing aloud that you know it > 
 Above all things, my brothers, abhor the false pride 
 of " consistency " which refuses to make an apology 
 when you have erred, lest it should render you little 
 and weak in the eyes of your friends, and give your 
 foes a lucky opportunity to sneer at you, and 
 triumph over you. Remember, that the man who is 
 brave enough to make an apology shows that he is 
 conscious of having some worth of character to fall 
 back upon, however humblingly his apology may 
 seem to lessen him. And, after all, it is a mistake 
 to suppose that the making of an apology for an 
 error or an offence will lessen us — except with those 
 whose censure is more desirable than their praise : 
 the candid, the virtuous, and the wise will esteem it 
 a mark of the brightest sincerity in us. 
 
 In one word, character must be true to be wise, 
 must be good to be great. What a soil it is on the 
 image of some of our brightest intellectual men, that 
 they were neither true nor good men ! How we
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 261 
 
 ache with shame before the political scoundrelism 
 of Bolingbroke ! — how the heart bleeds at the re- 
 membrance of the meanness of Bacon ! We feel 
 as if it would be an unspeakable relief could we 
 annihilate the bad facts in the life of each — that it 
 would cleanse high intellect from the stain of an 
 unnatural slander — that it would doubly enthronize 
 Genius, and render it ail-unquestionably worthy of 
 our willing worship. 
 
 Letter IV. 
 
 4. The right Use of Time is to gain power. I 
 have said that we should gain knowledge in order 
 to gain truth, and truth that we may gain character ; 
 and I add, that we should gain character that we 
 may gain power. " Power ! " some may object, on 
 first thought ; " do you mean to say tJiat is a right 
 use of Time ? " Yes. Pray, who and what is a 
 powerless man ? Nothing : nobody. What are the 
 working classes politically .'' Nothing : nobody. 
 They had no votes till lately. What is a penniless 
 beggar in a company of capitalists ? Nothing : no- 
 body. He has no gift of speech : no power in his 
 tongue. What is a paralytic where a stone many 
 tons' weight has to be raised by levers .-' Nothing : 
 nobody. He had no nervous force : no power, in 
 his limbs. 
 
 Now a man without the power resulting from
 
 262 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 character may be compared to any of these. It is 
 lamentably true that power may be won without 
 character. But I speak not of the power which 
 enables a man, however vile, to trample on the 
 rights and freedom of others — of " imperial " power, 
 and a throne, which may be gained by wading 
 through a pool of blood wantonly and ferociously 
 shed from the hearts of the innocent and un- 
 offending ! I speak of moral influence which is the 
 most precious of all power — power par excellence — 
 for it enables a man to banish evil, and thus bless 
 the world ; instead of bruising it, and blighting its 
 fairest fruits — like the Man of the coup d'etat. 
 The power that we need is not to be obtained by 
 force, nor will it consist in force ; but in earnestness 
 of advocacy and energy and persistency of per- 
 suasion, backed up by character and example. We 
 can remove no evils without power ; and the world 
 is crowded with them. A man is not to be blamed 
 for acquiring power ; but for making a bad use of 
 it. Pray, how is the wrong in the world to be 
 remedied, unless men get power to remove it } 
 
 " Oh, never fear ! the world progresses : Truth 
 will spread, and set all right at last ! " Why, what 
 are you talking about } That rhapsodical and idle 
 talk is ridiculous. How is the Truth to spread .<* 
 Where is it to spread } Upon the rocks and moun- 
 tains .-* Among the flowers, and over all the trees } 
 On the billows of the ocean } Or is it to perco-
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN, 263 
 
 late through the shells and pebbles and sands of the 
 sea-shore ? Man, it must sink into our heads and 
 hearts, to chase away evil ! Truth itself is but an 
 attribute ! it must be truthful men that must set 
 the world right. We must not wait for the fulfil- 
 ment of that silly dream of Truth, as a kind of 
 imaginary and invisible goddess, flying about the 
 world, setting all right by a sort of incomprehen- 
 sible necromancy, and bringing with it the Millennium. 
 The great regeneration, the entire redemption from 
 error, of all mankind, must be brought about by 
 the men who have already grasped truth. They 
 who have the truth miust win a power to spread 
 truth : it never will be spread, except by and from 
 the Few to the Many. 
 
 Do not be deterred, by the clamours of those 
 who are interested in preserving error, from trying 
 to have your own way in spreading truth. Some 
 people find fault with a man for determination in 
 trying to have his own way. But there is not a 
 better quality than that in a man, if he thinks his 
 own way right, — if he feels convinced by deep re- 
 flection that his own way is right. A man should 
 be resolved to bite a piece of iron in two, rather than 
 fail in having his own way, if he be solidly con- 
 vinced that his own way is right. It is not your 
 silken-tongued, easy-going, creeping-in-slippers people 
 that succeed in spreading Truth : it is the earnest 
 men.
 
 264 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Truth, as yet, is a dweller in corners and obscure 
 and out-of-the-way places. Her advocates are 
 mean in worldly rank, and are scorned and perse- 
 cuted by the great *' respectable " world. She must 
 be brought out and set in the high places ; and 
 we must win power, influence, moral authority ; in 
 order that we may place her in a commanding and 
 attractive position, that all men may see and 
 worship her. 
 
 5. The right Use of Time is to attain Useful- 
 ness. This is the proper issue of Power : we ought 
 to gain it that wc may be useful. Truth will never 
 spring out of the earth full-armed, like Minerva 
 from the brain of Jupiter, and bend men to her 
 sway. I repeat, it is truthful men that must spread 
 Truth. Every disciple of Truth must become a 
 missionary, and must be useful and helpful to his 
 fellows. If a man could acquire all the knowledge 
 in the world, and not communicate it to others, he 
 would only live for himself, and be a great dumb 
 monument of selfishness. The leanest horse that 
 drags a cab in the streets of London, the sorriest cur 
 of a dog that guards a house, would be of more 
 real use to mankind than that hugely-knowing, 
 selfish man. They say that Humboldt — who lived 
 to an illustrious old age in Germany — embraced the 
 whole circle of existent knowledge in his mind : he 
 was the great living example of universal knowledge. 
 His was a monarchy grander and richer than would
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 265 
 
 be that of all the kingdoms of the earth united ! 
 But, it might have been a barren sceptre, had he 
 not given to the world his ' Cosmos,' and other great 
 works, and aided in various ways the furtherance of 
 science. 
 
 Whatever acquirements a man makes he misses 
 the main purpose of life, if he be not useful. They 
 who shun exertion are no friends to their species. 
 How is the wrong in the world — its huge pesti- 
 lence-breeding heaps of ignorance and error — to be 
 swept away, if all shrink from the labour, and 
 refuse to lay hold of the besom of reform ? Would 
 you have the world become such an Augean stable 
 that no moral Hercules could ever be able to 
 cleanse it .-' It would have become so already had 
 it not been for the great moral and intellectual 
 workers who have appeared in different ages. They 
 had to tuck up their sleeves, and labour in the mud 
 of ignorance and mire of error, often scarcely able 
 to see their way clearly. And ev^er and anon the 
 old priests and lovers of the moral muck would 
 come out and raise a hubbub, and cry, " Let it 
 alone, you sacriligious desecrator of the sacred 
 dirt ! " — " Ay, ay, let it alone, we are as happy in it 
 as pigs ! " the deluded multitude would echo. And 
 then some would seize the Reformer's besom, and 
 knock it about his ears, and trample him down in 
 the mire, and, perhaps, leave him lifeless there. So 
 they dealt with many " of whom the world was not
 
 266 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 worthy." Oh, if it had not been for these — " the 
 noble army of martyrs " — the world would have 
 become one great dunghill of ignorance and error, 
 of crime and suffering, by this time ! My brothers, 
 let grateful love for the noble memories of those 
 who have made our way clearer and freer than was 
 their own impel us to labour. Much — incalculably 
 much — remains yet to be done ; and there is 
 imperative need of earnest workers. 
 
 One fault of some of the honest labourers in the 
 past should be avoided. They did not all do their 
 work well. They swept up the dirt of Error into 
 little heaps, and left it ; thinking others would cart 
 it away when better times came. But behold, the 
 wind of adverse opinion and interest blew the dust 
 about again ; and then all had to be done over 
 again ! Do not let us imitate the timidity of some 
 of the early labourers : let us do our work entirely. 
 
 Above all things let us avoid another error. Do 
 not let us spend life in sweeping where it is already 
 clean, nor of throwing the dirt of error into clean 
 places. Let us go thoughtfully and carefully to work. 
 The less fuss we make the better : pretension is not 
 work, remember. While professing to act for use- 
 fulness, let us take care that we are useful. If some 
 who are not of our party are combating an error 
 manfully, and doing the work of true men, let us 
 beware how we molest them by either word or act. 
 Let them do their work, and let us mind ours. Far
 
 LETTERS TO YOUNG WORKING MEN. 26/ 
 
 be it from us to asperse a man who is doing the 
 work of a true man, because he is not exactly with 
 us, does not utter our Shibboleth, or differs from us 
 some hair's-breadth on a particular point. No error 
 is more common than this ; and you, my brethren, 
 will find it very difficult to keep out of it — so in- 
 fectious is this disease of party. But you must keep 
 out of it, if you mean to be really and uniformly 
 useful. 
 
 Finally, let us each set earnestly about what we 
 know we can do and ought immediately to do ; 
 about removing the evils which are at our doors ; not 
 about those which are at the North Pole, or under 
 Equinoctial Line ; about the evils which stare us in 
 the face, and seem to say, " Here are the wrongs you 
 can remedy ! These demand your labour for removal ! " 
 Every one of us can do something to make the 
 world better. There is no man so weak but among 
 the innumerable evils on every hand he can remove 
 one — if he himself be truthful and in earnest. 
 
 6. The right use of Time is to win Happiness. 
 That will be the fruit of Usefulness. But I am 
 not disposed to say much on this head. I would 
 only suggest to you the wisdom of entertaining 
 more moderated and correct ideas of human happi- 
 ness than prevail with some people. I cannot agree 
 with some that happiness should be made our 
 supreme care : at least, not in their Epicurean sense. 
 I hold that we should bend all our energy on doing
 
 268 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 our duty, and trust that real happiness will be the 
 fruit, but not live in a morbid state of craving for it. 
 " Are you happy ? " I know is a weak and effemi- 
 nate question often put to a man. The really manly 
 and sensible question would be, " Are you truthful, 
 are you useful, are you doing your duty both by 
 example and action .-' " Not pleasure — the vulgar 
 idea of happiness — but pain, suffering, loss, persecu- 
 tion, are, too often, the lot of the truthful and active 
 and useful man. But his suffering would be greater, 
 if he were false and indolent : his conscious degrada- 
 tion would then be intolerably torturous. 
 
 The great martyrs enjoyed a nobler and truer 
 happiness while they were being burnt at the stake 
 than they could have secured by recantation to 
 screen their lives and estates. They had — as indeed 
 all men have — to choose between two evils ; or, 
 rather, between unalloyed evil and evil mixed with 
 good ; and they wisely chose the latter. There is no 
 positive and unalloyed happiness for men on earth. 
 The highest, the purest, the most transcendent 
 happiness is to be obtained by getting Knowledge, 
 grasping and securing Truth, and attaining Character 
 and Power, and thereby exerting Usefulness. These, 
 my brothers, are the grand uses of Time. Let me 
 earnestly and affectionately press them on your 
 memory, your judgment, your resolution, your entire 
 and persevering adoption as the purposes, aims, and 
 ends of your remaining life.
 
 XTV. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 
 
 A PLAIN SERMON FOR POOR, PLAIN PEOPLE. 
 
 " I will arise and go to my Father." — LUKR xv. i8. 
 
 T TAKE the most thrilling words in the Parable of 
 -*- the Prodigal Son for a text ; but I mean that 
 we shall have the whole parable for our subject — 
 nay, the whole chapter. You all know how it 
 begins — for we all know the 15 th of Luke better 
 than any other chapter in the New Testament. 
 
 " Then drew near unto Him all the publicans and 
 sinners, for to hear Him. And the Pharisees and 
 Scribes murmured — murmured — saying. This man 
 receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." 
 
 They murmured — did the self-righteous Pharisees 
 — because they were so very good — so very good — 
 in their own estimation — and therefore they felt a 
 proud contempt for the Publicans — those proverbial 
 sinners. But, what right had they to denounce the 
 reXcuvai, or publicans ? Who were these publi- 
 cans ? Don't, any of you, imagine that they were 
 like some of the people who are called publicans in
 
 2/0 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 our country : — sellers of strong drink, and not only- 
 sellers of strong drink, but sellers of strong drink to 
 drunkards. If such men were called sellers of men's 
 souls, it would only be a fit name for them — for they 
 sell thousands of men into moral ruin. And how 
 some of them can sleep quietly in their beds, is a 
 wonder — for they have not only sold the man to 
 ruin, but have very often robbed his wife and chil- 
 dren of bread and clothing. I wonder that some of 
 them do not fear the Old Lad will fetch 'em before 
 they awake in the morning. 
 
 The Publicans that we read about in the New 
 Testament were not sellers of strong drink, but 
 collectors of the public revenue — of the Roman 
 taxes. The publican was a sort of tax-gatherer, 
 custom-house officer, and excise-officer rolled into 
 one. Judea was a conquered country. The stern 
 all-conquering Romans held it in their iron grasp ; 
 and so the Jews had to pay taxes to them. But the 
 proud Romans did not send their tax-gatherers round 
 to men's houses to collect the taxes. The publican 
 " sat at the receipt of custom " — at the receipt of the 
 customs, or excise, or taxes. Men were expected to 
 take their payments to him. 
 
 Sometimes, he fanned the taxes, as the expression 
 goes : he agreed to pay so much money to the 
 government, and receive authority to collect the 
 taxes for himself. Of course, if the man were a 
 grasper, he would make as much as he could out of
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 2/1 
 
 the bargain, in the way of profit. But all the publi- 
 cans were not graspers. There must have been some 
 honest and upright men among them ; and, perhaps, 
 some who had more real piety than the high-pro- 
 fessing Pharisees who called them sinners. Such 
 must have been Matthew. He must have been one 
 of the pious souls who were waiting for the promised 
 Messiah — looking for the coming of the Redeemer 
 — or Jesus would not have summoned him so pe- 
 remptorily, when he saw him "sitting at the receipt of 
 custom " : " Follow Me ! " Christ said — and Matthew 
 instantly obeyed. Nor can Zaccheus have been far 
 from the kingdom of God. Christ must have known, 
 too, how he wanted to be right, and was praying 
 with a lowly heart — a heart as lowly as his stature 
 — to be right ; or Jesus would not have said so 
 positively — " Zaccheus, make haste and come down, 
 for to-day I must abide at thy house." 
 
 I question if many of the publicans deserved the 
 evil epithet of sinners by pre-eminence, which the 
 Pharisees dealt towards them. The meaning — the 
 real meaning of the Pharisees in using it seems to 
 have been that they were very guilty, being Jews, 
 in collecting taxes for their Pagan conquerors. But, 
 who were the greater sinners — the men that collected 
 taxes, like the publicans — or the men that paid the 
 taxes, like the Pharisees ? The sin of the Jews, as 
 a nation, was that they had come into such a condi- 
 tion as to have to pay taxes to Pagan conquerors.
 
 2/2 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 " Whose is this image and superscription ? " asked 
 Jesus. " Caesar's," they answered. " Render unto 
 Caesar the things which are Caesar's, and unto God 
 the things which are God's." You know God is 
 your king — Christ meant, and you ought to have 
 had nothing to do with earthly sovereigns. But you 
 deserted your Almighty and Heavenly King, and 
 now, you are the enslaved people of proud Pagan 
 conquerors. TJiere lay the sin : not with the poor 
 publicans. Surely, somebody must collect the taxes 
 from the conquered Jews, unless soldiers were to do 
 it, with violence, and perhaps, murder. 
 
 The Saviour knew all about these wicked mur- 
 murings of the Pharisees — and how does He meet 
 them .'* By following the custom of an Oriental 
 teacher — the way of instruction by parables. If you 
 wish to teach an Eastern man, you must condescend 
 to tell him a story, a tale, an imaginary narrative of 
 some sort. You are sure to guide him most effect- 
 ually by appealing to his imagination. That would 
 do little good with a Western or Northern man : 
 with a Scotsman, for instance. " Dinna fash me 
 with your stories, mon," he would say. " Lay doon 
 your propositions in a soond, common-sense way, 
 and I'll listen to ye. I want to ken the logic of 
 it, sir !" 
 
 Our Lord knew his countrymen well ; and so He 
 speaks to them story-fashion. And, mind ye, — He 
 does not begin by denying that the poor publicans
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 2/3 
 
 are sinners ; or denying that the Pharisees are as 
 righteous as they profess to be. He is not so 
 unskilful as to offend their prejudices when He wishes 
 to convince them that He is right in receiving poor 
 sinners and eating with them. He sets about the 
 work of instructing them, so as to lead them to the 
 conclusion that He is right and they are wrong — if 
 they are willing to be convinced. 
 
 What a Master the Saviour was in the art of 
 instruction is shown by the way in which He opens 
 His lesson of instruction. He lays hold of their 
 worldliness and love of wealth, and compels their 
 attention irresistibly. — " What man of you having 
 a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not 
 leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go 
 after that which is lost until he find it } " What 
 man of us ? — the Pharisees would repeat to them- 
 selves — why, of course, every man of us would do 
 that : not, for a moment, having any suspicion of 
 what the Saviour was leading to. — "And, when he 
 hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders rejoicing." 
 Ay, no wonder at that — they would be thinking — 
 we all should do the like. — " And when he cometh 
 home, he calleth together his friends and neighbours, 
 saying unto them, Rejoice with me, for I have 
 found my sheep which was lost." — Quite natural — 
 they would say — feeling He could not have said 
 anything more consistent with human nature and 
 common-sense. But they were not expecting Christ 
 
 i8
 
 274 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 to close down the lesson upon their consciences so 
 quickly and so powerfully. — " I say unto you, that 
 likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that 
 repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons 
 which need no repentance." 
 
 One feels sure that every Pharisee who stood on 
 the borders of the crowd would cease his murmuring 
 at the commencement of Christ's discourse ; and 
 when the lesson was thus pressed down upon the 
 conscience, so suddenly, would let his head fall upon 
 his breast, and say, within himself — -" This was what 
 He meant, then. And is there such joy in heaven 
 over one sinner that repenteth .'' We must be 
 wrong then, in murmuring against this Man. But 
 He means, doubtless, to insinuate that He goes to 
 seek the lost sheep, and we do not." 
 
 There, perhaps, prejudice would spring up again ; 
 but the Saviour checks it by presenting the same 
 great truth of the value of the sinner, to the mind of 
 the Pharisee, in another form. — " Either what woman, 
 having ten pieces of silver — (ten drachmas, each worth 
 about ']\d}j — if she lose one piece, doth not light a 
 candle, and sweep the house, and seek diligently till 
 she find it } And, when she hath found it, she calleth 
 her friends and her neighbours together, saying, 
 Rejoice with me, for I have found the piece which 
 I had lost." Yes, Christ means them fully to under- 
 stand it : the sinner is of great value, although they 
 have treated the sinner as if he were worthless.
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 2/5 
 
 They believed silver was of great value, and that 
 a lost piece was well worth lighting a candle, and 
 sweeping the house and seeking diligently till it 
 were found. — But Jesus repeats the truth that He 
 means should fasten on their hearts and minds — 
 " Likewise, I say unto you, there is joy in the 
 presence of the angels of God over one sinner that 
 repenteth." Some of these proud, self-righteous 
 Pharisees must have powerfully felt the application 
 of the Saviour's words, and have begun to feel 
 ashamed that they had not shown joy at the return 
 of poor sinners, and the finding of the lost. And 
 what must the poor publicans have felt ? How 
 different were the words of the sweet Saviour from 
 the silent contempt and proud scorn they had, all 
 along received from the self-righteous Pharisees ! 
 Who can wonder that they flocked to hear Jesus, 
 and heard Him gladly .-* 
 
 The plainness of this instruction seems one of the 
 chief points of its excellence. Christ meant to get 
 at the heart and conscience ; and so the lesson is 
 so clear tliat its meaning cannot be mistaken. And 
 there is not a sinner who hears the Gospel preached, 
 or who reads it for himself, but knows how plain it 
 is, Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and 
 always. He is still the Good Shepherd that He 
 declared Himself to be : and, still, 
 
 ' He goes and seeks the one lost sheep, 
 And brings His wanderer home.'
 
 276 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 There is not an unconverted man who hears the 
 Gospel preached but knows how true this is. Yes, 
 my friend, Christ has often sought you, and He seeks 
 you still. He wants to bear you on His shoulders 
 rejoicing to the flock of His people — His own sheep, 
 who hear His voice and follow Him. He regards 
 you as of great value : He knows that neither the 
 figure of the lost sheep, nor of the lost piece of silver 
 can set forth your real, your eternal value. Have 
 you so little value for yourself that you will not be 
 found of Him } His own sheep, — His own people 
 — wander sometimes : — many of us have often 
 wandered — but 
 
 ' When like wandering sheep we strayed, 
 He brought us to His fold again ' — 
 
 Blessed be His holy Name ! Oh, that I could awaken 
 in some heart to-night the sense of deep and lasting 
 repentance for all this wandering, and the resolve to 
 yield to the Good Shepherd, and seek to be made a 
 true member of His flock ! — What joy there would 
 be in heaven ! 
 
 And is it really so .-' Does the King of Angels 
 assure us that there is joy among them, in heaven, 
 over one sinner that repenteth .'* Have they, then — 
 those spiritual beings, who are so near the throne of 
 God, and who are the messengers of His will — have 
 t/iejy, then, this sympathy with us } What is called 
 " Science," and is so pompously spoken of in our 
 time, discovers to us nothing of the future world ;
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 277 
 
 and our Men of Science, whom some people regard 
 with so much wonder-stricken and foolish admira- 
 tion, can tell us nothing about it. Nay — because 
 they know nothing about it, they would, in their 
 pride and arrogance, have us believe that there is 
 nothing to be known. But the Saviour knows all 
 about it ; and He assures us that this sympathy of 
 the angels with men exists : that there is a great 
 bond of sympathy of the higher orders of God's 
 moral and spiritual creation towards men. 
 
 What a grand opening for thought the Saviour's 
 declaration gives us ! Jesus means us to understand 
 that the great Moral Government of God is one 
 No wonder, then, that this beautiful bond of sympa- 
 thy is felt by the angels — and, doubtless, by departed 
 saints too, — in the conversion of sinners — in the 
 spread of Christ's kingdom. Do not let us under- 
 value ourselves. We are not mere matter — born 
 simply to live a few toilsome days here and then die 
 like dogs and be no more. The holy angels feel 
 our conversion to be of value — for the King of 
 Angels declares it is so. Poor man — poor woman 
 — who have not given your hearts to the Saviour, do 
 you not see what value Christ sets upon you ? Oh, 
 come to Christ ! Say, Lord, I am thy poor wander- 
 ing sheep : lead me to the fold of Thy people, and 
 let the angels rejoice over me ! Perhaps, I am talk- 
 ing to some poor wanderer who has a father or 
 mother in heaven. Surely, if there be joy among
 
 278 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 the angels, there is joy in the hearts of fathers and 
 mothers who have gone home to heaven, over their 
 children that repent. Perhaps, I am talking to more 
 than one husband who has a wife in heaven — to 
 more than one wife who has a husband in heaven. 
 Surely, if there be joy among the angels, there is 
 richer joy in the hearts of wives and husbands who 
 have gone home to heaven, over the repentance of 
 those they dearly loved when on earth ! Oh, you 
 who remember the prayers of those who loved you 
 on earth, for your conversion — will you let their 
 prayers be lost, and refuse to join them in heaven. 
 God help you to yield your hearts to Him ! 
 
 Has the Saviour finished His appeal to the hearts 
 of the proud, self-righteous Pharisees ? Nay, He is 
 not half-way through it, yet. There are some of 
 them with hearts untouched — hearts hard to reach 
 — feeling hardened scorn for poor publicans and 
 sinners, and equal scorn — nay, perhaps, wrath and 
 hate for the Divine Teacher. But Jesus does not 
 mean to give them up. He knows that however 
 powerful and well-adapted what He has already said 
 may have been to move worldly minds — there are 
 chords in the human heart which tremble still more 
 thrillingly, and yield, when touched by a Master 
 hand. Stories of the finding of a lost sheep, or 
 piece of silver, have a certain influence on the mind ; 
 but we all feel that it is a story of thorough human 
 interest — of human rectitude and human error — of
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 279 
 
 human pain and human pleasure — of human joy and 
 human sorrow — which afifects us most deeply. So 
 the Saviour leaves the story of the inanimate piece 
 of silver, and of the sheep, the mere animal, and 
 begins a story of deep human interest : a story of 
 which the whole age of man, and of which all the 
 pages of the literature of the world, knows not such 
 another : a story which has been blessed to the 
 salvation of thousands of poor sinners since Christ 
 uttered it. God grant it may be blessed to the 
 salvation of some poor sinner to-night ! 
 
 And how begins the matchless story .-' The words 
 are familiar to all our ears ; but we are never weary 
 of the sound of them. — "And He said, A certain 
 man had two sons." — Observe that there is skilful 
 personal point in these words. Christ is about to 
 give a portrait of the Pharisee and the Publican, in 
 the close of the parable — but He reserves it to the 
 close. He does not let the Pharisee see His intent, 
 at first ; but concentrates all the interest upon the 
 younger son— the Prodigal — the Publican. — " A cer- 
 tain man had two sons, and the younger of them 
 said to his father. Father, give me the portion of 
 goods that falleth to me." Just like the lads in our 
 day, you know. They ask for their father's money 
 as if it were their own. " Give me the portion of 
 goods that falleth to me." How did he know that 
 any of his father's property would fall to him ? 
 Why, because it was his father's, to be sure. No
 
 280 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 matter whether they have earned a penny of the 
 money, the lads always expect to have it, if it be 
 their father's. And if he be unwilling to give it to 
 them, they will soon show him a piece of their mind, 
 and tell him to his face, that he is a stingy old good- 
 for-nothing, and ought to be ashamed of himself. 
 And if he will not give it, they will tell it abroad, 
 that the world may know what he is. 
 
 Remonstrance and good advice .-* They don't want 
 either : they have had too much of both, already. 
 So Christ does not tell us how the father depictured 
 here remonstrated with his younger son, and said, 
 as many a father says — " My lad, you had better 
 not have the money. You know you are very green 
 and inexperienced, and know very little of human life. 
 You may soon be led away by bad advisers, and lose 
 the money. You had much better let it remain in 
 my hands and increase, until you know how to take 
 care of it." No : Christ does not tell us of any 
 expostulation or friendly remonstrance on the part 
 of the father — for such remonstrances, the Saviour 
 knew, are usually vain — so He simply tell us that 
 " He divided unto them his living " — and the wilful 
 younger son is left to take his own way. 
 
 " He divided unto them his living." The words 
 have a good deal of solemnity about them, if you 
 think upon them a little. A youth brought up 
 under the eye of a pious father, trained amidst 
 family prayer and all pious observances, and treated
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 28 1 
 
 with the most loving and tender care by his earthly 
 parent, visited also, often, by the Holy Spirit — listens 
 to some evil lad whose companion he becomes, and 
 soon grows discontented, and demands money from 
 his father, that he may go and try to do the best 
 for himself, as he says. Oh, how ruinous that day 
 may be, when his father yields to him and " divides 
 to him the living " ! What a day of evil that may 
 prove both for the soul and body of that discon- 
 tented and corrupt youth ! 
 
 " He divided unto them his living." God often 
 bears long with those who will not serve Him and 
 love Him. He sends His Holy Spirit, for years, 
 to strive with that sinful man, and to render him 
 uneasy on account of his sins — to render his pillow 
 a pillow of thorns when he places his guilty head 
 upon it, at night — and to awake him with keen 
 pangs of the accusing conscience, in the morning, 
 But the sinner, at length, finds some other sinner 
 more hardened than himself, and listening to that 
 hardened sinner's advice, resolves to try and stifle 
 conscience. And God gives him up to his own evil 
 will — " He divided unto them his living " — lets him 
 go and find what sinful indulgence will do for him. 
 An awful day for the sinner, when the Holy Spirit 
 gives him up to hardness of heart, and ceases to 
 strive with him ! God grant it may never be 
 the case with any unconverted man or woman 
 here !
 
 282 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 " And he divided unto them his living. And, 
 not many days after " — it would not be many days 
 after, for he was in a great hurry, this wilful younger 
 son — "not many days after, the younger son gathered 
 all together, and took his journey into a far 
 country " — determined to be out of his father's sight 
 — to have no more leading-strings or governance ; 
 but to set up for himself and be his own master — 
 " a far country, and there wasted his substance with 
 riotous living " — had his fill of sin — sinned up to 
 the neck and wallowed in wickedness. — " And, when 
 he had spent all " — he would not be long doing 
 that with " riotous living " — " when he had spent all, 
 there arose a mighty famine in that land, and he 
 began to be in want." Ay, ay, people who spend 
 their money in riotous living, in our day, little 
 calculate that the mighty famine may come ; but a 
 good many have bitterly proved it of late. God 
 grant it may teach them wisdom ! 
 
 " And he went and joined himself to a citizen 
 of that country, and /le sent him into his fields to 
 feed swine. And he would fain have stifled his 
 hunger with the wild carobs that the swine did eat." 
 The young prodigal left his father's house to sow 
 his wild oats ; and he finds, now, that he has sown 
 them with a witness — for the sowing has produced 
 a crop of degradation and shame — a harvest of 
 hunger and wretchedness — and he would fain have 
 shared the dinner of the swine, the fruit or pods of
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 283 
 
 the carob tree, which are so coarse that our old 
 translators have rendered the word " husks." 
 
 " And no man gave unto him." What ! did not 
 the young roysterers, who had helped him to spend 
 his fortune in riotous living, come to his help .'' Not 
 one of them ! And, if any of you young lads get 
 a fortune and spend it, depend upon it, the young 
 scapegraces who help you to spend it, will be the 
 last to think of helping you, or relieving you. 
 " Serve him right," they will say : " he was a great 
 fool to throw his money away in the way he did, we 
 all knew that." 
 
 Serious writers tell us that there is another and 
 more recondite, but solemnly important meaning, in 
 this part of the parable. When it is said that in 
 his destitution he went and joined himself to a 
 citizen of that country, it is meant that the sinner 
 when he has brought himself into deep trouble by 
 his sin, often thinks he will give over sinning. He 
 tries to serve the moral Law — the " citizen of that 
 country" — but finds his attempt end in worse 
 misery. For, so far from enabling him to give 
 over sinning, the Law shows him what a wretched 
 sinner he is. It sends him into the fields to feed 
 swine. Shows him he is utterly undone and cannot 
 give over sinning, by his own strength. That he 
 -is utterly helpless : " no man gave unto him " : he 
 can neither get forgiveness, nor power over sin. 
 
 " And when he came to himself" — How striking
 
 284 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 the little words of Scripture, sometimes, are ! — 
 " When he came to himself." We are not ourselves 
 while we are running on in sin. If there be any 
 madness in the world, it is sin. What can be so 
 insane as for a poor worm of the earth to defy 
 his Maker and break God's laws .-' To show the 
 Maker that, Almighty as He is, we defy Him — that 
 although He can smite us with death in a moment 
 we ivill defy Him ; and, although He has never 
 done us evil, but always good, and is the best friend 
 we ever had, we will treat Him with scorn — I say, 
 this is madness, and every sinner is really mad. 
 " When he came to himself " — came to his right 
 mind — came to understand how foolish he had 
 been, how basely ungrateful and wicked — " he said, 
 How many hired servants of my father have bread 
 enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger ! " 
 
 This is the sinner seeing his madness and folly 
 in the true light. The prodigal thought it was a 
 fine thing to leave his father's house, and be inde- 
 pendent — to go where he liked and do as he liked, 
 and spend his father's money in riot and wickedness ; 
 and now he sees his madness has brought him to 
 hunger and starvation, and memory flies back to the 
 home of plenty that he left, and to the thought that 
 the lowliest servant in that house has bread enough 
 and to spare, and he cries, " I will arise and go to 
 my father, and will say unto him. Father, I have 
 sinned against Heaven and before thee ; and am no
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 285 
 
 more worthy to be called thy son : make me as one 
 of thy hired servants." 
 
 The prodigal son is thoroughly humbled and is a 
 real penitent. He will tell his father of his entire 
 unworthiness — he will ask to be employed in clear- 
 ing out the stables and carrying fodder to the cattle 
 — he will crave to be employed in doing the meanest 
 household work — he feels that any humbling post is 
 too good for him, and that he is so base and unde- 
 serving. This is always the feeling of the true peni- 
 tent. The man who thinks he is not so very bad, is 
 no true penitent. " I am the chief of sinners," said 
 holy Paul, and that is sure to be the feeling of the 
 man who is truly penitent. A good Quaker told 
 me, once, how he visited a sick neighbour and 
 began to talk to the man about soul-matters. 
 Religion was all very good the poor sick man 
 acknowledged — but he could not see what need he 
 had to concern himself about it — for he had never 
 done anybody any harm in his life. The good 
 Quaker tried to convince him that he had lived 
 without hope and without God in the world, and that 
 he was not fit to die : that he had neither prayed 
 nor worshipped, nor read his Bible, nor trained up 
 his children in the fear of God, and he ought to 
 feel himself a sinner in the sight of his Maker. 
 The good Quaker knelt and prayed with him, and 
 visited him again and again, and began to observe 
 that the man gradually forgot to boast of his inno-
 
 286 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 cence ; and, at last, seemed to be growing very 
 tender — for he observed him in tears. At last, he 
 could conceal his state no longer, but burst out into 
 weeping — " I am too great a sinner," said he; "there 
 is no mercy for me ! " 
 
 " Thank God ! " said the good Quaker, " I have 
 hope of thee now. Let us pray once more, and see 
 if there be no mercy for thee." The Quaker prayed, 
 and the poor sinner prayed ; and before they gave 
 over, the sinner's soul was set free, and he rejoiced 
 in the pardoning love of God. 
 
 Is there a poor sinner, here, who feels his vileness 
 before God ? Whose heart is thoroughly stricken 
 with the conviction that he is a sinner and a great 
 sinner ? Then he is in the right way to find for- 
 giveness for his sin. It must be thorough humility 
 — for if we really feel what we have done — how we 
 have acted — towards the greatest and best of beings, 
 we shall never feel that we can be humbled enough 
 for our sin. We shall feel it to be an unspeakable 
 mercy that we are alive — that we are not utterly 
 lost. We shall wonder at the goodness of God in 
 sparing us through years of rebellion, and own that 
 if he were to reject us, it would only be what we 
 deserve. 
 
 But, did the Prodigal Son think his father would 
 reject him .'' Reject him ! There is not such a 
 thought in his mind. It was confidence in his heart 
 that his father would receive him that made him
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 287 
 
 cry, " I will arise, and go to my father." It is an 
 exultant — not a despairing cry. Is there some poor 
 sinner here who is despairing of finding forgiveness, 
 and yet avowing that he deeply repents of his sin } 
 My dear fellow-sinner, you cannot entertain a 
 thought more dishonouring to God than that He 
 will not forgive you. Despair is not true repentance. 
 The man who truly repents is he who feels heart- 
 broken because he has offended against the God and 
 Father who loves him. He knows that God loves 
 him, and he cannot forgive himself because he has 
 offended against such matchless — such inexpressible 
 love as God has bestowed upon him. It was the 
 thought of the goodness he had experienced in his 
 father's house, that made the prodigal feel his own 
 baseness and foolishness, his ingratitude and mad- 
 ness. And it was his confidence in his father's 
 heart of mercy — I repeat — that led him to cry, so 
 exultantly, " I will arise and go to my father." 
 
 Oh, poor sinner — you who are feeling your own 
 base ingratitude to God your Father — take up the 
 prodigal's cry " I will arise and go to my father." 
 Say unto Him, as the prodigal said, " Father, I have 
 sinned against Heaven and before thee, and am not 
 worthy to be called thy son." Should not God's 
 goodness to you, in the past, encourage you to come.? 
 Has not your Heavenly Father done you good and 
 not evil, all your life long, although you have ren- 
 dered Him evil in return ? Are you not — do you
 
 288 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 not feel that you are — a monument of His mercy ? 
 And do you not feel that He has spared you, in 
 order to save you ? Are not all His promises Yea 
 and Amen in Christ Jesus, to every returning sinner? 
 Be resolved to say with the prodigal, " I will arise 
 and go to my father." 
 
 Remember, that if the poor prodigal had cast 
 away confidence in his father's love, he must have 
 perished. " No man gave unto him." There was 
 no other help for him. And if he had said, " I 
 cannot go back and acknowledge my sin and shame, 
 and let even the hired servants point the finger of 
 scorn at me," he must have perished. Nay — nay — 
 he was truly repentant. He knew how basely he .'' 
 had acted, and he was resolved to own it. And if 
 he had doubted his father's love, and said in his 
 heart, " He will never forgive me," he must have 
 perished. My dear fellow-sinner, you must take up 
 the poor prodigal's language with all your heart, if 
 you really mean to be saved. You must exert your 
 own will. God will not force you to be saved. He 
 will not push you by the shoulders into heaven. 
 The resolve to be saved must be your own. You 
 will be guilty if you do not make the resolve ; but, 
 if you try God -will help you to make it. Take it 
 up, cheerfully, my dear fellow-sinner ! Take it up, 
 exultantly — " I will arise and go to my father ! " — 
 The angels in heaven will rejoice — the Church of 
 Christ will rejoice — Christ Himself will rejoice when
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 289 
 
 He sees of the travail of his soul and is satisfied — 
 The Holy Spirit will rejoice Who has striven with thee 
 so often and so long, poor stubborn-hearted sinner — 
 God the Father will rejoice at the return of His poor, 
 wandering, sinful child — for look how the Saviour 
 affirms it ! 
 
 Don't put off the resolve till another time. Look 
 at the prodigal and imitate him — " And he arose 
 and came to his father." He did not say he would 
 consider of it. He did not say he would go next 
 week. If you put it off, my dear friend, the Holy 
 Spirit may leave you. Resolve just now, while He 
 strives with you. Say the words with all your 
 heart, just now, " I will arise and go to my Father." 
 Look at the blessed encouragement the Saviour 
 gives you — " When he was yet a great way off, his 
 father saw him, and had compassion and ran, and 
 fell on his neck and kissed him." Thou hast been 
 a long way off, poor sinner, but God has been 
 looking for thy return. The prodigal's father had 
 gone out thinking, " Where is this poor lost lad 
 of mine, I wonder ! Oh, what has become of him .' 
 He knew nothing of the world, and he may have 
 got into the hands of sharpers who have robbed him 
 of his money, and he may be now in rags." And 
 yonder he saw him, at last, coming miserably along 
 the road, and in rags, sure enough ; but the father 
 " had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck, and 
 kissed him." 
 
 19
 
 290 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Thou art in the rags and wretchedness of sin, 
 poor sinner, but thy Heavenly Father's heart is filled 
 with compassion towards thee — only come : He is 
 waiting to receive thee with joy and love. " And 
 the son said unto him. Father, I have sinned against 
 Heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to 
 be called thy son : make " — nay, the father will not 
 let him say those words, " make me as one of thy 
 hired servants " — the father will not let him utter 
 them. " But the father said to his servants, Bring 
 forth the best robe, and put it on him, and put a 
 ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet " — Depend 
 upon it, the poor wilful prodigal was in a wretched 
 shabby condition — ragged and shoeless — " and bring 
 hither the fatted calf and kill it," — Oh what words 
 for the poor hunger-bitten wandering lad to hear ! 
 — " and let us eat, and be merry. For this my son 
 was dead, and is alive again : he was lost and is 
 found. And they began to be merry." 
 
 Oh, what a blessed picture has the Saviour thus 
 drawn us of His Father's heart of mercy and for- 
 giveness ! Surely, there is not a heart here but will 
 acknowledge such love and mercy — surely, we are 
 all disposed to be returning sinners, and come back 
 to the Heavenly Father Who thus loves us and is 
 willing to receive us. Do not delay ; you have been 
 wandering afar off. God waits to make you His 
 regenerate children. He will put the best robe 
 on you — the robe of Christ's righteousness. He
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON, 29 1 
 
 will put a ring on your hand — for you shall be 
 married to Christ — united to Him and made His 
 own. He will put shoes on your feet. Your steps 
 shall be ordered and sure. You shall be no longer a 
 wanderer, but walk before Him in holiness and new- 
 ness of life. May God help every poor sinner in His 
 presence to accept His mercy, even at this moment ! 
 
 Ah ! but there is a sequel to this tale of mercy. 
 Christ has to apply the parable, now, to the mur- 
 murers. He has beheld their excited looks during 
 the time he has been telling them this wondrous 
 story ; and perhaps, some of them have perceived 
 that he was pointing to the poor publicans and 
 sinners while depicturing the prodigal. But Christ 
 means to give the scornful, self-righteous Pharisees 
 their own picture, now. He means to come down 
 upon them, and in such a manner as shall touch 
 them to the quick, and make them feel ashamed of 
 their guilty pride and self-righteousness — if they can 
 be moved to feel any shame at all. 
 
 " Now, his elder son was in the field, and as he 
 came and drew nigh to the house, be heard music 
 and dancing. And he called one of the servants, 
 and asked what these things meant." 
 
 His dignity is offended. What strangers can have 
 entered the house to make this rabble riot without 
 his leave and his knowledge .-' What does this un- 
 licensed mirth mean ? — he wants to know. " And
 
 292 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 he (the servant) said unto him, Thy brother is come, 
 and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because 
 he hath received him safe and sound." The servant 
 evidently thinks he will not only be surprised but 
 feel pleased. " Thy brother is come " — says the 
 servant, meaning to touch his heart and fill him 
 with delight. But like many other elder brothers in 
 our own day, he had no wish to see the younger 
 brother come back. He would have been well 
 content that he never came back. Just so the self- 
 righteous Pharisee cares nothing about poor sinners 
 being converted. " If they be wasting their money, 
 the scamps ! " he thinks, " they will soon spend all 
 they have, and then they will starve — and they will 
 deserve it." If he hears a common swearer pour- 
 ing out oaths and imprecations in the street, 
 the Pharisee will wish some judgment may fall 
 upon him. And if he sees a poor drunkard fall 
 in the street, he will call him a brute beast and 
 pass him in scorn. The truly religious man will 
 rather weep at what he hears and sees, and feel 
 his heart melt with pity, that his poor fellow- 
 creatures should so sorely disgrace and degrade 
 themselves. 
 
 But this elder brother has no pity. He is none of 
 your tender-hearted brothers. " And he was angry 
 and would not go in. Therefore " — " Therefore " 
 what .? How did Christ treat these murmuring 
 Pharisees. I had one sceptical friend who was ex-
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. 293 
 
 ceedingly sharp in his observations on the character 
 of the Saviour. " Jesus Christ was not a gentle- 
 man," he would say ; " He called the Pharisees and 
 Scribes liars and hypocrites ; and that is not gentle- 
 manly language." He called them so, because they 
 were so — I replied — for a true gentleman must 
 speak the truth." " He might have used more 
 gentlemanly language and less harshness," returned 
 my sceptical friend. 
 
 But is the Saviour harsh with the Pharisees, in 
 the story before us } " Therefore " it relates — 
 " therefore, came his father out, and entreated him." 
 God entreats the self-righteous Pharisee ! Jesus is 
 enforcing the lesson, and applying it to the murmur- 
 ing Pharisees, in order to convince them, if they 
 will be convinced ; and so far from showing that 
 they deserve harshness, He represents His Heavenly 
 Father as entreating them to put away their pride, 
 and begin to care for poor sinners. " Therefore 
 came his father out and entreated him," But the 
 entreaty is all in vain. " And he, answering, said to 
 his father, Lo these many years do I serve thee, 
 neither transgressed I, at any time, thy command- 
 ment " — Hark, at the self-righteous Pharisee ! How 
 perfect he is, in his own estimation ! — " and yet thou 
 never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry 
 with my friends " — He has had his father's house at 
 his command and done as he liked in it — for he 
 wondered that any one dared to come thither with
 
 294 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 out his leave — and yet the ungrateful wretch asserts 
 he has never had any real kindness from his father 
 in his life — " and yet, thou never gavest me a kid, 
 that I might make merry with my friends " — he 
 throws his father's goodness in his teeth, and counts 
 it worth nothing ! 
 
 If the elder brother treats his father thus, what 
 may we expect he will say about his poor wandering 
 younger brother ? " But as soon as this thy son 
 was come, which hath devoured thy living with 
 harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf." 
 He vents all the power of malicious feeling upon 
 him, like a true Pharisee. 
 
 How did Christ treat the Pharisees .-' Does He 
 use harshness and nothing but harshness in dealing 
 with them ^ Let the rich closing words of the 
 chapter answer. " And he said unto him, Son, thou 
 art ever with me, and all that I have is thine." — 
 Poor narrow-hearted Pharisee ! there's enough for 
 thee and all the sinners on earth, in My mercy. 
 " All that I have is thine " — enjoy it all — thou canst 
 never exhaust My mercy, or impoverish My good- 
 ness — " it was meet that we should make merry, and 
 be glad ; for this t/iy brother'' — see how the father 
 reminds him of the relationship : he had said in 
 scorn " as soon as this thy son was come " — refusing 
 to acknowledge him as a brother — * for this thy 
 brother was dead, and is alive again ; and was lost, 
 and is found." What a lesson of mercy and good-
 
 THE PRODIGAL SON. ' 295 
 
 ness — of pity and love ! Surely, it reached the hearts 
 of some of the Pharisees. 
 
 Surely, I have no cold, narrow-hearted Pharisee 
 here, who treats poor sinners with scorn. Oh, I think 
 there is nothing which ought to draw out our pity, 
 so much as the sight of a man who is ruining him- 
 self by sin. And if pity does not move us, we 
 ought to remember that it is only by God's mercy 
 we differ from the sinner. Some of you will call 
 to mind the saying of one of the old martyrs — 
 Praying Bradford, as he was called : " I never see a 
 man going to be hanged," he used to say, " but I 
 think there goes John Bradford, if it were not for 
 the grace of God ! " 
 
 Oh, let none of us imagine that we are so much 
 better than other people. We are bad enough, 
 every one of us. And have all need to cry with 
 the poor Publican that smote upon his breast, " God 
 be merciful to me a sinner ! " 
 
 Is there any poor sinner here to-night convinced 
 that he is a sinner, and who is desirous of leaving 
 his sins .? Let me entreat you to cry with the Pro- 
 digal Son, " I will arise and go to my father ! " God 
 help you so to cry — and if you do arise and go to 
 Him, depend upon it, the Father will meet you with 
 compassion. You cannot have too great confidence 
 that God will save you, if you are resolved to leave 
 sin. Tell your Heavenly Father that you know all 
 things are ready, in Christ, and you are sure He
 
 296 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 will forgive you for Jesu's sake. Come just now, to 
 God. Remember, the Prodigal Son went at once. 
 Don't throw a moment away — for happiness awaits 
 you, and there will be joy in heaven and on earth 
 at your return. God help you and save you for 
 Christ's sake ! Amen.
 
 XV. 
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 
 
 [^A Discourse delivered in London and various parts of 
 the Country.^ 
 
 " Let us, therefore, come boldly to the throne of grace, that 
 we may obtian mercy, and find grace to help in time of 
 need." — Heb. iv. i6. 
 
 "\T JE commonly speak of the Epistle to the 
 • • Hebrews as an undoubted production of St. 
 Paul, just as we speak of St. Paul's Epistle to the 
 Romans, or Corinthians. And, in the revised version, 
 as well as in our common translation, it is styled. 
 ' The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Hebrews.' 
 Yet, this title is more than questionable. Some of 
 the early Fathers attributed the authorship of this 
 most eloquent and valuable letter to Clement of 
 Rome ; and one asserts that although the thoughts 
 may be Paul's, the language is Luke's. But that 
 must be a mistake, for there is no gorgeous eloquence, 
 either in St. Luke's Gospel, or in the Acts of 
 the Apostles : in other words, there is nothing in 
 either comparable to the brilliant writing of this 
 treatise.
 
 298 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Origen and Clement of Alexandria, in the third 
 century, speak of Paul as the author ; but, in the 
 same century, Tertullian says the author was Bar- 
 nabas ; and all the Latin Fathers of the third century 
 reject the opinion that St. Paul is the author of the 
 Epistle to the Hebrews. So does Jerome, in the 
 fourth century ; and he is generally held to be the 
 most learned of all the ancient Fathers. 
 
 At the period of the Reformation, the great 
 Greek scholar of the time, Erasmus — the man who 
 edited the first printed Greek Testament — utterly 
 denied the authorship of St. Paul for this Epistle ; 
 and so did Luther and Calvin — and they were no 
 mean scholars. But Luther put forth a new 
 opinion : an opinion, be it observed, which finds 
 great favour with many scholars of our own times. 
 Martin Luther expressed a belief that this most 
 precious * Epistle to the Hebrews ' is the work of 
 Apollos : that eloquent and learned Jew of Alex- 
 andria, who is described, in the i 8th chapter of the 
 Acts of the Apostles, as " mighty in the Scriptures," 
 and of whom it is related that he entered boldly 
 into the synagogue at Ephesus, and taught what he 
 believed to be full Christian truth, until Aquila and 
 Priscilla, two of Paul's co-workers, instructed him 
 more perfectly. And that, afterwards, he passed 
 from Ephesus, the metropolis of the Lesser Asia, 
 as it was called, to populous Corinth, which was, at 
 that time, the real capital of Greece ; and that.
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 299 
 
 in Corinth, he " helped them much who had believed 
 through grace — for he mightily convinced the Jews, 
 and that publicly, showing by the Scriptures, that 
 Jesus was Christ." Indeed his converts at Corinth 
 seem to have divided the Christian Church with the 
 converts of St. Paul — for some said " I am of Paul " 
 and others said " I am of Apollos." 
 
 The wondrous power of expression, the magnifi- 
 cence of style and richness of language, displayed in 
 this Epistle, seem clearly to denote that it is the 
 composition — not of a logician, like St. Paul — but 
 of a first-rate orator, such as Apollos is described to 
 have been. This is perhaps the chief reason why 
 many scholars and critics of the present day have 
 given in their opinion that Martin Luther is most 
 probably right, and that the Epistle to the Hebrews 
 is, really, the work of Apollos, the eloquent Jew of 
 Alexandria. 
 
 Listen to the magnificent opening of the Epistle : — 
 " God, who, at sundry times, and in divers man- 
 ners spake in time past unto the fathers by the 
 prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by 
 His Son, Whom He hath appointed heir of all 
 things ; — by Whom, also, He made the worlds ; — 
 Who being the effulgence of His glory, and the 
 express image of His person, and upholding all 
 things by the word of His power, when He had by 
 Himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand 
 of the Majesty on high ; — being made so much better
 
 300 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 than the angels, as He hath by inheritance obtained 
 a more excellent name than they. 
 
 " For unto which of the angels said He at any 
 time, Thou art my Son, this day have I begotten 
 thee ? And again, I will be to Him a Father, and 
 He shall be to me a Son ? 
 
 " And again, when He bringeth in the first- 
 begotten into the world. He saith, And let all the 
 angels of God worship Him. 
 
 " And, of the angels He saith. Who maketh His 
 angels spirits, and His ministers a flame of fire. 
 
 " But, unto the Son He saith, Thy throne, O God, 
 is for ever and ever : a sceptre of righteousness is 
 the sceptre of Thy kingdom." 
 
 I have ventured to repeat the whole of this most 
 splendid exordium to you, not only because it is the 
 most eloquent opening of any book of the New Tes- 
 tament ; but, because one may really say that 
 the British Public — if they may, in general, be 
 reckoned readers of the New Testament — seem 
 unaware of the fact that there is such a passage of 
 eloquence in the book. For, who ever talks of the 
 " splendid opening of the Epistle to the Hebrews " ? 
 I never heard any one — either in the office of a 
 preacher, or any other person — denote that he knew 
 that there was any measure of eloquence to be found 
 in that part of the New Testament. 
 
 And how does the eloquent ApoUos — the man 
 mighty in the Scriptures — follow up this grand and
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 3OI 
 
 Stately introduction of One Whom he thus shows 
 us is a Divine Personage — •" the effulgence of the 
 Father's glory, and the express image of His 
 Person ? " He boldly draws aside the veil from 
 before the eyes of his own people the Jews — for he 
 is writing expressly to them, remember — and shows 
 them the clear and distinct fact that Jesus has rea- 
 lised the principal figure in their great typical system 
 of sacrifice and atonement — the entry of the High 
 Priest, once a year, into the Holy of Holies, to 
 sprinkle all things with blood, and make atonement 
 for the sins of the people. 
 
 Read the 1 6th chapter of Leviticus for yourselves 
 — for it is too dry a portion of the old economy for 
 me to read, in the pulpit — and you will learn how 
 fully " the man mighty in the Scriptures " had com- 
 prehended the spiritual bearing and meaning of the 
 slaughter of the bullock for the priest and his family 
 — the killing of the goat and the sprinkling of his 
 blood on the scape-goat that was sent into the 
 wilderness — and then the thrilling and solemn entry 
 of the High Priest within the Veil, and his sprink- 
 ling of all things there — the altar of incense — even 
 the cherubim — with the typical blood of atonement. 
 So, he shows them Christ is entered into the Holy 
 of Holies above, not with the blood of bulls and 
 goats, but with the virtue of His own blood, — not 
 entering thither once a year to make a new offering, 
 but abiding there as the great intercessor for sinners,
 
 302 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 and therefore, being able to save sinners to the utter- 
 most because he ever Hveth to make intercession for 
 them. 
 
 And that, in order to constitute Himself such a 
 High Priest, He had to lay aside His glory and 
 majesty, and take upon Him our human nature, and 
 become acquainted with all its weaknesses and trials. 
 And thus, Apollos tells us, that, " in the days of His 
 flesh " our great Atoning One " offered up prayers 
 and supplications, with strong crying and tears." 
 Nay, he assures us that our great High Priest 
 became perfect through sufferings. 
 
 " Seeing then," says he, "that we have a great High 
 Priest that has passed into the heavens, Jesus, the 
 Son of God, let us hold fast our profession. For, 
 we have not a High Priest which cannot be touched 
 with the feeling of our infirmities ; but was in all 
 points tempted like as we are, yet without sin. Let 
 us, therefore, come boldly unto the throne of grace, 
 that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help 
 in time of need." 
 
 " Boldly ! — boldly ! " — " Is it not a mistrans- 
 lation, or a mistake of some kind, think you ? " 
 repeats some poor contrite penitent. " I'm sure I 
 can never come boldly to the throne of grace — such 
 a guilty sinner as I am. Oh, when I look at my sins, 
 I am frightened at the very remembrance of them ! 
 I'm sure I can never presume to come boldly to the 
 throne of grace."
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 303 
 
 Of course you cannot preswne to come, my dear 
 fellow-sinner ; and it is not the boldness of presump- 
 tion with which God's word directs you to come. In 
 order to prevent our making any mistake in trying 
 to practise the boldness which is recommended in 
 the text — 
 
 I. Let us consider what kind of boldness it is 
 not^ which we are to practise : 
 
 II. What kind of boldness // is : and 
 III. What we are to gain by practising this 
 Scriptural boldness. 
 
 You see I have made the divisions of my discourse 
 as plain as any old Puritan divine would have made 
 them, two hundred years ago ; and I humbly think 
 it would be better if we had more of the old Puritan 
 plainness among us. 
 
 I. Then, I am to try to show all who have any 
 concern for their spiritual state what this Scriptural 
 boldness with which we are to come to the throne of 
 grace — is not. 
 
 I. It is not, as I said before, the boldness of 
 Presumption which the writer is recommending. 
 Terms of familiarity are sometimes employed in 
 prayer which, one would think, no rightly con- 
 stituted mind could use. Terms which seem to 
 imply a forgetfulness of the fact that we are all 
 sinners, and that God is the High and Holy One 
 that inhabiteth eternity. It is an act of presump- 
 tion to approach the Almighty and Infinite Creator
 
 304 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 without the lovvHest reverence. Even the common- 
 place tone in which public prayer is sometimes 
 uttered, and the haste with which the Lord's Prayer 
 is muttered, and the business-like way in which the 
 " Grace " is despatched, at table — seem to me all — 
 all — all wrong. The slightest degree of irreverence 
 in the language and manner of poor, guilty sinners 
 addressing their Maker seems, to me, sorely out of 
 place and character. Surely, it should be remem- 
 bered that it is a " throne " to which we are 
 coming : that is to say, it is the seat of a king. 
 And, if the throne of an earthly king should not be 
 approached without homage and obeisance, surely 
 the throne of the King of kings — of the Lord and 
 Giver of life — of the Being who made all things and 
 supports all things — of the dread Being of whom 
 Isaiah tells us that He " measures the waters in the 
 hollow of His hand, and metes out heaven with a span, 
 and comprehends the dust of the earth in a measure, 
 and weighs the mountains in scales, and the hills in 
 a balance " — that, to Him " the nations are as a drop 
 of a bucket, and are counted as the small dust of the 
 balance," — and that He " taketh up the isles as a 
 very little thing" — I say assuredly, the throne of 
 such a Being should be approached by poor sinners 
 with lowly hearts and lowly words, and never with 
 the boldness of presumption. 
 
 2. Neither should we dare to come to our Maker's 
 throne with the boldness of Ignorance. Our isrnor-
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 305 
 
 ance often leads us to Presumption. I believe there 
 is far more wilful ignorance — I say wilful ignorance — 
 among men respecting God, than some people sup- 
 pose. I mean ignorance of the God of the Bible. 
 For, as for the God of Nature, we seldom hear 
 of Him, now. The Philosophers of our day have 
 taught us to ignore His existence. And what real, 
 wilful ignorance there is among the men who call 
 themselves " Secularists " about the Deity as He is 
 taught in the Bible. You will hear them make 
 quotations which refer to Him, in the most 
 vulgar scoffing spirit, and put an interpretation on 
 the vv^ords which they know to be wilfully false. 
 But, let it be fully kept in mind, that we who 
 believe the Bible, and profess to have that know- 
 ledge of God which the Bible teaches, should 
 endeavour to spread it, so that all who come to the 
 throne of grace may never dare to approach it with 
 the boldness of Ignorance. 
 
 3. Nor, again, should we dare to come to our 
 Maker's footstool with the boldness of Pomposity 
 and conceit. Oh, I would sooner hear the prayer of 
 ignorance than of pomposity. I would rather listen 
 to the prayer of a poor uneducated man whose 
 language verged on impropriety, than hear the 
 language of mock-homage : the prayer of a man 
 who tries to string a great number of three- or 
 four-syllabled sounding words together, in order to 
 compliment the Almighty on the greatness of His 
 
 20
 
 306 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 attributes. Our Maker looks for none of our com- 
 pliments. He knows, millions of times better than 
 we can tell Him, how great He is. We had, far 
 better try to feel our own littleness, than to express, 
 in pompous terms, His greatness. 
 
 4. Above all, we are not to come to the throne of 
 grace with the boldness of Self-righteousness. The 
 way, you know, that the Pharisee came, in the 
 parable — " God, I thank Thee that I am not as 
 other men are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or 
 even as this publican. I fast twice in the week ; I 
 give tythes of all that I possess." He seems to 
 have thought that if he gave back to God a few 
 thimblefuls of all that God had given him, he ought 
 to be reckoned very good. 
 
 Oh no, it is not the boldness of self-righteous- 
 ness that this valuable writer is recommending. He 
 knew that nothing can be more fatal to the success 
 of any petition that we present before God, than 
 for us to present it self-righteously. Nothing is so 
 likely to harden the heart and render it unsus- 
 ceptible of God's mercy and grace, as a spirit of 
 self-righteousness. He that comes to the throne 
 self-righteously, comes boastingly. He does not feel 
 that he needs anything. Holiness ? he is not seek- 
 ing for holiness : he is holy already, in his own 
 estimation. What can he need who believes himself 
 to be already full of excellences ? What can he 
 need who is already perfect ?
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 307 
 
 How blinding is self-righteousness ! — nay its 
 blindness is the result of our fallen nature. We are 
 all prone to it. I have never found more than a 
 few of the very best men in the world who could 
 conceal their good deeds. We all like to talk about 
 the good we think we have done, and to parade it, 
 if it be but modestly. That practice of modest 
 parade, however, will increase upon us, if we do not 
 take care, till it renders us objects of dislike to 
 some, and of open ridicule to others. 
 
 Self-righteousness is a hideous sin, if we see it 
 in the right light. Paying our Maker for His good- 
 ness to us ! Doing deeds of supererogation. So the 
 Pharisee thought whom Christ describes : " I give 
 tythes of all that I possess " : I pay Thee back, 
 Lord, for Thy goodness ! Oh no, it is not the 
 boldness of self-righteousness with which we are to 
 come to the throne of grace. 
 
 n. Let us hasten to consider, then, What kind 
 of boldness it is with which we are to come. 
 
 I. First and foremost, it is the boldness which 
 arises from the sense of our need. But, now, we 
 meet the difficulty which confronts us when we 
 strive to awaken men to a sense of their need. 
 Men sit under the sound of the Gospel for long 
 years, and never seem to awake up spiritually. 
 They remain in a dead sleep of sin, although they 
 are told faithfully and frequently of their sins. 
 They can bear severe probings of conscience and
 
 308 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 never wince. Their earthliness may be exposed, 
 their selfishness, their sensuality — but they are un- 
 moved and remain unmoved. 
 
 Once get men to feel that they are sinners, and 
 to feel it thoroughly, and you will soon hear of it, 
 and see it, too. Conviction for sin — deep, heartfelt 
 conviction of a man's guilt before God — is sure to 
 make itself known. It is that conviction of sin which 
 men cannot conceal that proves the reality of their 
 conviction. And then comes the cry for mercy — 
 " Lord, I'm a sinner — be merciful to me, or I shall 
 be ruined ! " " For shame ! " says the man's respect- 
 able self-righteous neighbour, who hears the sinner's 
 vehement prayer — " go into your chamber, and don't 
 cry out in that vulgar way ; or wait till the evening 
 and say your prayers at bed-time, as other respect- 
 able people do." " Nay," says the needy soul, " I 
 want mercy now. I may die before bed-time. I've 
 tried long enough to be respectable ; but it has not 
 saved me, and it never will save me. So I'm 
 coming boldly to the throne of grace. I can't 
 delay. I want deliverance ! " 
 
 How is it that we hear so much respectable 
 objection to men's crying out for mercy when they 
 feel they are sinners .-' A man in the midst of a 
 storm, on a wild heath, at midnight, if he sees a 
 dim light tries to reach it — and if it comes from a 
 cottage window, he never thinks of knocking respect- 
 ably at the doer, but he knocks loudly and cries
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 309 
 
 out with all his might, " Let me in ! I'm perish- 
 ing ! " 
 
 Why should not the hunger of the soul for the 
 pardon of sin, compel me to cry out, as does the 
 hunger of the body for food ? Turn to that thrilling 
 page of Carlyle's ' French Revolution,' and listen to 
 the cry of thousands in the streets of Paris, at mid- 
 night ! " Pain ! — pain ! — pain ! " they shouted (Bread ! 
 — bread ! — bread ! ). Oh how the trembling noblesse 
 and bourgeoisie woke up in terror — knowing the 
 Revolution was come. Oh for a cry like that for 
 the pardon of sin, in the streets of London ! Do 
 you think it will never come ? Are we perpetually 
 to go on in this poor, dreamy way ? Nay, nay : it 
 will come as surely as the Holy Spirit reaches the 
 heart of Man : it will come — the day when thousands 
 shall feel God's holy power, and be compelled to cry 
 for mercy. 
 
 2. The soul that comes in this way soon learns to 
 come with another kind of boldness : the Boldness 
 of Reliance on the Saviour's Invitations. He hears 
 Christ, so sweetly saying, "Come unto Me, all ye 
 that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you 
 rest. Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me, 
 for I am meek and lowly in heart, and ye shall find 
 rest to your souls ; for My yoke is easy and My 
 burthen is light." 
 
 " Yes, Lord," says the earnest soul, " I know that 
 Thy yoke is easy and Thy burthen is light, and I
 
 310 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 want to experience what it is to carry them ; but I 
 am laden with this heavy yoke of my sin. Yet, as 
 Thou hast invited me to come to Thee, I'll try to 
 come ! " But, how often the poor labouring soul 
 shrinks back in the attempt to come to Christ ! 
 The old, troublesome thoughts come back again. 
 " Oh, I cannot presume to come — I'm not fit to 
 come — I want a better preparation and deeper 
 repentance before I come." 
 
 But, my dear fellow-sinner, Christ does not say 
 you are not fit to come. His invitation is to all 
 who labour and feel heavy laden with the weight of 
 their sins, and so you are the very person He calls. 
 And He does not say you need a better preparation 
 and deeper repentance before you come to Him. 
 Where is it written that He says so ? " Yes, yes, 
 you are a sinner sure enough ; but you must weep 
 more and be more sorrowful before I relieve you. 
 Don't think you are to have mercy just when you 
 ask for it. How many months have you spent in 
 repentance ? Get away into some solitary place and 
 cry for mercy until you feel you have no strength 
 left to cry any longer. Get away, I say, and sigh 
 and weep and mortify yourself with fasting, and pray 
 whole nights — and think yourself well off if you find 
 mercy in a few years ! " 
 
 My dear fellow-sinner, thank God ! there is no 
 such language as that in the Bible ! " Come ! " 
 is the language always ; and it is never — Come,
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 311 
 
 when you are more fit — Come, next week — Come, 
 next month — no, nor even, Come to-morrow. To- 
 day, is always the tone of the invitation. Come, 
 then, all who need Christ with the Boldness of 
 Reliance on His Own invitations. 
 
 3. Come, also, with the Boldness of Trust in God's 
 Promises and Confidence in His faithfulness. Do 
 you not remember how it is written that He pro- 
 claimed Himself to Moses in the Mount, as "The 
 Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, long- 
 suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth, — 
 keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity, 
 transgression, and sin " .' And the Psalmist declares 
 that " The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to 
 anger," and that He is " plenteous in mercy." Oh, 
 if God were not " plenteous in mercy," what would 
 become of the human race ? Think of the sin and 
 wickedness God has had to look upon in this earth 
 for long ages ! He sees all things, every moment ! 
 And, if any good man could see all the sin that is 
 being committed on this earth at this moment, he 
 would shudder with horror at the sight. What 
 then must the Holy Jehovah feel. Who has beheld 
 this sight of horror every moment since sin came 
 into the world ? Yet He is still " The Lord, the 
 Lord God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and 
 abundant in mercy and truth." He is still " plenteous 
 in mercy " ! He still cries to the wicked, as He 
 did in the time of His prophet Isaiah, " Come, now.
 
 312 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 and let us reason together : though your sins be as 
 scarlet, they shall be as white as snow : though they 
 be red like crimson, they shall be as wool." " Look 
 unto Me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth : 
 for I am God, and there is none else." " I bring 
 near My righteousness ; it shall not be far off, and 
 My salvation shall not tarry." " Let the wicked 
 forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his 
 thoughts ; and let him return unto the Lord, and 
 He will have mercy upon him ; and to our God, 
 for He will abundantly pardon." Surely, with such 
 declarations on God's part, every poor contrite 
 sinner ought to come to the throne of grace with 
 the boldness of Trust in God's Promises and con- 
 fidence in His faithfulness. Yea, such promises 
 should surely encourage every penitent sinner to 
 come to the throne of grace with the boldness of 
 Faith. 
 
 4. Ay, this is the most prevalent of all kinds of 
 boldness at the throne of grace : the Boldness of 
 of Faith. But what, really, is Faith .' — some are 
 asking. " In the i ith chapter of the superb treatise 
 from which your text is taken, we read, ' Faith is the 
 substance of things hoped for ' — but we cannot see 
 the meaning of that expression." And, my good 
 souls, I tell you, honestly, that I do not wonder at 
 what you say. Please bear with me and attend 
 closely to me, while I attempt a little critical ex- 
 planation.
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 313 
 
 First, understand that the translation is a true 
 one — only, our good old translators have used the 
 word substance in its metaphysical, and not in its 
 vulgar sense. " There is some substance in this 
 cloth," you say, feeling a man's sleeve. But, you 
 know that way of using the word substance gives 
 no meaning to the text. Listen ! I have, most 
 likely, a Latin scholar or two here. They will 
 understand me when I say stib stans : reverse the 
 words and you have stans sub — that is to say, 
 standing under. Use the Greek word in the text 
 uTroorracrt? the same way, stasis hypo, if you reverse 
 the syllables as before ; and you have again standing 
 under. Now, this is the great vital question men 
 asked in old time — " What is the standing under ? " 
 We want to get out of our puzzle. Solve the 
 mystery of Nature for us. You present us with a 
 board, and you talk of mere phenomena, or appear- 
 ances, for you say it has length and breadth and 
 thickness — but what really is the piece of board .? 
 " Matter," you reply ; and think you have given an 
 answer which ought to satisfy the most critical 
 inquirer. But it does not satisfy anybody who 
 thinks. " But what is Matter ^ what is the standing 
 under in Nature } Tell us what is the reality" " It 
 is the standing under," you reply : " it is the only 
 answer I can give you." Thus, the word hypostasis 
 has come to be employed for reality. 
 
 So, when the writer of the Epistle to the Hebrews
 
 314 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 says " Faith is the substance of things hoped for," 
 does he mean " assurance," as the new translators 
 say ? No : for the Christian Church has knocked 
 that word about, till they have made it mean any- 
 thing, and we had better leave off using it. No : 
 the true, full, and right translation of the important 
 passage we are talking about is — " Faith is the 
 realisation of things hoped for." 
 
 " It is Christ that I want," says the penitent 
 soul ; " all the promises are Yea and Amen in Him. 
 What am I waiting for } " asks the penitent soul, 
 with the boldness of Faith : " the Saviour offers me 
 all I want. They are His own blessed words : " God 
 so loved the world that He gave His only-begotten 
 Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not 
 perish, but have everlasting life." " Whosoever ? 
 Then I am the very soul, and I will rest upon my 
 Saviour's declaration, and I'll keep my hold of it. 
 None shall drive me from it, or argue, or cozen me, 
 out of it. I am to come boldly to the throne of 
 grace, and I am coming with the boldness of faith. 
 Whosoever! — Thou hast said it, blessed Lord, and 
 I believe it and ivill believe it." 
 
 " Ah," says some disconsolate soul, " I have tried 
 so to believe, and have supposed it was all right with 
 me. But, in a day or two, I found I was mistaken. 
 I found I really did not believe." 
 
 My dear fellow-sinner, you have been playing at 
 believing : trying it, to see how it would succeed.
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 315 
 
 You will never get salvation that way. If you are 
 always going back to look at your sins instead of 
 your Saviour, you will never get right. Do remem- 
 ber that you are coming to a throne of grace : not a 
 throne of indignation, or of abstract justice. Mark 
 how that real penitent and real believer finds deliver- 
 ance. He is in an agony of sorrow and almost in an 
 agony of despair. But after wrestling with his doubts 
 and feeling terrified at the heinousness of his sins and 
 their great demerit, he resolves to perish believing, 
 if he must perish, and he casts himself, in despera- 
 tion, on the mercy of God, through the atonement 
 of Christ. And so he succeeds. There is no other 
 way ; and he soon feels he has taken the right way. 
 His faith is indeed the realisation of things hoped for. 
 He took the Saviour at His word ; and, in the 
 same way any other poor sinner who is present, 
 to-night, and feels the burthen of sin and guilt to be 
 grievous, may be released from it. " Whosoever " is 
 the word, remember, in that precious declaration of 
 the Saviour. Lay hold of it, with the boldness of 
 faith, and you will also find mercy and grace to help 
 in yoiir time of need. Only believe with all your 
 heart, in the Saviour, and you are sure to feel that 
 faith is the realisation of things hoped for — for by 
 the boldness of faith you will be able to realise the 
 pardon of sin, and glorify God for it. 
 
 Hark ! — hush ! From whom came that sup- 
 pressed groan — that stifled sigh } Oh, it was from
 
 3l6 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 the heart of that poor backslider. " How can I 
 come boldly to the throne of grace ? " he is saying ; 
 " I that have crucified Christ afresh, and put Him 
 to open shame ! Oh, no, there's no mercy or grace 
 for me. I have listened to the promises you have 
 quoted from the Bible — but they only serve to tor- 
 ture me. I have sinned away my day of grace." 
 Nay, nay, not while thou art alive and Christ lives to 
 plead for thee — not while God gives thee breath and 
 offers mercy to the man who can only cry, " God be 
 merciful to me a sinner." Where, in the blessed 
 Gospel, is it ever said that Christ turned away any 
 human soul that acknowledged its sin ? Where is 
 it said, in the Gospel, that when the Saviour, after 
 His resurrection, gave His Apostles their commission 
 to go and preach the Gospel, that He charged them 
 to preach it only to moderate sinners — to small 
 sinners — to sinners who only sinned in a whisper, 
 and never did much harm in the world ? 
 
 Remember what St. Luke tells us in the close of 
 his Gospel : that Christ charged His disciples to 
 " preach repentance and remission of sins among all 
 nations, beginning at Jerusalem." " Beginning at 
 Jerusalem " .-' Why, then. He meant that salvation 
 should be offered to the guiltiest of all sinners, Jirst. 
 It is as if the Saviour had said, " Go, and find out 
 the priestly traffickers in blood, who paid Judas the 
 thirty pieces of silver for betraying Me, and tell 
 them that there's grace and mercy, even for them ! "
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 317 
 
 " Beginning at Jerusalem " : go, and find out the 
 unfeeling official who smote Me on the face in the 
 presence of the high-priest, Caiaphas, and tell him 
 that there's grace and mercy, for him ! " Beginning 
 at Jerusalem " : go, and find out them who mocked 
 and derided Me, as I hung upon the cross, and say 
 there's mercy and grace, for them ! " Beginning at 
 Jerusalem " : go, and find out the hardened Roman 
 soldiers who spat upon Me, and blindfolded and 
 buffetted Me, and put on Me the purple robe, and in 
 mockery bowed the knee to Me, and tell them that 
 there's mercy and grace, for them ! " Beginning at 
 Jerusalem " : go and find out the men who plaited 
 the crown of thorns, and thrust it upon My brow, 
 and tell them there's grace and mercy, for them ! 
 "Beginning at Jerusalem" : go and find out the men 
 who drove the nails into My hands and feet, upon 
 the cruel cross, and tell them there's mercy and 
 grace, even for them ! 
 
 Oh, while it is recorded that Jesus directed His 
 disciples to preach remission of sins, in the very first 
 act, to the vilest sinners of all, canst thou despair, 
 poor backslider ? Oh, if thou hast defiled thy soul 
 with adultery and murder, since God pardoned 
 David, cannot He pardon thee ? If thou has denied 
 thy Lord with oaths and curses, since God pardoned 
 Peter, cannot He pardon thee ? Did He not assure 
 the backsliding Israelites, again and again, that if 
 they would return unto Him, He would heal their
 
 3l8 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 backslidings, and love them freely ? And dost thou 
 forget that Jehovah is the Unchangeable One ? 
 
 Come ! — this is thy time of need, backslider. 
 Accept the invitation, now — for I preach unto thee, 
 at this moment, repentance and remission of sins, 
 in the Name of Him who died for thee — in the 
 Name of Him who shed His blood for thee. May 
 the Lord help thee to feel that this is, indeed, thy 
 time of need, and help thee to come to the throne 
 of grace and find mercy ! 
 
 " Don't forget me ! " says some poor, weak, trem- 
 bling and fearing, and sometimes stumbling child of 
 God. " I almost think, sometimes, that I shall have 
 to give it up, and be classed with backsliders. For 
 I get wrong so often : I promise the Lord, so often, 
 to be better, and then, instead, T grow worse : I 
 listen so often to the voice of temptation, although I 
 know it to be wrong, and I'm sure to get wrong, if 
 I listen to it " — Stop, stop, my poor weak brother, 
 and look at one word in the text. " Let us, 
 therefore^ " Therefore," sir ! " Why that's a very 
 insignificant word. A lawyer's word, as we call 
 it : therefore, and wherefore, and nevertheless and 
 notwithstanding, and a score of similar words. 
 You know, the lawyers ring changes upon them, 
 when they make your Will, or a Deed of Con- 
 veyance." Ay, ay, but a lawyer will show you 
 that there is often a deal of importance in what you 
 call that insignificant word in the Will. Take care
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 319 
 
 that you never throw away your " therefores " and 
 " wherefores, " whenever you meet them in Scrip- 
 ture. They are often of more worth than you 
 imagine. Think of that splendid " therefore," in the 
 first verse of the 8th of Romans. " There is, there- 
 fore^ now, no condemnation to them which are in 
 Christ Jesus." Think of the miserable confession 
 poor Paul has been making of his state, in the 7th 
 chapter — " I know that in me (that is, in my flesh) 
 dwelleth no good thing. For to will is present with 
 me ; but how to perform that which is good, I find 
 not. For the good that I would, I do not ; but 
 the evil that I would not, that I do. ... I find a 
 law that when I would do good, evil is present with 
 me. ... I see a law in my members warring 
 against the law of my mind, and bringing me into 
 captivity to the law of sin. . , . O wretched man 
 that 1 am ! who shall deliver me from the body of 
 this death } " And then, suddenly seeing the way 
 of escape, he exclaims, " I thank God, through Jesus 
 Christ our Lord ! " And he takes a running jump 
 of faith, and clears the gap between the 7th chapter 
 of Romans and the 8th in a moment — for he lands, 
 safe, on the other side, and triumphantly exclaims, 
 " There is, therefore, now, no condemnation to them 
 which are in Christ Jesus ! " 
 
 Now, my dear tempted and tried brother, mark 
 the word that leads in the meaning of the text — 
 " Let us, therefore, come boldly '' —but why ? " For
 
 320 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 we have not a High Priest which cannot be touched 
 with the feeling of our infirmities ; but was in all 
 points tempted like as we are, yet without sin." 
 That is the therefore ; and remember it, poor tried 
 and tempted child of God. You are full of in- 
 firmities. But " we have not a High Priest which 
 cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities." 
 Therefore, you are to come boldly to the throne of 
 grace. You are tempted. So was He. Therefore, you 
 are to come boldly to the throne of grace. '' Ah ! " 
 say you, " but I am so very much tempted ! " Yea, 
 but He " was in all points tempted like as we 
 are .-* " Therefore, you are to come boldly to the 
 throne of grace. You are tempted to doubt that 
 you are a child of God ; and you are even driven 
 to fear that you will have to " give it up," as you 
 say. Do you think Jesus was never tempted to 
 give up His struggle for Man's salvation } 
 
 Christian believer! you who know by long ex- 
 perience that Faith is the realisation of things hoped 
 for, keep on believing to the end — for I must now 
 come to an end as soon as possible — the time being 
 nearly gone. I must say little on the third head. 
 
 HI. What are we to gain by practising this 
 Christian boldness } — " Mercy, and grace to help 
 us in the time of need." And does not that com- 
 prehend all that we shall want as long as we are 
 on earth ? You have heard the text preached from 
 often, it may be ; and you remember how the time of
 
 THE BOLDNESS OF FAITH. 32 1 
 
 need was described as the time of temporal dififi- 
 culty — the time of temptation — the time of sickness 
 — the time of danger — the time of death. Think 
 of all these, and expand them in your own thoughts 
 when you get home ; and God help you and help 
 us all, ever to come boldly, through the Saviour, to 
 the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and 
 find grace to help us in the time of need. 
 
 21
 
 XVL 
 
 THE ORIGIN OF MAN. 
 
 THIS is Still the great philosophical moot-point 
 of the day. Of course, the party which, for 
 the present, hold sway, is the party of Evolution — 
 the doctrine of Lamarck, and Haeckel, and Darwin. 
 But, there are a few distinguished men who refuse 
 to yield up their independence of thought,. and join 
 the " popular " cry, because it is called " popular." 
 Among these is the profound and intelligent linguist, 
 Max Miiller. 
 
 I mentioned, at page 154 of this volume, that 
 " Darwin found the black natives of Terra del 
 Fuego — the extreme south of America — perfectly 
 naked, and sleeping on the ground without any 
 covering." With very deep interest, I have just 
 now read a little paper, concerning these Fuegians, 
 by the Rev. W. R. Stevenson, in the March number 
 of our little General Baptist Magazine ; and a most 
 valuable statement concerning them, by Max Miiller, 
 in the first number of the NineteentJi Century for 
 the present year. I have also procured Mr. Young's 
 valuable missionary volume, entitled " Light in Lands
 
 THE ORIGIN OF MAN. 323 
 
 of Darkness," and have read his statement with 
 thankfulness. 
 
 To one who, like my poor self, has been, for the 
 last ten years, doing all that he can, by plain 
 speaking, to stem the -torrent of Scepticism in the 
 guise of Evolution, these several publications have 
 given deep joy. For, I have had many " stones in 
 the other pocket," as we say in old Lincolnshire. 
 A little time ago, after a lecture exposing the 
 fallacy of Evolution, in one of the chapels in Lan- 
 cashire, a friend came to me and said that the 
 minister of another chapel was present, and told 
 his mind to this friend before he went home : " I 
 would have defended Darwin's doctrine all the way 
 through," said he, " if the lecturer would have given 
 me leave." "Thank God," said I, " that he has gone 
 home without asking me for leave to spread error." 
 
 " But is it Error ? " is the pertinacious question 
 asked me by scores of young men, many of whom 
 are members of Christian churches. And som€ of 
 their ministers, they tell me, are bold to maintain 
 that a man may be a good Christian, and yet hold 
 the whole of Darwin's doctrines to be true. Nay, 
 I have been told by several credible witnesses, who 
 have a high admiration for one who may be called 
 the leading Dissenting minister of the Midlands, 
 that he has openly and unreservedly declared his 
 belief before his congregation, that Man comes out 
 of the Apes !
 
 324 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Let no one mock at an old man, when he tells 
 them that all this causes him grief. He fell into 
 error in his past life, and therefore he cultivates no 
 unkindness towards them who fall into error ; but 
 he is thankful that his common-sense has protected 
 him from holding, even in any modified shape, the 
 absurd fallacy that Man is only an improved Ape. 
 
 But I leave this gossip — which I beg the reader 
 to excuse — and proceed to the point I have in view. 
 In his very interesting book, entitled " A Naturalist's 
 Voyage round the World," Mr. Darwin thus gives 
 us his impressions of what, in 1832, he saw of the 
 natives of Terra del Fuego " : — 
 
 " It was without exception the most curious and 
 interesting spectacle I ever beheld. I could not 
 have believed how wide was the difference between 
 the savage and civilized man : it is greater than 
 between a wild and domesticated animal, inasmuch 
 as in man there is a greater power of improvement. 
 
 " The language of these people, according to our 
 notions, scarcely deserves to be called articulate. 
 Captain Cook has compared it to a man clearing 
 his throat ; but certainly no European ever cleared 
 his throat with so many hoarse, guttural, and click- 
 ing sounds. 
 
 " These poor wretches were stunted in their 
 growth ; their hideous faces were bedaubed with 
 white paint, their skins filthy and greasy, their hair 
 entangled, their voices discordant, and their gestures
 
 THE ORIGIN OF MAN. 325 
 
 violent. Viewing such men, one can hardly make 
 oneself believe that they are fellow-creatures, and 
 inhabitants of the same world. It is a common 
 subject of conjecture what pleasure in life some of 
 the lower animals can enjoy ; how much more 
 reasonably the same question may be asked with 
 respect to these barbarians. 
 
 " The different tribes when at war are cannibals. 
 From the concurrent but quite independent evi- 
 dence of the boy taken by Mr. Low, and of Jemmy 
 Button (the chief of the tribe), it is certainly true 
 that when pressed in winter by hunger they kill 
 and devour their old women before they kill their 
 dogs. 
 
 " I believe in this extreme part of America Man 
 exists in a lower state of improvement than in any 
 other part of the world." 
 
 So much for the young philosopher's opinion of 
 what he saw in 1832, and of what he thought it 
 proved. The idea that a few Christian missionaries 
 could improve these savages never seems to have 
 entered his mind. And yet, during that same 
 voyage in the Beagle, he visited New Zealand, and 
 thus writes of what he saw there : — 
 
 " The lesson of the Missionary is the enchanter's 
 wand. ... To think that this was the centre of 
 the land of cannibalism, murder, and all atrocious 
 crimes! I took leave of the missionaries with 
 thankfulness for their kind welcome, and with
 
 326 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 feelings of high respect for their gentlemanlike, 
 useful, and upright character. I think it would be 
 difficult to find a body of men better adapted for 
 the high office which they fulfil." 
 
 It is gratifying to learn that the philosopher, in 
 after-life, had the pleasurable surprise of knowing 
 that even Fuegian savages were not beyond the 
 transforming influences of Christianity. What mis- 
 sionaries endured before they succeeded — how some 
 perished of hunger — how others were massacred by 
 the clubs of the natives, I must leave the reader to 
 learn from Mr. Young's book. I can assure him 
 that he will find he never read a more heart-thrilling 
 narrative in his life. They educated a few children 
 of these poor savages, and so, at length, learnt the 
 language of some of the Fuegians, and by persever- 
 ance of the most extraordinary character, made their 
 way clear. And now, what shall be said i* — for I 
 must cut the story short — the Church of England 
 has established a mission, and — 
 
 " In 1872, Bishop Stirling, assisted by Mr. Bridges, 
 at one service baptized thirty-six adults and children, 
 and joined seven couples in Christian marriage. It 
 was a day to be remembered. The baptized organ- 
 ized evening worship spontaneously, and met in each 
 other's houses for prayer and praise. 
 
 " Since then the work has steadily progressed. 
 There is now a Christian village. Instead of the 
 miserable wigwams, cottages have been erected,
 
 THE ORIGIN OF MAN. 32/ 
 
 gardens have been planted and fenced, roads have 
 been made, cattle and goats have been introduced ; 
 an orphanage containing twenty-six children, clothed 
 fed, and educated at the expense of friends in 
 England, has been erected ; polygamy, witchcraft 
 infanticide, wrecking, theft, and other vices have 
 been abolished. 
 
 " Mr. Bridges has compiled a grammar and an 
 extensive vocabulary and dictionary, and he has 
 also completed a translation of the Gospel of St. 
 Luke, and the Acts of the Apostles, in the Yaghan 
 language, five hundred copies of the former having 
 been printed and sent out. The baptismal register 
 at the close of 1881, showed a total of one hundred 
 and thirty-six names." 
 
 The concluding account given by Mr. Young will 
 be startling to some of the Ape-theorists. 
 
 " On the occasion of the annual meeting of the 
 South American Missionary Society, 1881, Admiral 
 Sir B. J. Sullivan, stated that he had informed 
 Darwin of the kindness shown to the crews of ship- 
 wrecked vessels on the part of natives who had 
 been more or less under the influence of the mission, 
 and had also communicated to him the fact, reported 
 by Mr. Bridges, of there being fowl-houses un- 
 locked at the mission station, with plenty of eggs, 
 and that during all the years he had been there 
 the missionaries had not lost one fowl or one egg." 
 In reply, the great naturalist wrote, "He could
 
 328 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 not have believed that all the missionaries in the 
 world could ever have made the Fuegians honest." 
 The admiral also spoke of Darwin having long 
 maintained that " nothing could be done by means 
 of mission work, that all the pains bestowed on the 
 natives would be thrown away, and that they could 
 never be civilized," and of his admitting afterwards 
 that he was wrong in this opinion, and writing to 
 him in these terms — " I had always thought that the 
 civilisation of the Japanese is the most wonderful 
 thing in history, but I am now convinced that what 
 the missionaries have done in Terra del Fuego in 
 civilising the natives is at least as wonderful." So 
 impressed indeed was Darwin with the greatness of 
 the change thus wrought by the mission, that Jie 
 became a regular subscriber to the society s funds ! 
 
 After all, the frank avowal of his error by Charles 
 Darwin ought not to surprise us, for he was a real 
 philosopher. He always talked of his philosophy as 
 " my theory." I have pointed that out a thousand 
 times to my audiences. He never said, " I have dis- 
 covered an absolute and irrefragable truth, and I'll 
 knock the man down that denies it." 
 
 Let us now turn to noble Max Miiller, who for 
 " denying the gospel of the day, that man is the 
 offspring of a brute " is, as he says, under the 
 anathema of the dictatorial Evolution party. Being, 
 at least, one of the greatest linguists in the world, 
 he is entitled to speak with decision on the great
 
 THE ORIGIN OF MAN. 329 
 
 question of Man's origin — for, as Man only can 
 speak, language must be one of the surest tests of 
 his origin. Thus the great professor of language 
 says, — 
 
 " As I look upon language neither as a ready-made 
 gift of God, nor as a natural growth of the human 
 mind, but as, in the true sense of the word, a work 
 of human art, I must confess that nothing has sur- 
 prised me so much as the high art displayed in the 
 languages of so-called savages. I do not wish to 
 exaggerate ; and I know quite well that a great 
 abundance of grammatical forms, such as we find in 
 these savages dialects, is by no means a proof of 
 high intellectual development. But if we consider 
 how small is the number of words and ideas in the 
 ordinary vocabulary of an English peasant, and if 
 then we find that one dialect of the Fuegians, the 
 Tagan, consists of about 30,000 words, we cer- 
 tainly hesitate before venturing to classify the 
 possessors of so vast an inherited wealth as the 
 descendants of poor savages, more savage than 
 themselves. Such facts cannot be argued away. 
 We cannot prevent people from despising religious 
 concepts different from their own, or from laughing 
 at customs which they themselves could never adopt. 
 But such a treasure of conceptual thought as is 
 implied in the possession of a vocabulary of 30,000 
 entries, cannot be ignored in our estimate of the 
 antecedents of this Fuegian race. I select the
 
 330 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Fuegians as a crucial test, simply because Darwin 
 selected them as the strongest proof of his own 
 theory, and placed them almost below the level 
 reached by the most intelligent animals. I have 
 always had a true regard for Darwin, and what I 
 admired in him more than anything else was his 
 fearlessness, his simple devotion to truth, I believe 
 that if he had seen that his own theories were wrong, 
 he would have been the first to declare it, what- 
 ever his followers might have said. But in spite of 
 all that, no man can resist the influence of his own 
 convictions. When Darwin looked at the Fuegians, 
 he no doubt saw what he tells us ; but then he saw 
 it with Darwinian eyes." 
 
 Professor Max Miiller contends that Mr. Darwin 
 was mistaken in his estimate of the Fuegian 
 language. He shows that some tasteful judges of 
 language have expressed their opinion in the con- 
 trary direction ; and then, he thus proceeds : — 
 
 " And, even if the sound of their language was as 
 guttural as some of the Swiss dialects, how shall we 
 account for the wealth of their vocabulary .' Every 
 concept embodied in their language is the result of 
 hard intellectual labour ; and although here again 
 excessive wealth may be an embarrassment, yet 
 there remains enough to prove a past that must 
 have been very different from the present. 
 
 " The workman must at least have been as great 
 as his work ; and as the ruins of Central America tell
 
 THE ORIGIN OF MAN. 331 
 
 US of architects greater than any that country could 
 produce at present, the magnificent ruins in the 
 dialect, whether Fuegians, Mohawks, or Hottentots, 
 tell us of mental builders whom no one could match 
 at present. Even in their religious beliefs there are 
 here and there rays of truth which could never have 
 proceeded from the dark night of their actual super- 
 stitions. The Fuegians, according to Captain Fitz- 
 Roy, believe in a just god, and a spirit moving 
 about in forests and mountains. They may believe 
 in a great deal more, but people who believe in a 
 great spirit in forests and mountains, and in a just 
 god, are not on the lowest step of the ladder leading 
 from earth to heaven. 
 
 " The Duke of Argyll, in examining the principal 
 races that are commonly called savage, has pointed 
 out that degraded races generally inhabit the extreme 
 ends of continents or tracts of country almost unfit 
 for human habitation, or again whole islands difficult 
 of access except under exceptionally favourable 
 conditions. He naturally concludes that they did 
 not go there of their own free will, but that they 
 represent conquered races, exiles, weaklings, cowards, 
 criminals, who saved nothing but their life in their 
 flight before more vigorous conquerors, or in their 
 exile from countries that had thrown them off like 
 poison. Instead of looking on the inhabitants of 
 Terra del Fuego as children of the soil, Autoch- 
 thones, or the immediate descendants of the mythical
 
 332 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Proanthropoi, the Duke points out that it is far more 
 h'kely they may have come from the north ; that their 
 ancestors may have participated in the blessings of 
 the soil and climate of Chili, Peru, Brazil, or Mexico, 
 possibly in the early civilisation of that part of the 
 world ; and that the wretchedness of the country 
 into which they were driven fully accounts for their 
 present degradation. Take away the wretchedness 
 of their present home, educate a baby, as Captain 
 FitzRoy did, under the beneficent influence of an 
 English sky and of European civilisation, and in one 
 generation, as Mr. Darwin tells us, ' his intellect and 
 disposition were good.' " 
 
 The concluding words of Max Miiller, in the 
 article which I have taken the liberty to quote, in 
 the first number for the present year, of the Nine- 
 teentli Century^ are very wise words. They are as 
 follows : — 
 
 " Disappointing as it may sound, the fact must 
 be faced, nevertheless, that our reasoning faculties, 
 wonderful as they are, break down completely before 
 all problems concerning the origin of things. We 
 may imagine, we may believe, anything we like 
 about the first man ; we can know absolutely 
 nothing. If we trace him back to a primeval cell, 
 the primeval cell that could become a man is more 
 mysterious by far than the man that was evolved 
 trom a cell. If we trace him back to a primeval 
 pro-anthropos, the pro-anthropos is more unintelli-
 
 THE ORIGIN OF MAN. 333 
 
 gible to us than even the protanthropos would be. 
 If we trace back the whole solar system to a 
 rotating nebula, that wonderful nebula, which by- 
 evolution and revolution could become an inhabitable 
 universe is, again, far more mysterious than the 
 universe itself. 
 
 " The lesson that there are limits to our know- 
 ledge is an old lesson, but it has to be taught again 
 and again. It was taught by Buddha, it was taught 
 by Socrates, and it was taught for the last time in 
 the most powerful manner by Kant. Philosophy 
 has been called the knowledge of our knowledge ; it 
 might be called more truly the knowledge of our 
 ignorance, or, to adopt the more moderate language 
 of Kant, the knowledge of the limits of our know- 
 ledge." 
 
 Let us hope we are not far from the time when 
 the little people who so fussily show us their collec- 
 tions of chipped flints, and desire so earnestly, 
 that we will mark how artistically they are chipped, 
 proving, they contend, that the flints must have 
 been chipped by human beings — will see that their 
 reasoning cuts the other way : not that Man came 
 out of the Apes, but that he lost his civilisation, and 
 had to resort to such substitutes as he could invent, 
 when he had wandered away from the land where 
 he had lived in a higher condition. And the frag- 
 ments of bone, with drawings upon them — so 
 artistic ! the exhibitors charge you to observe — do
 
 334 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 they show also that Man was just rising out of the 
 brute when he was able to draw that figure of a 
 deer, so artistically ? 
 
 I freely confess that no flint, or bone, or ancient 
 fragment of any kind, has ever been shown to me, 
 by the most enthusiastic Ape-theorist — and I know 
 here and there one — which proved or seemed likely 
 to prove anything more than that he who worked 
 and formed the same was merely imitating the 
 convenient tool, or the more perfect drawing, he had 
 possessed before he wandered away from a higher 
 condition in which he and his ancestors lived.
 
 XVII. 
 
 ON THE ' MESSIAH ' OF HANDEL. 
 
 T~\ID the musicians among our English working 
 -' — men and lower middle classes who assisted in 
 the occasional performance of the Messiah fifty years 
 ago, know what they were doing ? Let none of the 
 intellectuals of the present day be surprised if I be 
 so audacious as to answer — No. For that is the 
 true answer. It will be remembered by all who 
 have read my ' Life written by Myself what an 
 enthusiastic connection I had with the Lincoln 
 Choral Society, fifty years ago. 
 
 Now, the first time that a performance of the 
 entire Messiah was announced in our advertisements, 
 we had, as is usual with such societies, a book of the 
 words sold to those who attended to hear. I had 
 strongly suspected that there was a profound degree 
 of ignorance among people in general, respecting 
 the true character of the Messiah, since I found it 
 to be so common among musicians. So I drew up 
 a plain description of what the Messiah really is, 
 and had it printed and prefixed to the book of 
 words, that every listener to the music might
 
 336 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 know what it really was to which he was listen- 
 ing. 
 
 I do not think that a tenth part of the crowd of 
 listeners read the description — for I never heard any 
 one of them mention it. But, judge of my astonish- 
 ment, on my first visit to our organist after the 
 performance — and, on my visit, the following day, 
 to a clerical gentleman who had the reputation of 
 being the best pianist and the most accomplished 
 musician in Lincoln — both of whom, I found, were 
 as ignorant as the crowd of the real nature of 
 Handel's priceless work ! 
 
 " Pray, where did you find this excellent descrip- 
 tion of the Messiah ? " I was asked. 
 
 " Oh, sir," said I, to the one and the other, " I 
 drew it up hastily myself — for I find people in 
 general go to hear music without thinking much of 
 the nature of what is being performed." 
 
 In each case, the skilled musician gazed at me, 
 incredulously, and said, " How can you have written 
 it .'' I have gone through Handel's work hundreds 
 of times in my life, and I never understood the 
 meaning of it before — but, for a certainty, this is 
 the meaning of it ! " 
 
 The greater frequency of musical performances in 
 England, and, I suppose one may add, the improved 
 musical taste of the people, have led, no doubt, to a 
 better estimate, arising from greater thoughtfulness, 
 of the true nature aud value of great master-pieces
 
 ON THE ' MESSIAH ' OF HANDEL. 337 
 
 in music. I have no copy of the description I drew 
 up to prefix to our book of words : so I must take 
 the liberty to give the reader a substitute which 
 embodies that description. 
 
 In my novel entitled ' The Family Feud ' — now 
 out of print: — I have three heroines : a plain country 
 girl, a fine attractive lady, and a romantic musical 
 enthusiast. Now, when you are writing for bread — 
 an experience which many scores of men in London, 
 will understand — you are ready to snatch at almost 
 any scrap of writing you have in your desk, and 
 make use of it, if you can. I remembered the 
 " description " and so made use of it in a dialogue 
 between the musical enthusiast and the hero of the 
 .story. I extract some part of the dialogue. It is 
 as follows : — 
 
 " Handel failed — if it be not profane to say that 
 such a giant could fail," said Una, " in attempting 
 to portray in music the vivid and rapturous thoughts 
 of ' II Penseroso ' and ' L'Allegro.' But, if he could 
 not translate Milton's own ineffable language into a 
 higher, he transcends Milton in his management of 
 a great subject on which they have, each, essayed 
 his colossal genius independently." 
 
 " I do not exactly know to what you allude," 
 said Wilfred. 
 
 " To the ' Messiah,' his great musical epic. It is 
 the true ' Paradise Regained ' : the proper sequel to 
 the ' Paradise Lost.' " 
 
 22
 
 338 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 " There is glorious poetry in the ' Paradise 
 Regained ' — glorious poetry " 
 
 " Such as none but our all-glorious Milton could 
 write," interjected Una. 
 
 " Yet, I have always thought," continued Harlow, 
 " that the attempts to overthrow noble old Johnson's 
 objection to it were unsuccessful. It is founded on 
 too narrow a basis : the theme required a wider 
 platform for full treatment than that afforded by 
 the narrative of the temptation in the wilderness. 
 The stupendous event of Man's redemption demanded 
 a more lofty and plenary effort from Milton. But, 
 does the ' Messiah ' fulfil the requisitions we might 
 put forth for the treatment of such a theme .'' " 
 
 " All — all ! " replied Una, with triumphant enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 " I had understood it to be a grand, but hasty 
 creation thrown together in a hurry, and partly 
 composed of adaptations from some of the great 
 master's early efforts : the anthems composed for 
 Christmas, and other festivals, in his youth. I 
 remember reading, somewhere or other, something 
 to that effect : I think it was said to be so stated 
 in a published correspondence between Zelter and 
 Goethe." 
 
 After a few preliminary remarks, defining the 
 subject of the ' Mess-ah,' Una showed that the 
 Oratorio might be considered as composed of eight 
 sections. " The first," said she, " concluding with
 
 ON THE 'MESSIAH' OF HANDEL. 339 
 
 the magnificent chorus, ' For unto us a Child is 
 born,' has for its whole subject the prophecies of 
 the Old Testament directly prefiguring the advent 
 of Messiah. The second section narrates the birth 
 of the Divine Child. It commences with the 
 Pastoral Symphony, and concludes with the chorus 
 of the angels, ' Glory to God in the highest ! ' " 
 
 " You have said that music has a positive lan- 
 guage," interrupted Wilfred, " and I think I felt that 
 it had, while you played the ' Pastoral Symphony ' 
 on the organ last night. Does it not describe the 
 sweet calm, the rest, and peacefulness of night ? " 
 
 " Yes : Night, so beautiful in the East — with 
 the flocks at rest, and the simple and happy shep- 
 herd watching them. That sweetest of symphonies 
 shows that music has a higher vocation than that of 
 being the mere handmaid to poetry. Handel has 
 proved to us there the independent power of music, 
 and how rich it is in expression of its own. He 
 would not degrade his art by fitting the words 
 'There were shepherds,' etc., to an air. He threw 
 them carelessly into recitative, as not sufficiently 
 poetical and richly descriptive, though they are full 
 of suggestion ; and created, in the independent lan- 
 guage of his own Art, that lovely scene of the happy 
 night when the beneficence of Heaven was about to 
 be realised for men." 
 
 " The third section," continued Una, " describes 
 the Saviour's ministerial life, commences with the air
 
 340 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 ' Rejoice greatly/ and concludes with the light, pleas- 
 ing chorus ' His yoke is easy.' The fourth section 
 depicting with unequalled pathetic power the suffer- 
 ings and death of Christ, commences with the chorus 
 ' Behold the Lamb of God,' and concludes with the 
 recitative ' He was cut off out of the land of the 
 living.' The fifth has for its subject the resurrection 
 and ascension of the Saviour : it bursts suddenly, in 
 tones of returning joyousness on the ear, with the 
 air * But Thou didst not leave,' and ends with the 
 air * Thou art gone up on high.' 
 
 " The sixth section, describing the spread and 
 universal triumph of Messiah's gospel, in spite of 
 earthly opposition, begins with the sprightly chorus 
 * The Lord gave the word,' and ends with the 
 splendid ' Hallelujah Chorus.' The seventh por- 
 traying the Christian's steadfast confidence in a 
 resurrection, commences with the beautiful air ' I 
 know that my Redeemer liveth,' and concludes with 
 the air ' If God be for us.' The last section com- 
 pletes the grand epic by describing the eternal 
 employment of the blessed in heaven : it contains 
 two choruses — ' Worthy is the Lamb ' and the ' Amen 
 Chorus.' And the great master, as a consummating 
 proof of his devotion, has almost exhausted his 
 science in the construction of the last piece." 
 
 " Solve me one mystery before you finish your 
 description," said Wilfred Harlow : " you speak of 
 the ' Amen Chorus ' as a matchless piece of musical
 
 ON THE * MESSIAH ' OF HANDEL. 34I 
 
 science ; but to me it is a puzzle. I heard it once, 
 when, unhke the ' Pastoral Symphony,' it did speak 
 a positive language to me. I could not comprehend 
 the meaning of the variations on the one word 
 ' Amen. ' " 
 
 " You would have comprehended the meaning of 
 the fugue, if you had listened to a performance of 
 the whole Messiah thoughtfully. Handel is not 
 saying ' Amen ' in a whimsical way at the end of 
 his lesson, like a quaint clerk responding to the 
 parson at the end of the prayers. He is expressing 
 eternity — the eternity of praise." 
 
 " I see it — I see it ! " cried Wilfred. 
 
 " Take the first opportunity you may have for 
 hearing a full performance of the Messiah" said 
 Una, earnestly, " and you will be wholly of my 
 persuasion that Handel's work is the true ' Paradise 
 Regained ' : the only worthy sequel to the transcen- 
 dent ' Paradise Lost.' " 
 
 No doubt, as I have before said, there is a 
 more widely diffused and intelligent understanding 
 of the worth and real meaning of Handel's great 
 work than there was, in England, fifty years ago ; 
 but I have frequently seen, in some of the small 
 periodicals, during the last fifty years, a rash guess 
 which shows great ignorance of what the writers 
 were naming. " The entire Oratorio was composed 
 in a very few days " — one has asserted. " It was 
 stjjuck off at a heat " — asserted another, " and there-
 
 342 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 fore ought to be regarded as one of the greatest 
 triumphs of the human mind." One wonders how 
 any sensible man could either conceive or receive 
 such an idea. Does anybody ever try to befool 
 us by telling us that " Hamlet " was " struck off at 
 a heat "—or "Lear," or "Othello," or "Macbeth".? 
 
 That man must be a man of no thought who can 
 imagine that any great product of the human mind 
 is ever " struck off at a heat." The seeds of great 
 thoughts are conceived in the mind by influences 
 and causes we cannot always trace ; and they often 
 are long in budding, and still longer before they 
 blossom. Undoubtedly there is truth in what one 
 of the writers relates in the correspondence between 
 Zelter and Goethe : that Handel, while only a 
 young musician, composed anthems for the festivals 
 of the Protestant church, and remembered many of 
 the beautiful passages in the airs and choruses with 
 which his wondrous genius began to teach men how 
 to celebrate Christmas and Easter. And when the 
 first thought of a musical epic which should embody 
 the great subject of our redemption by Christ germed 
 in his mind, he could not fail to remember many of 
 the grandest and most beautiful musical achievements 
 of his youth, and to see their fitness to form a part 
 of his new project. 
 
 Perhaps he revolved that project for years in his 
 mind, during the busy life into which he plunged in 
 his manhood. There was a great deal more re-
 
 ON THE ' MESSIAH ' OF HANDEL. 343 
 
 ligiousness in Handel than some people are willing to 
 allow. A few whimsical or grotesque anecdotes are 
 not real tests of a man's character. That " First 
 Part," as it is usually termed, of the Messiah, from 
 " Comfort ye my people " to the close of " For unto 
 us a Child is born," is very beautifully and strongly 
 indicative of the fact that Handel's mind frequently 
 and deeply pondered the ancient Scriptures — doubt- 
 less with the gradually developing thought, and then, 
 the resolution, that he would one day do something 
 great with their inspiring aid. 
 
 Thus one may imagine that he did not read on to 
 the fortieth chapter of Isaiah, before he found what 
 he judged to be a right commencement of his great 
 musical epic — without much reverent pondering over 
 the earlier books of the Old Testament. The giving 
 of the Law from Sinai, however attractive the awful 
 theme might be for musical treatment, he perceived 
 would not form a suitable beginning for his Oratorio. 
 The Plagues of Egypt and the Passage of the 
 Red Sea, most likely caused him to hesitate as to 
 whether he should enfold a lofty treatment of them 
 into something like an introduction. But he passed 
 over them, one cannot help thinking, at an early 
 period, determining to try his genius upon them at 
 a later date. 
 
 There was so much that was suitable for musical 
 interpretation also in the histories of Abraham and 
 the other patriarchs, that he would, belike, have to
 
 344 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 constrain himself to pass by them — for, the more 
 he thoui^ht of the mode by which he should 
 introduce his great theme, the more powerfully 
 the sweet strains of Isaiah would lay hold of his 
 heart and imagination, till he saw clearly that the 
 prophecies foregoing the birth of the Divine Child 
 were what he must first deal with. It was to 
 be a revelation of Divine love and beneficence to 
 Man, that he was to deal with, and so it seemed 
 clearly right that the very starting note itself and 
 all the introductory part should be joyous : the two 
 airs in this part which are not so, are skilful con- 
 trasts to enhance the joy of the general introduction. 
 
 No musical critic that I remember has ever taken 
 note of one fact in the Messiah which is really a 
 most noteworthy fact. That the glorious " Halle- 
 lujah Chorus " is the grandest effort and triumph of 
 Handel's genius is a universal opinion ; and one 
 never thinks of King George the Third, small-minded 
 and obstinate in wrong, as he was, without a lenient 
 feeling, when we call to mind that he instituted the 
 custom of rising and uncovering the head whenever 
 the sublime chorus is performed before a London 
 audience : a custom now practised also in the 
 country. 
 
 But what is the really noteworthy fact that I wish 
 to impress on the mind of the reader t Not that the 
 great composer gave the world his grandest chorus 
 as a triumphant close to the period of prophecy —
 
 ON THE ' MESSIAH ' OF HANDEL. 345 
 
 although " For unto us a Child is born " is one of his 
 noblest choruses. Not that he conceived it right and 
 good to give the world his master-chorus as a con- 
 clusion to his work — although "Worthy is the Lamb" 
 and the "Amen Chorus" form a transcendent attempt 
 to realise the rapturous worship of the saints in 
 heaven. It may cause a sneer with some irreverent 
 minds, but I must contend that there was a large 
 measure of the missionary spirit in the mind of 
 Handel, or he would not have created his grandest 
 chorus to celebrate the spread of Christ's gospel all 
 over the earth — in fact, to celebrate the Millennium. 
 There must have been much religiousness in the 
 heart and mind of Handel, as I have before hinted. 
 He was a literal believer in Christianity : not a 
 quibbler, in any degree. That simple story of what 
 he said in his last illness proves it : "I should like," 
 said he, " to die on Good Friday, that I might be in 
 heaven with my dear Lord, on Easter Sunday." He 
 died on Good Friday, as the reader will no doubt 
 remember. The wish which some very wise people 
 will deem childish, very likely, seems to me indica- 
 tive of a great and valuable truth : that the Bible 
 and all it reveals — but more especially the theme of 
 Redemption — dwelt much in Handel's memory, and 
 in his heart and mind : that he grasped the state- 
 ments of Christianity as facts — facts as veritable as 
 his own existence — and rejoiced with an elevated 
 joy in the belief that this Christianity would, one
 
 346 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 day, fill the earth. It is this elevated joy of his own 
 heart and soul, that he strives to express, in the 
 unequalled " Hallelujah " I, 
 
 Let us thank God that ever He created such a 
 soul as Milton's to give us the " Paradise Lost " ; and 
 that He called into being such a soul as Handel's to 
 give us the true " Paradise Regained" — the Messiah!
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ON THE MISUSE OF LANGUAGE IN CONVERSATION. 
 
 A FOREIGNER who was condemned to hear our 
 ^^^ daily speech could not be deemed harsh, if he 
 avowed his belief that English people considered 
 their native tongue as too beggarly for use — if he 
 judged that we believed the successive generations of 
 our ancestors had left us heirs to a speech too 
 troublesome and untasteful for us to take it daily 
 into our mouths, and sound it in one another's ears. 
 The poor, neglected adjectives of our language, for 
 instance — although so highly prized and carefully 
 treasured up in his memory by the Poet — seem to 
 be commonly regarded as worn out and worthless. 
 I am not pointing to the practice of the profaniun 
 vidgHS : I am talking of the daily and hourly con- 
 versation of thousands who are held unquestionably 
 to \i& gentlefolks. They have fixed on the one small 
 pitiable adjective, nice ; and they murder it, every 
 day of their lives. 
 
 Thus we hear of a nice man, a nice fellow, a nice 
 boy or girl, a nice woman, and a nice lady, a nice 
 gentleman, and his nice wife or daughter, a nice
 
 348 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 pony, a nice chaise, a nice coat or waistcoat, a nice 
 hat, a nice pair of shoes or boots, a nice table or 
 chair, a nice book, a nice inkstand, a nice plate, a 
 nice house, a nice garden, a nice flower or tree, a 
 nice dog, a nice cat, a nice bird, a nice cage, a nice 
 pudding, a nice tart, a nice apple or orange, a nice 
 pear or plum, a nice glass, a nice decanter, a nice 
 mutton chop, a nice veal cutlet, a nice veil, a nice 
 bonnet, a nice handkerchief, a nice dress, a nice frill, 
 a nice piece of silk, lace, or muslin, a nice player on 
 the piano, a nice singer, a nice speaker, a nice tune, 
 a nice song, nice music, nice wine, nice tea, nice 
 cofl"ee, a nice place, a nice town, a nice street or 
 square, a nice walk, a nice sleep, a nice dinner, nice 
 company, nice talk, a nice visit, a nice drive, a nice 
 sofa, a nice watch, a nice gold chain, a nice church 
 or chapel, a nice pew, and, even a nice minister ! 
 What is there that poor, infatuated people, of so 
 many grades, do not call nice? 
 
 If it be right and sensible to go on with this 
 vulgar practice, let editions be printed of dictionaries 
 which have no adjectives in them except this four- 
 lettered thing — nice. As the other adjectives are 
 deemed not worth using, let them be abolished ; and 
 let it be fineable for any person who can afford to 
 pay a fine, to speak of a good man, an agreeable 
 man, a courteous man, a kind man, a polite man, a 
 pleasant man, a well-disposed man, a clever man — 
 or a man of any description except a nice man.
 
 MISUSE OF LANGUAGE IN CONVERSATION. 349 
 
 And let there be equal dealing towards the gentler 
 sex : they are to be fined if they substitute any 
 other adjective for nice. And, if there be any 
 working man so self-opinionated and ill-mannered, 
 that he will not, — say or threaten what you may, — 
 use the word nice, but will use adjectives which his 
 conceit selects as more appropriate — why, give him 
 a day's fasting on the tread-wheel, to teach him 
 " manners." As to enlisting people in a crusade 
 against this murdering of the word nice — nobody 
 could be found to join it. I see no remedy but to 
 let the infatuation wear itself out, but that will not 
 be in my time. 
 
 Another word which has been for some years 
 common among uneducated working men, is now 
 coming into use among what are called " the respect- 
 able people." I mean the poor little word lot. The 
 use of it is often really disgusting. " Lots of folks " 
 — " lots of fun" — " lots of sheep and cattle " — lots of 
 pigs and pigeons " — " lots of crows and sparrows " — 
 lots of time : " we've an hour to spare yet " — " lots 
 of rubbish " — " lots of butter and eggs in the market, 
 to-day " — " lots of books " — " lots of fiddlers and 
 dancers " — " lots of singers " — " lots of parsons " — 
 " lots of chapels and churches " — I need not go on : 
 everything is vulgarized by being described consisting 
 of lots ! 
 
 I have tried a reforming experiment with some of 
 these /^/-people. " My friend," I have said, " do you
 
 350 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 not know that a lot is a share ? It is quite right to 
 say " that piece of ground is to be sold in lots of 
 three or four acres each " ; but it would be wrong 
 to say " that piece of ground grows lots of thistles." 
 Lot does not mean abundance : it means a share, or 
 " divided portion." My listener, instead of being 
 reformed, has usually laughed at me, in derision, and 
 walked away ! 
 
 Other words are wrongly used, and their wrong 
 use has a current acceptation even among highly- 
 cultured people — who never seem to suspect that 
 they are speaking incorrectly. I may instance the 
 word quantity, so commonly substituted for " number." 
 Addison commits the error in his first paper in 
 the dear old Spectator : he talks if a " quantity of 
 people " ; and I have heard Thomas Carlyle make 
 the same blunder, again and again — but I had not 
 the courage to tell him of it. One would think 
 that it requires small culture to perceive that while 
 it is right to speak of a quantity of meal, or 
 anything that can be measured — we ought to use 
 the word mnnber when we speak of what can be 
 counted. 
 
 Living as we do, in an age of exaggeration, we 
 need not wonder at the current use of such epithets 
 as "splen'did," "frightful," "awful," and "terrific" ; but 
 in whatever violations of rational speech sane people 
 may choose to indulge — no one should be allowed 
 to establish a habit of daily corrupting our grammar,
 
 MISUSE OF LANGUAGE IN CONVERSATION. 35 1 
 
 without notice being taken of such a barbarous 
 propensity. 
 
 Exceedingly few people among the classes which 
 are not really well-educated seem to know that they 
 are speaking incorrectly by using the word very in 
 the way they always use it. " I am very pleased 
 to see you," they commonly say. I venture, some- 
 times, to ask young ministers, or others, " Why do 
 you say you are ve;y pleased ? Does not ' pleased ' 
 express what you mean without very ? Do you ever 
 say * I am very loved ' — or ' I was very struck ' — or 
 * I was very clothed ' — or ' very adapted,' or ' very 
 pledged,' or ' very watched,' or ' very pruned,' or 
 ' very digged,' or ' very bathed,' or ' very washed,' 
 or ' very shortened ' } " 
 
 No : the nature of the perfect participle — whether 
 you know it to be one, or not — has the mysterious 
 •effect of preventing you from joining it with a 
 wrong word. Instead of very, you use " much," or 
 " well," or " greatly " : you must exaggerate, to be in 
 fashion : but, by instinct — for it may be by instinct 
 only, and not by knowledge : you, by instinct, avoid 
 the use of bad grammar. 
 
 I am sorry to say that this bad habit is growing. 
 I heard a young preacher say, the other day, that he 
 was " very interested " in reading a certain book ; 
 and a good lady say she was " very distressed " on 
 hearing that so many poor people were in want. 
 Let the critics know that I am aware of there
 
 352 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 being a little difficulty in this case. We are so 
 much in the habit of converting perfect participles 
 into what are called " participial adjectives," that it is 
 not a violation of language to place the word " very " 
 before a word which is so converted. The first word 
 in our common version of the Psalms furnishes us 
 with a good instance, or example : " Blessed is the 
 man," and so forth : we may correctly say of such 
 a man, " Yes : he is a very blessed man." 
 
 I will not say more about our common misuse 
 of language in conversation. Some will, perchance, 
 think I had better have said nothing about it. But, 
 surely, an old man may be excused for trying to 
 abolish errors of any kind, before he goes out of this 
 world of error.
 
 XIX. 
 
 WHAT OUR MORAL NATURE PROVES. 
 
 [An Argument addressed to a small company of moral 
 men, who were professed Atheists : thirty years ago.^ 
 
 IV T OTHING ever cost me more anxious thought 
 ^ ^ than the word " Duty." All of you who have 
 heard me in this place and elsewhere, for some years 
 past, must remember that it was a very frequent 
 word with me: as frequent as the word "Retribution." 
 And you may also remember how often some of our 
 young friends attempted to get up an opposition to 
 my views of " Duty " and " Retribution." They did 
 not succeed in convincing me ; nor, perhaps, did I 
 succeed in convincing them. That very opposition, 
 however, served to make me think more deeply. I 
 began to see the reason why they did not like my 
 notions of " Retribution " ; and I began to see that it 
 was also impossible they could receive my notions of 
 " Duty." 
 
 This caused me to weigh very thoughtfully the 
 arguments for and against the Moral Nature of Man. 
 And I came at length to the conviction that there 
 
 23
 
 354 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 is no solid foundation for Morality, no certainty of 
 securing moral practice, without the clear perception 
 and belief in an Infinite Moral Governor of the 
 Universe. And I no sooner reached that conviction 
 than I found it impossible to resist conscience, and 
 so began to teach it. 
 
 I have certainly not pleased my old friends in 
 taking these steps — and it is not very evident, I 
 think, that I have made many new friends by taking 
 this course. But I have long since learned that to 
 obey conscience and speak truth, let the conse- 
 quences be what they may, is far nobler than to seek 
 to please men by telling them what they like, and 
 what meets their views. 
 
 To-night, I return to this great subject of Duty ; 
 and I must speak what I believe to be the truth, 
 from conviction. I impugn no other man's con- 
 viction. I only entreat all to think, and to think 
 seriously upon the grounds of Duty. 
 
 And I must commence by saying that I hold it 
 to be utterly impossible to show any real ground for 
 Duty, in a high and noble sense, if men deny the 
 existence of a Moral Governor of the World and His 
 endowment of Man with a moral nature and attri- 
 bute all existence to blind or unintelligent Necessity. 
 
 I. Man's first duty, with the conviction of God's 
 ex'stence, would be submission to the will of God. 
 I have no canting meaning: I mean nothing slavish: 
 I have a right to protest and resist oppression, for it
 
 WHAT OUR MORAL NATURE PROVES, 355 
 
 is contrary to God's will. The organic laws are 
 violated by those who oppress us ; and submission 
 to the will of God does not consist in submitting to 
 those who are not guided by His Will, 
 
 Submission to the will of God ought at least to 
 be general. There ought to be no daring accusation 
 of His wisdom and reckless denial of His goodness. 
 " We don't want a God : we can do without Him," 
 some of you say. I do not say you all talk in 
 that manner. I hope some of you do want to 
 believe in a God, and would gladly believe if your 
 difficulties were removed. But from the signs of 
 approval given to some reckless speakers, in these 
 discussions, it would seem that some of you really 
 like to hear an oppositionist all the better the more 
 coarsely and recklessly he talks. 
 
 Submission that God has done right in making 
 Man what he is — that is, human and not angelic ; 
 submission, to His Infinite Wisdom and perfect 
 goodness in making Man ; and confidence and trust 
 that God had the most beneficent intent in thus 
 making Man : these form "submission to His Will, 
 in general." But the Love of God is no duty with 
 you who deny His existence. You ignore such a 
 feeling. You will not allow yourselves to admire 
 His wisdom, and you deny His goodness — therefore 
 how can you love Him } " Thou shalt love the 
 Lord thy God with all thy heart," etc., words which 
 express what we must feel to be the highest of all
 
 356 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 duties, when we believe in God : these words are 
 unmeaning to you — or you sneer at them. 
 
 Love God ! you do not admit that there is one to 
 love. You contend that if there be one, He must 
 rather deserve a grumbling hatred than a devout 
 love, because He has not made the Universe right. 
 And yet how cheerfully you can acquiesce in the 
 present condition of things, if you may be without 
 God, and have for worship your favourite Necessity 
 — blind, unintelligent Necessity. TIi£7i, it is all 
 right — or it will be right in time — for you believe 
 in endless progression. You are the only gods : 
 there are no other. Thus your Atheism is really a 
 Polytheism. 
 
 But you will not like so much to be said about 
 the passive duty : submission to the will of God. 
 And, perhaps, you will bear as impatiently anything 
 that can be said about the active duty which is bind- 
 ing on Man — namely, 
 
 2. Doing the will of God : I mean not merely 
 submission, but doing it in act, and word, and 
 thought. I find a new language used of late, by 
 some of the professed disciples of Atheism. The 
 word " Duty " is very much used and insisted on by 
 them. And I am glad of this ; because I am sure, 
 if you will only use reflection, that it will soon lead 
 you and me to a happy agreement. Active duties 
 are commended, and you are encouraged to perform 
 them, from the inward satisfaction they will give you.
 
 WHAT OUk moral NATURE PROVES. 357 
 
 Pray how is it that you expect to take delight in 
 benevolence and self-denial and self-sacrifice ? What 
 makes you capable of such a feeling ? Your nature 
 is not altogether of such despicable origin, then, as 
 some of you profess to think. 
 
 Where did you get the nature to pity distress and 
 to deny yourselves in order to relieve it, or to feel 
 that you ought to do so ? Is it not a proof that 
 God has made you much better than you profess to 
 believe, while you are finding fault with the nature 
 He has given to Man ? How came you to be 
 capable of yearning over the distressed and labouring 
 to relieve them, if all things spring from a blind 
 Necessity — a Necessity without mind and without 
 will ? Is it not very unaccountable that from 
 unthinking atoms this creature Man should come to 
 exist — filled with pity and love for his kind, and 
 capable of progressing in such feelings, by reflecting 
 upon their excellence and resolving to be more 
 excellent ? 
 
 I tell you when lost amidst all the difficulties 
 which surround these great questions — baffled by 
 vain attempts to get right in one direction and 
 another — and often feeling as if I must give up the 
 struggle and resign myself to a hopeless scepticism — 
 this was where light broke in upon me. The exalted 
 moral nature of Man — his aspirations after purity 
 and rectitude, notwithstanding his lapses into error 
 and crime — and the longing after that purity and
 
 358 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 rectitude which only becomes more deep and fervent 
 the more the aspiration is cherished. 
 
 Now, I speak home to your own experience, 
 believing you to be sincere men. I trust all of you 
 — although I cannot read your hearts, and I have 
 no right to judge you evilly, — I speak home to you, 
 and I ask you if you do not know what it is to 
 struggle against bad passions and bad desires, and to 
 breathe after a higher nature ; to desire to be freed 
 from anger and pride and vindictiveness and unkind 
 thoughts and selfishness and unclean thoughts and 
 all the daily imperfection of which you are conscious ? 
 Whence comes all this .'' If you owe your existence 
 to a blind Necessity, if no Great Power made you, 
 if no Divine Power stirs in you, if this world has no 
 Great Moral Governor, and you are only to live a 
 few days here, and then die and be conscious no 
 more for ever — why have you these aspirations ? 
 Because God stirs within you : for He is in you, 
 although you deny Him. 
 
 All this aspiration is inconsistent with your 
 principles, as Atheists. A blind Necessity : the 
 world was not made by the Divine Intelligence. 
 " Intelligence is no primary principle," says our sincere 
 little friend there — for no doubt he is sincere. 
 There has come to be, somehow or other, what is 
 called " intelligence " — but it was not from Intelli- 
 gence : it was by unintelligent Necessity. And why 
 all this mental toil to acquire good dispositions and
 
 WHAT OUR MORAL NATURE PROVES. 359 
 
 good tempers and good thoughts, that we may be 
 enabled to take delight in doing good, and higher 
 and still higher delight ? It is no preparation for 
 another and a better state : it is only a bustle in the 
 dust to which we shall soon return and be no more 
 conscious for ever ! These are the principles of 
 Atheistic Materialism ; and I contend that no 
 " elevated morality " can spring from such principles. 
 There is no Divine Moral Governor, you contend ; 
 and so you are amenable to none ; and why, there- 
 fore, should you cherish the wish for purity of heart 
 and life ? There is no righteous Judge to whom 
 you are accountable for your words, either ; and 
 therefore why should you be particular about the 
 words you use — whether they be true or false, vile 
 or noble, clean or unclean ? And your thoughts ? 
 There is no All-Searching Power Who is privy to 
 every thought and Whose eye seeth in secret — 
 according to your belief; and therefore why, since 
 man cannot see your thoughts, should you be deli- 
 cate and nice about your thinkings — or be troubled 
 and pained when evil thoughts come into your 
 mind ? Aspire to think nobly and purely, and be 
 pained when your thoughts are low and grovelling ! 
 — why should you ? Your principles proclaim that 
 you are made to grovel, and your grovelling is 
 simply to close with the grave. But you cannot 
 help being pained and disgusted with yourselves 
 when low and grovelling thoughts pester your
 
 360 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 minds : no, because your principles do not tell the 
 truth about your nature. Try to show that it is 
 not so, if you can. 
 
 If I may be allowed to tell you plainly, — and if 
 you will take no offence by my speaking plainly, — 
 I think I can point you to some examples of con- 
 sistent Atheism : for you who are aiming to subdue 
 evil thoughts and passions and to live more purely 
 and morally, every day, are not consistent Atheists — 
 you are living as if you were really under the 
 Moral Government that you deny. I can easily 
 point you to men who, whatever their professions 
 might be, were consistent and practical Atheists : 
 Caesar, Napoleon the Great, and Napoleon the Little. 
 Our own George the Fourth, was a practical Atheist, 
 in another line. Men who amass riches by oppression 
 of the poor, are in the same category ; for they act 
 as if God did not heed them, and would not call 
 them to account. 
 
 You will, doubtless, argue that this is a libel 
 upon you ; and you will say there are two valid 
 and impelling reasons why you should practise the 
 duties of benevolence to your fellow-men, and act 
 truthfully and uprightly. First, there is the imme- 
 diate reward in your own bosoms ; and secondly, you 
 are doing something to mend the world, and to make 
 it happier for posterity. 
 
 I. But your first reason for the practice of moral 
 duties only brings us back to the question I have
 
 WHAT OUR MORAL NATURE PROVES. 361 
 
 already put to you. Why does the practice of 
 goodness bring an immediate reward to the bosom 
 of him who practises goodness ? How is it that 
 our natures are so constituted ? You still have to 
 show me how this springs from a blind Necessity : 
 for if there be only an unintelligent necessity in all 
 things, man really deserves neither praise nor blame 
 — he can neither keep nor transgress a moral law, 
 for there is no Moral Lawgiver. 
 
 And as there are only physical or organic laws, 
 men practise kindness organically, by necessity, like 
 machines ; or they practise unkindness, like machines, 
 and by necessity. And neither deserves praise or 
 blame : a rascal is one by necessity, and you have 
 no right to charge him with moral guilt : there is 
 no moral guilt according to consistent Atheism and 
 Materialism. You must free Napoleon the Little 
 from execration : he is only acting according to the 
 mechanical necessity of his nature. 
 
 You talk of the reward virtue brings to a man's 
 own bosom. But the culture of virtue is a labour 
 as well as a reward. 
 
 Remember how often we have spoken here of 
 the difficulty of acquiring habits for good, and of 
 the ease with which we glide into habits of evil. 
 You acquiesced in these lessons at the time I taught 
 them. You approved of the teaching. You knew 
 then, and you know now, that there is the utmost 
 need for the repetition of lessons of virtue, and that
 
 362 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 the oftcner they are taught the better. So many 
 and so strong are the seductions of Hfe, in whatever 
 situation we are placed, that we are perpetually 
 liable to go wrong. It does not seem, then, that 
 the reward which we know we shall have in our 
 own bosoms is so ver)' compelling and omnipotent 
 in its operation upon us, as to constrain us always 
 to do virtuously. 
 
 And what elevated virtue or morality can there 
 be without self-denial ? Self-denial — which does 
 not mean the giving something to another which 
 we can do as well without — but parting with some- 
 thing which we really want, in order to relieve 
 another whose wants are, perhaps, greater. Why 
 should an Atheist practice such superfluous charity ? 
 There is no praise, there is no blame : there is no 
 merit, there is no demerit : there is no right, there 
 is no wrong : a man may do as he likes, and live 
 as he likes — and especially he may do as he likes 
 with his own : there is no Power to which he is 
 amenable for hardening his heart against a fellow- 
 creature. Why should the Atheist be soft-hearted 
 and pitiful and self-denying ^ Why should he not 
 enjoy the little he can enjoy of the world while he is 
 in it ? He will not have to stay in it long ; and there 
 is no other world for him, when he has done here. 
 
 But why is it that some of you who profess to be 
 Atheists, do often deny yourselves to relieve others ? 
 Not so often as you ought. You feel, as I feel, that
 
 WHAT OUR MORAL NATURE PROVES. 363 
 
 Paul spoke truth when he said, *' When I would do 
 good, evil is present with me." It is too often so 
 with us. We have none of us any cause to boast of 
 our excellence. The longer we live and the more 
 deeply we learn to watch our own hearts, the more 
 imperfect we see we are. But why is it that we can 
 deny ourselves at all to relieve others ? Because 
 God has given us moral natures, hearts prone to pity, 
 and open to kindness. We may sin against God 
 that is in our nature : we may yield to selfish 
 thoughts till our hearts grow hard and callous to 
 distress and suffering ; but we are then trampling 
 down and stifling the moral nature that God has 
 given us and which we could not have inherited 
 from any blind Necessity. 
 
 2. But I observed that you would, doubtless, 
 advance a second argument why you should practise 
 virtue — that you may mend the world and make it 
 happier for posterity. Posterity, and the Future ! — 
 why, what are they to the Atheist and Materialist ? 
 Utter blanks. You believe in no future state : you 
 are to perish in the grave : you expect no future 
 and higher existence wherein the advancement of 
 the world with successive ages will be known to you, 
 and add to your happiness. 
 
 The future amelioration of this world is nothing 
 to you, for you are not to live in it, or to be con- 
 scious of what is passing in it when you are removed 
 to a higher condition of existence. And why should
 
 364 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 you try to mend the world, if all things work by a 
 blind Necessity ? — if there be no Intelligent Provi- 
 dence superintending the world and designing to 
 bring harmony out of discord ? — ultimate happiness 
 out of conflict ? 
 
 We spoke of self-sacrifice, as well as self-denial. 
 And there have been great and glorious human 
 beings who have laid down their lives in order to 
 mend the world, and with the full belief that by so 
 laying down their lives they would make it happier 
 for posterity. But did you ever read of any man in 
 all history, ancient or modern, who was accused of 
 Atheism, tried for Atheism, and was offered pardon 
 if he would give up his Atheism — but who refused to 
 give it up, and who went to death proclaiming that 
 he knew his death would bless the world ? Not 
 one. Not a single man. Men have been tried for 
 Atheism and denied it — so was Socrates. Men 
 have been burnt for Atheism — so was Vanini — but 
 he vehemently denied it. 
 
 But men have died for their consistent belief in 
 God and refusal to believe superstition, and have 
 triumphed professing that their death would benefit 
 the world. Latimer w^as one. 
 
 Self- Sacrifice ! — sacrifice his life — the only life he 
 has, or believes he ever shall have — to benefit posterity 
 — why should the Atheist do that } What folly ! 
 No man can be such a fool. It is not in human 
 nature. We are not such born fools.
 
 WHAT OUR MORAL NATURE PROVES. 365 
 
 True happiness is only to be obtained by devoted- 
 ness to the will of God. Seeking the universal good 
 — the highest good of all. Christ's teaching em- 
 bodies the will of God. Life can only be truly happy, 
 not when we are in ecstasy, but when we are doing 
 right. Life can only be truly happy when we are 
 seeking to be purer and holier and better — every 
 day and every hour. Can it be thought, if God 
 exists and is in us and with us, that He will not 
 assist all who breathe after Him, to become purer 
 and holier and better ? Oh, let us try it !
 
 XX. 
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION. 
 
 A DOZEN years have passed since I wrote the 
 last word in my Autobiography : so my friends 
 urge me to give them some kind of a Sequel. It 
 will be a short one, for, although I have revisited 
 every part of England, and some parts of it over and 
 over again, during these twelve years, it has been to 
 do the same kind of work as I had done before. 
 So I have nothing new to communicate in that 
 direction. 
 
 I regret to add, that my work has been done 
 more feebly, as my years have increased. For the 
 last six winters, I have been compelled to give up, 
 almost entirely, my travelling and talking work, by 
 the return of w^hat is called Chronic Bronchitis. I 
 am very thankful when it leaves me — usually about 
 May — and I am able to get out again, and travel 
 and talk ; and I am sad when I have to return 
 home, in the latter autumn, knowing it is to encounter 
 a solitary winter by the fireside, with less and less 
 ability to read or write. For, my left eye is no 
 longer a working eye, and often prevents the right
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION. 367 
 
 eye from working effectually : so that I have to shut 
 my eyes, and sit and think, or occupy my mind as 
 well as I can devise. 
 
 In spite of these, and other disabilities, I have 
 succeeded in book-making during these last twelve 
 years, by the help of my kind publishers. To a man 
 of fourscore, as I have said, it is natural to look 
 back on the past. And I am thinking, just now 
 how, in my youth, amid my repetitions of the 
 ' Paradise Lost ' and ' Hamlet ' and the Latin Acci- 
 dence, as I sat bending over the last, and wielding 
 the awl, there were mingled ambitious day-dreams 
 of the life of authorship that was to come : how I 
 should reach London, with a finished poem in 
 a few years, and commence a literary career re- 
 sembling the literary lives of Johnson, Goldsmith, 
 and others, and should rise to fame ! 
 
 But the bright vision — which so many have 
 experienced — was never to be realized. The school- 
 master life came instead — and the local-preacher 
 life — and the newspaper writer's life — and the 
 championship for the starving and oppressed — and 
 the demagogue life — and the prison life : all these 
 had to be accomplished before a book was produced 
 that had in it something which, I trusted, my country- 
 men " would not willingly let die." I thought, when 
 the Britannia and some other periodicals, gave my 
 ' Prison-Rhyme ' such a triumphant reception, the life 
 of authorship, which had so often been my day-dream,
 
 368 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 was now fairly begun. But no ! It was soon re- 
 membered that I was a Chartist, and I was driven 
 on the fatal sand-bank of trying to set up a weekly 
 periodical, which broke down and plunged me into 
 new debts ; and I had to take to lecturing on politics, 
 history, etc., for a living. 
 
 This lasted till I abandoned the errors into which 
 I had fallen through reading Miss Evans's translation 
 of Strauss's ' Leben Jesu,' and lecturing upon it. 
 The readers of my Autobiography know all about 
 that struggle, and how it ended in my happy return 
 to Christianity, and a determination to spend the 
 remnant of my life in expounding and teaching 
 the Christian Evidences. And, so fully I became 
 absorbed in my right \\ox\i — for such I soon perceived 
 it to be — that all thoughts of authorship were 
 abandoned, and I thought they would never return, 
 but that I should live, henceforth, a life of travel, 
 visiting ever>' region in Great Britain where I thought 
 I could successfully sow the seeds of Christian Truth. 
 The incessant urgency of friends, on all sides, 
 almost compelled me, at last, to publish my ' Bridge 
 of History over the Gulf of Time.' The little book 
 is now in its twenty-fifth thousand ; and, thank God, 
 has done unquestionable good, by its simple and 
 plain, and yet full relation of the veritable historical 
 evidence for the truth of Christianity. During 
 succeeding years, I have added four other small 
 volumes on the Christian Evidences. ' God, the
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION. 369 
 
 Soul, and a Future State ' embodies my lectures on 
 the Design Argument and the Argument a priori for 
 God's existence ; and the argument for a Future 
 State. Two little volumes entitled ' The Verity and 
 Value of the Miracles ' and ' The Verity of Christ's 
 Resurrection from the Dead ' contain what I have 
 advanced on these Christian truths in my itinerant 
 course. The fifth volume of what I may call my 
 ' Christian Evidence Series ' is entitled ' Evolution, 
 the Stone Book, and the Mosaic Record of Creation.' 
 It contains what I said to my audiences in the 
 beginning, rather than in the end, of my talk about 
 Darwinism. A short lecture on Geology is included 
 in the volume because I found it necessary to teach 
 many of my hearers something about that science 
 before they could understand what I had to say 
 about Evolution. The reader must refer to the little 
 book itself to learn what is my theory as it respects 
 the Mosaic Record. 
 
 I may add, that following up the volume called 
 ' Plain Pulpit Talk,' I have published a volume of 
 the same size, entitled ' The Atonement, and other 
 Discourses.' The two volumes contain plain sermons 
 delivered on the Lord's Day, in the chapels of evan- 
 gelical denominations, in almost every part of the 
 country. As the Stories published by Mr. How, in 
 1845, were out of print, I have republished them, 
 with a few additions, under the title of ' Old 
 Fashioned Stories.' Lastly, my publishers issued 
 
 24
 
 370 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 for me, eight years ago, a portly volume entitled 
 * Poetical Works,* It contains my ' Purgatory of 
 Suicides,' ' Paradise of Martyrs,' and ' Minor Poems.' 
 I should observe that I only completed a part of 
 my purposed ' Paradise of Martyrs,' and the ' Minor 
 Poems ' are only a selection from other rhymes that 
 I have written — for I thought the world had had quite 
 enough of ' Minor Poems,' and I would not add to 
 the overplus. And so concludes the catalogue of 
 my literary labour — such as it has been : something 
 very different from what I dreamt it would be, in my 
 youth ; but yet, I hope, containing something which 
 may do good to some of my fellow-men. 
 
 The most afflictive event I have to record as 
 having fallen to my experience during these twelve 
 years, is the the death of my beloved wife. She 
 died on the first of February, 1870, at the age of 
 nearly seventy-nine. She had been my gentle, 
 loving, and intelligent life-companion for forty-six 
 years. The sight and hearing of the intense suffering 
 she endured during the latter part of her life — 
 togetherwith her own earnest desire to depart and 
 be with Christ — reconciled me to the fact of her 
 death. She came to the habitation where I now 
 reside, to lodge with her sister when she could no 
 longer travel with me. Her sister died, and she died 
 seven months after, leaving me tenant here — where 
 I purpose remaining each winter so long as I live.
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION, 37 1 
 
 I look from my room window upon the spot (now 
 part of the Great Northern Railway yard) where 
 stood the little cottage we lived in when we were 
 married, and I also look out on the little church of 
 St. Mary-le-Wigford, where we were joined in holy 
 wedlock. My beloved one is buried in the southern 
 cemetery of the old city, and I have bought myself 
 ground for a grave near to her. 
 
 The decease of many of my deeply-beloved friends 
 and benefactors, is often the subject of sorrowful 
 reflection with me. The death of my dearest friend, 
 the Rev. Dr. Jobson, Wesleyan minister, to whom I 
 inscribed my Autobiography, is my greatest loss. 
 We had been friends for fifty years ; and for many 
 years, until his mind and body began to fail, we 
 corresponded nearly every week of our lives. He 
 was my junior by nearly seven years, so I had no 
 anticipation that I should lose the precious benefit 
 of his friendship, by his dying before me. The 
 great age of my good and kind friend, Thomas 
 Carlyle, rendered his death no surprise to me, though 
 it was a source of mournful feeling ; but this feeling 
 is mingled with thankfulness that ever I enjoyed a 
 friendship so illustrious. The decease of dear Charles 
 Kingsley — too early for the world that he helped to 
 make better — was a real grief to me ; and so was 
 the death of my kind friend and benefactor, Tom 
 Taylor. James Harvey of London bore no literary 
 jank, but I had not a human friend in existence
 
 372 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 whose kindly help was ever more ready, more hearty, 
 more unwearied. 
 
 I must not forget to record that I have lost my 
 old playmate, Thomas Miller. Such are the vicissi- 
 tudes of a literary life, in too many instances, that 
 although he had written nearly fifty books of light 
 literature, he fell into the deepest poverty in his last 
 days. Mr. Disraeli compassionately sent him i^ioo 
 from the Treasury, while he was on his death-bed ; 
 but it came nearly too late. Two orphans survive 
 him ; and they are the heirs of his poverty. 
 
 This volume must not come to a close without 
 some registry of my convictions as to the work in 
 which I have employed myself during the last thirty 
 years of my life. Surely, the Author of all good 
 does not suffer any effort wholly to fail, however 
 feeble it may be, if it be made with the sincere 
 intent to draw men away from sin and error, and to 
 lead them to Christ and His truth. And I must 
 inform the reader that as my labour has been 
 solitary, it has not been mighty. Letters expressing 
 gratitude, and testimonials given to me verbally, that 
 I have been made instrumental, through the mercy 
 and condescension of God, in doing good, have 
 cheered me, often. But I have sometimes felt sad 
 that no determined band of young men fitted for 
 maintaining and defending the Evidences of their 
 Saviour's religion has yet arisen.
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION. 373 
 
 I do not lose the hope and confidence that such a 
 band will, one day, arise, and pledge themselves to 
 God and one another to pursue their work till death 
 — despising poverty and difficulty and opposition 
 and indifference on the part of those who ought to 
 be their foremost helpers. 
 
 No doubt the marvellous rapidity with which 
 Darwinism and Evolution have spread in all direc- 
 tions and among all classes, and the haughty 
 assertion on the parts of Evolutionists that they " are 
 the people, and wisdom shall die with them," have 
 an intimidating effect on the minds of such as do 
 desire to belong to an army of defence for religion. 
 Many who are called " Scientists," when you come to 
 learn something about their acquirements, prove to 
 be only small men — and yet they hold their heads 
 very high. There is not the cause to dread them 
 that some good Christians imagine to exist ; and I 
 wish I could get young men who wish to devote 
 themselves to Christ's work to think so. 
 
 There is, however, a strong apprehension among 
 some highly-intelligent men, that it would be no 
 easy work to encounter sceptical working men success- 
 fully — for the works of Darwin and Spencer have 
 come into their hands, and they have so thoroughly 
 digested the arguments found in these books as to 
 have become thoroughly fortified against all possible 
 ways of trying to bring them out of their errors. 
 
 Last month (February) I received a letter from a
 
 374 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 highly-intelligent resident in a large manufacturing 
 town in Lancashire, and will extract some part of it, 
 to elucidate what I am saying. 
 
 " The Secularists are very active here, just now, 
 and, although I believe that the leaders in the move- 
 ment are neither intellectually nor morally fit to 
 be leaders in any progressive or constructive move- 
 ment, yet their assertions are, without doubt, helping 
 men's worse selves in the destruction of what little 
 faith they have. 
 
 " I am of opinion that thousands of men of all 
 classes really believe the assertions of such blind 
 leaders — which assertions, broadly stated, are 
 
 " I. That Science has clearly overthrown Revela- 
 tion ; and, that the leading thinkers and scholars of 
 the age have given up Christianity as untenable, 
 
 " 2. That Religion, or any kind of belief in the 
 Supernatural, is Superstition. 
 
 ** 3. That, on the whole, Christianity has done 
 more harm than good in the world. 
 
 " I say nothing either of the fact that these men 
 consistently put forward rather the fancies of sections 
 of those professing Christianity, than the plain 
 statements of the Bible, as being Christianity, — or 
 of the fallacy underlying their notion of liberty 
 either of thought or action, because I believe that 
 at the root, the cause of their hatred of Christianity 
 is not intellectual, but moral : certainly, I believe it 
 to be so in the masses."
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION. 375 
 
 Now, the letter from which I have taken this 
 extract, comes from a town in which I have lectured 
 more than twenty times within the last fourteen 
 years. 1 never heard that the town was more thickly 
 crowded with sceptics than other great towns of the 
 County Palatine ; and I cannot help thinking that 
 Secularism is, chiefly, of late growth in it. 
 
 Besides, it should be noted that Secularism is 
 spasmodic in its activity. I have sometimes visited 
 a town where, a few years ago, it was rampant — but 
 now, it was comparatively silent and quiescent ; and 
 so I found it remained until something occurred to 
 give it new life and vigour. This may serve to 
 allay the fears of the good friend who sent me the 
 letter from which I have taken an extract. The 
 great champion of Secularism had just then visited 
 the town, and ^^75 had been taken, in sixpenny and 
 threepenny admissions to his lectures. 
 
 One serious thought, however, arises out of this 
 fact : that not only the working men in great 
 numbers listened to this champion, but there must 
 have been a considerable number of the middle class 
 among his hearers. Let us charitably hope that 
 curiosity was the main motive which led many of 
 them to listen, and that they came away disgusted, 
 rather than charmed, with what he said. 
 
 When I urge, again, the formation of a band of 
 young men devoted to the defence of religion, I 
 cannot promise them glittering rewards such as this
 
 37^ THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 champion of Secularism reaps. What I said, while 
 urging the same plea, in my Autobiography, I say 
 now : " Let all come in to hear you free. Sell no 
 tickets, take no moneys for admission, have no 
 practices that may leave a hair's breadth of room for 
 Christ's enemies to charge you with selfishness. Have 
 a collection at the end of your discourse, on the 
 ground that you cannot live on the air, and pay 
 expenses of lodging, and travelling, and printing, 
 from an empty pocket. Make this simple appeal to 
 your countrymen, and they will not fail to respond 
 to it, generally." 
 
 To such a band of young men, I would say — 
 Suppose, sometimes, you do not get enough to pay 
 your expenses, do not be discouraged, do not give 
 up your trust in Him for whom you are working — 
 and never let the fact of the small collection slip 
 out, so that the poor people who have given you the 
 collection may get to hear of it. Never hurt the 
 minds of the poor, by finding fault with what they 
 have done in their poverty. 
 
 But, to whom am I really appealing, at the 
 present time .'' Twelve years ago, my appeal was 
 intended for working men ; but the work is now 
 become too difficult for them. Tliey have not the 
 preparation of mind, nor the time, for mastering — 
 as they ought to master — the works of Darwin and 
 Spencer and Tyndall and Huxley, and their helpers, 
 I appeal, at once, to the young men of our Univer-
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION. 377 
 
 sities and high schools. I would say to them — Do 
 you imagine that to display true heroism you must 
 enter either the army or the navy ? Suppose you 
 cannot grow famous, or attain high rank by it, is not 
 the enterprize truly glorious, of going forth to face 
 all difficulties, to encounter scorn and mockery and 
 malice, and yet to persevere in the championship for 
 Christ's truth .-' If you can acquire no worldly 
 wealth by such a championship, you will be laying 
 up treasures in heaven. 
 
 I am addressing you because you have been 
 schooled in thought and language, and you have, I 
 make no doubt, become acquainted with Evolution 
 and all that is so positively asserted in its favour. 
 Do not fear that you will find all thinking men 
 against you. However confident Sceptics may feel 
 that Christianity is " done for," and that all real 
 scholars and thinkers have " given it up " — you will 
 find that they are mistaken. Many true scholars and 
 sterling thinkers in our own land are determined foes 
 of the new doctrines. And, on the Continent, not a 
 few leading scholars and thinkers have declared their 
 dissent from the prevailing views which are so 
 adverse to Christianity. 
 
 I have just met the following paragraph in the 
 Leeds Mercury, one of our best-conducted local news- 
 papers : — " The English admirers of Mr. Herbert 
 Spencer will be astonished at the wholesale condem- 
 nation of his writings by M. Adolphe Franck, in his
 
 378 THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 Essais de Critique Philosophique, just issued oy 
 Hachette & Co, The well-known Parisian professor 
 avows that he experiences a veritable humiliation 
 when he recalls the exceptional celebrity secured for 
 the school of Mr. Spencer. It would be difficult, he 
 believes, in the entire history of philosophy to find so 
 many arbitrary affirmations, chimerical hypotheses, 
 sophistical reasonings, contradictory conclusions, such 
 contempt for history, reason, the moral sense, and 
 the religious sense of humanity, as are to be found in 
 the innumerable, ill-digested, and prolix volumes of 
 Mr. Spencer and his auxiliaries." 
 
 M. Franck's estimate of the intelligence of Herbert 
 Spencer is evidently unlike that of Mr. Darwin, who 
 was accustomed to call him " our great philosopher," 
 and that of Professor Tyndall, who described him as 
 " the apostle of the understanding." But all that was 
 in the gay days of the " Mutual Admiration Society," 
 as Wendell Holmes smartly named the new philoso- 
 phers—when they were new, and mightily addicted 
 to the habit of publicly paying each other fine 
 compliments. 
 
 There is another point on which, I think, I ought 
 to say a little. I laid aside Discussion, and the 
 putting of questions at the end of my lectures, a 
 dozen years ago, or more. I was shown that they 
 did no good, and I followed the advice to go on 
 simply delivering my lectures, and allowing no 
 discussion or putting of questions, publicly — but
 
 A SHORT SEQUEL, AND CONCLUSION. 379 
 
 inviting all who wished to tell me of their doubts 
 to call at my lodgings that I might converse with 
 them. Not a dozen persons have called on me, in 
 so many years, to tell me of their doubts. This is 
 clearly significant of the fact that when the Secular- 
 ists demand discussion, it is for the excitement of a 
 public encounter and not with the strong desire to 
 be right. 
 
 And I found that when I sturdily refused all 
 attempts to draw me into discussion, the Secularist 
 working men began to fall off in their attendance 
 on my discourses. From that time I bent all my 
 endeavours on preventing young Christian men from 
 falling in to the Secularist snare ; and in this, I 
 trust, I may thankfully affirm that I have been 
 blessed with success. 
 
 Christian readers, however, will see that my 
 championship might have been successful in another 
 and desirable direction, if I had yielded to the Secu- 
 larist demand for discussion. And if a band of 
 young men should respond to my appeal, and unite 
 to labour as the defenders of Christian truth, I 
 would advise that some of them who are physically 
 strong and mentally ready, should willingly enter 
 into debate when challenged. 
 
 I the more willingly gave up all discussion, 
 because I formerly was in the habit of lecturing for 
 two hours at a time ; and I found that I could no 
 longer sustain the acrimony and worry of debate.
 
 38o THOUGHTS AT FOURSCORE. 
 
 In my later years I dare not exhaust nature either 
 by giving long lectures or entering into discussion. 
 One great gain for young lecturers who are fitted for 
 discussion, will be the larger attendance of Secu- 
 larists, and therefore, the greater possibility of doing 
 them good. 
 
 Regarding this as my last appearance in print, I 
 trust I may be forgiven if I record one little fact 
 The lowly Christian Church of General Baptists in 
 this city — where their predecessors, more than two 
 hundred years ago, were stoned and imprisoned for 
 preaching and practising immersion baptism — and 
 who have continued to be a poor, and, I had almost 
 said, a despised people — have lately taken courage 
 and set about building a new and more commodious 
 chapel and schools — and have determined to name 
 the new place of worship " The Thomas Cooper 
 Memorial Chapel." I am utterly undeserving of the 
 honour they put upon me ; but they insist upon it 
 that the name will have the desirable effect of 
 inducing many who are not Baptists to subscribe 
 towards their Building Fund. I most heartily wish 
 it may, and will most cordially thank all who send 
 help to the lowly Christian people who so greatly 
 need it. 
 
 Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Limited, London and Aylesbury.
 
 WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 Fourteenth Thousand. With Steel Portrait. Crown %vo, cloth, 3s. dd. 
 
 THE LIFE OF THOMAS COOPER. 
 
 WRITTEN BY HIMSELF. 
 
 The Editor of 'Charles Kingsley's Life and Letters,' speaking 
 of Thomas Cooper, with whom Mr. Kingsley corresponded, says, " He 
 is a man of vast reading and indomitable courage. His Autobiography 
 is a remarkable book, well worth reading, both for its own sake and 
 for the pictures of working-class life and thought which it reveals." — 
 Vol. i., p. 377. 
 
 " It is refreshing to turn from that strangest of all tongues, the language of the 
 so-called sensational novel, to Mr. Cooper's idiomatic English. We know scores of 
 popular writers whose style would be greatly improved if every morning before they 
 began to write they were forced to learn off by heart a page even of the ' Life of 
 Thomas Cooper.' " — Saturday Review. 
 
 Twenty-fourth Thousand. Cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF HISTORY OVER THE 
 GULF OF TIME. 
 
 A Popular View of the Historical Evidence for the 
 Truth of Christianity. 
 
 "The present volume is in his best manner, and derserves to be scattered, as men 
 fling seed into the furrows, by handfuls. With God's blessing it will reclaim the 
 sceptical and confirm the wavering." — Rev. C. H. Spurgeon, in the Sword and 
 Trowel. 
 
 " Clearly written, and admirably enforced by strength of argument." — Standard. 
 
 " The author gives a view of the historical evidence for the truth of Christianity 
 which is at once clear and convincing, sound and just, popular and effective. His 
 metaphor of historj' as a bridge goes beyond the title-page. ^ He names every 
 centurj', from the nineteenth to the first, by some characteristic man or event 
 belonging to it ; he calls it an arch, and each of these arches he traverses, from the 
 nineteenth (the Arch of Science) to the first (the Arch of the Apostles), verifying as 
 he goes, by incontestable facts, the existence of the belief of the facts which form 
 the basis of the Christian faith." — Evangelical Christe)ido7n. 
 
 London : HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, Paternoster Row
 
 Ninth Thousand. Cloth, 2s. 6ci. 
 
 GOD, THE SOUL, AND A FUTURE 
 STATE. 
 
 A TWOFOLD POPULAR TREATISE. 
 
 Containing (i) the Combined Argument for the Being and Attributes 
 
 of God ; and (2) the Argument for Man's Spiritual 
 
 Nature and for a Future State. 
 
 "This is a book of a strong-minded and thoroughly qualified man. His 
 understanding is vigorous, his attainments are great, and his experience of mental 
 conflicts manifold. Abiding by the good old form of argument, and the evidence 
 of design, he has produced a vigorous and telling book." — British Quarterly 
 Review. 
 
 " It is a model of vigorous thinking and effective eloquence." — Christian Age. 
 
 "There is no living writer that reminds us more forcibly of Paley than the 
 author of these pages, — so plain and simple as he is in his style, so pertinent 
 and close in his reasoning, and so full of apt illustration are his arguments." — 
 Standa rd. 
 
 "It is characterized by the boldness of utterance and appositeness of illustration 
 drawn from science, natural history, and the daily experiences of life which 
 distinguish the author's 'Bridge of History over the Gulf of Time.'" — Leeds 
 Mercury. 
 
 Si.vth Thousand. Cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 THE VERITY OF CHRIST'S RESURREC- 
 TION FROM THE DEAD. 
 
 "We cannot but admire the clearness and force with which the arguments are 
 set forth by this eloquent writer." — Standard. 
 
 " The thousands of persons who have heard the lectures contained in this 
 volume will need no recommendation from us to obtain and peruse them. They 
 will already know how firmly knit is the argument, how eloquent the exposition, 
 how earnest the tone by which they are characterized." — Christian World. 
 
 "... . really adds to the to stock of effective arguments on the subject. 
 It is unnecessary to say that he is often very piquant and original, and knows 
 how to relieve dry argument by happy instance and anecdote." — Xoncon/ortnist. 
 
 London : HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, Paternoster Row
 
 Fifth Thousand. Cloth, 2S. 6d. 
 
 THE VERITY AND VALUE OF THE 
 MIRACLES OF CHRIST. 
 
 "A valuable little book, containing 170 pages of terse, vigorous, and condensed 
 matter, wherein every miracle is shown to be a finger-post, pointing to ' Jesus 
 Christ as Lord, to the glory of God the Father." " — TAe Christian. 
 
 "Works like the present — short, clear, straightforward, and vigorous, dealing 
 with an individual point in the controversy between truth and infidelity — are very 
 valuable." — Weekly Revieio_ 
 
 " Mr. Cooper has a happy knack of putting old truths in new lights, and of en- 
 forcing and illustrating his arguments, which renders them more than ordinarily 
 attractive. The various points taken up are skilfully handled, and the clear and 
 effective manner in which each argument is worked out is exceedingly satisfactory." — 
 The Rock. 
 
 "In this little volume miracles are discussed with the same shrewdness and 
 homely directness of argument which mark his other books written in defence of 
 the faith." — Record. 
 
 Sixth Thousand. Cloth, 2s. 6d. 
 
 EVOLUTION, THE STONE BOOK, 
 
 AND THE 
 
 MOSAIC RECORD OF CREATION. 
 
 " Mr. Cooper is a most interesting writer, and deservedly popular. He possesses 
 'much freshness and originality' in style; his writings are 'vigorous, graphic, 
 homely.' He is ' plain and simple, close in his reasoning.' He is ' shrewd and 
 direct in argument.' He is 'clear,' 'terse,' and 'eloquent.' Such are the terms in 
 which he is described by numerous organs of the press. He has written valuable 
 books on the verity of Christ's Resurrection, on His Miracles, as well as on the 
 Historical Evidences for the truth of Christianity, and a work entitled ' The 
 Bridge of History.' " — Record. 
 
 " This volume, which is the fifth of the Christian Evidence Series by this author, 
 is in his best and happiest style. Sterling common sense, sharp repartee, apt 
 illustration a keen sense of his opponents' weakness, and a readiness of wit to avail 
 himself of the 7-eductio ad absurdtim, make the book as entertaining as it is con- 
 vincing. If unbelief were of the head instead the of heart, these lectures would as 
 surely be its death blow. We thank God for such an apostle of the old truth as 
 Thomas Cooper : long may he be spared to continue his work." — Sword a7id Troivel. 
 
 London : HODDER & STOUGHTON, 27, Paternoster Row.
 
 Cheap Edition. Crown 2)V0, 3s. 6</. 
 
 OLD-FASHIONED STORIES. 
 
 " A volume of quaint, vigorous sketches. They are interesting, as containing 
 descriptions of a condition of things and of characters which hardly exist at the 
 present time. We heartily wish the brave-hearted old author a good sale for these 
 ' Old-Fashioned Stories.' " — Athencfum. 
 
 " The genial racy tone of these stories is characteristic of their author. Few 
 shrewder, kindlier men have fought the battle of life." — London Quarterly Review. 
 
 Crown 8i'o, cloth, ys. dd. 
 
 THE POETICAL WORKS OF 
 THOMAS COOPER. 
 
 COMPRISING ' THE PURGATORY OF SUICIDES,' 'THE PARADISE 
 OF MARTYRS,' 'MINOR POEMS.' 
 
 " Epic poems may be said to be now more in demand than in the days of the 
 Chartist agitation; and 'The Purgatory of Suicides' will, we hope, find readers, 
 who will appreciate its enthusiasm for liberty, its imaginative power, and its com- 
 mand of poetical expression." — Daily News. 
 
 "No small share of interest attaches to a collected edition of 'The Poetical 
 %Yorks of Thomas Cooper.' It is bestowing on it high praise to say that more of it 
 is above than below the average in respect of poetic power and gp-ace of expression. 
 It is a very remarkable work." — Scotsman. 
 
 "As a marvellous contribution to the cause of liberty, the poem deserves to live 
 in the form in which it here appears." — Edinburgh Daily Review. 
 
 Second Thousand. Crown 2)Vo, cloth, 5s. 
 
 THE ATONEMENT, AND OTHER DIS- 
 COURSES. Being a Second Series of ' Plain 
 Pulpit Talk.' 
 
 " Mr. Cooper is a vigorous and effective lay preacher, who has acquired for 
 himself a good title to be heard." — Spectator. 
 
 " Its idiomatic, vigorous style, its coloquial directness, must win for it a hearty 
 welcome. Of no man could it be more truly said than of the venerable author of 
 these sermons, that 'his natural force is nof abated.' " — London Quarterly Review. 
 
 Fourth Thousand. Crown 2>vo, cloth, 55. 
 
 PLAIN PULPIT TALK. 
 
 " Lord Shaftesburj' said some time ago that he believed the most effectual 
 means of dealing with the growing carelessness and scepticism of the working 
 classes was to get members of their own class to go among them and preach the 
 truth to them. From Mr. Thomas Cooper's ' Plain Pulpit Talk ' we find that he 
 has been for years carrying out this idea. And judging from these sermons, he 
 must be a powerful influence. They are colloquial, yet full of matter ; soundly 
 evangelical, yet most strikingly illustrated; and he is not afraid to venture on 
 familiar phrases. The whole volume is singularly direct and rousing. " — Sunday 
 magazine. 
 
 London : HODDER cS: STOUGHTON, 27, Paternoster Row
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
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