{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_52534/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_52534","id":"gutenberg_52534","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52534","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Conduct of life"],"text":"SPARE MINUTE SERIES.\n\n    TRUE MANLINESS,\n\n    _FROM THE WRITINGS OF THOMAS HUGHES._\n\n    SELECTED BY\n    E. E. BROWN.\n\n\n    WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY\n    JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.\n\n\n    BOSTON:\n    D. LOTHROP AND CO.,\n    FRANKLIN STREET, CORNER OF HAWLEY.\n\n\n\n\n    COPYRIGHT BY\n    D. LOTHROP & CO.\n    1880.\n\n\n\n\nTHOMAS HUGHES.\n\n\n    [PRELIMINARY NOTE.\u2014Having somewhat rashly consented\n    to write a short biographical preface to a volume of\n    selections to be made in America from the writings\n    of my friend, Mr. Hughes, I applied to him directly\n    for the needful facts and dates. His answer was an\n    autobiographical letter which I found so interesting\n    that I resolved to print it, omitting only a few\n    intimate allusions natural in such a communication, but\n    with which the public has nothing to do. My temptation\n    was the greater that the letter was not intended\n    for publication, and had, therefore, that charm of\n    unpremeditated confidence which is so apt to be wanting\n    in more deliberate autobiographies. I cannot consult\n    him, (and I confess that I purposely waited till I\n    could not) for he is already at sea, on his way to\n    America, and I fear that friendship may have tempted\n    me to an unwarrantable liberty, but I could not bring\n    myself, even at the risk of seeming indiscreet, to\n    deny to others what had given me so much pleasure.\n    At any rate, the indiscretion is wholly my own and\n    in direct violation of the injunction with which Mr.\n    Hughes\u2019 letter concludes: \u201cI hate the idea of being\n    presented in any guise to any public; so if you can\u2019t\n    squelch the plan altogether, give only the driest and\n    meagrest facts and dates.\u201d I feel somewhat as if I had\n    been reporting a private conversation, and take upon\n    myself in advance all the reproach that belongs of\n    right to that scourge and desecrator of modern life,\n    the \u201cInterviewer.\u201d For the first time, I look forward\n    with dread to my next meeting with an old friend,\n    after having thus practised the familiar stage device\n    of putting the right letter into the wrong cover. As\n    the brief record of a well-spent and honorable life,\n    devoted to unselfish ends and associated with notable\n    friendships, Mr. Hughes\u2019 letter has a higher than\n    merely personal interest. Of any critical introduction\n    to American readers no one could stand in less need\n    than he. The same qualities of manliness, frankness,\n    simplicity and sympathy, with whatever is generous and\n    humane, that gave and continue to \u201cTom Brown\u201d a success\n    that may be compared with that of \u201cRobinson Crusoe,\u201d\n    are not wanting in his other works.\u2014J. R. L.]\n\n\n\u201cI was born on October 20th, 1822, at Uffington, Berks, of which\nvillage my grandfather was Vicar. He was also a Canon of St. Paul\u2019s,\nand spent half the year at his house in Amen Corner, with which my\nfirst memories of London are connected. It was, till this year, the\nstrangest quiet old nook in the city, behind its big timber gates,\nwithin one hundred yards of Fleet street on one side, and Newgate\nMarket on the other, but the distant murmur of life only made the\nrepose more striking in those days. Now they are building some new\nminor Canons\u2019 houses on the vacant ground beyond which will be opened\nout towards Newgate street, and the corner will be a thoroughfare.\nThe most remarkable fact of my childhood happened there, as I was in\nthe house (I believe) with Sir Walter Scott, a great friend of my\ngrandfather, on his last sad visit to London.\n\n\u201cMy grandmother was a very notable woman in many ways, and a great\neconomist and early riser. She used to take me and my brother out\nshopping in the early morning, and our excursions extended as far\nas Billingsgate fish-market, then at the height of the career which\nhas secured for it an unenviable place in our English vocabulary.\nIt was certainly a strange place for a lady and small boys, and is\nconnected with the most vivid of my childish memories. Toddling after\nmy grandmother to the stall where she made her purchases, we came\none morning on the end of a quarrel between a stalwart fish-fag and\nher fancy man. She struck him on the head with a pewter pot which\nflattened with the blow. He fell like a log, the first blood I had\never seen, gushing from his temples, and the scene is as fresh as ever\nin my memory at the end of half a century. The narrow courts in that\nneighborhood are still my favorite haunts in London.\n\n\u201cBut my town visits were short. I was a thorough country-bred boy,\nand passed eleven months in the year at the foot of the Berkshire\nchalk-hills, much in the manner depicted in \u2018Tom Brown.\u2019\n\n\u201cI was sent to school at the early age of eight, to accompany my elder\nbrother. It was a preparatory school for Winchester, and the best\nfeature about it was the Winchester custom, called \u2018standing up,\u2019\nwhich means that we were encouraged to learn a great deal of poetry\nby heart, for which we got extra marks at the end of the half year.\nWe were allowed (within limits) to choose our own poets, and I always\nchose Scott from family tradition, and in this way learned the whole\nof the \u2018Lady of the Lake,\u2019 and most of the \u2018Lay of the last Minstrel\u2019\nand \u2018Marmion,\u2019 by heart, and can repeat much of them to this day.\nMilton reckoned highest for marks, but I was prejudiced against him\nin this wise: Not far from the school was Addington, a place of the\nthen Duke of Buckingham, who was also a friend of my grandfather,\nwho, with my grandmother, paid him a visit at the end of our first\nhalf year. We went over to sleep, and travel back home next day with\nthe old folk, and in the morning before starting, the Duchess gave us\neach a sovereign, neatly wrapped up in white, glossy paper. It was the\nfirst piece of gold I ever had, and I kept it in my hand to look at on\nthe journey. I was leaning out of the window of the carriage when my\nattention was suddenly called to some roadside sight, and I dropped the\nprecious metal. My shout of anguish and dismay brought the carriage to\na stand-still, and I had to confess. After some trouble my sovereign\nwas found, and taken charge of by my grandmother, who, in due course,\nreturned it to me, no longer in current coin of the realm, but in the\nshape of a pocket edition of Milton\u2019s poems, with \u2018Thomas Hughes from\nthe Duchess of Buckingham and Chandos\u2019 written on the title page. I\nstill possess the odious small volume, and have learnt to forgive the\ngreat Puritan,\u2014indeed, I have read Masson\u2019s life of him with real\ninterest in these latter days. But I never learnt a line of him by\nheart as a boy, and regret it to this day.\n\n\u201cThose were evil days in Wessex, the time of the Swing riots and\nmachine and rick burning. My father was the most active magistrate in\nthe district, and was constantly in the saddle, keeping the King\u2019s\npeace. He was an old fashioned Tory, but with true popular sympathies,\nand had played cricket and football all his life with the men and boys\nof our village, and it is one of my proudest memories that only one man\nfrom Uffington joined the rioters, and he came back after three weeks\nashamed and penitent. Amongst other good deeds, my father rode off\nalone one night and saved the house and chapel of a dissenting minister\nin a neighboring village from being sacked and burned. Nevertheless I\ncan not pretend to say that I was brought up to look upon dissenters as\nanything but a stiff-necked and perverse generation.\n\n\u201cAt the age of ten, February 1834, I was sent on to Rugby with my\nbrother, as, happily for us, Arnold had been a college friend of my\nfather. Here I stayed till I was nearly nineteen, starting from the\nbottom and ending in the sixth form, though by no means at the head of\nthe school.\n\n\u201cIt was a very rough, not to say brutal, place when I went there, but\nmuch mended during those years.\n\n\u201cI was a very idle boy so far as the regular lessons were concerned,\nand I expect I should have been advised to go elsewhere early in my\ncareer but for a certain fondness for history and literature which\nArnold discovered in me and which (I fancy) covered a multitude of\nsins. He first struck it at a monthly examination of the Shell, then\nthe form intervening between the fourth and fifth. He asked the head\nboy why it was the Romans had so specially rejoiced over the terms\nof a certain treaty with the Parthians (we were reading Horace, I\nthink). It came all down to the lowest bench where I was, and I said,\n\u2018because they got back the eagles taken from Crassus,\u2019 and sent a\ngleam of pleasure into the Doctor\u2019s face which was getting rather\ngrim. Up I went to the top of the form, and from that time he often\nasked me questions _outside_ the text book and specially by way of\nillustration from Scott\u2019s novels, to which he was fond of referring.\nI could generally come to the point, having them at my fingers\u2019 ends,\nand was proud of my consequent recognition. To this day I remember the\nfeeling of grief and humiliation which came across me when I failed\nhim on a critical occasion. It was years after the above event when\nI was in the sixth, and some distinguished visitor (Bunsen, I think\nit was) was present at the lesson. We were reading the passage in\nAristotle about old age, (is it in the Ethics or Politics? I\u2019m sure\nI forget) and he asked the head of the school to illustrate from\nScott\u2019s novels what Aristotle says about the characteristic of old\nage, to be absorbed in petty interests and to be careless about great\ncontemporary events. Down came the question, past some very able and\nsome very studious boys, since distinguished one way or another\u2014past\nJohn Connington, Matt. Arnold, Sir R. Cross, to me\u2014and then the Doctor\npaused for several seconds with a confident look. But no response came\nand he passed on, \u2018and I was left lamenting.\u2019 No one answered, and he\nhad to remind us of the old Abbot, pottering away in his garden on the\nborder, when Mary and her defeated followers ride up before Crossing,\nand the old monk leans on his spade and looks after them, saying, \u2018I\ncould pity this poor Queen and these Lords, but what are these things\nto a man of four score\u2014and it\u2019s a fine growing morning for the young\nkale-wort\u2019\u2014and so goes to his spading again.\n\n\u201cI cannot help to this day wondering at the patience and forbearance\nboth of him and my tutor, Cotton, afterwards Bishop of Calcutta, over\nmy frightful copies of verses, and Greek and Latin prose. As I was head\nof the eleven at cricket, and of bigside at football, I naturally had\nbut small leisure to devote to such matters, and consequently my copies\nwere notorious for the number of _picture frames_ they were certain to\ncontain,\u2014picture frames being the strong black marks which the Doctor\nused to make round bad, false concords\n\n    +--------------------+\n    |  munus hospitalis  |\n    +--------------------+\n\nor quantities\n\n    +--------------------+\n    |   munera stare     |\n    +--------------------+\n\n\u201cHe used to do it slowly and grimly, his under lip seeming to grow out\nas the pen went deliberately round the wretched words, and one did\nnot feel good during the operation. But as no boy enjoyed the sausage\nseller\u2019s buffooneries, or Socrates\u2019 banters more than I, (tho\u2019 I made\nsad hashes in construing them) I remained in favor, tho\u2019 incorrigible,\ntill the end.\n\n\u201cI carried away from Rugby dreadfully bad scholarship, but two\ninvaluable possessions. First, a strong religious faith in and loyalty\nto Christ; and secondly, open mindedness. It was said (and is still\nsaid, I believe,) of Arnold, by way of censure, that to him everything\nwas an open question every morning of his life. And though he never\nmade any direct effort to unsettle any of our convictions that I can\nremember, we went out into the world the least hampered intellectually\nof any school of English boys of that time. To this day I am always\nready to change an old opinion the moment I can get a better one, and\nso I think it has been with many of my old school-fellows, though we\nbelieved ourselves to be a thorough _true blue_ school.\n\n\u201cPerhaps I also owe to Rugby my strong democratic bias, but I don\u2019t\nthink it. I guess I was born so (or _barn-zo_, as Wessex chaw-bacon\npronounced it in the famous story). As a little scrap in petticoats\nnothing pleased me so much as playing with the village children, and I\ncould never understand why they shouldn\u2019t have all the things I had. At\nany rate it was at Rugby that I first was able to indulge my radical\npropensities. Up to my time, the school-close (or playgrounds) was kept\nas sacred ground, no \u2018lout\u2019 (as we politely called the neighboring\nlieges) being allowed to set foot within the precincts, and I had\noften noticed the insolent airs with which casual intruders in fustian\nor corduroy had been extruded. So when I became head of the eleven\n(and so a sort of constitutional monarch in the close) I asked the\nbest cricketers amongst the \u2018louts\u2019 to come in and practice with me\non summer evenings, and got up matches with their club, to the great\nadvantage, I still believe, of school as well as town.\n\n\u201cI was dreadfully loath to leave, and when I was obliged, (as nineteen\nis the limit of ages) was much averse to going up to Oxford. I knew\nthat my scholarship was too weak to allow me to take anything like high\nhonors, and so, as my profession was to be the Bar, I wanted to go up\nto London at once and enter at an Inn of Court. My father, however,\nafter consulting his legal friends, decided that I should go to Oxford,\nand accordingly I went up to his old College, Oriel, in February, 1842.\nMy first year at Oxford was utterly wasted, except that I learned\nto pull a good oar, and perfected myself in boxing, which was then\nmuch in vogue, several prize-fighters being generally kept in pay by\nthe under-graduates. The lectures were perfectly easy to me as I had\nread all the books at Rugby, and I employed no private tutor. I knew\nI couldn\u2019t take high honors, (or at any rate choose to think so) and\nas I happened to fall into an idle, fast set, just did as the rest,\nand made a fool of myself in all the usual ways. But I never much\nenjoyed that kind of thing and got very sick of it by the time I had\ntaken my little-go, and towards the end of my second year, just before\nI was of age, the most important event of my life happened, for in\nthe long vacation I became engaged to my wife, then a schoolgirl, the\ngreat friend of my only sister. This pulled me up short. Our parents\nvery properly said we were silly young people and must not see one\nanother for years, or correspond, that we might see whether we really\nknew our minds. I went back to Oxford quite a new man, knocked off\nall not absolutely necessary expense, and lived decently and soberly\nfor the rest of my time, taking my degree the first moment I could\nwithout coaching, by which I saved money. Consequently, with the help\nof a small legacy of \u00a3200, which came to me at twenty-one from an old\ngreat-aunt, I came away quite out of debt and with some small balance\ntowards furnishing chambers in London, which was fairly creditable, as,\nthere being three of us up at once, my father only allowed us \u00a3200 a\nyear each. This was supposed to be too small for a fellow to live on!!\nAlas, it is even worse now, I fear!\n\n\u201cI had the good luck to be under Clough (the poet) and Fraser, now\nBishop of Manchester, who were Oriel tutors at that time, and the\nlatter of whom is still one of my closest friends. I went up, as I\nhave said, believing myself still a Tory, but left Oxford a Radical.\nSomething of the change was owing to the insolence of undergraduate\nlife at that day, but more to a tour I took with a pupil through the\nNorth in the long vacation of my third year. My pupil was the son of\na neighboring Berkshire squire, and all his father wanted was that I\nshould keep him out of mischief. If he could be interested or taught\nanything, so much the better. We happened to stop at a Commercial hotel\nin Lancashire on our way North, and in the bagman\u2019s room I got into\nan argument with some of the North county travellers on the subject\nof the Corn Laws, then prominently before Parliament. On this first\nnight I came speedily to the conclusion that I knew very little about\nthe matter, and before I returned to Oxford for Michaelmas term I had\nbecome a good free-trader.\n\n\u201cI was nearly twenty-two when I went up to London, straight from\nOxford, to begin my legal career. My father kindly suggested that I\nshould take a run on the Continent before settling down, to get up my\nFrench and German to the point at any rate of tolerably fluent small\ntalk, and here again I have no doubt but he was right, as the want of\nearly training of ear and tongue has left me a helpless mortal ever\nsince. However, I was determined to lose not a month or a week if I\ncould help it, and soon found myself in small rooms on the third floor\nat No. 15 Lincoln\u2019s Inn Fields, from the windows of which, on a fine\nday, I could see the Surrey hills. I paid \u00a330 a year for the chambers,\nand lived in them for another \u00a370, keeping down my whole expenditure\nwithin \u00a3100 a year, a feat I am still rather proud of. I never could\nhave done it but for a glorious old woman who kept the house, and did\nfor all the inhabitants, of whom only two lived in their chambers. She\nhad come up from Devonshire as a girl some fifty years before to that\nhouse where she had been ever since, and in all that time had never\nseen the Thames, which is, as you know, not five minutes\u2019 walk from\nLincoln\u2019s Inn Fields; nor St. Paul\u2019s, except the dome, from the top\nwindows of No. 15. She still spoke with a delightful Devonshire accent,\nall her U\u2019s being as soft as if she had left Torquay yesterday, and I\nwon her heart at once by professing, or I should say acknowledging, a\npassion for _junket_, which she prepared in a reverent and enthusiastic\nmanner on the slightest excuse. As my wife that was to be lived in\nDevonshire, the coincidence was peculiarly grateful to me, and the dear\nold woman, Roxworthy by name, could not have had my interests more at\nheart had I been her own son.\n\n\u201cThere I lived for two years and upwards pleasantly enough, for several\nold school and college friends had chambers in the neighborhood. My\nengagement was a constant stimulus to work and economy, and made me\nindifferent as to society. I just visited two or three family friends\non Sundays, and for the rest did very well without it. From my own\nexperience I would have every youngster get engaged by the time he is\ntwenty-one, though I am not prepared to maintain that a long engagement\nis so good for girls as for boys. Mine at any rate was the making\nof me. My democratic instincts grew in strength during these years,\nnotwithstanding the failure of my first practical endeavors to act\nup to them. One of these I will mention. Every house in the Square\nwas entitled to a key of the five gardens, in which I spent most of\nthe long summer evenings; and, seeing the number of ragged children\nwho came round the railings and looked wistfully through at the lawns\nand beds within, I extended my privilege to them and used to let them\nin by the scores, and watch them tumbling on the grass and gathering\nthe daisies with entire satisfaction. From the first, this outrageous\nproceeding greatly scandalized the Beadle, whose remonstrances I\nentirely disregarded, until at last a notice came from the Trustees of\nthe Square that the key of No. =15= would be called in. This threat so\nalarmed poor Mrs. Roxworthy that I was fain to promise amendment, and\nso ceased myself to frequent the gardens. At the end of thirty years a\nstrong effort is being made, as you may see in the papers, to throw the\ngardens open; so I live in hopes before long of seeing my revenge on\nthe ghost of the Beadle of my day.\n\n\u201cI read hard at the law, but it was very much against the grain, and my\nendeavors to master the subtleties of contingent remainders, executory\ndevises, the _scintilla juris_, and all the rest of it, were only\npartially successful. I sometimes think I might have taken _con amore_\nto common law and to criminal business, but conveyancing and real\nproperty law had no attractions for me, beyond the determination, if I\ncould, to make a living by them. I read with a very able conveyancer\nand kindly old gentleman, who did his best to impart the mysteries to\nsome six pupils. He soon found where my strength, such as it was, lay,\nand employed me in the preparation of deeds\u2014such as appointments of new\nTrustees, where the operative part was quite simple common form, but\nlong statements of fact had to be made in the recitals. These I rather\nexcelled at, and on the whole, by the time I was of standing to be\ncalled to the Bar, was probably about as fit for that ceremony as the\naverage of my cotemporaries.\n\n\u201cThree months before it took place I was married, the probation which\nmy wife\u2019s parents had very properly insisted on, having expired at the\nbeginning of 1847, and we being found entirely in the same mind after\nour three years of separation. Most of our friends thought us mad,\nas we started on the vast income of \u00a3400 a year. It was confidently\nforetold that we should be living on our friends or in the workhouse\nbefore long, which prophesies however were entirely falsified. We\nstarted in tiny lodgings, almost opposite the house we now live in, and\nalways managed to pay our way in the worst of times. And though I admit\nthe experiment was a risky one, I have never repented it.\n\n\u201cThe year of my call, 1848, was the year of revolutions, and on the\n10th of April I paraded, like the rest of respectable society, as a\nspecial constable, though with shrewd misgivings in my own mind that\nthe Chartists had a great deal to say for themselves. In which belief I\nsoon found sympathizers. Frederick Maurice had recently been appointed\nChaplain of Lincoln\u2019s Inn, and was gathering round him a number of\nyoung Barristers and Students, whom he was putting to work in their\nspare time at a ragged school, and visiting the poor in a miserable\ndistrict near Lincoln\u2019s Inn. Contact with our wretched clients soon\nmade it clear to us that something more radical and systematic was\nneeded to raise them to anything like independence. They were almost\nall in the hands of slop sellers, chamber masters, or other grinders\nof the faces of the poor. What could be done to deliver them? In the\nautumn, one of our number spent some time in Paris and came back full\nof the material and moral effects of association amongst the workmen\nthere.\n\n\u201cWe resolved to try the experiment and accordingly formed ourselves\ninto a society for promoting Workingmen\u2019s Associations, with Maurice\nas president. The idea grew on us apace, and soon called out an amount\nof enthusiasm which surprised ourselves. We were all busy men, tied to\noffices from ten till five, so we met at six in the morning and eight\nat night to settle our rules, and organize our work. We were all poor\nmen too, but soon scraped together enough money to start our first\nAssociation. This we resolved should be a tailoring establishment,\nfor which we could ourselves, with the help of our friends, find\nsufficient custom in the first instance. We had no difficulty in hiring\ngood airy workshops, but how to fill them was the rub. We were now in\ncommunication with a number of poor workpeople, especially amongst the\nChartists, and, to cut a long story short, started our Association\nwith a slop-worker who had been in prison as manager, and some dozen\nassociates of kindred opinions in the workroom.\n\n\u201cI needn\u2019t trouble you with any details of the Christian Socialist\nmovement, of which this was a beginning, and which made a great noise\nin the press and elsewhere at the time. It has survived any number of\nfollies and failures, and has gradually spread till there is a union\nof Societies all over the kingdom, doing a work for our poorer classes\nwhich one can only wonder at and be thankful for.\n\n\u201cWe wrote tracts, and started a small paper, \u2018The Christian Socialist,\u2019\nand were soon at open strife with nearly the whole of our press, both\nthe \u2018Edinburgh\u2019 and the \u2018Quarterly\u2019 condescending to bestow on us\ncontemptuous, but very angry articles, in which they were joined by\nweeklies and dailies innumerable. But we were young, saucy, and so\nthoroughly convinced we were right that \u2018we cared, shall I say, not a\nd\u2014n for their damning.\u2019\n\n\u201cMost of my friends looked very serious, and prophesied that my\nprospects at the Bar would be ruined by my crotchets, and indeed I was\ndreadfully afraid of this myself. But the state of things in England\nwas so serious, and I was so thoroughly convinced of the necessity of\nwork in this direction, that I couldn\u2019t give it up. No doubt I lost\nsome business by it, but other business came, as I was wonderfully\npunctual at Chambers and soon got to be friends with my few clients,\nwho even got to pardon, with a shrug of the shoulders, the queer folk\nthey often found there. And queer no doubt they were for a Chancery\nbarrister\u2019s chambers, as emissaries from the tailors\u2019, shoemakers\u2019,\nprinters\u2019, and builders\u2019 Associations (we had a dozen of them going by\nthis time) were often in and out about their rules and accounts and\nsquabbles. I only remember one instance in which I really suffered.\nA dear old gentleman, a family friend of ours, had managed with much\ndifficulty to persuade his solicitor to give me some business. That\nmost respectable of men, head of a firm which could have made any\nyoung barrister\u2019s fortune, arrived one afternoon at my chambers with\na brief, and was asked by my clerk to sit down for a moment till I\nwas disengaged. This he did, graciously enough, though no doubt with\nthe thought \u2018how little I could know my business to keep him waiting\neven for a moment,\u2019 when my door opened, and a full-blown black person\n(lately from the West Indies in quest of advice and aid for the\nfreedmen there) walked out. This was too much for my intending client,\nwho hurried away, saying he would call again, but I never saw his brief\nor him.\n\n\u201cSo things went on for some years during which I managed to maintain\nmy growing family without dropping my work for the Associations. We\nhad migrated to Wimbledon, for health\u2019s sake, where we built a house\nside by side with one of the other Promoters, which had one large\nroom common to both houses, the subject of much chaff and fun to our\nvisitors and acquaintance. Our garden was also in common, and both\narrangements, I think, answered well.\n\n\u201cAbout this time Maurice became convinced that if Associations of\nworking people were to succeed, the men must be better educated in the\nhighest sense. So he set to work to establish the Workingmen\u2019s College,\nof which he was the first and I am the present Principal. It is a very\nnoteworthy institution, at which, by the way, Emerson and Goldwin\nSmith, besides Stanley, Kingsley, Huxley, and other eminent Englishmen,\nhave delivered opening addresses, at the beginning of the academical\nyear, in October.\n\n\u201cI found it at first very hard to discover my mission at the college.\nI tried lectures on the law of combination and association, but they\ndid not draw, and all the other classes for which I was competent, were\nfilled by much better teachers from amongst our number. So, noting how\nbadly set up the men were with round shoulders, and slouching gait, and\nhow much they needed some strong exercise to supple them, I started a\nboxing class, and had some horizontal and parallel bars put up in the\nback-yard. These proved a great success, and at last it became clear to\nme, that all my Oxford time spent on such matters had not been thrown\naway. In connection with the boxing and gymnastic classes, we started\nsocial gatherings for talk and songs, over a cup of tea, which also\nwere wonderfully successful. I remember Hawthorne coming to one of\nthem; brought by his friend, H. Bright, of Liverpool, and quite losing\nhis shyness and reserve for the evening.\n\n\u201cBy this time we had a boy of eight, and, thinking over what I should\nlike to say to him before he went to school, I took to writing a story\nas the easiest way of bringing out what I wanted. It was done mainly in\nthe long vacation of 1856, but wasn\u2019t published till early in the next\nyear, and made such a hit that the publishers soon betrayed the secret,\nand I became famous!\n\n\u201cWhereupon arose again the professional bugbear, now set at rest for\nyears. I had managed to get over and live down Christian Socialism, but\nwho on earth would bring business to a successful author! I considered\nwhether I shouldn\u2019t throw over Lincoln\u2019s Inn and take to writing, but\ndecided that the law was best for me, and determined to stop writing.\nThis good resolution held for two years, when the Berkshire festival\nof scouring the White Horse, (an old Danish or Saxon, certainly Pagan\nfigure, still left on our chalk-hills,) came round, and my old country\nfriends made such a point of having an account of it from me that I\ngave in and wrote my book No. 2.\n\n\u201cBy this time my clients had become case-hardened, and finding no\nparticular ill effects from my previous escapades, I gave in in a\nweak moment to a tempting offer of Macmillan\u2019s, and wrote \u2018Tom Brown\nat Oxford,\u2019 for his magazine. Moreover, I had now made a plunge into\npublic life, and was one of the leaders of a semi-political party. This\nis how it came about: There had been roused in me lively sympathies\nwith the Abolitionists, and I had followed eagerly the progress of\nevents through the Fugitive Slave, and Free Soil agitations. There was\nno warmer sympathizer with Garrison and John Brown and Levi Coffin,\nin England; so when the Lincoln election came, and South Carolina led\noff the seceding states with jubilant applause of society in England,\nI went at once fiercely into the other camp. You may judge of the\ndifficulty of getting our public men of note to take active sides with\nthe North (tho\u2019 many of them didn\u2019t conceal their sympathy, and were\nready to speak in Parliament, and write,) by the fact that I was about\nthe most prominent speaker at the first great public meeting, which\nwas held in London. This proved to be such an extraordinary success,\nthat there was no further effort on the part of the jingoes (that\nname hadn\u2019t yet been invented, but it was precisely the same party,)\nto demonstrate publicly in the metropolis. In other centres there was\nneed of such work, and I went to Birmingham and Liverpool to speak\nand deliver lectures on the war and its causes and issues. It was\nsupposed that there was to be a row at the latter place, which was the\nstronghold of the Rebels; but all went off quietly.\n\n\u201cIt was mainly in consequence of these doings that I was asked by the\nworking folk in South London to stand for Lambeth in 1865. I did so,\nand was brought in triumphantly at the head of the Poll, and almost\nall the expense paid by subscription. From that time I gradually gave\nup legal business, and in 1868 took silk, as it is called, _i. e._,\nbecame a Queen\u2019s Counsel. In 1869 I wrote \u2018Alfred the Great\u2019 for\nMacmillan\u2019s Sunday Series. I now made it my chief business to attend\nto Social-Political questions in Parliament; sat on two Trades Unions\nCommissions; got amendments to the Industrial and Friendly Societies\nActs through the House, but never took to party politics.\n\n\u201cIn 1870, as I hope you remember, I paid my delightful visit to America.\n\n\u201cIn 1872 I lost my dear eldest brother, and soon after wrote the memoir\nof him for my family. Maurice also died, and I became Principal of the\nWorkingmen\u2019s College.\n\n\u201cBefore the next election (1874) the Co-operative question had come\nto the front. The success of the Upper Class London Supply Societies\n[copies of our working-class Associations in their main principle and\nfeatures] had roused the tradesmen throughout the country. I was a\ncandidate for Marylebone, and was fiercely opposed by the tradesmen,\nand supported by the professional and working classes. There were three\nLiberal candidates for only two seats, so it was agreed to refer it to\nthe Attorney General to say who should retire, and he decided that I\nhad the worst chance of winning the seat (on one-sided and insufficient\nevidence, as my supporters maintained, and I think rightly). I\ntherefore retired, and got no chance of entering that Parliament. For\nby this time the Trades Protection Society had been organized, to\nfight against neither small nor great, but only against those accursed\nrevolutionists who had supported the Co-operative movement, and refused\nto flinch from it.\n\n\u201cSo it happened that I was again thrown out at the election this\nyear. I had consented, on the unanimous and unsolicited request of\nthe Liberal party in Salisbury, to stand there, and all went well\ntill just before the election, when the Trades Protective people\npermitted the party organization to throw me over. I doubt if I shall\never return to the House, as my views on the Church question make me\nan almost hopeless candidate in the North of England, and my support\nof Co-operation a perfectly hopeless one at present in the South. I\ncare, however, very little about it, having plenty to do outside in\nkeeping irons hot, especially that most interesting of all my irons,\nthe Tennessee settlement, which I hope to keep very hot indeed, and\nlook upon as about the most hopeful of the many New Jerusalems which\nhave attracted me during my pilgrimage. I am off to open Chapter II.\nof that Romance [Chapter I., the getting the titles clear, buying the\nland, &c., having taken some two years.] on the 12th of next month, and\nI can\u2019t tell you how much my heart is in it.\n\n\u201cAnd so end my confessions. The only other points of interest, omitted\nabove, are the publication of the \u2018Old Church,\u2019 in 1877, when the\ndisestablishment movement began to get serious, and \u2018The Manliness\nof Christ,\u2019 this Spring, (1880), which latter has been already\nrepublished on your side in four different forms; and lastly, my share\nin the Volunteer movement, which I joined at its start in 1859. The\nWorkingmen\u2019s College raised a corps of two companies at once, of\nwhich, after serving for a few weeks as private, I was made Captain.\nIt soon swelled into a regiment, the 19th Middlesex, of which I became\nColonel, and served in it twelve years.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTRUE MANLINESS.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\nTHE conscience of every man recognizes courage as the foundation of\ntrue manliness, and manliness as the perfection of human character, and\nif Christianity runs counter to conscience in this matter, or indeed in\nany other, Christianity will go to the wall.\n\nBut does it? On the contrary, is not perfection of character\u2014\u201cBe ye\nperfect as your Father in heaven is perfect,\u201d perfection to be reached\nby moral effort in the faithful following of our Lord\u2019s life on\nearth\u2014the final aim which the Christian religion sets before individual\nmen, and constant contact and conflict with evil of all kinds the\nnecessary condition of that moral effort, and the means adopted by\nour Master in the world in which we live, and for which he died? In\nthat strife, then, the first requisite is courage or manfulness, gained\nthrough conflict with evil\u2014for without such conflict there can be no\nperfection of character, the end for which Christ says we were sent\ninto this world.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\n\u201cManliness and manfulness\u201d are synonymous, but they embrace more than\nwe ordinarily mean by the word \u201ccourage;\u201d for instance, tenderness and\nthoughtfulness for others. They include that courage which lies at\nthe root of all manliness, but is, in fact, only its lowest or rudest\nform. Indeed, we must admit that it is not exclusively a human quality\nat all, but one which we share with other animals, and which some of\nthem\u2014for instance the bulldog and weasel\u2014exhibit with a certainty and a\nthoroughness, which is very rare amongst mankind.\n\nIn what, then, does courage, in this ordinary sense of the word,\nconsist? First, in persistency, or the determination to have one\u2019s own\nway, coupled with contempt for safety and ease, and readiness to risk\npain or death in getting one\u2019s own way. This is, let us readily admit,\na valuable, even a noble quality, but an animal quality rather than a\nhuman or manly one. Proficiency in athletic games is not necessarily\na test even of animal courage, but only of muscular power and physical\ntraining. Even in those games which, to some extent, do afford a\ntest of the persistency, and contempt for discomfort or pain, which\nconstitute animal courage\u2014such as rowing, boxing, and wrestling\u2014it\nis of necessity a most unsatisfactory one. For instance, Nelson\u2014as\ncourageous an Englishman as ever lived, who attacked a Polar bear with\na handspike when he was a boy of fourteen, and told his captain, when\nhe was scolded for it, that he did not know Mr. Fear\u2014with his slight\nframe and weak constitution, could never have won a boat-race, and in a\nmatch would have been hopelessly astern of any one of the crew of his\nown barge; and the highest courage which ever animated a human body\nwould not enable the owner of it, if he were himself untrained, to\nstand for five minutes against a trained wrestler or boxer.\n\nAthleticism is a good thing if kept in its place, but it has come to be\nvery much over-praised and over-valued amongst us.\n\nTrue manliness is as likely to be found in a weak as in a strong\nbody. Other things being equal, we may perhaps admit (though I should\nhesitate to do so) that a man with a highly-trained and developed body\nwill be more courageous than a weak man. But we must take this caution\nwith us, that a great athlete may be a brute or a coward, while a truly\nmanly man can be neither.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nLet us take a few well-known instances of courageous deeds and examine\nthem; because, if we can find out any common quality in them we shall\nhave lighted on something which is of the essence of, or inseparable\nfrom, that manliness which includes courage\u2014that manliness of which we\nare in search.\n\nI will take two or three at hazard from a book in which they abound,\nand which was a great favorite some years ago, as I hope it is still, I\nmean Napier\u2019s _Peninsular War_. At the end of the storming of Badajos,\nafter speaking of the officers, Napier goes on: \u201cWho shall describe\nthe springing valor of that Portuguese grenadier who was killed the\nforemost man at Santa Maria? or the martial fury of that desperate\nrifleman, who, in his resolution to win, thrust himself beneath the\nchained sword-blades, and then suffered the enemy to dash his head in\npieces with the end of their muskets.\u201d\n\nAgain, at the Coa: \u201cA north-of-Ireland man, named Stewart, but\njocularly called \u2018the boy,\u2019 because of his youth, nineteen, and of his\ngigantic stature and strength, who had fought bravely and displayed\ngreat intelligence beyond the river, was one of the last men who came\ndown to the bridge, but he would not pass. Turning round he regarded\nthe French with a grim look, and spoke aloud as follows, \u2018So this is\nthe end of our brag. This is our first battle, and we retreat! The boy\nStewart will not live to hear that said.\u2019 Then striding forward in his\ngiant might he fell furiously on the nearest enemies with the bayonet,\nrefused the quarter they seemed desirous of granting, and died fighting\nin the midst of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill more touching, more noble, more heroic, was the death of\nSergeant Robert McQuade. During McLeod\u2019s rush, this man, also from the\nnorth of Ireland, saw two men level their muskets on rests against\na high gap in a bank, awaiting the uprise of an enemy. The present\nAdjutant-general Brown, then a lad of sixteen, attempted to ascend\nat the fatal spot. McQuade, himself only twenty-four years of age,\npulled him back, saying in a calm, decided tone, \u2018You are too young,\nsir, to be killed,\u2019 and then offering his own person to the fire, fell\ndead pierced with both balls.\u201d And, speaking of the British soldier\ngenerally, he says in his preface, \u201cWhat they were their successors now\nare. Witness the wreck of the _Birkenhead_, where four hundred men, at\nthe call of their heroic officers, Captains Wright and Girardot, calmly\nand without a murmur accepted death in a horrible form rather than\nendanger the women and children saved in the boats. The records of the\nworld furnish no parallel to this self-devotion.\u201d\n\nLet us add to these two very recent examples: the poor colliers who\nworked day and night at Pont-y-pridd with their lives in their hands,\nto rescue their buried comrades; and the gambler in St. Louis who went\nstraight from the gaming-table into the fire, to the rescue of women\nand children, and died of the hurts after his third return from the\nflames.\n\nLooking, then, at these several cases, we find in each that resolution\nin the actors to have their way, contempt for ease, and readiness to\nrisk pain or death, which we noted as the special characteristics of\nanimal courage, which we share with the bulldog and weasel.\n\nSo far all of them are alike. Can we get any further? Not much,\nif we take the case of the rifleman who thrust his head under the\nsword-blades and allowed his brains to be knocked out sooner than draw\nit back, or that of \u201cthe boy Stewart.\u201d These are intense assertions\nof individual will and force\u2014avowals of the rough hard-handed man\nthat he has that in him which enables him to defy pain and danger and\ndeath\u2014this and little or nothing more; and no doubt a very valuable and\nadmirable thing as it stands.\n\nBut we feel, I think, at once, that there is something more in the act\nof Sergeant McQuade, and of the miners in Pont-y-pridd\u2014something higher\nand more admirable. And it is not a mere question of degree, of more\nor less, in the quality of animal courage. The rifleman and \u201cthe boy\nStewart\u201d were each of them persistent to death, and no man can be more.\nThe acts were, then, equally courageous, so far as persistency and\nscorn of danger and death are concerned. We must look elsewhere for\nthe difference, for that which touches us more deeply in the case of\nSergeant McQuade than in that of \u201cthe boy Stewart,\u201d and can only find\nit in the motive. At least, it seems to me that the worth of the last\nlies mainly in the sublimity of self-assertion, of the other in the\nsublimity of self-sacrifice.\n\nAnd this holds good again in the case of the _Birkenhead_. Captain\nWright gave the word for the men to fall in on deck by companies,\nknowing that the sea below them was full of sharks, and that the ship\ncould not possibly float till the boats came back; and the men fell\nin, knowing this also, and stood at attention without uttering a word,\ntill she heeled over and went down under them. And Napier, with all his\ndelight in physical force and prowess, and his intense appreciation\nof the qualities which shine most brightly in the fiery action of\nbattle, gives the palm to these when he writes, \u201cThe records of the\nworld furnish no parallel to this self-devotion.\u201d He was no mean judge\nin such a case; and, if he is right, as I think he is, do we not get\nanother side-light on our inquiry, and find that the highest temper of\nphysical courage is not to be found, or perfected, in action but in\nrepose. All physical effort relieves the strain and makes it easier to\npersist unto death under the stimulus and excitement of the shock of\nbattle, or of violent exertion of any kind, than when the effort has\nto be made with grounded arms. In other words, may we not say that\nin the face of danger self-restraint is after all the highest form of\nself-assertion, and a characteristic of manliness as distinguished from\ncourage.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nThe courage which is tested in times of terror, on the battle-field, in\nthe sinking ship, the poisoned mine, the blazing house, presents but\none small side of a great subject. Such testing times come to few, and\nto these not often in their lives. But on the other hand, the daily\nlife of every one of us teems with occasions which will try the temper\nof our courage as searchingly, though not as terribly, as battle-field\nor fire or wreck. For we are born into a state of war; with falsehood\nand disease, and wrong and misery in a thousand forms lying all around\nus, and the voice within calling on us to take our stand as men in the\neternal battle against these.\n\nAnd in this life-long fight, to be waged by every one of us\nsingle-handed against a host of foes, the last requisite for a good\nfight, the last proof and test of our courage and manfulness, must be\nloyalty to truth\u2014the most rare and difficult of all human qualities.\nFor such loyalty, as it grows in perfection, asks ever more and more of\nus, and sets before us a standard of manliness always rising higher and\nhigher.\n\nAnd this is the great lesson which we shall learn from Christ\u2019s life,\nthe more earnestly and faithfully we study it. \u201cFor this end was I\nborn, and for this cause came I into the world, to bear witness to\nthe truth.\u201d To bear this witness against avowed and open enemies is\ncomparatively easy; but, to bear it against those we love; against\nthose whose judgment and opinions we respect, in defense or furtherance\nof that which approves itself as true to our own inmost conscience,\nthis is the last and abiding test of courage and of manliness.\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nHow natural, nay, how inevitable it is, that we should fall into the\nhabit of appreciating and judging things mainly by the standards in\ncommon use amongst those we respect and love. But these very standards\nare apt to break down with us when we are brought face to face with\nsome question which takes us ever so little out of ourselves and our\nusual moods. At such times we are driven to admit in our hearts that\nwe, and those we respect and love, have been looking at and judging\nthings, not truthfully, and therefore not courageously and manfully,\nbut conventionally. And then comes one of the most searching of all\ntrials of courage and manliness, when a man or woman is called to stand\nby what approves itself to their consciences as true, and to protest\nfor it through evil report and good report, against all discouragement\nand opposition from those they love or respect. The sense of antagonism\ninstead of rest, of distrust and alienation instead of approval and\nsympathy, which such times bring, is a test which tries the very\nheart and reins, and it is one which meets us at all ages, and in\nall conditions of life. Emerson\u2019s hero is the man who, \u201ctaking both\nreputation and life in his hand, will with perfect urbanity dare the\ngibbet and the mob, by the resolute truth of his speech and rectitude\nof his behavior.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nAfter all, what would life be without fighting, I should like to know?\nFrom the cradle to the grave, fighting, rightly understood, is the\nbusiness, the real, highest, honestest business of every son of man.\nEvery one who is worth his salt has his enemies, who must be beaten, be\nthey evil thoughts and habits in himself, or spiritual wickednesses in\nhigh places, or Russians, or border-ruffians.\n\nIt is no good for Quakers, or any other body of men to uplift their\nvoices against fighting. Human nature is too strong for them, and they\ndon\u2019t follow their own precepts. Every soul of them is doing his own\npiece of fighting, somehow and somewhere. The world might be a better\nworld without fighting, for anything I know, but it wouldn\u2019t be our\nworld; and therefore I am dead against crying peace, when there is no\npeace, and isn\u2019t meant to be. I am as sorry as any man to see folks\nfighting the wrong people and the wrong things, but I\u2019d a deal sooner\nsee them doing that, than that they should have no fight in them.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nYou can\u2019t alter society, or hinder people in general from being\nhelpless and vulgar\u2014from letting themselves fall into slavery to the\nthings about them if they are rich, or from aping the habits and vices\nof the rich if they are poor. But you may live simple, manly lives\nyourselves, speaking your own thought, paying your own way, and doing\nyour own work, whatever that may be. You will remain gentlemen so long\nas you follow these rules, if you have to sweep a crossing for your\nlivelihood. You will not remain gentlemen in anything but the name, if\nyou depart from them, though you may be set to govern a kingdom.\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n\nIn testing manliness as distinguished from courage, we shall have to\nreckon sooner or later with the idea of duty. Nelson\u2019s column stands\nin the most conspicuous site in all London, and stands there with all\nmen\u2019s approval, not because of his daring courage. Lord Peterborough,\nin a former generation, Lord Dundonald in the one which succeeded,\nwere at least as eminent for reckless and successful daring. But it\nis because the idea of devotion to duty is inseparably connected with\nNelson\u2019s name in the minds of Englishmen, that he has been lifted high\nabove all his compeers in England\u2019s capital.\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\n\nIn the throes of one of the terrible revolutions of the worst days\nof imperial Rome\u2014when probably the cruelest mob and most licentious\nsoldiery of all time were raging round the palace of the C\u00e6sars, and\nthe chances of an hour would decide whether Galba or Otho should rule\nthe world, the alternative being a violent death\u2014an officer of the\nguard, one Julius Atticus, rushed into Galba\u2019s presence with a bloody\nsword, boasting that he had slain his rival, Otho. \u201cMy comrade, by\nwhose order?\u201d was his only greeting from the old Pagan chief. And the\nstory has come down through eighteen centuries, in the terse, strong\nsentences of the great historian, Tacitus.\n\nComrade, who ordered thee? whose will art thou doing? It is the\nquestion which has to be asked of every fighting man, in whatever part\nof the great battlefield he comes to the front, and determines the\nmanliness of soldier, statesman, parson, of every strong man, and\nsuffering woman.\n\n    \u201cThree roots bear up Dominion; knowledge, will,\n       These two are strong; but stronger still the third,\n     Obedience: \u2019tis the great tap-root, which still\n       Knit round the rock of Duty, is not stirred,\n     Though storm and tempest spend their utmost skill.\u201d\n\nI think that the more thoroughly we sift and search out this question\nthe more surely we shall come to this as the conclusion of the whole\nmatter. Tenacity of will, or wilfulness, lies at the root of all\ncourage, but courage can only rise into true manliness when the will\nis surrendered; and the more absolute the surrender of the will the\nmore perfect will be the temper of our courage and the strength of our\nmanliness.\n\n    \u201cStrong Son of God, immortal Love,\u201d\n\nthe laureate has pleaded, in the moment of his highest inspiration.\n\n    \u201cOur wills are ours to make them thine.\u201d\n\nAnd that strong Son of God to whom this cry has gone up in our day, and\nin all days, has left us the secret of his strength in the words, \u201cI am\ncome to do the will of my Father and your Father.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nX.\n\n\nHaste and distrust are the sure signs of weakness, if not of\ncowardice. Just in so far as they prevail in any life, even in the most\nheroic, the man fails, and his work will have to be done over again.\nIn Christ\u2019s life there is not the slightest trace of such weakness or\ncowardice. From all that we are told, and from all that we can infer,\nhe made no haste, and gave way to no doubt, waiting for God\u2019s mind,\nand patiently preparing himself for whatever his work might be. And so\nhis work from the first was perfect, and through his whole public life\nhe never faltered or wavered, never had to withdraw or modify a word\nonce spoken. And thus he stands, and will stand to the end of time, the\ntrue model of the courage and manliness of boyhood and youth and early\nmanhood.\n\n\n\n\nXI.\n\n\nThe man whose yea is yea and his nay nay, is, we all confess, the most\ncourageous, whether or no he may be the most successful in daily life.\nAnd he who gave the precept has left us the most perfect example of how\nto live up to it.\n\n\n\n\nXII.\n\n\nIt is his action when the danger comes, not when he is in solitary\npreparation for it, which marks the man of courage.\n\n\n\n\nXIII.\n\n\nIn all the world\u2019s annals there is nothing which approaches, in the\nsublimity of its courage, that last conversation between our Saviour\nand the Roman procurator, before Pilate led him forth for the last time\nand pleaded scornfully with his nation for the life of their king.\nThere must be no flaw or spot on Christ\u2019s courage, any more than on his\nwisdom and tenderness and sympathy. And the more unflinchingly we apply\nthe test the more clear and sure will the response come back to us.\n\n\n\n\nXIV.\n\n\nQuit yourself like men; speak up, and strike out if necessary, for\nwhatsoever is true and manly, and lovely, and of good report; never\ntry to be popular, but only to do your duty and help others to do\ntheirs, and, wherever you are placed, you may leave the tone of feeling\nhigher than you found it, and so be doing good which no living soul can\nmeasure to generations yet unborn.\n\n\n\n\nXV.\n\n\nWe listened to Dr. Arnold, as all boys in their better moods will\nlisten (aye, and men too for the matter of that,) to a man whom we\nfelt to be, with all his heart and soul and strength, striving against\nwhatever was mean and unmanly and unrighteous in our little world. It\nwas not the cold, clear voice of one giving advice and warning from\nserene heights to those who were struggling and sinning below, but\nthe warm, living voice of one who was fighting for us by our sides,\nand calling on us to help him and ourselves and one another. And so,\nwearily and little by little, but surely and steadily on the whole,\nwas brought home to the young boy the meaning of his life; that it was\nno fool\u2019s or sluggard\u2019s paradise into which he had wandered by chance,\nbut a battle-field ordained from of old, where there are no spectators,\nbut the youngest must take his side, and the stakes are life and death.\nAnd he who roused this consciousness in them, showed them at the same\ntime, by every word he spoke in the pulpit, and by his whole daily\nlife, how that battle was to be fought; and stood there before them\ntheir fellow-soldier and the captain of their band. The true sort of\na captain, too, for a boys\u2019 army, one who had no misgivings and gave\nno uncertain word of command, and, let who would yield or make truce,\nwould fight the fight out (so every boy felt) to the last gasp and the\nlast drop of blood. Other sides of his character might take hold of\nand influence boys here and there, but it was this thoroughness and\nundaunted courage which more than anything else won his way to the\nhearts of the great mass of those on whom he left his mark, and made\nthem believe first in him, and then in his Master.\n\n\n\n\nXVI.\n\n\nTo stand by what our conscience witnesses for as truth, through evil\nand good report, even against all opposition of those we love, and of\nthose whose judgment we look up to and should ordinarily prefer to\nfollow; to cut ourselves deliberately off from their love and sympathy\nand respect, is surely one of the most severe trials to which we can be\nput. A man has need to feel at such times that the Spirit of the Lord\nis upon him in some measure, as it was upon Christ when he rose in the\nsynagogue of Nazareth and, selecting the passage of Isaiah which speaks\nmost directly of the Messiah, claimed that title for himself, and told\nthem that to-day this prophecy was fulfilled in him.\n\nThe fierce, hard, Jewish spirit is at once roused to fury. They would\nkill him then and there, and so settle his claims once for all. He\npasses through them, and away from the quiet home where he had been\nbrought up\u2014alone, it would seem, so far as man could make him so, and\nhomeless for the remainder of his life. Yet not alone, for his Father\nis with him; nor homeless for he has the only home of which man can be\nsure, the home of his own heart shared with the Spirit of God.\n\n\n\n\nXVII.\n\n\nWe have been told recently, by more than one of those who profess to\nhave weighed and measured Christianity and found it wanting, that\nreligion must rest on reason, based on phenomena of this visible,\ntangible world in which we are living.\n\nBe it so. There is no need for a Christian to object. We can meet\nthis challenge as well as any other. We need never be careful about\nchoosing our own battlefield. Looking, then, at that world as we see\nit, laboring heavily along in our own time\u2014as we hear of it through\nthe records of the ages\u2014I must repeat that there is no phenomenon in\nit comparable for a moment to that of Christ\u2019s life and work. The more\nwe canvass and sift and weigh and balance the materials, the more\nclearly and grandly does his figure rise before us, as the true Head\nof humanity, the perfect Ideal, not only of wisdom and tenderness and\nlove, but of courage also, because He was and is the simple Truth of\nGod\u2014the expression, at last, in flesh and blood of what He who created\nus means each one of our race to be.\n\n\n\n\nXVIII.\n\n\n\u201cMy father,\u201d said Hardy, \u201cis an old commander in the royal navy. He\nwas a second cousin of Nelson\u2019s Hardy, and that, I believe, was what\nled him into the navy, for he had no interest whatever of his own. It\nwas a visit which Nelson\u2019s Hardy, then a young lieutenant, paid to his\nrelative, my grandfather, which decided my father, he has told me;\nbut he always had a strong bent to sea, though he was a boy of very\nstudious habits.\n\n\u201cHowever, those were times when brave men who knew and loved their\nprofession couldn\u2019t be overlooked, and my dear old father fought his\nway up step by step\u2014not very fast, certainly, but still fast enough to\nkeep him in heart about his chances in life.\n\n\u201cHe was made commander towards the end of the war, and got a ship,\nin which he sailed with a convoy of merchantmen from Bristol. It was\nthe last voyage he ever made in active service; but the Admiralty was\nso well satisfied with his conduct in it that they kept his ship in\ncommission two years after peace was declared. And well they might be,\nfor in the Spanish main he fought an action which lasted, on and off,\nfor two days, with a French sloop-of-war, and a privateer, either of\nwhich ought to have been a match for him. But he had been with Vincent\nin the _Arrow_, and was not likely to think much of such small odds as\nthat. At any rate, he beat them off, and not a prize could either of\nthem make out of his convoy, though I believe his ship was never fit\nfor anything afterwards, and was broken up as soon as she was out of\ncommission. We have got her compasses, and the old flag which flew\nat the peak through the whole voyage, at home now. It was my father\u2019s\nown flag, and his fancy to have it always flying. More than half the\nmen were killed or badly hit\u2014the dear old father among the rest. A\nball took off part of his knee-cap, and he had to fight the last six\nhours of the action sitting in a chair on the quarter-deck; but he says\nit made the men fight better than when he was among them, seeing him\nsitting there sucking oranges.\n\n\u201cWell, he came home with a stiff leg. The Bristol merchants gave him\nthe freedom of the city in a gold box, and a splendidly-mounted sword\nwith an inscription on the blade, which hangs over the mantel-piece\nat home. When I first left home, I asked him to give me his old\nservice-sword, which used to hang by the other, and he gave it me at\nonce, though I was only a lad of seventeen, as he would give me his\nright eye, dear old father, which is the only one he has now; the other\nhe lost from a cutlass-wound in a boarding party. There it hangs, and\nthose are his epaulettes in the tin case. They used to be under my\npillow before I had a room of my own, and many a cowardly down-hearted\nfit have they helped me to pull through; and many a mean act have they\nhelped to keep me from doing. There they are always; and the sight of\nthem brings home the dear old man to me as nothing else does, hardly\neven his letters. I must be a great scoundrel to go very wrong with\nsuch a father.\n\n\u201cLet\u2019s see\u2014where was I? Oh, yes; I remember. Well, my father got his\nbox and sword, and some very handsome letters from several great men.\nWe have them all in a book at home, and I know them by heart. The ones\nhe values most are from Collinwood, and his old captain, Vincent, and\nfrom his cousin, Nelson\u2019s Hardy, who didn\u2019t come off very well himself\nafter the war. But my poor old father never got another ship. For some\ntime he went up every year to London, and was always, he says, very\nkindly received by the people in power, and often dined with one and\nanother Lord of the Admiralty who had been an old mess-mate. But he\nwas longing for employment, and it used to prey on him while he was in\nhis prime to feel year after year slipping away and he still without a\nship. But why should I abuse people and think it hard, when he doesn\u2019t?\n\u2018You see, Jack,\u2019 he said to me the last time I spoke to him about it,\n\u2018after all, I was a battered old hulk, lame and half-blind. So was\nNelson, you\u2019ll say; but every man isn\u2019t a Nelson, my boy. And though I\nmight think I could con or fight a ship as well as ever, I can\u2019t say\nother folk who didn\u2019t know me were wrong for not agreeing with me.\nWould you, now, Jack, appoint a lame and blind man to command your\nship, if you had one?\u2019 But he left off applying for work soon after\nhe was fifty (I just remember the time), for he began to doubt then\nwhether he was quite so fit to command a small vessel as a younger man;\nand though he had a much better chance after that of getting a ship\n(for William IV. came to the throne, who knew all about him), he never\nwent near the Admiralty again. \u2018God forbid,\u2019 he said, \u2018that his Majesty\nshould take me if there\u2019s a better man to be had.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXIX.\n\n\nThe object of wrestling and of all other athletic sports is to\nstrengthen men\u2019s bodies, and to teach them to use their strength\nreadily, to keep their tempers, to endure fatigue and pain. These are\nall noble ends. God gives us few more valuable gifts than strength of\nbody, and courage, and endurance\u2014to laboring men they are beyond all\nprice. We ought to cultivate them in all right ways for they are given\nus to protect the weak, to subdue the earth, to fight for our homes and\ncountry if necessary.\n\n\n\n\nXX.\n\n\nTo you young men, I say, as Solomon said, rejoice in your youth;\nrejoice in your strength of body, and elasticity of spirits and the\ncourage which follows from these; but remember, that for these gifts\nyou will be judged\u2014not condemned, mind, but judged. You will have to\nshow before a judge who knoweth your inmost hearts, that you have used\nthese his great gifts well; that you have been pure and manly, and true.\n\n\n\n\nXXI.\n\n\nAt last in my dream, a mist came over the Hill, and all the figures got\nfainter and fainter, and seemed to be fading away. But as they faded, I\ncould see one great figure coming out clearer through the mist, which\nI had never noticed before. It was like a grand old man, with white\nhair and mighty limbs, who looked as old as the hill itself, but yet\nas if he were as young now as he ever had been; and at his feet were a\npickaxe and spade, and at his side a scythe. But great and solemn as it\nlooked, I felt that the figure was not a man, and I was angry with it.\nWhy should it come in with its great pitiful eyes and smile? Why were\nmy brothers and sisters, the men and women, to fade away before it?\n\n\u201cThe labor that a man doeth under the sun, it is all vanity. Prince and\npeasant, the wise man and the fool they all come to me at last and I\ngarner them away, and their place knows them no more!\u201d So the figure\nseemed to say to itself, and I felt melancholy as I watched it sitting\nthere at rest, playing with the fading figures.\n\nAt last it placed one of the little figures on its knee, half in\nmockery, as it seemed to me, and half in sorrow. But then all changed;\nand the great figure began to fade, and the small man came out clearer\nand clearer. And he took no heed of his great neighbor, but rested\nthere where he was placed; and his face was quiet, and full of life as\nhe gazed steadily and earnestly through the mist. And the other figures\ncame flitting by again and chanted as they passed, \u201cThe work of one\ntrue man is greater than all thy work. Thou hast nought but a seeming\npower over it, or over him. Every true man is greater than thee. Every\ntrue man shall conquer more than thee; for he shall triumph over death,\nand hell, and thee, oh, Time!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXXII.\n\n\nThe strain and burden of a great message of deliverance to men has\nagain and again found the weak places in the faith and courage of the\nmost devoted and heroic of those to whom it has been entrusted. Moses\npleads under its pressure that another may be sent in his place, asking\ndespairingly, \u201cWhy hast thou sent me?\u201d Elijah prays for death. Mohammed\npasses years of despondency and hesitation under the sneers of those\nwho scoff, \u201cThere goeth the son of Abdallah, who hath his converse with\nGod!\u201d Such shrinkings and doubtings enlist our sympathy, make us feel\nthe tie of a common humanity which binds us to such men. But no one,\nI suppose, will maintain that perfect manliness would not suppress, at\nany rate, the open expression of any such feelings. The man who has to\nlead a great revolution should keep all misgivings to himself, and the\nweight of them so kept must often prove the sorest part of his burden.\n\n\n\n\nXXIII.\n\n\nWe have most of us, at one time or another of our lives, passed\nthrough trying ordeals, the memory of which we can by no means dwell\non with pleasure. Times they were of blinding and driving storm, and\nhowling winds, out of which voices as of evil spirits spoke close in\nour ears\u2014tauntingly, temptingly, whispering to the mischievous wild\nbeast which lurks in the bottom of all our hearts\u2014now, \u201cRouse up! art\nthou a man and darest not do this thing;\u201d now, \u201cRise, kill and eat\u2014it\nis thine, wilt thou not take it? Shall the flimsy scruples of this\nteacher, or the sanctified cant of that, bar thy way and balk thee of\nthine own? Thou hast strength to have them\u2014to brave all things in earth\nor heaven, or hell; put out thy strength, and be a man!\u201d\n\nThen did not the wild beast within us shake itself, and feel its\npower, sweeping away all the \u201cThou shalt nots,\u201d which the Law wrote up\nbefore us in letters of fire, with the \u201cI _will_\u201d of hardy, godless,\nself-assertion? And all the while, which alone made the storm really\ndreadful to us, was there not the still small voice, never to be\naltogether silenced by the roarings of the tempest of passion, by the\nevil voices, by our own violent attempts to stifle it;\u2014the still small\nvoice appealing to the man, the true man, within us, which is made\nin the image of God, calling on him to assert his dominion over the\nwild beast\u2014to obey, and conquer, and live. Aye! and though we may have\nfollowed other voices, have we not, while following them, confessed in\nour hearts that all true strength, and nobleness, and manliness was to\nbe found in the other path. Do I say that most of us have had to tread\nthis path and fight this battle? Surely I might have said all of us;\nall, at least, who have passed the bright days of their boyhood. The\nclear and keen intellect no less than the dull and heavy; the weak, the\ncold, the nervous, no less than the strong and passionate of body. The\narms and the field have been divers\u2014can have been the same, I suppose,\nto no two men, but the battle must have been the same to all. One here\nand there may have had a foretaste of it as a boy; but it is the young\nman\u2019s battle, and not the boy\u2019s, thank God for it! That most hateful\nand fearful of all relatives, call it by what name we will\u2014self, the\nnatural man, the old Adam\u2014must have risen up before each of us in early\nmanhood, if not sooner, challenging the true man within us, to which\nthe Spirit of God is speaking, to a struggle for life or death.\n\nGird yourself, then, for the fight, my young brother, and take up the\npledge which was made for you when you were a helpless child. This\nworld, and all others, time and eternity, for you hang upon the issue.\nThis enemy must be met and vanquished\u2014not finally, for no man while on\nearth, I suppose, can say that he is slain; but, when once known and\nrecognized, met and vanquished he must be, by God\u2019s help, in this and\nthat encounter, before you can be truly called a man; before you can\nreally enjoy any one even of this world\u2019s good things.\n\n\n\n\nXXIV.\n\n\nIn the course of my inquiries on the subject of muscular Christians,\ntheir works and ways, a fact has forced itself on my attention, which,\nfor the sake of ingenious youth, ought not to be passed over. I find\nthen, that, side by side with these muscular Christians, and apparently\nclaiming some sort of connection with them (the same concern, as the\npirates of trade-marks say) have risen up another set of persons,\nagainst whom I desire to caution my readers. I must call the persons\nin question \u201cmusclemen,\u201d as distinguished from muscular Christians;\nthe only point in common between the two being that both hold it to be\na good thing to have strong and well-exercised bodies, ready to be\nput at the shortest notice to any work of which bodies are capable,\nand to do it well. Here all likeness ends; for the \u201cmuscleman\u201d seems\nto have no belief whatever as to the purposes for which his body has\nbeen given him, except some hazy idea that it is to go up and down the\nworld with him, belaboring men and captivating women for his benefit\nor pleasure, at once the servant and fomenter of those fierce and\nbrutal passions which he seems to think it a necessity, and rather\na fine thing than otherwise, to indulge and obey. Whereas, so far\nas I know, the least of the muscular Christians has hold of the old\nchivalrous and Christian belief, that a man\u2019s body is given him to be\ntrained and brought into subjection, and then used for the protection\nof the weak, the advancement of all righteous causes, and the subduing\nof the earth which God has given to the children of men. He does not\nhold that mere strength or activity are in themselves worthy of any\nrespect or worship, or that one man is a bit better than another\nbecause he can knock him down, or carry a bigger sack of potatoes than\nhe. For mere power, whether of body or intellect, he has (I hope and\nbelieve) no reverence whatever, though, _c\u00e6teris paribus_, he would\nprobably himself, as a matter of taste prefer the man who can lift a\nhundred-weight round his head with his little finger to the man who can\nconstruct a string of perfect Sorites.\n\n\n\n\nXXV.\n\n\nAs a rule, the more thoroughly disciplined and fit a man may be for any\nreally great work, the more conscious will he be of his own unfitness\nfor it, the more distrustful of himself, the more anxious not to thrust\nhimself forward. It is only the zeal of the half-instructed when the\nhour of a great deliverance has come at last\u2014of those who have had a\nglimpse of the glory of the goal, but have never known or counted the\nperils of the path which leads to it\u2014which is ready with the prompt\nresponse, \u201cYes\u2014we can drink of the cup, we can be baptized with the\nbaptism.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXXVI.\n\n\nHow can we be ever on the watch for the evil which is so near us? We\ncannot; but one is with us, is in us, who can and will, if we will let\nhim.\n\nMen found this out in the old time, and have felt it and known it\never since. Three thousand years ago this truth dawned upon the old\nPsalmist, and struck him with awe. He struggled with it; he tried to\nescape from it, but in vain. \u201cWhither shall I go,\u201d he says \u201cfrom thy\nSpirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into\nheaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold thou art\nthere. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost\nparts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right\nhand shall hold me.\u201d\n\nIs any of us stronger or wiser than the Psalmist? Is there any place\nfor us to flee to, which was not open to him? My brethren, had we\nnot better make up our minds to accept and acknowledge the truth, to\nwhich our own consciences bear witness, that not only in heaven, and\nin hell, and in the uttermost parts of sea and earth, He is present,\nbut that in the inmost recesses of our own hearts there is no escape\nfrom his Spirit\u2014that He is there also, sustaining us, pleading with us,\npunishing us.\n\nWe know it by the regret we feel for time wasted and opportunities\nneglected; by the loathing coming back to us, time after time, for our\nevery untrue, or mean thought, word, or deed; by every longing after\ntruth, and righteousness, and purity, which stirs our sluggish souls.\nBy all these things, and in a thousand other ways, we feel it, we know\nit.\n\nLet us, then, own this and give ourselves up to his guidance. At first\nit will be hard work; our will and spirits will be like a lump of ice\nin a man\u2019s hand, which yields but slowly to the warm pressure. But do\nnot despair; throw yourselves on his guidance, and he will guide you,\nhe will hide you under his wings, you shall be safe under his feathers,\nhis faithfulness and truth shall be your shield and buckler.\n\nThe ice will melt into water, and the water will lie there in the\nhollow of the hand, moving at the slightest motion, obeying every\nimpulse which is given to it.\n\nMy brethren, the Spirit of God which is in every one of us\u2014the spirit\nof truth and love unchangeable\u2014will take possession of our spirits,\nif we will but let him, and turn our whole lives into the lives of\nchildren of God, and joint-heirs of heaven with his Son.\n\n\n\n\nXXVII.\n\n\n\u201cAs the world was plastic and fluid in the hands of God, so it is ever\nto so much of his attributes as we bring to it,\u201d may be a startling\nsaying of Mr. Emerson\u2019s, but is one which commends itself to our\nexperience and reason, if we only consult them honestly. Let us take\nthe most obvious examples of this law. Look at the relations of man\nto the brute creation. One of us shall have no difficulty in making\nfriends of beasts and birds, while another excites their dread and\nhate, so that even dogs will scarcely come near him. There is no need\nto go back to the traditions of the hermits in the Thebaid, or St.\nFrancis of Assisi, for instances of the former class. We all know the\nstory of Cowper and his three hares, from his exquisite letters and\npoem, and most of you must have read, or heard of the terms on which\nWaterton lived with the birds and beasts in his Yorkshire home, and\nof Thoreau, unable to get rid of wild squirrels and birds who would\ncome and live with him, or from a boat, taking fish which lay quietly\nin his hand till he chose to put them back again into the stream.\nBut I suppose there is scarcely one of us who has not himself seen\nsuch instances again and again, persons of whom the old words seemed\nliterally true, \u201cAt destruction and famine thou shalt laugh; neither\nshalt thou be afraid of the beasts of the earth. For thou shalt be in\nleague with the stones of the field, and the beasts of the field shall\nbe at peace with thee.\u201d\n\nI remember myself several such; a boy who was friends even with rats,\nstoats, and snakes, and generally had one or other of them in his\npockets; a groom upon whose shoulders the pigeons used to settle, and\nnestle against his cheeks, whenever he went out into the stable-yard or\nfield. Is there any reasonable way of accounting for this? Only one, I\nthink, which is, that those who have this power over, and attraction\nfor, animals, have always felt toward them and treated them as their\nMaker intended\u2014have unconsciously, perhaps, but still faithfully,\nfollowed God\u2019s mind in their dealings with his creatures, and so have\nstood in true relations to them all, and have found the beasts of the\nfield at peace with them.\n\nIn the same way the stones of the field are in league with the\ngeologist, the trees and flowers with the botanist, the component parts\nof earth and air with the chemist, just in so far as each, consciously\nor unconsciously, follows God\u2019s methods with them\u2014each part of his\ncreation yielding up its secrets and its treasures to the open mind\nof the humble and patient, who is also at bottom always the most\ncourageous learner.\n\n\n\n\nXXVIII.\n\n\nWhat is true of each of us beyond all question\u2014what every man who walks\nwith open eyes and open heart knows to be true of himself\u2014must be true\nalso of Christ. And so, though we may reject the stories of the clay\nbirds, which he modeled as a child, taking wing and bursting into song\nround him, (as on a par with St. Francis\u2019 address to his sisters,\nthe swallows, at Alvia, or the flocks in the marshes of Venice, who\nthereupon kept silence from their twitterings and songs till his sermon\nwas finished), we cannot doubt that in proportion as Christ was more\nperfectly in sympathy with God\u2019s creation than any medi\u00e6val saint, or\nmodern naturalist, or man of science, he had more power than they with\nall created things from his earliest youth. Nor could it be otherwise\nwith the hearts and wills of men. Over these we know that, from\nthat time to this, he has exercised a supreme sway, infinitely more\nwonderful than that over birds and beasts, because of man\u2019s power of\nresistance to the will Christ came to teach and to do, which exists, so\nfar as we can see, in no other part of creation.\n\nI think, then, it is impossible to resist the conclusion that he must\nhave had all these powers from his childhood, that they must have\nbeen growing stronger from day to day, and he, at the same time, more\nand more conscious of possessing them, not to use on any impulse\nof curiosity or self-will, but only as the voice within prompted.\nAnd it seems the most convincing testimony to his perfect sonship,\nmanifested in perfect obedience, that he should never have tested his\npowers during those thirty years as he did at once and with perfect\nconfidence as soon as the call came. Had he done so his ministry must\nhave commenced sooner; that is to say, before the method was matured by\nwhich he was to reconstruct, and lift into a new atmosphere and on to\na higher plane, the faith and life of his own nation and of the whole\nworld. For it is impossible to suppose that the works which he did, and\nthe words he spoke, at thirty\u2014which at once threw all Galilee and Judea\ninto a ferment of hope and joy and doubt and anger\u2014should have passed\nunnoticed had they been wrought and spoken when he was twenty. Here, as\nin all else, he waited for God\u2019s mind: and so, when the time for action\ncame, worked with the power of God. And this waiting and preparation\nmust have been the supreme trial of his faith. The holding this\nposition must have been, in those early years, the holding of the very\ncentre of the citadel in man\u2019s soul, (as Bunyan so quaintly terms it),\nagainst which the assaults of the tempter must have been delivered\nagain and again while the garrison was in training for the victorious\nmarch out into the open field of the great world, carrying forth the\nstandard which shall never go back.\n\nAnd while it may be readily admitted that Christ wielded a dominion\nover all created things, as well as over man, which no other human\nbeing has ever approached, it seems to me to be going quite beyond what\ncan be proved, or even fairly assumed, to speak of his miracles as\nsupernatural, in the sense that no man has ever done, or can ever do,\nthe like. The evidence is surely all the other way, and seems rather\nto indicate that if we could only have lived up to the standard which\nwe acknowledge in our inmost hearts to be the true one\u2014could only have\nobeyed every motion and warning of the voice of God speaking in our\nhearts from the day when we first became conscious of and could hear\nit\u2014if, in other words, our wills had from the first been disciplined,\nlike the will of Christ, so as to be in perfect accord with the will of\nGod\u2014I see no reason to doubt that we, too, should have gained the power\nand the courage to show signs, or, if you please, to work miracles, as\nChrist and his Apostles worked them.\n\n\n\n\nXXIX.\n\n\nChrist\u2019s whole life on earth was the assertion and example of true\nmanliness\u2014the setting forth in living act and word what man is meant\nto be, and how he should carry himself in this world of God\u2019s\u2014one long\ncampaign, in which \u201cthe temptation\u201d stands out as the first great\nbattle and victory. The story has depths in it which we can never\nfathom, but also clear, sharp lessons which he who runs may read, and\nno man can master too thoroughly. We must follow him reverently into\nthe wilderness, where he flies from the crowds who are pressing to the\nBaptist, and who to-morrow will be thronging around him, if he goes\nback among them, after what the Baptist has said about him to-day.\n\nDay after day in the wilderness the struggle goes on in his heart. He\nis faint from insufficient food in those solitudes, and with bodily\nweakness the doubts grow in strength and persistence, and the tempter\nis always at his side, soliciting him to end them once for all, by one\nact of self-assertion. All those questionings and misgivings as to his\norigin and mission which we have pictured to ourselves as haunting\nhim ever since his first visit to Jerusalem, are now, as it were,\nfocussed. There are mocking voices whispering again as of old, but more\nscornfully and keenly in his ear, \u201cAre you really the Messiah, the Son\nof God, so long looked for? What more proof have you to go upon than\nyou have had for these many years, during which you have been living\nas a poor peasant in a Galilean village? The word of this wild man\nof the wilderness? He is your own cousin, and a powerful preacher no\ndoubt, but a wayward, wilful man, clad and fed like a madman, who has\nbeen nursing mad fancies from his boyhood, away from the holy city,\nthe centre of national life and learning. This sign of a descending\ndove, and a voice which no one has heard but yourself? Such signs come\nto many\u2014are never wanting when men are ready to deceive themselves\u2014and\neach man\u2019s fancy gives them a different meaning. But the words, and the\nsign, and the voice, you say, only meet a conviction which has been\ngrowing these thirty years in your own heart and conscience? Well,\nthen, at least for the sake of others if not for your own sake, put\nthis conviction to the proof, here, at once, and make sure yourself,\nbefore you go forth and deceive poor men, your brethren, to their ruin.\nYou are famishing here in the wilderness. This, at least, cannot be\nwhat God intends for his Son, who is to redeem the world. Exercise\nsome control over the meanest part of your Father\u2019s kingdom. Command\nthese stones to become bread, and see whether they will obey you.\nCast yourself down from this height. If you are what you think, your\nFather\u2019s angels will bear you up. Then, after they have borne you up,\nyou may go on with some reasonable assurance that your claim is not a\nmere delusion, and that you will not be leading these poor men whom you\ncall your brethren to misery and destruction.\u201d\n\nAnd when neither long fasting and weakness, or natural doubt, distrust,\nimpatience, or the most subtle suggestions of the tempter, can\nmove his simple trust in his Father, or wring from him one act of\nself-assertion, the enemy changes front and the assault comes from\nanother quarter. \u201cYou may be right,\u201d the voices seemed now to be\nsaying; \u201cYou may not be deceived, or dreaming, when you claim to be the\nSon of God, sent to redeem this fair world, which is now spread out\nbefore you in all its glory. That may be your origin, and that your\nwork. But, living as you have done till now in a remote corner of a\ndespised province, you have no experience or knowledge of the methods\nor powers which sway men, and establish and maintain these kingdoms\nof the world, the glory of which you are beholding. These methods and\npowers have been in use in your Father\u2019s world, if it be his, ever\nsince man has known good from evil. You have only to say the word,\nand you may use and control these methods and powers as you please.\nBy their aid you may possibly \u2018see of the travail of your soul and be\nsatisfied;\u2019 without them you will redeem nothing but perhaps a man\nhere and there\u2014without them you will postpone instead of hastening\nthe coming of your Father\u2019s kingdom, to the sorrow and ruin of many\ngenerations, and will die a foiled and lonely man, crushed by the very\nforces you have refused to use for your Father\u2019s service. If they were\nwholly evil, wholly unfit for the fulfillment of any purpose of his,\nwould he have left them in command of his world till this day? It is\nonly through them that the world can be subdued. Your time is short,\nand you have already wasted much of it, standing shivering on the\nbrink, and letting the years slip by in that cottage at Nazareth. The\nwisest of your ancestors acknowledged and used them, and spread His\nkingdom from the river to the Great Sea. Why should you reject them?\u201d\n\nThis, very roughly and inadequately stated, is some shadow of the\nutmost part, or skirt as it were, of the trial-crisis, lasting forty\ndays, through which Christ passed from his private to his public\ncareer. For forty days the struggle lasted before he could finally\nrealize and accept his mission with all that it implied. At the end of\nthat time he has fairly mastered and beaten down every doubt as to his\ncall, every tempting suggestion to assert himself, or to accept or use\nany aid in establishing his Father\u2019s kingdom which does not clearly\nbear his Father\u2019s stamp and seal on the face of it. In the strength of\nthis victory he returns from the desert, to take up the burden which\nhas been laid on him, and to set up God\u2019s kingdom in the world by the\nmethods which he has learned of God himself\u2014and by no other.\n\n\n\n\nXXX.\n\n\nThe second period of our Lord\u2019s ministry is one, in the main, of\njoyful progress and triumph, in which the test of true manliness must\nbe more subtle than when the surroundings are hostile. It consists,\nI think, at such times, in the careful watchfulness not to give wrong\nimpressions, not to mislead those who are touched by enthusiasm,\nconscious of new life, grateful to him who has kindled that life in\nthem.\n\nIt is then that the temptation to be all things to all men in a wrong\nsense\u2014to adapt and accommodate teaching and life to a lower standard\nin order to maintain a hold upon the masses of average men and women\nwho have been moved by the words of lips touched by fire from the\naltar of God\u2014has generally proved too much for the best and strongest\nof the world\u2019s great reformers. It is scarcely necessary to elaborate\nthis point, which would, I think, be sorrowfully admitted by those who\nhave studied most lovingly and carefully the lives of such men, for\ninstance, as Savonarola or Wesley. If you will refer to a valuable work\non the life of a greater than either of these, Mr. Bosworth Smith\u2019s\n\u201cMohammed and Mohammedanism,\u201d you will find there perhaps the best\nillustration which I can give you of this sad experience.\n\nWhen Mohammed returns from Medina, sweeping at last all enemies out of\nhis path, as the prophet of a new faith, and the leader of an awakened\nand repentant people, his biographer pauses to notice the lowering of\nthe standard, both in his life and teaching. Power, he pleads, brings\nwith it new temptations and new failures. The more thoroughly a man\nis carried away by his inspiration, and convinced of the truth and\ngoodness of his cause and his message, the more likely is he to forget\nthe means in the end, and to allow the end to justify whatever means\nseem to lead to its triumph. He must maintain as he can, and by any\nmeans, his power over the motley mass of followers that his mission\nhas gathered round him, and will be apt to aim rather at what will\nhold them than at what will satisfy the highest promptings of his own\nconscience.\n\nWe may allow the plea in such cases, though with sorrow and\nhumiliation. But the more minutely we examine the life of Christ the\nmore we shall feel that here there is no place for it. We shall be\nimpressed with the entire absence of any such bending to expediency, or\nforgetting the means in the end. He never for one moment accommodates\nhis life or teaching to any standard but the highest: never lowers\nor relaxes that standard by a shade or a hair\u2019s-breadth, to make the\nroad easy to rich or powerful questioners, or to uphold the spirit of\nhis poorer followers when they are startled and uneasy, as they begin\nhalf-blindly to recognize what spirit they are of. This unbending\ntruthfulness is, then, what we have chiefly to look for in this period\nof triumphant progress and success, questioning each act and word in\nturn whether there is any swerving in it from the highest ideal.\n\n\n\n\nXXXI.\n\n\nWe may note that our Lord accepts at once the imprisonment of the\nBaptist as the final call to himself. Gathering, therefore, a few of\nJohn\u2019s disciples round him, and welcoming the restless inquiring crowds\nwho had been roused by the voice crying in the wilderness, he stands\nforward at once to proclaim and explain the nature of that new kingdom\nof God, which has now to be set up in the world. Standing forth alone,\non the open hillside, the young Galilean peasant gives forth the great\nproclamation, which by one effort lifted mankind on to that new and\nhigher ground on which it has been painfully struggling ever since,\nbut on the whole with sure though slow success, to plant itself and\nmaintain sure foothold.\n\nIn all history there is no parallel to it. It stands there, a miracle\nor sign of God\u2019s reign in this world, far more wonderful than any of\nChrist\u2019s miracles of healing. Unbelievers have been sneering at and\nridiculing it, and Christian doctors paring and explaining it away\never since. But there it stands, as strong and fresh as ever, the calm\ndeclaration and witness of what mankind is intended by God to become on\nthis earth of his.\n\nAs a question of courageous utterance, I would only ask you to read\nit through once more, bearing in mind who the preacher was\u2014a peasant,\nalready repudiated by his own neighbors and kinsfolk, and suspected by\nthe national rulers and teachers; and who were the hearers\u2014a motley\ncrowd of Jewish peasants and fishermen, Romish legionaries, traders\nfrom Damascus, Tyre, and Sidon, and the distant isles of Greece, with a\nlarge sprinkling of publicans, scribes, Pharisees, and lawyers.\n\nThe immediate result of the sermon was to bow the hearts of this crowd\nfor the time, so that he was able to choose followers from amongst\nthem, much as he would. He takes fishermen and peasants, selecting only\ntwo at most, from any rank above the lowest, and one of these from a\nclass more hated and despised by the Jews than the poorest peasant,\nthe publicans. It is plain that he might at first have called apostles\nfrom amongst the upper classes had he desired it\u2014as a teacher with any\nwant of courage would surely have done. But the only scribe who offers\nhimself is rejected.\n\nThe calling of the Apostles is followed by a succession of discourses\nand miracles, which move the people more and more, until, after that of\nthe loaves, the popular enthusiasm rises to the point it had so often\nreached in the case of other preachers and leaders of this strange\npeople. They are ready to take him by force and make him a king.\n\nThe Apostles apparently encouraged this enthusiasm, for which he\nconstrains them into a ship, and sends them away before him. After\nrejoining them and rebuking their want of understanding and faith, he\nreturns with them to the multitudes, and at once speaks of himself\nas the bread from heaven, in the discourse which offends many of his\ndisciples, who from this time go back and walk no more with him. The\nbrief season of triumphant progress is drawing to an end, during which\nhe could rejoice in spirit in contemplating the human harvest which he\nand his disciples seem to be already successfully garnering.\n\n\n\n\nXXXII.\n\n\nThe more carefully we study the long wrestle of Christ with the blind\nleaders of a doomed nation, the more we shall recognize the perfect\ntruthfulness, and therefore the perfect courage, which marks his\nconduct of it. From beginning to end there is no word or act which can\nmislead friend or foe. The strife, though for life and death, has left\nno trace or stain on his nature. Fresh from the last and final conflict\nin the temple court, he can pause on the side of Olivet to weep over\nthe city, the sight of which can still wring from him the pathetic\nyearnings of a soul purified from all taint of bitterness.\n\nIt is this most tender and sensitive of the sons of men\u2014with fibres\nanswering to every touch and breath of human sympathy or human hate\u2014who\nhas borne with absolutely unshaken steadfastness the distrust and anger\nof kinsfolk, the ingratitude of converts, the blindness of disciples,\nthe fitful and purblind worship and hatred, and fear, of the nation\nof the Jews. So far, we can estimate to some extent the burden and the\nstrain, and realize the strength and beauty of the spirit which could\nbear it all. Beyond and behind lie depths into which we can but glance.\nFor in those last hours of his life on earth the question was to be\ndecided whether we men have in deed and truth a brotherhood, in a Son\nof Man, the head of humanity, who has united mankind to their Father,\nand can enable them to know him.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIII.\n\n\nIt is around the life of the Son of Man and Son of God that the\nfiercest controversies of our time are raging. Is it not also becoming\nclearer every day that they will continue to rage more and more\nfiercely\u2014that there can be no rest or peace possible for mankind\u2014until\nall things are subdued to him, and brought into harmony with his life?\n\nIt is to this work that all churches and sects, that all the leading\nnations of the world, known collectively as Christendom, are pledged:\nand the time for redeeming that pledge is running out rapidly, as the\ndistress and perplexity, the threatening disruption and anarchy of\nChristendom too clearly show. It is to this work too that you and I,\nevery man and woman of us, are also called; and if we would go about\nit with any hope and courage, it can only be by keeping the life\nof Christ vividly before us day by day, and turning to it as to a\nfountain in the desert, as to the shadow of a great rock in a weary\nland.\n\nFrom behind the shadow the still small voice\u2014more awful than tempest\nor earthquake\u2014more sure and persistent than day and night\u2014is always\nsounding, full of hope and strength to the weariest of us all, \u201cBe of\ngood cheer, I have overcome the world.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXXXIV.\n\n\nNicodemus was a leading member of the Sanhedrim, a representative of\nthat section of the rulers who, like the rest of the nation, were\nexpecting a deliverer, a king who should prevail against the C\u00e6sar.\nThey had sent to the Baptist, and had heard of his testimony to the\nyoung Galilean, who had now come to Jerusalem, and was showing signs of\na power which they could not but acknowledge. For, had he not cleansed\nthe temple, which they had never been able to do, but, notwithstanding\ntheir pretended reverence for it, had allowed to be turned into a\nshambles and an exchange? They saw that a part of the people were\nready to gather to him, but that he had refused to commit himself to\nthem. This, then, the best of them must have felt, was no mere leader\nof a low, fierce, popular party or faction. Nicodemus at any rate was\nevidently inclined to doubt whether he might not prove to be the king\nthey were looking for, as the Baptist had declared. The doubt must be\nsolved, and he would see for himself.\n\nAnd so he comes to Christ, and hears directly from him, that he has\nindeed come to set up a kingdom, but that it is no visible kingdom like\nthe C\u00e6sars\u2019, but a kingdom over men\u2019s spirits, one in which rulers as\nwell as peasants must become new men before they can enter\u2014that a light\nhas come into the world, and \u201che that doeth truth cometh to that light.\u201d\n\nFrom beginning to end there is no word to catch this ruler, or those\nhe represented; no balancing of phrases or playing with plausible\nreligious shibboleths, with which Nicodemus would be familiar, and\nwhich might please, and perchance reconcile this well-disposed ruler,\nand the powerful persons he represented. There is, depend upon it, no\nseverer test of manliness than our behavior to powerful persons, whose\naid would advance the cause we have at heart. We know from the later\nrecords that the interview of that night, and the strange words he\nhad heard at it, made a deep impression on this ruler. His manliness,\nhowever, breaks down for the present. He shrinks back and disappears,\nleaving the strange young peasant to go on his way.\n\nThe same splendid directness and incisiveness characterize his teaching\nat Samaria. There, again, He attacks at once the most cherished\nlocal traditions, showing that the place of worship matters nothing,\nthe object of worship everything. That object is a Father of men\u2019s\nspirits, who wills that all men shall know and worship him, but who\ncan only be worshipped in spirit and in truth. He, the peasant who is\ntalking to them, is himself the Messiah, who has come from this Father\nof them and him, to give them this spirit of truth in their own hearts.\n\nThe Jews at Jerusalem had been clamoring round him for signs of\nhis claim to speak such words, and in the next few days his own\npeople would be crying out for his blood when they heard them. These\nSamaritans make no such demand, but hear and recognize the message and\nthe messenger. The seed is sown and he passes on, never to return and\ngarner the harvest; deliberately preferring the hard, priest-ridden\nlake-cities of the Jews as the centre of his ministry. He will leave\nripe fields for others to reap. This decision, interpret it as we\nwill, is that of no soft or timid reformer. Take this test and compare\nChrist\u2019s choice of his first field for work with that of any other\ngreat leader of men.\n\n\n\n\nXXXV.\n\n\nHappy is the man who is able to follow straight on, though often\nwearily and painfully, in the tracks of the divine ideal who stood\nby his side in his youth, though sadly conscious of weary lengths of\nway, of gulfs and chasms, which since those days have come to stretch\nbetween him and his ideal\u2014of the difference between the man God meant\nhim to be\u2014of the manhood he thought he saw so clearly in those early\ndays\u2014and the man he and the world together managed to make of him.\n\nI say, happy is that man. I had almost said that no other than he is\nhappy in any true or noble sense, even in this hard materialistic\nnineteenth century, when the faith, that the weak must go to the\nwall, that the strong alone are to survive, prevails as it never did\nbefore\u2014which on the surface seems specially to be organized for the\ndestruction of ideals and the quenching of enthusiasms. I feel deeply\nthe responsibility of making _any_ assertion on so moot a point;\nnevertheless, even in our materialistic age, I must urge you all, as\nyou would do good work in the world, to take your stand resolutely and\nonce for all, and all your lives through, on the side of the idealists.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVI.\n\n\nHe who has the clearest and intensest vision of what is at issue in the\ngreat battle of life, and who quits himself in it most manfully, will\nbe the first to acknowledge that for him there has been no approach to\nvictory except by the faithful doing day by day of the work which lay\nat his own threshold.\n\nOn the other hand, the universal experience of mankind\u2014the dreary\nconfession of those who have merely sought a \u201clow thing,\u201d and \u201cgone on\nadding one to one;\u201d making that the aim and object of their lives\u2014unite\nin warning us that on these lines no true victory can be had, either\nfor the man himself or for the cause he was sent into the world to\nmaintain.\n\nNo, there is no victory possible without humility and magnanimity; and\nno humility or magnanimity possible without an ideal. Now there is not\none amongst us all who has not heard the call in his own heart to put\naside all evil habits, and to live a brave, simple, truthful life. It\nis no modern, no Christian experience, this. The choice of Hercules,\nand numberless other Pagan stories, the witness of nearly all histories\nand all literatures, attest that it is an experience common to all our\nrace. It is of it that the poet is thinking in those fine lines of\nEmerson which are written up in the Hall of Marlborough College:\n\n    \u201cSo close is glory to our dust,\n      So near is God to man\u2014\n    When duty whispers low, \u2018thou must,\u2019\n      The youth replies, \u2018I can.\u2019\u201d\n\nIt is this whisper, this call, which is the ground of what I have,\nfor want of a better name, been speaking of as idealism. Just in so\nfar as one listens to and welcomes it he is becoming an idealist\u2014one\nwho is rising out of himself, and into direct contact and communion\nwith spiritual influences, which even when he shrinks from them, and\ntries to put them aside, he feels and knows to be as real\u2014to be more\nreal than all influences coming to him from the outside world\u2014one who\nis bent on bringing himself and the world into obedience to these\nspiritual influences. If he turns to meet the call and answers ever so\nfeebly and hesitatingly, it becomes clearer and stronger. He will feel\nnext, that just in so far as he is becoming loyal to it he is becoming\nloyal to his brethren: that he must not only build his own life up in\nconformity with its teaching, must not only find or cut his own way\nstraight to what is fair and true and noble, but must help on those who\nare around him and will come after him, and make the path easier and\nplainer for them also.\n\nI have indicated in outline, in a few sentences, a process which\ntakes a life-time to work out. You all know too, alas! even those who\nhave already listened most earnestly to the voice, and followed most\nfaithfully, how many influences there are about you and within you\nwhich stand across the first steps in the path, and bar your progress;\nwhich are forever dwarfing and distorting the ideal you are painfully\nstruggling after, and appealing to the cowardice and laziness and\nimpurity which are in every one of us, to thwart obedience to the call.\nBut here, as elsewhere, it is the first step which costs, and tells.\nHe who has once taken that, consciously and resolutely, has gained a\nvantage-ground for all his life.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVII.\n\n\nOur race on both sides of the Atlantic has, for generations, got and\nspent money faster than any other, and this spendthrift habit has had a\nbaleful effect on English life. It has made it more and more feverish\nand unsatisfying. The standard of expenditure has been increasing by\nleaps and bounds, and demoralizing trade, society, every industry, and\nevery profession until a false ideal has established itself, and the\naim of life is too commonly to get, not to be, while men are valued\nmore and more for what they have, not for what they are.\n\nThe reaction has, I trust, set in. But the reign of Mammon will be hard\nto put down, and all wholesome influences which can be brought to bear\nupon that evil stronghold will be sorely needed.\n\nI say, deliberately, that no man can gauge the value, at this present\ncritical time, of a steady stream of young men, flowing into all\nprofessions and all industries, who have learnt resolutely to speak\nin a society such as ours, \u201cI can\u2019t afford;\u201d who have been trained to\nhave few wants and to serve these themselves, so that they may have\nalways something to spare of power and of means to help others; who are\n\u201ccareless of the comfits and cushions of life,\u201d and content to leave\nthem to the valets of all ranks.\n\nAnd take my word for it, while such young men will be doing a great\nwork for their country, and restoring an ideal which has all but faded\nout, they will be taking the surest road to all such success as becomes\nhonest men to achieve, in whatever walk of life they may choose for\nthemselves.\n\n\n\n\nXXXVIII.\n\n\nThe first aim for your time and your generation should be, to foster,\neach in yourselves, a simple and self-denying life\u2014your ideal to be a\ntrue and useful one, must have these two characteristics before all\nothers. Of course purity, courage, truthfulness are as absolutely\nnecessary as ever, without them there can be no ideal at all. But as\neach age and each country has its own special needs and weaknesses, so\nthe best mind of its youth should be bent on serving where the need is\nsorest, and bringing strength to the weak places. There will be always\ncrowds ready to fall in with the dapper, pliant ways which lead most\nreadily to success in every community. Society has been said to be\n\u201calways and everywhere in conspiracy against the true manhood of every\none of its members,\u201d and the saying, though bitter, contains a sad\ntruth. So the faithful idealist will have to learn, without arrogance\nand with perfect good temper, to treat society as a child, and never\nto allow it to dictate. So treated, society will surely come round to\nthose who have a high ideal before them, and therefore firm ground\nunder their feet.\n\n    \u201cCoy Hebe flies from those that woo\n     And shuns the hand would seize upon her;\n     Live thou thy life, and she will sue,\n     To pour for thee the cup of honor.\u201d\n\nLet me say a word or two more on this business of success. Is it\nnot, after all, the test of true and faithful work? Must it not be\nthe touchstone of the humble and magnanimous, as well as of the\nself-asserting and ambitious? Undoubtedly; but here again we have to\nnote that what passes with society for success, and is so labeled by\npublic opinion, may well be, as often as not actually is, a bad kind of\nfailure.\n\nPublic opinion in our day has, for instance, been jubilant over the\nsuccess of those who have started in life penniless and have made\nlarge fortunes. Indeed, this particular class of self-made men is the\none which we have been of late invited to honor. Before doing so,\nhowever, we shall have to ask with some care, and bearing in mind\nEmerson\u2019s warnings, by what method the fortune has been made. The rapid\naccumulation of national wealth in England can scarcely be called a\nsuccess by any one who studies the methods by which it has been made,\nand its effects on the national character. It may be otherwise with\nthis or that millionaire, but each case must be judged on its own\nmerits.\n\n\n\n\nXXXIX.\n\n\nI remember hearing, years ago, of an old merchant who, on his\ndeath-bed, divided the results of long years of labor, some few\nhundreds in all, amongst his sons. \u201cIt is little enough, my boys,\u201d were\nalmost his last words, \u201cbut there isn\u2019t a dirty shilling in the whole\nof it.\u201d He had been a successful man too, though not in the \u201cself-made\u201d\nsense. For his ideal had been, not to make money, but to keep clean\nhands. And he had been faithful to it.\n\n\n\n\nXL.\n\n\nIn reading the stories of many persons whom the English nation is\ninvited to honor, I am generally struck with the predominance of the\npersonal element. The key-note seems generally some resolve taken in\nearly youth connected with their own temporal advancement. This one\nwill be Lord Mayor; this other Prime Minister; a third determines to\nown a fine estate near the place of his birth, a fourth to become\nhead of the business in which he started as an errand-boy. They did\nindeed achieve their ends, were faithful to the idea they had set\nbefore themselves as boys; but I doubt if we can put them anywhere\nbut in the lower school of idealists. For the predominant motive\nbeing self-assertion, their idealism seems never to have got past the\npersonal stage, which at best is but a poor business as compared with\nthe true thing.\n\n\n\n\nXLI.\n\n\nChrist is the great idealist. \u201cBe ye perfect as your Father in heaven\nis perfect,\u201d is the ideal he sets before us\u2014the only one which is\npermanent and all-sufficing. His own spirit communing with ours is the\ncall which comes to every human being.\n\n\n\n\nXLII.\n\n\nBlessed is the man who has the gift of making friends; for it is one of\nGod\u2019s best gifts. It involves many things, but above all, the power of\ngoing out of one\u2019s self, and seeing and appreciating whatever is noble\nand living in another man.\n\nBut, even to him who has the gift, it is often a great puzzle to\nfind out whether a man is really a friend or not. The following is\nrecommended as a test in the case of any man about whom you are not\nquite sure; especially if he should happen to have more of this world\u2019s\ngoods, either in the shape of talents, rank, money, or what not, than\nyou:\n\nFancy the man stripped stark naked of every thing in the world, except\nan old pair of trousers and a shirt, for decency\u2019s sake, without\neven a name to him, and dropped down in the middle of Holborn or\nPiccadilly. Would you go up to him then and there, and lead him out\nfrom among the cabs and omnibuses, and take him to your own home, and\nfeed him, and clothe him, and stand by him against all the world, to\nyour last sovereign and your last leg-of-mutton? If you wouldn\u2019t do\nthis, you have no right to call him by the sacred name of friend. If\nyou would, the odds are that he would do the same by you, and you may\ncount yourself a rich man; for, probably, were friendship expressible\nby, or convertible into current coin of the realm, one such friend\nwould be worth to a man at least \u00a3100,000. How many millionaires are\nthere in England? I can\u2019t even guess; but more by a good many, I fear,\nthan there are men who have ten real friends. But friendship is not\nso expressible or convertible. It is more precious than wisdom, and\nwisdom \u201ccan not be gotten for gold, nor shall rubies be mentioned in\ncomparison thereof.\u201d Not all the riches that ever came out of earth and\nsea are worth the assurance of one such real abiding friendship in your\nheart of hearts.\n\nBut for the worth of a friendship commonly so called\u2014meaning thereby a\nsentiment founded on the good dinners, good stories, opera stalls, and\ndays\u2019 shooting, you have gotten or hope to get out of a man, the snug\nthings in his gift, and his powers of procuring enjoyment of one kind\nor another to your miserable body or intellect\u2014why, such a friendship\nas that is to be appraised easily enough, if you find it worth your\nwhile; but you will have to pay your pound of flesh for it one way\nor another\u2014you may take your oath of that. If you follow my advice,\nyou will take a \u00a310 note down, and retire to your crust of bread and\nliberty.\n\n\n\n\nXLIII.\n\n\nThe idea of entertaining, of being hospitable, is a pleasant and\nfascinating one to most young men; but the act soon gets to be a\nbore to all but a few curiously constituted individuals. With these\nhospitality becomes first a passion and then a faith\u2014a faith the\npractice of which, in the cases of some of its professors, reminds\none strongly of the hints on such subjects scattered about the New\nTestament. Most of us feel, when our friends leave us, a certain sort\nof satisfaction, not unlike that of paying a bill; they have been done\nfor, and can\u2019t expect anything more for a long time. Such thoughts\nnever occur to your really hospitable man. Long years of narrow means\ncan not hinder him from keeping open house for whoever wants to come\nto him, and setting the best of everything before all comers. He has\nno notion of giving you anything but the best he can command. He asks\nhimself not, \u201cOught I to invite A or B? do I owe him anything?\u201d but,\n\u201cWould A or B like to come here?\u201d Give me these men\u2019s houses for real\nenjoyment, though you never get anything very choice there\u2014(how can\na man produce old wine who gives his oldest every day?)\u2014seldom much\nelbow-room or orderly arrangement. The high arts of gastronomy and\nscientific drinking, so much valued in our highly-civilized community,\nare wholly unheeded by him, are altogether above him, are cultivated,\nin fact, by quite another set, who have very little of the genuine\nspirit of hospitality in them; from whose tables, should one by chance\nhappen upon them, one rises, certainly with a feeling of satisfaction\nand expansion, chiefly physical, but entirely without that expansion\nof heart which one gets at the scramble of the hospitable man. So that\nwe are driven to remark, even in such every-day matters as these, that\nit is the invisible, the spiritual, which, after all, gives value and\nreality even to dinners; and, with Solomon, to prefer to the most\ntouching _diner Russe_ the dinner of herbs where love is, though I\ntrust that neither we nor Solomon should object to well-dressed cutlets\nwith our salad, if they happen to be going.\n\n\n\n\nXLIV.\n\n\nThere are few of us who do not like to see a man living a brave and\nrighteous life, so long as he keeps clear of us; and still fewer who\n_do_ like to be in constant contact with one who, not content with so\nliving himself, is always coming across them, and laying bare to them\ntheir own faint-heartedness, and sloth, and meanness. The latter, no\ndoubt, inspires the deeper feeling, and lays hold with a firmer grip\nof the men he does lay hold of, but they are few. For men can\u2019t keep\nalways up to high pressure till they have found firm ground to build\nupon, altogether outside of themselves; and it is hard to be thankful\nand fair to those who are showing us, time after time, that our\nfoothold is nothing but shifting sand.\n\n\n\n\nXLV.\n\n\nReader! had you not ever a friend a few years older than yourself,\nwhose good opinion you were anxious to keep? A fellow _teres atque\nrotundus_; who could do everything better than you, from Plato and\ntennis down to singing a comic song and playing quoits? If you have\nhad, wasn\u2019t he always in your rooms or company whenever anything\nhappened to show your little weak points?\n\n\n\n\nXLVI.\n\n\nTo come back home after every stage of life\u2019s journeying with a wider\nhorizon\u2014more in sympathy with men and nature, knowing ever more of the\nrighteous and eternal laws which govern them, and of the righteous and\nloving will which is above all, and around all, and beneath all, this\nmust be the end and aim of all of us, or we shall be wandering about\nblind-fold, and spending time and labor and journey-money on that which\nprofiteth nothing.\n\n\n\n\nXLVII.\n\n\nWhat man among us all, if he will think the matter over calmly and\nfairly, can honestly say that there is any spot on the earth\u2019s surface\nin which he has enjoyed so much real, wholesome, happy life as in a\nhay field? He may have won on horseback or on foot at the sports and\npastimes in which Englishmen glory; he may have shaken off all rivals,\ntime after time, across the vales of Aylesbury, or of Berks, or any\nother of our famous hunting counties; he may have stalked the oldest\nand shyest buck in Scotch forests, and killed the biggest salmon of\nthe year in the Tweed, and trout in the Thames; he may have made\ntopping averages in first-rate matches of cricket; or have made long\nand perilous marches, dear to memory, over boggy moor, or mountain,\nor glacier; he may have successfully attended many breakfast-parties\nwithin drive of Mayfair, on velvet lawns, surrounded by all the\nfairy-land of pomp, and beauty, and luxury, which London can pour out;\nhis voice may have sounded over hushed audiences at St. Stephens or in\nthe law-courts; or he may have had good times in any other scenes of\npleasure or triumph open to Englishmen; but I much doubt whether, on\nputting his recollections fairly and quietly together he would not say\nat last that the fresh-mown hay-field is the place where he has spent\nthe most hours which he would like to live over again, the fewest which\nhe would wish to forget.\n\nAs children, we stumble about the new-mown hay, revelling in the many\ncolors of the prostrate grass and wild flowers, and in the power of\ntumbling where we please without hurting ourselves; as small boys, we\npelt one another, and the village school-girls, and our nurse-maids,\nand young lady cousins with the hay, till, hot and weary, we retire to\ntea or syllabub beneath the shade of some great oak or elm standing up\nlike a monarch out of the fair pasture; or, following the mowers, we\nrush with eagerness on the treasures disclosed by the scythe stroke\u2014the\nnest of the unhappy late-laying titlark, or careless field-mouse; as\nbig boys, we toil ambitiously with the spare forks and rakes, or climb\ninto the wagons and receive with open arms the delicious load as it is\npitched up from below, and rises higher and higher as we pass along\nthe long lines of haycocks: a year or two later we are strolling there\nwith our first sweethearts, our souls and tongues loaded with sweet\nthoughts, and soft speeches; we take a turn with the scythe as the\nbronzed mosses lie in the shade for their short rest, and willingly\npay our footing for the feat. Again, we come back with book in pocket,\nand our own children tumbling about us as we did before them; now\nromping with them, and smothering them with the sweet-smelling load\u2014now\nmusing and reading and dozing away the delicious summer evenings. And\nso shall we not come back to the end, enjoying as grandfathers the\nlove-making and the rompings of younger generations yet?\n\nWere any of us ever really disappointed or melancholy in a hay-field?\nDid we ever lie fairly back on a hay-cock and look up into the blue\nsky, and listen to the merry sounds, the whetting of scythes, and the\nlaughing prattle of women and children, and think evil thoughts of the\nworld or our brethren? Not we! or, if we have so done, we ought to be\nashamed of ourselves, and deserve never to be out of town again during\nhay-harvest.\n\nThere is something in the sights and sounds of a hay-field which seems\nto touch the same chord in one as Lowell\u2019s lines in the \u201cLay of Sir\nLaunfal,\u201d which end:\n\n    \u201cFor a cap and a bell our lives we pay,\n      We wear out our lives with toiling and tasking;\n    It is only Heaven that is given away;\n      It is only God may be had for the asking.\u201d\n\nBut the philosophy of the hay-field remains to be written. Let us hope\nthat whoever takes the subject in hand will not dissipate all its\nsweetness in the process of the inquiry wherein the charm lies.\n\n\n\n\nXLVIII.\n\n\nWho among you, dear readers, can appreciate the intense delight of\ngrassing your first big fish after a nine-months\u2019 fast? All first\nsensations have their special pleasure; but none can be named, in a\nsmall way, to beat this of the first fish of the season. The first\nclean leg-hit for four in your first match at Lord\u2019s\u2014the grating of\nthe bows of your racing-boat against the stern of the boat ahead in\nyour first race\u2014the first half-mile of a burst from the cover-side\nin November, when the hounds in the field ahead may be covered in a\ntablecloth, and no one but the huntsman and a top sawyer or two lies\nbetween you and them\u2014the first brief after your call to the bar, if it\ncomes within the year\u2014the sensations produced by these are the same\nin kind; but cricket, boating, getting briefs, even hunting, lose\ntheir edge as time goes on. But the first fish comes back as fresh\nas ever, or ought to come, if all men had their rights, once in a\nseason. So, good luck to the gentle craft and its professors, and may\nthe Fates send us much into their company! The trout-fisher, like the\nlandscape-painter, haunts the loveliest places of the earth, and haunts\nthem alone. Solitude, nature, and his own thoughts\u2014he must be on the\nbest terms with all these; and he who can take kindly the largest\nallowance of these is likely to be the kindliest and truest with his\nfellow-men.\n\n\n\n\nXLIX.\n\n\nHow many spots in life are there which will bear comparison with the\nbeginning of a college boy\u2019s second term at Oxford? So far as external\ncircumstances are concerned, it seems hard to know what a man could\nfind to ask for at that period of his life, if a fairy godmother were\nto alight in his rooms and offer him the usual three wishes. In our\nsecond term we are no longer freshmen, and begin to feel ourselves at\nhome, while both \u201csmalls\u201d and \u201cgreats\u201d are sufficiently distant to\nbe altogether ignored =if= we are that way inclined, or to be looked\nforward to with confidence that the game is in our own hands if we\nare reading men. Our financial position\u2014unless we have exercised rare\ningenuity in involving ourselves\u2014is all that heart can desire; we have\nample allowances paid in quarterly to the university bankers without\nthought or trouble of ours, and our credit is at its zenith. It is a\npart of our recognized duty to repay the hospitality we have received\nas freshmen; and all men will be sure to come to our first parties,\nto see how we do the thing; it will be our own fault if we do not\nkeep them in future. We have not had time to injure our characters\nto any material extent with the authorities of our own college, or\nof the university. Our spirits are never likely to be higher, or our\ndigestions better. These, and many other comforts and advantages,\nenviron the fortunate youth returning to Oxford after his first\nvacation; thrice fortunate, however, if it is Easter term to which\nhe is returning; for that Easter term, with the four days\u2019 vacation,\nand little Trinity term at the head of it, is surely the cream of the\nOxford year. Then, even in this our stern Northern climate, the sun\nis beginning to have power, the days have lengthened out, great-coats\nare unnecessary at morning chapel, and the miseries of numbed hands\nand shivering skins no longer accompany every pull on the river and\ncanter on Bullingdon. In Christ-church meadows and the college gardens\nthe birds are making sweet music in the tall elms. You may almost hear\nthe thick grass growing, and the buds on tree and shrub are changing\nfrom brown, red, or purple, to emerald green under your eyes; the\nglorious old city is putting on her best looks and bursting out into\nlaughter and song. In a few weeks the races begin, and Cowley marsh\nwill be alive with white tents and joyous cricketers. A quick ear,\non the towing-path by the Gut, may feast at one time on those three\nsweet sounds, the thud, thud of the eight-oar, the crack of the rifles\nat the Weirs, and the click of the bat on the Magdalen ground. And\nthen Commemoration rises in the background, with its clouds of fair\nvisitors, and visions of excursions to Woodstock and Nuneham in the\nsummer days\u2014of windows open on to the old quadrangles in the long still\nevenings, through which silver laughter and strains of sweet music, not\nmade by man, steal out and puzzle the old celibate jackdaws, peering\ndown from the battlements with heads on one side. To crown all, long\nvacation, beginning with the run to Henley regatta, or up to town to\nsee the match with Cambridge at Lord\u2019s, and taste some of the sweets of\nthe season before starting on some pleasure tour or reading-party, or\ndropping back into the quiet pleasures of English country life! Surely\nthe lot of young Englishmen who frequent our universities is cast in\npleasant places. The country has a right to expect something from those\nfor whom she finds such a life as this in the years when enjoyment is\nkeenest.\n\n\n\n\nL.\n\n\nIn all the wide range of accepted British maxims there is none, take\nit for all in all, more thoroughly abominable than the one as to the\nsowing of wild oats. Look at it on what side you will, and you can make\nnothing but a devil\u2019s maxim of it. What a man\u2014be he young, old, or\nmiddle-aged\u2014sows, _that_, and nothing else shall he reap. The one only\nthing to do with wild oats is to put them carefully into the hottest\npart of the fire, and get them burnt to dust, every seed of them. If\nyou sow them, no matter in what ground, up they will come, with long,\ntough roots like couch-grass, and luxuriant stalks and leaves as sure\nas there is a sun in heaven\u2014a crop which it makes one\u2019s heart cold to\nthink of. The devil, too, whose special crop they are, will see that\nthey thrive, and you, and nobody else will have to reap them; and no\ncommon reaping will get them out of the soil, which must be dug down\ndeep again and again. Well for you if, with all your care, you can make\nthe ground sweet again by your dying day. \u201cBoys will be boys,\u201d is not\nmuch better, but that has a true side to it; but this encouragement to\nthe sowing of wild oats is simply devilish, for it means that a young\nman is to give way to the temptations and follow the lusts of his\nage. What are we to do with the wild oats of manhood and old age\u2014with\nambition, over-reaching, the false weights, hardness, suspicion,\navarice\u2014if the wild oats of youth are to be sown and not burnt? What\npossible distinction can we draw between them? If we may sow the one,\nwhy not the other?\n\n\n\n\nLI.\n\n\nMan of all ages is a selfish animal, and unreasonable in his\nselfishness. It takes every one of us in turn many a shrewd fall, in\nour wrestlings with the world to convince us that we are not to have\neverything our own way. We are conscious in our inmost souls that\nman is the rightful lord of creation; and, starting from this eternal\nprinciple, and ignoring, each man-child of us in turn, the qualifying\ntruth that it is to man in general, including women, and not to one man\nin particular, that the earth has been given, we set about asserting\nour kingships each in his own way, and proclaiming ourselves kings from\nour own little ant-hills of thrones. And then come the struggles and\nthe down-fallings, and some of us learn our lesson, and some learn it\nnot. But what lesson? That we have been dreaming in the golden hours\nwhen the vision of a kingdom rose before us? That there is in short, no\nkingdom at all, or that, if there be, we are no heirs of it?\n\nNo\u2014I take it that, while we make nothing better than that out of our\nlesson, we shall go on spelling at it and stumbling over it, through\nall the days of our life, till we make our last stumble, and take our\nfinal header out of this riddle of a world, which we once dreamed we\nwere to rule over, exclaiming \u201c_vanitas vanitatum_\u201d to the end. But\nman\u2019s spirit will never be satisfied without a kingdom, and was never\nintended to be satisfied so; and a wiser than Solomon tells us, day by\nday, that our kingdom is about us here, and that we may rise up and\npass in when we will at the shining gates which he holds open, for that\nit is His, and we are joint heirs of it with Him.\n\n\n\n\nLII.\n\n\nThe world is clear and bright, and ever becoming clearer and brighter\nto the humble, and true, and pure of heart\u2014to every man and woman who\nwill live in it as the children of the Maker and Lord of it, their\nFather. To them, and to them alone, is that world, old and new, given,\nand all that is in it, fully and freely to enjoy. All others but these\nare occupying where they have no title; \u201cthey are sowing much, but\nbringing in little; they eat, but have not enough; they drink but are\nnot filled with drink; they clothe themselves, but there is none warm;\nand he of them who earneth wages earneth wages to put them into a bag\nwith holes.\u201d But these have the world and all things for a rightful and\nrich inheritance; for they hold them as dear children of Him in whose\nhand it and they are lying, and no power in earth or hell shall pluck\nthem out of their Father\u2019s hand.\n\n\n\n\nLIII.\n\n\nThe great Danish invasion of England in the ninth century is one of\nthose facts which meet us at every turn in the life of the world,\nraising again and again the deepest of all questions. At first sight it\nstands out simply as the triumph of brute force, cruelty, and anarchy,\nover civilization and order. It was eminently successful, for the\ngreater part of the kingdom remained subject to the invaders. In its\nprogress all such civilization as had taken root in the land was for\nthe time trodden out; whole districts were depopulated; lands thrown\nout of cultivation; churches, abbeys, monasteries, the houses of nobles\nand peasants, razed to the ground; libraries (such as then existed) and\nworks of art ruthlessly burnt and destroyed. It threw back all Alfred\u2019s\nreforms for eight years. To the poor East Anglian or West Saxon, churl\nor monk, who had been living his quiet life there, honestly, and in\nthe fear of God, according to his lights\u2014to him hiding away in the\nswamps of the forest, amongst the swine, running wild now for lack of\nherdsmen, and thinking bitterly of the sack of his home, and murder of\nhis brethren, or of his wife and children by red-handed Pagans, the\nheavens would indeed seem to be shut, and the earth delivered over to\nthe powers of darkness. Would it not seem so to us if we were in like\ncase? Have we any faith which would stand such a strain as that?\n\nWho shall say for himself that he has? And yet what Christian does not\nknow, in his heart of hearts, that there is such a faith for himself\nand for the world\u2014the faith which must have carried Alfred through\nthose fearful years, and strengthened him to build up a new and better\nEngland out of the ruins the Danes left behind them? For, hard as it\nmust be to keep alive any belief or hope during a time when all around\nus is reeling, and the powers of evil seem to be let loose on the\nearth, when we look back upon these \u201cdays of the Lord\u201d there is no\ntruth which stands out more clearly on the face of history than this,\nthat they all and each have been working towards order and life, that\n\u201cthe messengers of death have been messengers of resurrection.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLIV.\n\n\nWhen the corn and wine and oil, the silver and the gold, have become\nthe main object of worship\u2014that which men or nations do above all\nthings desire\u2014sham work of all kinds, and short cuts, by what we call\nfinancing and the like will be the means by which they will attempt to\ngain them.\n\nWhen that state comes, men who love their country will welcome Danish\ninvasions, civil wars, potato diseases, cotton famines, Fenian\nagitations, whatever calamity may be needed to awake the higher life\nagain, and bid the nation arise and live.\n\nThat such visitations do come at such times as a matter of fact\nis as clear as that in certain states of the atmosphere we have\nthunder-storms. The thunder-storm comes with perfect certainty, and as\na part of a natural and fixed order. We are all agreed upon that now.\nWe all believe, I suppose, that there is an order\u2014that there are laws\nwhich govern the physical world, asserting themselves as much in storm\nand earthquake as in the succession of night and day, of seed-time and\nharvest. We who are Christians believe that order and those laws to\nproceed from God, to be expressions of His will. Do we not also believe\nthat men are under a divine order as much as natural things? that there\nis a law of righteousness founded on the will of God, as sure and\nabiding as the law of gravitation? that this law of righteousness, this\ndivine order, under which human beings are living on this earth, must\nand does assert and vindicate itself through and by the acts and lives\nof men, as surely as the divine order in nature asserts itself through\nthe agency of the invisible power in earth and sea and air?\n\nSurely Christianity, whatever else it teaches, at any rate assures us\nof this. And when we have made this faith our own, when we believe it,\nand not merely believe that we believe it, we have in our hand the\nclue to all human history. Mysteries in abundance will always remain.\nWe may not be able to trace the workings of the law of righteousness\nin the confusions and bewilderments of our own day, or through the\ndarkness and mist which shrouds so much of the life of other times and\nother races. But we know that it is there, and that it has its ground\nin a righteous will, which was the same a thousand years ago as it\nis to-day, which every man and nation can get to know; and just in\nso far as they know and obey which, will they be founding families,\ninstitutions, states, which will abide.\n\nIf we want to test this truth in the most practical manner, we have\nonly to take any question which has troubled, or is troubling,\nstatesmen and rulers, and nations, in our own day. The slavery question\nis among the greatest of these. In the divine order, that institution\nwas not recognized, there was no place at all set apart for it; on the\ncontrary, He on whose will that order rests had said that he came to\nbreak every yoke. And so slavery would give our kindred in America no\nrest, just as it would give England no rest in the first thirty years\nof the century. The nation, desiring to go on living its life, making\nmoney, subduing a continent,\n\n    \u201cPitching new states as old-world men pitch tents,\u201d\n\ntried every plan for getting rid of the \u201cirrepressible negro\u201d\nquestion, except the only one recognized in the divine order\u2014that of\nmaking him free. The ablest and most moderate men, the Websters and\nClays, thought and spoke and worked to keep it on its legs. Missouri\ncompromises were agreed to, \u201cMason and Dixon\u2019s lines\u201d laid down, joint\ncommittees of both houses\u2014at last even a \u201ccrisis committee,\u201d as it\nwas called\u2014invented plan after plan to get it finally out of the way\nby any means except the only one which the eternal law, the law of\nrighteousness, prescribed. But he whose will must be done on earth was\nno party to Missouri compromises, and Mason and Dixon\u2019s line was not\nlaid down on his map of North America. And there never were wanting\nmen who could recognize His will, and denounce every compromise, every\nendeavor to set it aside, or escape from it, as a \u201ccovenant with death\nand hell.\u201d Despised and persecuted men\u2014Garrisons and John Browns\u2014were\nraised up to fight this battle, with tongue and pen and life\u2019s blood,\nthe weak things of this world to confound the mighty; men who could\nlook bravely in the face the whole power and strength of their nation\nin the faith of the old prophet: \u201cAssociate yourselves and ye shall\nbe broken in pieces; gather yourselves together and ye shall come to\nnought, for God is with us.\u201d And at last the thunder-storm broke, and\nwhen it cleared away the law of righteousness had asserted itself once\nagain, and the nation was delivered.\n\nAnd so it has been, and is, and will be to the end of time with all\nnations. We have all our \u201cirrepressible\u201d questions of one kind or\nanother, more or less urgent, rising up again and again to torment and\nbaffle us, refusing to give us any peace until they have been settled\nin accordance with the law of righteousness, which is the will of God.\nNo clever handling of them will put them to rest. Such work will not\nlast. If we have wisdom and faith enough amongst us to ascertain and do\nthat will, we may settle them for ourselves in clear skies. If not,\nthe clouds will gather, the atmosphere grow heavy, and the storm break\nin due course, and they will be settled for us in ways which we least\nexpect or desire, for it is \u201cthe Lord\u2019s controversy.\u201d\n\nIn due course, perhaps! but what if this due course means lifetimes,\ncenturies? Alas! this is indeed the cry which has been going up from\nthe poor earth these thousands of years:\n\n    \u201cThe priests and the rulers are swift to wrong,\n     And the mills of God are slow to grind.\u201d\n\nHow long, O Lord, how long? The precise times and seasons man shall\nnever know on this earth. These the Lord has kept in his own power.\nBut courage, my brother! Can we not see, the blindest of us, that the\nmills are working swiftly, at least in our day? This is no age in which\nshams or untruths, whether old or new, are likely to have a quiet time\nor a long life of it. In all departments of human affairs\u2014religious,\npolitical, social\u2014we are travelling fast, in England and elsewhere, and\nunder the hand and guidance, be sure, of Him who made the world, and is\nable and willing to take care of it. Only let us quit ourselves like\nmen, trusting to Him to put down whatsoever loveth or maketh a lie,\nand in his own time to establish the new earth in which shall dwell\nrighteousness.\n\n\n\n\nLV.\n\n\nIn these days when our wise generation, weighed down with wealth and\nits handmaid vices on the one hand, and exhilarated by some tiny\nsteps it has managed to make on the threshold of physical knowledge\nof various kinds on the other, would seem to be bent on ignoring its\nCreator and God altogether\u2014or at least of utterly denying that he\nhas revealed, or is revealing himself, unless it be through the laws\nof nature\u2014one of the commonest demurrers to Christianity has been,\nthat it is no faith for fighters, for the men who have had to do the\nroughest and hardest work for the world. I fear that some sections of\nChristians have been too ready to allow this demurrer, and fall back\non the Quaker doctrines; admitting thereby that such \u201cGospel of the\nkingdom of heaven\u201d as they can for their part heartily believe in,\nand live up to, is after all only a poor cash-gospel, and cannot bear\nthe dust and dirt, the glare and horror of battle-fields. Those of us\nwho hold that man was sent into this earth for the express purpose of\nfighting\u2014of uncompromising and unending fighting with body, intellect,\nspirit, against whomsoever and whatsoever causeth or maketh a lie, and\ntherefore, alas! too often against his brother-man\u2014would, of course,\nhave to give up Christianity if this were true; nay, if they did not\nbelieve that precisely the contrary of this is true, that Christ can\ncall them as plainly in the drum beating to battle, as in the bell\ncalling to prayer, can and will be as surely with them in the shock of\nangry hosts as in the gathering before the altar. But without entering\nfurther into the great controversy here, I would ask readers fairly\nand calmly to consider whether all the greatest fighting that has been\ndone in the world has not been done by men who believed, and showed by\ntheir lives that they believed, they had a direct call from God to do\nit, and that He was present with them in their work. And further (as I\ncheerfully own that this test would tell as much in favor of Mahommet\nas of Cromwell, Gustavus Adolphus, John Brown) whether, on the whole,\nChristian nations have not proved stronger in battle than any others?\nI would not press the point unfairly, or overlook such facts as the\nrooting out of the British by the West Saxons when the latter were\nPagans; all I maintain is, that faith in the constant presence of God\nin and around them has been the support of those who have shown the\nstrongest hearts, the least love of ease and life, the least fear of\ndeath and pain.\n\n\n\n\nLVI.\n\n\nSupposing the whole Bible, every trace of Christendom to disappear\nto-morrow, we should each of us be conscious of a presence, which we\nare quite sure is not ourself, in the deepest recesses of our own\nheart, communing with us there and calling us to take up our two-fold\nbirthright as man\u2014the mastery over visible things, and above all the\nmastery over our own bodies, actions, thoughts\u2014and the power, always\ngrowing, of a mysterious communion with the invisible.\n\n\n\n\nLVII.\n\n\n\u201cWherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way? Even by ruling himself\nafter Thy word.\u201d The question of questions this, at the most critical\ntime in his life for every child of Adam who ever grew to manhood on\nthe face of our planet; and so far as human experience has yet gone,\nthe answer of answers. Other answers have been, indeed, forthcoming at\nall times, and never surely in greater number or stranger guise than\nat the present time: \u201cWherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way?\u201d\nEven by ruling himself in the faith \u201cthat human life will become more\nbeautiful and more noble in the future than in the past.\u201d This will\nbe found enough \u201cto stimulate the forces of the will, and purify the\nsoul from base passion\u201d urge, with a zeal and ability of which every\nChristian must desire to speak with deep respect, more than one school\nof our nineteenth century moralists.\n\n\u201cWherewithal shall a young man cleanse his way?\u201d Even by ruling\nhimself on the faith \u201cthat it is probable that God exists, and that\ndeath is not the end of life;\u201d or again, \u201cthat this is the only\nworld of which we have any knowledge at all.\u201d Either of these creeds,\nsays the philosopher of the clubs, if held distinctly as a dogma and\nconsistently acted on, will be found \u201ccapable of producing results\non an astonishing scale.\u201d So one would think, but scarcely in the\ndirection of personal holiness, or energy. Meantime, the answer of\nthe Hebrew psalmist, three thousand years old, or thereabouts, has\ngone straight to the heart of many generations, and I take it will\nscarcely care to make way for any solution likely to occur to modern\nscience or philosophy. Yes, he who has the word of the living God to\nrule himself by\u2014who can fall back on the strength of Him who has had\nthe victory over the world, the flesh and the devil\u2014may even in this\nstrange disjointed time of ours carry his manhood pure and unsullied\nthrough the death-grips to which he must come with \u201cthe lust of the\nflesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life.\u201d He who will take\nthe world, the flesh, and the devil by the throat in his own strength,\nwill find them shrewd wrestlers. Well for him if he escape with the\nstain of the falls which he is too sure to get, and can rise up still a\nman, though beaten and shamed, to meet the same foes in new shapes in\nhis later years. New shapes, and ever more vile, as the years run on:\n\u201cThree sorts of men my soul hateth,\u201d says the son of Sirach, \u201ca poor\nman that is proud, a rich man that is a liar, and an old adulterer that\ndoateth.\u201d\n\nWe may believe the Gospel history to be a fable, but who amongst\nus can deny the fact that each son of man has to go forth into the\nwilderness\u2014for us \u201cthe wilderness of the wide world in an atheistic\ncentury\u201d\u2014and there do battle with the tempter as soon as the whisper\nhas come in his ear: \u201cThou too art a man; eat freely. All these things\nwill I give thee.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLVIII.\n\n\n\u201cHow is it that ye sought me? Wist ye not that I must be in my Father\u2019s\ncourts, about his business?\u201d\n\nFull of this new question and great wonder, Christ went home to the\nvillage in Galilee with his parents, and was subject to them; and the\ncurtain falls for us on his boyhood and youth and early manhood. But as\nnothing but what is most important, and necessary for understanding all\nof his life which we need for our own growth into his likeness, is told\nin these simple gospel narratives, it would seem that this vivid light\nis thrown on that first visit to Jerusalem because it was the crisis\nin our Lord\u2019s early life which bears most directly on his work for our\nrace. If so, we must, I think, allow that the question, once fairly\npresented to the boy\u2019s mind, would never again have left it. Day by day\nit would have been coming back with increasing insistency, gathering\npower and weight. And as he submitted it day by day to the God whom\nprophet and Psalmist had taught every child of the nation to look upon\nas \u201cabout his path and about his bed, and knowing every thought of his\nheart,\u201d the consciousness must have gained strength and power. As the\nhabit of self-surrender and simple obedience to the voice within grew\nmore perfect, and more a part of his very being, the call must have\nsounded more and more clearly.\n\nAnd, as he was in all things tempted like as we are, again and again\nmust his human nature have shrunk back and tried every way of escape\nfrom this task, the call to which was haunting him; while every\nsucceeding month and year of life must have disclosed to him more and\nmore of its peril and its hopelessness, as well as of its majesty.\n\nWe have, then, to picture to ourselves this struggle and discipline\ngoing on for eighteen years\u2014the call sounding continually in his ears,\nand the boy, the youth, the strong man, each in turn solicited by the\nspecial temptations of his age, and rising clear above them through the\nstrength of perfect obedience, the strength which comes from the daily\nfulfilment of daily duties\u2014that \u201cstrength in the Lord\u201d which St. Paul\nholds up to us as possible for every human being. Think over this long\nprobation, and satisfy yourselves whether it is easy, whether it is\npossible to form any higher ideal of perfect manliness.\n\nAnd without any morbid curiosity, and I think with profit, we may\nfollow out the thoughts which this long period of quiet suggests. We\nknow from the evangelists only this, that he remained in obscurity\nin a retired village of Galilee, and subject to his reputed father\nand mother. That he also remained in great seclusion while living\nthe simple peasant life of Nazareth we may infer from the surprise,\nnot unmixed with anger and alarm, of his own family, when, after his\nbaptism, he began his public career amongst them. And yet, on that\nday, when he rose to speak in the synagogue, it is clear that the act\nwas one which commended itself in the first instance to his family and\nneighbors. The eyes of all present were at once fixed on him as on one\nwho might be expected to stand in the scribe\u2019s place, from whom they\nmight learn something, a man who had a right to speak.\n\nIndeed, it is impossible to suppose that he could have lived in their\nmidst from childhood to full manhood without attracting the attention,\nand stirring many questionings in the minds, of all those with whom\nhe was brought into contact. The stories in the Apocryphal Gospels of\nthe exercise of miraculous powers by Christ as a child and boy may\nbe wholly disregarded; but we may be sure that such a life as his,\nthough lived in the utmost possible seclusion, must have impressed\nevery one with whom he came in contact, from the scribe who taught the\nScriptures in Nazareth to the children who sat by his side to learn,\nor met him by chance in the vineyards or on the hill-sides. That he\nwas diligent in using such means for study as were within his reach,\nif it needed proof, would appear from his perfect familiarity with the\nlaws and history of his country at the opening of his ministry. And\nthe mysterious story of the crisis immediately following his baptism,\nin which he wrestled, as it were, face to face with the tempter and\nbetrayer of mankind, indicates to us the nature of the daily battle\nwhich he must have been waging, from his earliest infancy, or at any\nrate ever since his first visit to Jerusalem. No one can suppose for a\nmoment that the trial came on him for the first time after the great\nprophet to whom all the nation were flocking had owned him as the\ncoming Christ. That recognition removed, indeed, the last doubt from\nhis mind, and gave him the signal for which he had been patiently\nwaiting, that the time was come and he must set forth from his\nretirement. But the assurance that the call would come at some time\nmust have been growing on him in all those years, and so when he does\ncome he is perfectly prepared.\n\nIn his first public discourse in the synagogue of Nazareth we find him\nat once announcing the fulfilment of the hopes which all around him\nwere cherishing. He proclaims, without any preface or hesitation, with\nthe most perfect directness and confidence, the full gospel of the\nkingdom of heaven: \u201cThe time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is\nat hand.\u201d He takes for the text of his first discourse the passage in\nIsaiah: \u201cThe Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he hath anointed\nme to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the\nbroken-hearted, to preach deliverance to the captive, the recovery of\nsight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach\nthe acceptable year of the Lord,\u201d and proceeds to expound how \u201cthis day\nis this scripture fulfilled in your ears.\u201d And within the next few days\nhe delivers his Sermon on the Mount, of which we have the full record,\nand in which we find the meaning, and character, and principles of the\nkingdom laid down once and for all. Mark, that there is no hesitation,\nno ambiguity, no doubt as to who he is, or what message he has to\ndeliver. \u201cI have not come to destroy but to fulfil the law which my\nFather and your Father has given you, and which you have misunderstood.\nThis which I am now unfolding to you is the meaning of that law, this\nis the will of my Father who is in heaven.\u201d\n\nThus he springs at once, as it were, full-armed into the arena; and\nit is this thorough mastery of his own meaning and position from the\nfirst\u2014this thorough insight into what he has to do, and the means by\nwhich it is to be done\u2014upon which we should fix our thoughts if we want\nto understand, or to get any notion at all of, what must have been the\ntraining of those eighteen years.\n\nHow had this perfect insight and confidence been reached? \u201cThis young\npeasant, preaching from a boat or on a hill-side, sweeps aside at once\nthe traditions of our most learned doctors, telling us that this, which\nwe and our fathers have been taught, is not what the God of Israel\nintended in these commandments of his; but that he, this young man, can\ntell us what God did really intend. He assumes to speak to us as one\nhaving authority. Who gave him this authority?\u201d These, we know, are the\nkind of questionings with which Christ was met at once, and over and\nover again. And they are most natural and necessary questionings, and\nmust have occurred to himself again and again, and been answered by him\nto himself, before he could have stood up to proclaim with the tone\nof absolute authority his good news to the village congregations in\nGalilee, or the crowds on the Mount, or by the lake.\n\nWho gave thee this authority? We can only reverentially, and at a\ndistance, picture to ourselves the discipline and struggles by which\nthe answer was reached, which enabled him to go out without the\nslightest faltering or misgiving, and deliver his full and astounding\nmessage, the moment the sign came that the time had come, and that it\nwas indeed he to whom the task was intrusted.\n\nBut the lines of that discipline, which in a measure is also the\ndiscipline of every one of us, are clearly enough indicated for us in\nthe story of the temptation.\n\nIn every subtle form this question must have been meeting the maturing\nChrist day after day. Art thou indeed the Son of God who is said to\nbe coming to redeem this enslaved and degraded people, and with and\nbeside them all the kingdoms of the world? Even if these prophets\nhave not been dreaming and doting, art not thou at least dreaming and\ndoting? At any rate if that is your claim put it to some test. Satisfy\nyourself, and show us, while satisfying yourself, some proof of your\ntitle, which we, too, can recognize. Here are all these material,\nvisible things which, if your claim be true, must be subject to you.\nShow us your power over some of them\u2014the meanest, if you will, the\ncommon food which keeps men alive. There are spiritual invisible\nforces too, which are supposed to be the ministers of God, and should\ntherefore be under the control of his Son\u2014give us some sign that you\ncan guide or govern the least of them. Why pause or delay? Is the\nburden growing lighter on this people? Is the Roman getting year by\nyear less insolent, the publican less fraudulent and exacting, the\nPharisees and rulers less godless, the people, your own kin amongst\nthem, less degraded and less brutal? You are a grown man, with the full\npowers of a man at any rate. Why are you idling here when your Father\u2019s\nwork (if God be your Father) lies broadcast on every side, and no man\nstanding forth to \u201cthe help of the Lord against the mighty,\u201d as our old\nseers used to rave?\n\nI hope I may have been able to indicate to you, however imperfectly,\nthe line of thought which will enable each of you for yourselves to\nfollow out and realize, more or less, the power and manliness of the\ncharacter of Christ implied in this patient waiting in obscurity and\ndoubt through the years when most men are at full stretch\u2014waiting for\nthe call which shall convince him that the voice within has not been a\nlying voice\u2014and meantime making himself all that God meant him to be,\nwithout haste and without misgiving.\n\n\n\n\nLIX.\n\n\nIn Christ, after the discipline of long-waiting years, there was no\nambition, no self-delusion. He had measured the way, and counted the\ncost, of lifting his own people and the world out of bondage to visible\nthings and false gods, and bringing them to the only Father of their\nspirits, into the true kingdom of their God. He must, indeed, have been\nwell enough aware how infinitely more fit for the task he himself was\nthan any of his own brethren in the flesh, with whom he was living day\nby day, or of the men of Nazareth with whom he had been brought up.\nBut he knew also that the same voice which had been speaking to him,\nthe same wisdom which had been training him, must have been speaking\nto and training other humble and brave souls, wherever there were open\nhearts and ears, in the whole Jewish nation. As the humblest and most\nguileless of men, he could not have assumed that no other Israelite\nhad been able to render that perfect obedience of which he was himself\nconscious. And so he may well have hurried to the Jordan in the hope\nof finding there, in this prophet of the wilderness, \u201cHim who should\ncome,\u201d the Messiah, the great deliverer\u2014and of enlisting under his\nbanner, and rendering him true and loyal service, in the belief that,\nafter all, he himself might only be intended to aid and hold up the\nhands of a greater than himself. For we must remember that Christ could\nnot have heard before he came to Bethabara that John had disclaimed the\ngreat title. It was not till the very day before his own arrival that\nthe Baptist had told the questioners from Jerusalem, \u201cI am not he.\u201d\n\nBut if any such thought had crossed his mind, or hope filled his heart,\non the way to the Baptist, it was soon dispelled, and he, left again\nin his own loneliness, now more clearly than ever before, face to face\nwith the task, before which even the Son of God, appointed to it before\nthe world was, might well quail, as it confronted him in his frail\nhuman body. For John recognizes him, singles him out at once, proclaims\nto the bystanders, \u201cThis is he! Behold the Lamb of God! This is he who\nshall baptize with the fire of God\u2019s own Spirit. Here is the deliverer\nwhom all our prophets have foretold.\u201d And by a mysterious outward sign,\nas well as by the witness in his own heart and conscience, Christ is at\nonce assured of the truth of the Baptist\u2019s words\u2014that it is indeed he\nhimself and no other, and that his time has surely come.\n\nThat he now thoroughly realized the fact for the first time, and\nwas startled and severely tried by the confirmation of what he must\nhave felt for years to be probable, is not only what we should look\nfor from our own experiences, but seems the true inference from the\ngospel narratives. For, although as soon as the full truth breaks upon\nhim he accepts the mission and work to which God is calling him, and\nspeaks with authority to the Baptist, \u201cSuffer it to be so now,\u201d yet the\nimmediate effect of the call is to drive him away into the wilderness,\nthere in the deepest solitude to think over once again, and for the\nlast time to wrestle with and master the tremendous disclosure.\n\n\n\n\nLX.\n\n\nIn following the life of Christ so far as we have any materials, we\nhave found one main characteristic to be patience\u2014a resolute waiting\non God\u2019s mind. I have asked you to test, in every way you can,\nwhether this kind of patience does not constitute the highest ideal\nwe can form of human conduct, is not in fact the noblest type of true\nmanliness. Pursue the same method as to the isolated section of that\nlife, the temptation, which I readily admit has much in it that we\ncannot understand. But take the story simply as you find it (which\nis the only honest method, unless you pass it by altogether, which\nwould be cowardly) and see whether you can detect any weakness, any\nflaw in the perfect manliness of Christ under the strain of which it\nspeaks\u2014whether he does not here also realize for us the most perfect\ntype of manliness in times of solitary and critical trial. Spare no\npains, suppress no doubt, only be honest with the story, and with your\nown conscience.\n\nThere is scarcely any life of first-rate importance to the world in\nwhich we do not find a crisis corresponding to this, but the nearest\nparallel must be sought amongst those men, the greatest of all kind,\nwho have founded or recast one of the great religions of the world. Of\nthese (if we except the greatest of all, Moses) Mohammed is the only\none of whose call we know enough to speak. Whatever we may think of him\nand the religion he founded, we shall all probably admit that he was\nat any rate a man of the rarest courage. In his case too it is only at\nthe end of long and solitary vigils in the desert that the vision comes\nwhich seals him for his work. The silver roll is unfolded before his\neyes, and he who holds it bids him read therein the decree of God, and\ntells him, \u201cThou art the prophet of God, and I his angel.\u201d\n\nHe is unmanned by the vision, and flies trembling to his wife, whose\nbrave and loving counsel, and those of his friends and first disciples,\nscarcely keep him from despair and suicide.\n\nI would not press the parallel further than to remark that Christ came\nout of the temptation with no human aid, having trod the wine-press\nalone, serene and resolute from that moment for the work to which God\nhad called him.\n\n\n\n\nLXI.\n\n\nThe strongest and most generous natures are always fondest of those who\nlean on them.\n\n\n\n\nLXII.\n\n\nHow utterly inadequate must be any knowledge of a human being which\ndoes not get beneath the surface? How difficult to do so to any good\npurpose! For that \u201cinner,\u201d or \u201ceternal,\u201d or \u201creligious\u201d life (call it\nwhich you will, they all mean the same thing) is so entirely a matter\nbetween each human soul and God, is at best so feebly and imperfectly\nexpressed by the outer life.\n\nThere are none of us but must be living two lives\u2014and the sooner we\ncome to recognize the fact clearly the better for us\u2014the one life in\nthe outward material world, in contact with the things which we can\nsee, and taste, and handle, which are always changing and passing\naway; the other in the invisible, in contact with the unseen; with\nthat which does not change or pass away\u2014which is the same yesterday,\nto-day, and forever. The former life you must share with others, with\nyour family, your friends, with everyone you meet in business or\npleasure. The latter you must live alone, in the solitude of your own\ninmost being, if you can find no spirit there communing with yours\u2014in\nthe presence of, and in communion with, the Father of your spirit, if\nyou are willing to recognize that presence. The one life will no doubt\nalways be the visible expression of the other; just as the body is\nthe garment in which the real man is clothed for his sojourn in time.\nBut the expression is often little more than a shadow, unsatisfying,\nmisleading. One of our greatest English poets has written:\n\n    \u201cThe one remains, the many change and pass,\n    Heaven\u2019s light forever shines, earth\u2019s shadows fly.\n    Time, like a dome of many-colored glass,\n    Stains the bright radiance of eternity,\n    Until death tramples it to fragments.\u201d\n\nAnd so you and I are living now under the dome of many-colored glass,\nand shall live as long as we remain in these bodies, a temporal and an\neternal life\u2014\u201cthe next world,\u201d which too many of our teachers speak of\nas a place which we shall first enter after death, being in fact \u201cnext\u201d\nonly in the truest sense of the word; namely, that it is nearest to\nus now. The dome of time can do nothing more (if we even allow it to\ndo that) than partially to conceal from us the light which is always\nthere, beneath, around, above us.\n\n\u201cThe outer life of the devout man,\u201d it has been well said, \u201cshould\nbe thoroughly attractive to others. He would be simple, honest,\nstraightforward, unpretending, gentle, kindly;\u2014his conversation\ncheerful and sensible; he would be ready to share in all blameless\nmirth, indulgent to all save sin.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLXIII.\n\n\nIn a noisy and confused time like ours, it does seem to me that most\nof us have need to be reminded of, and will be the better for bearing\nin mind, the reserve of strength and power which lies quietly at the\nnation\u2019s call, outside the whirl and din of public and fashionable\nlife, and entirely ignored in the columns of the daily press. There are\nthousands of Englishmen of high culture, high courage, high principle,\nwho are living their own quiet lives in every corner of the kingdom,\nfrom John o\u2019 Groat\u2019s to the Land\u2019s-End, bringing up their families in\nthe love of God and their neighbor, and keeping the atmosphere around\nthem clean, and pure, and strong, by their example\u2014men who would come\nto the front, and might be relied on, in any serious national crisis.\n\nOne is too apt to fancy, from the photographs of the nation\u2019s life\nwhich one gets day by day, that the old ship has lost the ballast which\nhas stood her in such good stead for a thousand years, and is rolling\nmore and more helplessly, in a gale which shows no sign of abating, for\nher or any other national vessel, until at last she must roll over and\nfounder. But it is not so. England is in less stress, and in better\ntrim, than she has been in many a stiffer gale.\n\nThe real fact is, that nations, and the families of which nations\nare composed, make no parade or fuss over that part of their affairs\nwhich is going right. National life depends on home life, and foreign\ncritics are inclined to take the chronicles of our Divorce Court as\na test by which to judge the standard of our home-life, like the old\ngentleman who always spelt through the police reports to see \u201cwhat\npeople were about.\u201d An acquaintance, however, with any average English\nneighborhood, or any dozen English families taken at random, ought to\nbe sufficient to re-assure the faint-hearted, and to satisfy them that\n(to use the good old formula) the Lord has much work yet for the nation\nto do, and the national manliness and godliness left to do it all,\nnotwithstanding superficial appearances.\n\n\n\n\nLXIV.\n\n\nIf the angel Gabriel were to come down from heaven, and head a\nsuccessful rise against the most abominable and unrighteous vested\ninterest which this poor world groans under, he would most certainly\nlose his character for many years, probably for centuries, not only\nwith upholders of said vested interest, but with the respectable mass\nof the people whom he had delivered. They wouldn\u2019t ask him to dinner,\nor let their names appear with his in the papers; they would be very\ncareful how they spoke of him in the Palaver, or at their clubs. What\ncan we expect, then, when we have only poor, gallant, blundering\nmen like Kossuth, Garibaldi, Mazzini, and righteous causes do not\nalways triumph in their hands; men who have holes enough in their\narmor, God knows, easy to be hit by respectabilities sitting in their\nlounging-chairs, and having large balances at their bankers?\n\nBut you who only want to have your heads set straight to take the right\nside, bear in mind that majorities, especially respectable ones, are\nnine times out of ten in the wrong; and that if you see a man or boy\nstriving earnestly on the weak side, however wrong-headed or blundering\nhe may be, you are not to go and join the cry against him. If you can\u2019t\njoin him and help him, and make him wiser, at any rate remember that he\nhas found something in the world which he will fight and suffer for,\nwhich is just what you have got to do for yourselves; and so think and\nspeak of him tenderly.\n\n\n\n\nLXV.\n\n\nIf you have not already felt it, you will assuredly feel, that your\nlot is cast in a world which longs for nothing so much as to succeed\nin shaking off all belief in anything which cannot be tested by the\nsenses, and gauged and measured by the intellect, as the trappings of\na worn-out superstition. Men have been trying, so runs the new gospel,\nto live by faith, and not by sight, ever since there is any record at\nall of their lives; and so they have had to manufacture for themselves\nthe faiths they were to live by. What is called the life of the soul or\nspirit, and the life of the understanding, have been in conflict all\nthis time, and the one has always been gaining on the other. Stronghold\nafter stronghold has fallen till it is clear almost to demonstration\nthat there will soon be no place left for that which was once deemed\nall-powerful. The spiritual life can no longer be led honestly. Man\nhas no knowledge of the invisible on which he can build. Let him own\nthe truth and turn to that upon which he _can_ build safely\u2014the world\nof matter, his knowledge of which is always growing; and be content\nwith the things he can see and taste and handle. Those who are telling\nyou still in this time that your life can and ought to be lived in\ndaily communion with the unseen\u2014that so only you can loyally control\nthe visible\u2014are either wilfully deceiving you or are dreamers and\nvisionaries.\n\nSo the high priests of the new gospel teach, and their teaching echoes\nthrough our literature, and colors the life of the streets and markets\nin a thousand ways; and a mammon-ridden generation, longing to be rid\nof what they hope are only certain old and clumsy superstitions\u2014which\nthey _try_ to believe injurious to others, and are quite sure make\nthem uneasy in their own efforts to eat, drink, and be merry\u2014applauds\nas openly as it dare, and hopes soon to see the millennium of the\nflesh-pots publicly declared and recognized.\n\nAgainst which, wherever you may encounter them, that you may be ready\nand able to stand fast, is the hope and prayer of many anxious hearts;\nin a time, charged on every side with signs of the passing away of old\nthings, such as have not been seen above the horizon in Christendom\nsince Luther nailed his protest on the church-door of a German village.\n\n\n\n\nLXVI.\n\n\nThe gospel of work is a true gospel, though not the only one, or the\nhighest, and has been preached in our day by great teachers. Listen,\nfor instance, to the ring of it in the rugged and incisive words of one\nof our strongest poets:\n\n    \u201cThat low man seeks a little thing to do,\n        Sees it and does it.\n    This high man, with a great thing to pursue,\n        Dies ere he knows it.\n    That low man goes on adding one to one,\n        His hundreds soon hit.\n    This high man aiming at a million,\n        Misses a unit.\u201d\n\nThis sounds like a deliberate attack on the idealist, a direct\npreference of low to high aims and standards, of the seen to the\nunseen. It is in reality only a wholesome warning against aiming at any\nideal by wrong methods, though the use of the words \u201clow\u201d and \u201chigh\u201d\nis no doubt likely to mislead. The true idealist has no quarrel with\nthe lesson of these lines; indeed, he would be glad to see them written\non one of the door-posts of every great school, if only they were\nballasted on the other by George Herbert\u2019s quaint and deeper wisdom:\n\n    \u201cPitch thy behavior low, thy projects high,\n        So shalt thou humble and magnanimous be.\n    Sink not in spirit: who aimeth at the sky\n        Shoots higher much than he that means a tree.\u201d\n\nBoth sayings are true, and worth carrying in your minds as part of\ntheir permanent furniture, and you will find that they will live there\nvery peaceably side by side.\n\n\n\n\nLXVII.\n\n\nThe consciousness of the darkness in one and around one brings the\nlonging for light. And then the light dawns; through mist and fog,\nperhaps, but enough to pick one\u2019s way by.\n\n\n\n\nLXVIII.\n\n\nIt is a strange, blind sort of world we are in, with lots of blind\nalleys, down which we go blundering in the fog after some seedy\ngaslight, which we take for the sun till we run against the wall at the\nend, and find out that the light is a gaslight, and that there\u2019s no\nthoroughfare. But for all that, one does get on. You get to know the\nsun\u2019s light better and better, and to keep out of the blind alleys; and\nI am surer and surer every day that there\u2019s always sunlight enough for\nevery honest fellow, and a good sound road under his feet, if he will\nonly step out on it.\n\n\n\n\nLXIX.\n\n\nWe all have to learn, in one way or another, that neither men nor\nboys get _second_ chances in this world. We all get _new_ chances\ntill the end of our lives, but not second chances in the same set of\ncircumstances; and the great difference between one person and another\nis, how he takes hold of and uses his first chance, and how he takes\nhis fall if it is scored against him.\n\n\n\n\nLXX.\n\n\nYou will all find, if you haven\u2019t found it out already, that a time\ncomes in every human friendship when you must go down into the depths\nof yourself, and lay bare what is there to your friend, and wait in\nfear for his answer. A few moments may do it; and it may be that you\nnever do it but once. But done it must be, if the friendship is to be\nworth the name. You must find out what is there, at the very root and\nbottom of one another\u2019s hearts; and if you are at one there, nothing on\nearth can, or at least ought, to sunder you.\n\n\n\n\nLXXI.\n\n\nIt is only through our mysterious human relationships\u2014through the love\nand tenderness and purity of mothers and sisters and wives\u2014through\nthe strength and courage and wisdom of fathers and brothers and\nteachers\u2014that we can come to the knowledge of Him in whom alone the\nlove, and the tenderness, and the purity, and the strength, and the\ncourage, and the wisdom of all these dwell for ever and ever in perfect\nfulness.\n\n\n\n\nLXXII.\n\n\nAlmost nightly, for years, Tom and Arthur, and by degrees East\noccasionally, and sometimes one, sometimes another of their friends,\nread a chapter of the Bible together, and talked it over afterwards.\nTom was at first utterly astonished, and almost shocked, at the sort\nof way in which Arthur read the book and talked about the men and women\nwhose lives are there told. The first night they happened to fall\non the chapters about the famine in Egypt, and Arthur began talking\nabout Joseph as if he were a living statesman; just as he might have\ntalked about Lord Grey and the Reform Bill; only that they were much\nmore living realities to him. The book was to him, Tom saw, the most\nvivid and delightful history of real people, who might do right or\nwrong, just like any one who was walking about Rugby\u2014the doctor, or\nthe masters, or the sixth-form boys. But the atmosphere soon passed\noff, the scales seemed to drop from his eyes, and the book became at\nonce and forever to him the great human and divine book, and the men\nand women, whom he had looked upon as something quite different from\nhimself, became his friends and counsellors.\n\nArthur, Tom, and East were together one night, and read the story of\nNaaman coming to Elisha to be cured of his leprosy. When the chapter\nwas finished, Tom shut his Bible with a slap.\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t stand that fellow Naaman,\u201d said he, \u201cafter what he\u2019d seen and\nfelt, going back again and bowing himself down in the house of Rimmon,\nbecause his effeminate scoundrel of a master did it. I wonder Elisha\ntook the trouble to heal him. How he must have despised him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, there you go off as usual, with a shell on your head,\u201d struck\nin East, who always took the opposite side to Tom: half from love of\nargument, half from conviction. \u201cHow do you know he didn\u2019t think better\nof it? how do you know his master was a scoundrel? His letter don\u2019t\nlook like it, and the book don\u2019t say so.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t care,\u201d rejoined Tom; \u201cwhy did Naaman talk about bowing down,\nthen, if he didn\u2019t mean to do it? He wasn\u2019t likely to get more in\nearnest when he got back to Court, and away from the Prophet.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, but, Tom,\u201d said Arthur, \u201clook what Elisha says to him, \u2018Go in\npeace.\u2019 He wouldn\u2019t have said that if Naaman had been in the wrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t see that that means more than saying, \u2018You\u2019re not the man I\ntook you for.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, that won\u2019t do at all,\u201d said East; \u201cread the words fairly, and\ntake men as you find them. I like Naaman, and think he was a very fine\nfellow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t,\u201d said Tom, positively.\n\n\u201cWell, I think East is right,\u201d said Arthur; \u201cI can\u2019t see but what it\u2019s\nright to do the best you can, though it mayn\u2019t be the best absolutely.\nEvery man isn\u2019t born to be a martyr.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course, of course,\u201d said East; \u201cbut he\u2019s on one of his pet hobbies.\nHow often have I told you, Tom, that you must drive a nail where it\u2019ll\ngo?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how often have I told you,\u201d rejoined Tom, \u201cthat it\u2019ll always go\nwhere you want, if you only stick to it and hit hard enough? I hate\nhalf-measures and compromises.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, he\u2019s a whole-hog man, is Tom. Must have the whole animal, hair\nand teeth, claws and tail,\u201d laughed East. \u201cSooner have no bread any day\nthan half a loaf.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d said Arthur, \u201cit\u2019s rather puzzling; but ain\u2019t most\nright things got by proper compromises, I mean where the principle\nisn\u2019t given up?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s not the point,\u201d said Tom; \u201cI don\u2019t object to a compromise,\nwhere you don\u2019t give up your principle.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot you,\u201d said East laughingly. \u201cI know him of old, Arthur, and\nyou\u2019ll find him out some day. There isn\u2019t such a reasonable fellow in\nthe world to hear him talk. He never wants anything but what\u2019s right\nand fair; only when you come to settle what\u2019s right and fair, it\u2019s\neverything that he wants, and nothing that you want. Give me the Brown\ncompromise when I\u2019m on his side.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Harry,\u201d said Tom, \u201cno more chaff\u2014I\u2019m serious. Look here\u2014this is\nwhat makes my blood tingle;\u201d and he turned over the pages of his Bible\nand read: \u201cShadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the\nking, \u2018O Nebuchadnezzar, we are not careful to answer thee in this\nmatter. If it be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from\nthe burning, fiery furnace, and He will deliver us out of thine hand,\nO king. But if not, be it known unto thee, O king, that we will not\nserve thy gods, nor worship the golden image which thou hast set up.\u2019\u201d\nHe read the last verse twice, emphasizing the nots, and dwelling on\nthem as if they gave him actual pleasure and were hard to part with.\n\nThey were silent a minute, and then Arthur said, \u201cYes, that\u2019s a\nglorious story, but it don\u2019t prove your point, Tom, I think. There are\ntimes when there is only one way, and that the highest, and then the\nmen are found to stand in the breach.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s always a highest way, and it\u2019s always the right one,\u201d said\nTom. \u201cHow many times has the Doctor told us that in his sermons in the\nlast year I should like to know!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you ain\u2019t going to convince us\u2014is he Arthur? No Brown compromise\nto-night,\u201d said East, looking at his watch. \u201cBut it\u2019s past eight, and\nwe must go to first lesson.\u201d\n\nSo they took down their books and fell to work; but Arthur didn\u2019t\nforget, and thought long and often over the conversation.\n\n\n\n\nLXXIII.\n\n\n\u201cTom,\u201d said Arthur, \u201cI\u2019ve had such strange thoughts about death lately.\nI\u2019ve never told a soul of them, not even my mother. Sometimes, I think\nthey\u2019re wrong, but, do you know I don\u2019t think in my heart I could be\nsorry at the death of any of my friends.\u201d\n\nTom was taken quite aback.\n\n\u201cWhat in the world is the young un after now?\u201d thought he; \u201cI\u2019ve\nswallowed a good many of his crotchets, but this altogether beats me.\nHe can\u2019t be quite right in his head.\u201d\n\nHe didn\u2019t want to say a word, and shifted about uneasily in the dark;\nhowever, Arthur seemed to be waiting for an answer, so at last he said,\n\u201cI don\u2019t think I quite see what you mean, Geordie. One\u2019s told so often\nto think about death, that I\u2019ve tried it on sometimes, especially this\nlast week. But we won\u2019t talk of it now. I\u2019d better go\u2014you\u2019re getting\ntired, and I shall do you harm.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no, indeed\u2014I ain\u2019t Tom; you must stop till nine, there\u2019s only\ntwenty minutes. I\u2019ve settled you must stop till nine. And oh! do let me\ntalk to you\u2014I must talk to you. I see it\u2019s just as I feared. You think\nI\u2019m half-mad\u2014don\u2019t you now?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I did think it odd what you said, Geordie, as you ask me.\u201d\n\nArthur paused a moment, and then said quickly, \u201cI\u2019ll tell you how it\nall happened. At first, when I was sent to the sick-room, and found I\nhad really got the fever, I was terribly frightened. I thought I should\ndie, and I could not face it for a moment. I don\u2019t think it was sheer\ncowardice at first, but I thought how hard it was to be taken away\nfrom my mother and sisters, and you all, just as I was beginning to see\nmy way to many things, and to feel that I might be a man and do a man\u2019s\nwork. To die without having fought and worked, and given one\u2019s life\naway, was too hard to bear. I got terribly impatient, and accused God\nof injustice, and strove to justify myself; and the harder I strove,\nthe deeper I sank. Then the image of my dear father often came across\nme, but I turned from it. Whenever it came, a heavy numbing throb\nseemed to take hold of my heart, and say \u2018Dead\u2014dead, dead.\u2019 And I cried\nout, \u2018The living, the living shall praise thee O God; the dead cannot\npraise Thee. There is no work in the grave; in the night no man can\nwork. But I can work. I can do great things. I _will_ do great things.\nWhy wilt Thou slay me.\u2019 And so I struggled and plunged, deeper and\ndeeper, and went down into a living black tomb. I was alone there, with\nno power to stir or think; along with myself; beyond the reach of all\nhuman fellowship; beyond Christ\u2019s reach, I thought, in my nightmare.\nYou who are brave and bright and strong, can have no idea of that\nagony. Pray to God you never may. Pray as for your life.\u201d\n\nArthur stopped\u2014from exhaustion, Tom thought; but what between his fear\nlest Arthur should hurt himself, his awe, and longing for him to go on,\nhe couldn\u2019t ask, or stir to help him. Presently he went on, but quite\ncalm and slow:\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know how long I was in that state. For more than a day, I\nknow; for I was quite conscious, and lived my outer life all the time,\nand took my medicines, and spoke to my mother, and heard what they\nsaid. But I didn\u2019t take much note of time; I thought time was over\nfor me, and that that tomb was what was beyond. Well, on last Sunday\nmorning, as I seemed to lie in that tomb, alone, as I thought, for\never and ever, the black, dead wall was cleft in two, and I was caught\nup and borne through into the light by some great power, some living,\nmighty spirit. Tom, do you remember the living creatures and the wheels\nin Ezekiel? It was just like that: \u2018when they went I heard the noise\nof their wings, like the noise of great waters, as the voice of the\nAlmighty, the voice of speech, as the noise of an host; when they stood\nthey let down their wings\u2019\u2014\u2018and they went every one straight forward;\nwhither the spirit was to go they went, and they turned not when they\nwent.\u2019 And we rushed through the bright air, which was full of myriads\nof living creatures, and paused on the brink of a great river. And the\npower held me up, and I knew that great river was the grave, and death\ndwelt there; but not the death I had met in the black tomb\u2014that I felt\nwas gone forever. For on the other bank of the great river I saw men\nand women and children rising up pure and bright, and the tears were\nwiped from their eyes, and they put on glory and strength, and all\nweariness and pain fell away. And beyond were a multitude which no man\ncould number, and they worked at some great work; and they who rose\nfrom the river went on and joined them in the work. They all worked,\nand each worked in a different way, but all at the same work. And I saw\nthere my father, and the men in the old town whom I knew when I was\na child; many a hard, stern man, who never came to church, and whom\nthey called atheist and infidel. There they were, side by side with my\nfather, whom I had seen toil and die for them, and women and little\nchildren, and the seal was on the foreheads of all. And I longed to see\nwhat the work was, and could not; so I tried to plunge in the river,\nfor I thought I would join them, but I could not. Then I looked about\nto see how they got into the river. And this I could not see, but I\nsaw myriads on this side, and they too worked, and I knew that it was\nthe same work; and the same seal was on their foreheads. And though\nI saw there was toil and anguish in the work of these, and that most\nthat were working were blind and feeble, yet I longed no more to plunge\ninto the river, but more and more to know what the work was. And as I\nlooked I saw my mother and my sisters, and I saw the Doctor, and you,\nTom, and hundreds more whom I knew; and at last I saw myself, too, and\nI was toiling and doing ever so little a piece of the great work. Then\nit all melted away, and the power left me, and as it left me I thought\nI heard a voice say, \u2018The vision is for an appointed time; though it\ntarry, wait for it, for in the end it shall speak and not lie, it shall\nsurely come, it shall not tarry.\u2019 It was early morning I know, then, it\nwas so quiet and cool, and my mother was fast asleep in the chair by my\nbedside; but it wasn\u2019t only a dream of mine. I know it wasn\u2019t a dream.\nThen I fell into a deep sleep, and only woke after afternoon chapel;\nand the Doctor came and gave me the sacrament. I told him and my mother\nI should get well\u2014I knew I should; but I couldn\u2019t tell them why. Tom,\u201d\nsaid Arthur, gently, after another minute, \u201cdo you see why I could not\ngrieve now to see my dearest friend die? It can\u2019t be\u2014it isn\u2019t, all\nfever or illness. God would never have let me see it so clear if it\nwasn\u2019t true. I don\u2019t understand it all yet\u2014it will take me my life and\nlonger to do that\u2014to find out what the work is.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLXXIV.\n\n\n\u201cHullo, Brown! here\u2019s something for you,\u201d called out the reading man.\n\u201cWhy, your old master, Arnold of Rugby, is dead.\u201d\n\nTom\u2019s hand stopped half-way in his cast, and his line and flies went\nall tangling round and round his fishing-rod; you might have knocked\nhim over with a feather.\n\nNeither of his companions took any notice of him, luckily; and with a\nviolent effort he set to work mechanically to disentangle his line. He\nfelt completely carried off his moral and intellectual legs, as if he\nhad lost his standing-point in the invisible world. Besides which, the\ndeep loving loyalty he felt for his old leader made the shock intensely\npainful. It was the first great wrench of his life, the first gap which\nthe angel Death had made in his circle, and he felt numbed, and beaten\ndown, and spiritless. Well, well! I believe it was good for him and for\nmany others in like case; who had to learn by that loss, that the soul\nof man cannot stand or lean upon any human prop, however strong, and\nwise, and good; but that He upon whom alone it can stand and lean will\nknock away all such props in His own wise and merciful way, until there\nis no ground or stay left but Himself, the Rock of Ages, upon whom\nalone a sure foundation for every soul of man is laid.\n\n\n\n\nLXXV.\n\n\nAt the school-gates Tom made a dead pause; there was not a soul in the\nquadrangle\u2014all was lonely, and silent, and sad. So with another effort\nhe strode through the quadrangle, and into the school-house offices.\n\nHe found the little matron in her room in deep mourning; shook her\nhand, tried to talk, and moved nervously about; she was evidently\nthinking of the same subject as he, but he couldn\u2019t begin talking.\n\n\u201cWhere shall I find Thomas?\u201d said he at last, getting desperate.\n\n\u201cIn the servants\u2019 hall, I think, sir. But won\u2019t you take anything?\u201d\nsaid the matron looking rather disappointed.\n\n\u201cNo, thank you,\u201d said he, and strode off again to find the old verger,\nwho was sitting in his little den as of old puzzling over hieroglyphics.\n\nHe looked up through his spectacles, as Tom seized his hand and wrung\nit.\n\n\u201cAh! you\u2019ve heard all about it, sir, I see,\u201d said he.\n\nTom nodded, and then sat down on the shoe-board, while the old man told\nhis tale, and wiped his spectacles, and fairly flowed over with quaint,\nhomely, honest sorrow.\n\nBy the time he had done, Tom felt much better.\n\n\u201cWhere is he buried, Thomas?\u201d said he at last.\n\n\u201cUnder the altar in the chapel, sir,\u201d answered Thomas. \u201cYou\u2019d like to\nhave the key, I dare say.\u201d\n\n\u201cThank you, Thomas. Yes, I should very much.\u201d And the old man fumbled\namong his bunch, and then got up as though he would go with him; but\nafter a few steps stopped short and said, \u201cPerhaps you\u2019d like to go by\nyourself, sir?\u201d\n\nTom nodded, and the bunch of keys were handed to him with an injunction\nto be sure and lock the door after him, and bring them back before\neight o\u2019clock.\n\nWe walked quickly through the quadrangle and out into the close. The\nlonging which had been upon him and driven him thus far, like the\ngad-fly in the Greek legends, giving him no rest in mind or body,\nseemed all of a sudden not to be satisfied, but to shrivel up, and\npall. \u201cWhy should I go on? It is no use,\u201d he thought, and threw himself\nat full length on the turf, and looked vaguely and listlessly at all\nthe well-known objects. There were a few of the town-boys playing\ncricket, their wicket pitched on the best piece in the middle of the\nbig-side ground, a sin about equal to sacrilege in the eyes of a\ncaptain of the eleven. He was very nearly getting up to go and send\nthem off. \u201cPshaw! they won\u2019t remember me. They\u2019ve more right there than\nI,\u201d he muttered. And the thought that his sceptre had departed, and his\nmark was wearing out, came home to him for the first time, and bitterly\nenough. He was lying on the very spot where the fights came off;\nwhere he himself had fought six years ago his first and last battle.\nHe conjured up the scene till he could almost hear the shouts of the\nring, and East\u2019s whisper in his ear; and looking across the close to\nthe Doctor\u2019s private door, half-expected to see it open, and the tall\nfigure in cap and gown come striding under the elm-trees towards him.\n\nNo, no! that sight could never be seen again. There was no flag flying\non the round tower; the school-house windows were all shuttered up; and\nwhen the flag went up again, and the shutters came down, it would be\nto welcome a stranger. All that was left on earth of him whom he had\nhonored, was lying cold and still under the chapel-floor. He would go\nin and see the place once more, and then leave it once for all. New men\nand new methods might do for other people; let those who would, worship\nthe rising star; he at least would be faithful to the sun which had\nset. And so he got up, and walked to the chapel-door and unlocked it,\nfancying himself the only mourner in all the broad land, and feeding on\nhis own selfish sorrow.\n\nHe passed through the vestibule, and then paused for a moment to glance\nover the empty benches. His heart was still proud and high, and he\nwalked up to the seat which he had last occupied as a sixth-form boy,\nand sat himself down there to collect his thoughts.\n\nAnd, truth to tell, they needed collecting and setting in order not a\nlittle. The memories of eight years were all dancing through his brain,\nand carrying him about whither they would; while, beneath them all,\nhis heart was throbbing with the dull sense of a loss that could never\nbe made up to him. The rays of the evening sun came solemnly through\nthe painted windows above his head, and fell in gorgeous colors on the\nopposite wall, and the perfect stillness soothed his spirit by little\nand little. And he turned to the pulpit, and looked at it, and then,\nleaning forward with his head on his hands, groaned aloud:\n\n\u201cIf he could only have seen the Doctor again for one five minutes\u2014have\ntold him all that was in his heart, what he owed to him, how he loved\nand reverenced him, and would by God\u2019s help follow his steps in life\nand death\u2014he could have borne it all without a murmur. But that he\nshould have gone away for ever without knowing it all, was too much\nto bear.\u201d\u2014\u201cBut am I sure he does not know it all?\u201d\u2014the thought made\nhim start\u2014\u201cMay he not even now be near me, in this very chapel? If he\nbe, am I sorrowing as he would have me sorrow\u2014as I should wish to have\nsorrowed when I shall meet him again?\u201d\n\nHe raised himself up and looked around; and after a minute rose and\nwalked humbly down to the lowest bench, and sat down on the very seat\nwhich he had occupied on his first Sunday at Rugby. And then the old\nmemories rushed back again, but softened and subdued, and soothing\nhim as he let himself be carried away by them. And he looked up at\nthe great painted window above the altar, and remembered how when a\nlittle boy he used to try not to look through it at the elm-trees and\nthe rocks, before the painted glass came\u2014and the subscription for the\npainted glass, and the letter he wrote home for money to give to it.\nAnd there, down below, was the very name of the boy who sat on his\nright hand on that first day, scratched rudely in the oak paneling.\n\nAnd then came the thought of all his own school-fellows; and form after\nform of boys nobler, and braver, and purer than he, rose up and seemed\nto rebuke him. Could he not think of them, and what they had felt and\nwere feeling, they who had honored and loved from the first, the man\nwhom he had taken years to know and love? Could he not think of those\nyet dearer to him who was gone, who bore his name and shared his blood,\nand were now without a husband or a father? Then the grief which he\nbegan to share with others became gentle and holy, and he rose up once\nmore, and walked up the steps to the altar; and while the tears flowed\nfreely down his cheeks, knelt down humbly and hopefully, to lay down\nthere his share of a burden which had proved itself too heavy for him\nto bear in his own strength.\n\n\n\n\nLXXVI.\n\n\n\u201cIt will be forty years ago next month,\u201d said the old Captain, \u201csince\nthe ship I was then in came home from the West Indies station, and was\npaid off. I had nowhere in particular to go just then, and so was very\nglad to get a letter, the morning after I went ashore at Portsmouth,\nasking me to go down to Plymouth for a week or so. It came from an old\nsailor, a friend of my family, who had been Commodore of the fleet.\nHe lived at Plymouth; he was a thorough old sailor\u2014what you young men\nwould call \u2018an old salt\u2019\u2014and couldn\u2019t live out of sight of the blue sea\nand the shipping. It is a disease that a good many of us take who have\nspent our best years on the sea. I have it myself\u2014a sort of feeling\nthat we must be under another kind of Providence, when we look out and\nsee a hill on this side and a hill on that. It\u2019s wonderful to see the\ntrees come out and the corn grow, but then it doesn\u2019t come so home to\nan old sailor. I know that we\u2019re all just as much under the Lord\u2019s\nhand on shore as at sea; but you can\u2019t read in a book you haven\u2019t been\nused to, and they that go down to the sea in ships, they see the works\nof the Lord and His wonders in the deep. It isn\u2019t their fault if they\ndon\u2019t see His wonders on the land so easily as other people.\n\n\u201cBut, for all that, there\u2019s no man enjoys a cruise in the country more\nthan a sailor. It\u2019s forty years ago since I started for Plymouth,\nbut I haven\u2019t forgotten the road a bit, or how beautiful it was; all\nthrough the New Forest, and over Salisbury Plain, and then on by the\nmail to Exeter, and through Devonshire. It took me three days to get to\nPlymouth, for we didn\u2019t get about so quick in those days.\n\n\u201cThe Commodore was very kind to me when I got there, and I went about\nwith him to the ships in the bay, and through the dock-yard, and picked\nup a good deal that was of use to me afterwards. I was a lieutenant in\nthose days, and had seen a good deal of service, and I found the old\nCommodore had a great nephew whom he had adopted, and had set his whole\nheart upon. He was an old bachelor himself, but the boy had come to\nlive with him, and was to go to sea; so he wanted to put him under some\none who would give an eye to him for the first year or two. He was a\nlight slip of a boy then, fourteen years old, with deep set blue eyes\nand long eyelashes, and cheeks like a girl\u2019s, but as brave as a lion\nand as merry as a lark. The old gentleman was very pleased to see that\nwe took to one another. We used to bathe and boat together; and he was\nnever tired of hearing my stories about the great admirals, and the\nfleet, and the stations I had been on.\n\n\u201cWell, it was agreed that I should apply for a ship again directly,\nand go up to London with a letter to the Admiralty from the Commodore\nto help things on. After a month or two I was appointed to a brig,\nlying at Spithead; and so I wrote off to the Commodore, and he got\nhis boy a midshipman\u2019s berth on board, and brought him to Portsmouth\nhimself a day or two before we sailed for the Mediterranean. The old\ngentleman came on board to see his boy\u2019s hammock slung, and went below\ninto the cockpit to make sure that all was right. He only left us by\nthe pilot-boat when we were well out in the Channel. He was very low at\nparting from his boy, but bore up as well as he could; and we promised\nto write to him from Gibraltar, and as often afterwards as we had a\nchance.\n\n\u201cI was soon as proud and fond of little Tom Holdsworth as if he had\nbeen my own younger brother, and, for that matter, so were all the\ncrew, from our captain to the cook\u2019s boy. He was such a gallant\nyoungster, and yet so gentle. In one cutting-out business we had, he\nclimbed over the boatswain\u2019s shoulders, and was almost first on deck;\nhow he came out of it without a scratch I can\u2019t think to this day. But\nhe hadn\u2019t a bit of bluster in him, and was as kind as a woman to any\none who was wounded or down with sickness.\n\n\u201cAfter we had been out about a year we were sent to cruise off Malta,\non the look-out for the French fleet. It was a long business, and the\npost wasn\u2019t so good then as it is now. We were sometimes for months\nwithout getting a letter, and knew nothing of what was happening at\nhome, or anywhere else. We had a sick time too on board, and at last he\ngot a fever. He bore up against it like a man, and wouldn\u2019t knock off\nduty for a long time. He was midshipman of my watch; so I used to make\nhim turn in early, and tried to ease things to him as much as I could;\nbut he didn\u2019t pick up, and I began to get very anxious about him. I\ntalked to the doctor, and turned matters over in my own mind, and at\nlast I came to think he wouldn\u2019t get any better unless he could sleep\nout of the cockpit. So one night, the 20th of October it was\u2014I remember\nit well enough, better than I remember any day since; it was a dirty\nnight, blowing half a gale of wind from the southward, and we were\nunder close-reefed topsails\u2014I had the first watch, and at nine o\u2019clock\nI sent him down to my cabin to sleep there, where he would be fresher\nand quieter, and I was to turn into his hammock when my watch was over.\n\n\u201cI was on deck three hours or so after he went down, and the weather\ngot dirtier and dirtier, and the scud drove by, and the wind sang and\nhummed through the rigging\u2014it made me melancholy to listen to it. I\ncould think of nothing but the youngster down below, and what I should\nsay to his poor old uncle if anything happened. Well, soon after\nmidnight I went down and turned into his hammock. I didn\u2019t go to sleep\nat once, for I remember very well listening to the creaking of the\nship\u2019s timbers as she rose to the swell, and watching the lamp, which\nwas slung from the ceiling, and gave light enough to make out the other\nhammocks swinging slowly all together. At last, however, I dropped off,\nand I reckon I must have been asleep about an hour, when I woke with\na start. For the first moment I didn\u2019t see anything but the swinging\nhammocks and the lamp; but then suddenly I became aware that some one\nwas standing by my hammock, and I saw the figure as plainly as I see\nany of you now, for the foot of the hammock was close to the lamp, and\nthe light struck full across on the head and shoulders, which was all\nthat I could see of him. There he was, the old Commodore; his grizzled\nhair coming out from under a red woollen night cap, and his shoulders\nwrapped in an old thread-bare blue dressing-gown which I had often\nseen him in. His face looked pale and drawn, and there was a wistful,\ndisappointed look about the eyes. I was so taken aback I could not\nspeak, but lay watching him. He looked full at my face once or twice,\nbut didn\u2019t seem to recognize me; and, just as I was getting back my\ntongue and going to speak, he said slowly: \u2018Where\u2019s Tom? this is his\nhammock. I can\u2019t see Tom;\u2019 and then he looked vaguely about and passed\naway somehow, but how I couldn\u2019t see. In a moment or two I jumped out\nand hurried to my cabin, but young Holdsworth was fast asleep. I sat\ndown, and wrote down just what I had seen, making a note of the exact\ntime, twenty minutes to two. I didn\u2019t turn in again, but sat watching\nthe youngster. When he woke I asked him if he had heard anything of his\ngreat uncle by the last mail. Yes, he had heard; the old gentleman was\nrather feeble, but nothing particular the matter. I kept my own counsel\nand never told a soul in the ship; and, when the mail came to hand a\nfew days afterwards with a letter from the Commodore to his nephew,\ndated late in September, saying that he was well, I thought the figure\nby my hammock must have been all my own fancy.\n\n\u201cHowever, by the next mail came the news of the old Commodore\u2019s death.\n\u2018It had been a very sudden break-up,\u2019 his executor said. He had left\nall his property, which was not much, to his great nephew, who was to\nget leave to come home as soon as he could.\n\n\u201cThe first time we touched at Malta, Tom Holdsworth left us and went\nhome. We followed about two years afterwards, and the first thing I\ndid after landing was to find out the Commodore\u2019s executor. He was a\nquiet, dry little Plymouth lawyer, and very civilly answered all my\nquestions about the last days of my old friend. At last I asked him to\ntell me as near as he could the time of his death; and he put on his\nspectacles, and got his diary, and turned over the leaves. I was quite\nnervous till he looked up and said, \u2018Twenty-five minutes to two, sir,\nA.M., on the morning of October 21st; or it might be a few minutes\nlater.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018How do you mean, sir?\u2019 I asked.\n\n\u201c\u2018Well,\u2019 he said, \u2018it is an odd story. The doctor was sitting with me,\nwatching the old man, and, as I tell you, at twenty-five minutes to\ntwo, he got up and said it was all over. We stood together, talking in\nwhispers for, it might be, four or five minutes, when the body seemed\nto move. He was an odd old man, you know, the Commodore, and we never\ncould get him properly to bed, but he lay in his red nightcap and old\ndressing-gown, with a blanket over him. It was not a pleasant sight,\nI can tell you, sir. I don\u2019t think one of you gentlemen, who are bred\nto face all manner of dangers, would have liked it. As I was saying,\nthe body first moved, and then sat up, propping itself behind with its\nhands. The eyes were wide open, and he looked at us for a moment, and\nsaid slowly, \u201cI\u2019ve been to the Mediterranean, but I didn\u2019t see Tom.\u201d\nThen the body sank back again, and this time the old Commodore was\nreally dead. But it was not a pleasant thing to happen to one, sir. I\ndo not remember anything like it in my forty years\u2019 practise.\u2019\u201d\n\nThere was a silence of a few seconds after the captain had finished his\nstory, all the men sitting with eyes fixed on him, and not a little\nsurprised at the results of their call. Drysdale was the first to break\nthe silence, which he did with a long respiration; but, as he did not\nseem prepared with any further remark, Tom took up the running.\n\n\u201cWhat a strange story,\u201d he said; \u201cand that really happened to you,\nCaptain Hardy?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo me, sir, in the Mediterranean, more than forty years ago.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe strangest thing about it is that the old Commodore should have\nmanaged to get all the way to the ship, and then not have known where\nhis nephew was,\u201d said Blake.\n\n\u201cHe only knew his nephew\u2019s berth, you see, sir,\u201d said the Captain.\n\n\u201cBut he might have beat about through the ship till he had found him.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must remember that he was at his last breath, sir,\u201d said the\nCaptain; \u201cyou can\u2019t expect a man to have his head clear at such a\nmoment.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a man, perhaps; but I should a ghost,\u201d said Blake.\n\n\u201cTime was everything to him,\u201d went on the Captain, without regarding\nthe interruption, \u201cspace nothing. But the strangest part of it is that\nI should have seen the figure at all. It\u2019s true I had been thinking of\nthe old uncle, because of the boy\u2019s illness; but I can\u2019t suppose he was\nthinking of me, and, as I say, he never recognized me. I have taken\na great deal of interest in such matters since that time, but I have\nnever met with just such a case as this.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, that is the puzzle. One can fancy his appearing to his nephew well\nenough,\u201d said Tom.\n\n\u201cWe can\u2019t account for these things, or for a good many other things\nwhich ought to be quite as startling, only we see them every day.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLXXVII.\n\n\nChristianity is in no more real danger now than it was a hundred and\nfifty years ago, when Dean Swift, and many other greater wits than we\nhave amongst us nowadays, thought and said that it was doomed. We hold\nin perfect good faith, that the good news our Lord brought is the best\nthe world will ever hear; that there has been a revelation in the man\nJesus Christ, of God the Creator of the world as our Father, so that\nthe humblest and poorest man can know God for all purposes for which\nmen need to know him in this life, and can have his help in becoming\nlike him, the business for which they were sent into it: and that there\nwill be no other revelation, though this one will be, through all time,\nunfolding to men more and more of its unspeakable depth, and glory,\nand beauty, in external nature, in human society, in individual men.\nThat, I believe to be a fair statement of the positive religious belief\nof average Englishmen, if they had to think it out and to put it in\nwords; and all who hold it must of course look upon Christ\u2019s gospel\nas the great purifying, reforming, redeeming power in the world, and\ndesire that it shall be free to work in their own country on the most\nfavorable conditions which can be found for it.\n\n\n\n\nLXXVIII.\n\n\nWe should remember that truth is many-sided; that all truth comes from\none source. There is only one sun in the heavens, yet, as you know,\nthere are many beautiful colors, all of which come from the one sun.\nYou cannot say that the red is better and truer than the blue, or that\nthe blue is better and truer than the yellow. You may prefer one to the\nother; you may see that one color is more universal, more applicable\nfor different purposes than another, but there is truth in each. In the\nsame way there is only one earth, but there are a great many different\ntrees which grow out of it, and which derive their nourishment from\nit; and although the oak may be very much better suited to England and\nthe fir to Norway, yet we admit that there is truth in each; that one\nis just as good and true a tree as the other. Therefore, let us who are\napt to think in the church and other religious communities that we have\ngot all the truth ourselves, remember that truth is wider than can be\napprehended by any body of human beings, and let us be tolerant to one\nanother, not forgetting that those who are not in the same community\nwith us hold their side of the truth as strongly as we do ours.\n\nEach religious community has witnessed, and is witnessing, to some side\nof the truth. Religious communities are not perfect in themselves like\ntrees or flowers, but for that very reason it is all the more necessary\nthat the members of them should be tolerant, and should make the\ngreatest effort to understand those of other religious beliefs.\n\n\n\n\nLXXIX.\n\n\nI can take little interest in the questions which divide Christian\nchurches and sects, can see no reason why they should not now be\nworking side by side to redeem our waste places, and to make the\nkingdoms of this world the kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ.\n\nSt. Ambrose was a holy man, and exceeding zealous, even to slaying\nfor the one true creed. One day as he was walking in deep meditation\nas to how to bring all men to his own mind, he was aware of a stream,\nand a youth seated beside it. He had never seen so beautiful a\ncountenance, and sat down by him to speak of those things on which\nhis mind continually dwelt. To his horror he found that the beautiful\nface covered a most heretical mind, and he spoke in sorrowful anger to\nthe youth of his danger. Whereupon the young stranger produced six or\nseven vases, all of different shapes and colors, and, as he filled them\nfrom the brook, said to the saint (as the legend is versified by Mr.\nLowell):\u2014\n\n    \u201cNow Ambrose, thou maker of creeds, look here\u2014\n     As into these vases this water I pour;\n     One shall hold less, another more,\n     But the water the same in every case,\n     Shall take the figure of the vase.\n     O thou who wouldst unity reach through strife,\n     Canst thou fit this sign to the Waters of Life.\u201d\n\nWhen Ambrose looked up, the youth, the vases, and the stream were gone;\nbut he knew he had talked with an angel, and his heart was changed.\nI wish that angel would come and do a great deal of preaching to our\nEnglish Ambroses.\n\n\n\n\nLXXX.\n\n\n\u201cThere is no doubt,\u201d as Lord Russell says, \u201cthat concession gives rise\nto demands for fresh concession, and it is right that it should be so.\nThe true limit is, that all it is just to concede should be conceded;\nall that it is true to affirm should be affirmed; but that which is\nfalse should be denied.\u201d Besides this power of concession, which she\nhas in a much greater degree than any other religious body, the English\nChurch, if she be a Catholic Church, as she pretends to be, has also\ngreater power of assimilation. Let her not be afraid of those sides\nof the truth which have been most prominently put forward by other\nreligious communities. She can assimilate them if she pleases, and it\nis her duty to assimilate whatever is true in them. Her mission in this\nworld is not to hold her own in the sense of resisting all reform,\nof resisting all concession, but her duty and her mission is to go\nto the lost people of our country, and of every country where she is\nestablished or where she exists, and to draw those together into her\nfold who cannot get into that of other religious bodies, which have\nsuch limits as I have been speaking of to bar the gates of admission.\nHer great mission is to seek and save those which are lost in every\ncommunity. The highest title of her ministers is _Servi servorum Dei_\n(the servants of the servants of God), and, if she remembers this\nhigh mission, if she endeavors by her life to exemplify her Master\u2019s\nspirit and to illustrate His life, she never need be afraid of\ndisestablishment or disendowment. What did the greatest of churchmen\nwho ever lived say on the point of people carrying on those miserable\nsquabbles that are dividing us in this day? They were saying, \u201cWe are\nof Paul,\u201d \u201cWe are of Apollos,\u201d \u201cWe are of Peter?\u201d and he said, \u201cWho is\nPaul? Who is Apollos? Who is Peter?\u201d If you only understand to what an\ninheritance you are called to, \u201call things are yours, whether Paul, or\nApollos, or Peter, or the world, or life, or death, or things present,\nor things to come, all are yours, for ye are Christ\u2019s, and Christ is\nGod\u2019s.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLXXXI.\n\n\nIt is said by some, as I think, unwise defenders of the faith, that a\ncolorless Christianity is no Christianity at all, that you can have no\nchurch without a definite creed. To the first I would reply that, after\nall, the bright white light is, in its purity, better than all color.\nTo the second, I admit that every church must have a definite creed,\nbut the more simple and broad that creed is the better. It is only\nthe simplest creed which can give us the unity, or the tolerance in\ndiversity, for which all good men are longing.\n\n\n\n\nLXXXII.\n\n\nMeekness, liberality, tolerance of other confessions! These are great\nvirtues, but hard, very hard to practise in such hurrying, driving,\ndemocratic, competitive times as ours, when respect for authority\nseems to have almost died out. Nevertheless, they must be practised,\nif the church is ever to fulfil her great mission, and to become in a\nlarger and truer sense than she has ever yet been, \u201cThe Church of the\nPeople.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nLXXXIII.\n\n\nPoor conscience! to what pitiful uses is that sacred name turned! The\nstolid Essex peasant, one of the Peculiar People, lets his child die\nbecause he will not allow it to take medicine, and believes himself\nto be suffering for conscience\u2019s sake because he is summoned before\na magistrate to answer for its life. And he has far more reason on\nhis side than the Ritualist martyrs. I desire neither to speak nor\nthink scornfully or bitterly of them, but this at least I must say,\nthat men who can make matters of conscience of such trivialities as\nthe shape and color of vestments, the burning of candles and incense,\nthe position of tables, and the like, and in defence of these things\nare prepared to defy authority, and break what they know to be the\nlaw of their country, are not fit to be trusted with the spiritual\nguidance of any portion of our people. England has a great work still\nto do in the world, for which she needs children with quite other kind\nof consciences than these\u2014consciences which shall be simple, manly,\nobedient, qualities which must disappear under such examples and\nteaching as these men are giving.\n\n\n\n\nLXXXIV.\n\n\nLet us look to the One life as our model, and turn to Him who lived it\non our earth, as to the guide, and friend, and helper, who alone can\nstrengthen the feeble knees, and lift up the fainting heart. Just in so\nfar as we cleave to that teaching and follow that life, shall we live\nour own faithfully.\n\n\n\n\nLXXXV.\n\n\nIn certain crises in one\u2019s life nothing is so useful or healthy for\none, as coming into direct and constant contact with an intellect\nstronger than one\u2019s own, which looks at the same subjects from a widely\ndifferent standpoint.\n\n\n\n\nLXXXVI.\n\n\nAh! light words of those whom we love and honor, what a power ye are,\nand how carelessly wielded by those who can use you! Surely for these\nthings also God will ask an account.\n\n\n\n\nLXXXVII.\n\n\nOn went the talk and laughter. Two or three of the little boys in the\nlong dormitory were already in bed, sitting up with their chins on\ntheir knees. The light burned clear, the noise went on. It was a trying\nmoment for Arthur, the poor little lonely boy; however, this time he\ndidn\u2019t ask Tom what he might or might not do, but dropped on his knees\nby his bedside, as he had done every day from his childhood, to open\nhis heart to Him who heareth the cry and beareth the sorrows of the\ntender child, and the strong man in agony....\n\nThere were many boys in the room by whom that little scene was taken to\nheart before they slept. But sleep seemed to have deserted the pillow\nof poor Tom. For some time his excitement, and the flood of memories\nwhich chased one another through his brain kept him from thinking or\nresolving. His head throbbed, his heart leapt, and he could hardly keep\nhimself from springing out of bed and rushing about the room. Then the\nthought of his own mother came across him, and the promise he had made\nat her knee, years ago, never to forget to kneel by his bedside, and\ngive himself up to his Father, before he laid his head on the pillow,\nfrom which it might never rise; and he lay down gently and cried as if\nhis heart would break. He was only fourteen years old.\n\nIt was no light act of courage in those days for a little fellow to say\nhis prayers publicly, even at Rugby. A few years later, when Arnold\u2019s\nmanly piety had begun to leaven the school, the tables turned; before\nhe died, in the school-house, at least, and I believe in the other\nhouses, the rule was the other way. But poor Tom had come to school in\nother times. The first few nights after he came he did not kneel down\nbecause of the noise, but sat up in bed till the candle was out, and\nthen stole out and said his prayers, in fear lest some one should find\nhim out. So did many another poor little fellow. Then he began to think\nthat he might just as well say his prayers in bed, and then it didn\u2019t\nmatter whether he was kneeling, or sitting, or lying down. And so it\nhad come to pass with Tom, as with all who will not confess their Lord\nbefore men; and for the last year he had probably not said his prayers\nin earnest a dozen times.\n\nPoor Tom! the first and bitterest feeling which was likely to break his\nheart was the sense of his own cowardice. The vice of all others which\nhe loathed was brought in and burned in on his own soul. He had lied to\nhis mother, to his conscience, to his God. How could he bear it? And\nthen the poor little weak boy, whom he had pitied and almost scorned\nfor his weakness, had done that which he, braggart as he was, dared not\ndo. The first dawn of comfort came to him in swearing to himself that\nhe would stand by that boy through thick and thin, and cheer him, and\nhelp him, and bear his burdens, for the good deed done that night. Then\nhe resolved to write home next day and tell his mother all, and what\na coward her son had been. And then peace came to him, as he resolved\nlastly, to bear his testimony next morning. The morning would be harder\nthan the night to begin with, but he felt that he could not afford to\nlet one chance slip. Several times he faltered, for the devil showed\nhim first all his old friends calling him \u201cSaint\u201d and \u201cSquare-toes,\u201d\nand a dozen hard names, and whispered to him that his motives would be\nmisunderstood, and he would only be misunderstood, and he would only be\nleft alone with the new boy; whereas it was his duty to keep all means\nof influence, that he might do good to the largest number. And then\ncame the more subtle temptation, \u201cShall I not be showing myself braver\nthan others by doing this? Have I any right to begin it now? Ought I\nnot rather to pray in my own study, letting other boys know that I do\nso, and trying to lead them to it, while in public at least I should go\non as I have done?\u201d However, his good angel was too strong that night,\nand he turned on his side and slept, tired of trying to reason, but\nresolved to follow the impulse which had been so strong, and in which\nhe had found peace.\n\nNext morning he was up and washed and dressed, all but his jacket and\nwaistcoat, just as the ten minutes\u2019 bell began to ring, and then in\nthe face of the whole room knelt down to pray. Not five words could\nhe say\u2014the bell mocked him; he was listening for every whisper in\nthe room\u2014what were they all thinking of him? He was ashamed to go on\nkneeling, ashamed to rise from his knees. At last, as it were from his\ninmost heart, a still small voice seemed to breathe forth the words of\nthe publican, \u201cGod be merciful to me a sinner!\u201d He repeated them over\nand over, clinging to them as for his life, and rose from his knees\ncomforted and humbled, and ready to face the whole world. It was not\nneeded: two other boys besides Arthur had already followed his example,\nand he went down to the great school with a glimmering of another\nlesson in his heart\u2014the lesson that he who has conquered his own coward\nspirit has conquered the whole outward world; and that other one which\nthe old prophet learned in the cave in Mount Horeb, when he hid his\nface, and the still small voice asked, \u201cWhat doest thou here, Elijah,\u201d\nthat however we may fancy ourselves alone on the side of good, the King\nand Lord of men is nowhere without his witnesses; for in every society,\nhowever seemingly corrupt and godless, there are those who have not\nbowed the knee to Baal.\n\n\n\n\nLXXXVIII.\n\n\n\u201cIt is about the toughest part of a man\u2019s life, I do believe,\u201d said\nHardy, \u201cthe time he has to spend at college. My university life\nhas been so different altogether from what yours will be, that my\nexperience isn\u2019t likely to benefit you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish you would try me, though,\u201d said Tom; \u201cyou don\u2019t know what a\nteachable sort of fellow I am, if anybody will take me the right way.\nYou taught me to scull, you know; or at least put me in the way to\nlearn. But sculling, and rowing, and cricket, and all the rest of it,\nwith such reading as I am likely to do, won\u2019t be enough. I feel sure of\nthat already.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think it will,\u201d said Hardy. \u201cNo amount of physical or mental\nwork will fill the vacuum you were talking of just now. It is the empty\nhouse swept and garnished, which the boy might have had glimpses of,\nbut the man finds yawning within him, and which must be filled somehow.\nIt\u2019s a pretty good three-years\u2019 work to learn how to keep the devils\nout of it, more or less, by the time you take your degree. At least I\nhave found it so.\u201d\n\nHardy rose and took a turn or two up and down his room. He was\nastonished at finding himself talking so unreservedly to one of whom\nhe knew so little, and half-wished the words recalled. He lived much\nalone, and thought himself morbid and too self-conscious; why should he\nbe filling a youngster\u2019s head with puzzles? How did he know that they\nwere thinking of the same thing?\n\nBut the spoken word cannot be recalled; it must go on its way for\ngood or evil; and this one set the hearer staring into the ashes, and\nputting many things together in his head.\n\nIt was some minutes before he broke silence, but at last he gathered\nup his thoughts, and said, \u201cWell, I hope I sha\u2019n\u2019t shirk when the time\ncomes. You don\u2019t think a fellow need shut himself up, though? I\u2019m sure\nI shouldn\u2019t be any the better for that.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I don\u2019t think you would,\u201d said Hardy.\n\n\u201cBecause, you see,\u201d Tom went on, waxing bolder and more confidential,\n\u201cif I were to take to moping by myself, I shouldn\u2019t read as you or any\nsensible fellow would do; I know that well enough. I should just begin,\nsitting with my legs up on the mantle-piece, and looking into my own\ninside. I see you are laughing, but you know what I mean, don\u2019t you,\nnow?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; staring into the vacuum you were talking of just now; it all\ncomes back to that,\u201d said Hardy.\n\n\u201cWell, perhaps it does,\u201d said Tom; \u201cand I don\u2019t believe it does a\nfellow a bit of good to be thinking about himself and his own doings.\u201d\n\n\u201cOnly he can\u2019t help himself,\u201d said Hardy. \u201cLet him throw himself as he\nwill into all that is going on up here, after all he must be alone for\na great part of his time\u2014all night at any rate\u2014and when he gets his oak\nsported, it\u2019s all up with him. He must be looking more or less into\nhis own inside as you call it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen I hope he won\u2019t find it as ugly a business as I do. If he does,\nI\u2019m sure he can\u2019t be worse employed.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know that,\u201d said Hardy; \u201che can\u2019t learn anything worth\nlearning in any other way.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I like that!\u201d said Tom; \u201cit\u2019s worth learning how to play tennis,\nand how to speak the truth. You can\u2019t learn either by thinking about\nyourself ever so much.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou must know the truth before you can speak it,\u201d said Hardy.\n\n\u201cSo you always do in plenty of time.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow?\u201d said Hardy.\n\n\u201cOh, I don\u2019t know,\u201d said Tom; \u201cby a sort of instinct, I suppose. I\nnever in my life felt any doubt about what I _ought_ to say or do; did\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, yours is a good, comfortable, working belief, at any rate,\u201d said\nHardy, smiling; \u201cand I should advise you to hold on to it as long as\nyou can.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you don\u2019t think I can for very long, eh?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo; but men are very different. There\u2019s no saying. If you were going\nto get out of the self-dissecting business altogether though, why\nshould you have brought the subject up at all to-night? It looks\nawkward for you, doesn\u2019t it?\u201d\n\nTom began to feel rather forlorn at this suggestion, and probably\nbetrayed it in his face, for Hardy changed the subject suddenly.\n\n\n\n\nLXXXIX.\n\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t mean to say,\u201d said Tom, \u201cthat it makes any real difference\nto a man in society here in Oxford, whether he is poor or rich; I mean,\nof course, if he is a gentleman and a good fellow?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it does\u2014the very greatest possible. But don\u2019t take my word\nfor it. Keep your eyes open and judge for yourself; I daresay I\u2019m\nprejudiced on the subject.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I sha\u2019n\u2019t believe it if I can help it,\u201d said Tom; \u201cyou know you\nsaid just now that you never called on any one. Perhaps you don\u2019t give\nmen a fair chance. They might be glad to know you if you would let\nthem, and may think it\u2019s your fault that they don\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery possibly,\u201d said Hardy; \u201cI tell you not to take my word for it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt upsets all one\u2019s ideas so,\u201d went on Tom, \u201cwhy, Oxford ought to be\n_the_ place in England where money should count for nothing. Surely,\nnow, such a man as Jervis, our captain, has more influence than all the\nrich men in the college put together, and is more looked up to?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe\u2019s one of a thousand,\u201d said Hardy; \u201chandsome, strong, good-tempered,\nclever, and up to everything. Besides, he isn\u2019t a poor man; and mind,\nI don\u2019t say that if he were he wouldn\u2019t be where he is. I am speaking\nof the rule, and not of the exceptions.\u201d\n\nHere Hardy\u2019s scout came in to say that the Dean wanted to speak to him.\nSo he put on his cap and gown, and Tom rose also.\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m sorry to turn you out,\u201d said Hardy, \u201cand I\u2019m afraid I\u2019ve\nbeen very surly and made you very uncomfortable. You won\u2019t come back\nagain in a hurry.\u201d\n\n\u201cIndeed I will though, if you will let me,\u201d said Tom; \u201cI have enjoyed\nmy evening immensely.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen come whenever you like,\u201d said Hardy.\n\n\u201cBut I am afraid of interfering with your reading,\u201d said Tom.\n\n\u201cOh, you needn\u2019t mind that; I have plenty of time on my hands; besides,\none can\u2019t read all night, and from eight till ten you\u2019ll find me\ngenerally idle.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you\u2019ll see me often enough. But promise, now, to turn me out\nwhenever I am in the way.\u201d\n\n\u201cVery well,\u201d said Hardy, laughing; and so they parted for the time.\n\nSome twenty minutes afterwards Hardy returned to his room after his\ninterview with the Dean, who merely wanted to speak to him about some\nmatter of college business. He flung his cap and gown on to the sofa,\nand began to walk up and down his room, at first hurriedly, but soon\nwith his usual regular tramp. However expressive a man\u2019s face may be,\nand however well you may know it, it is simply nonsense to say that\nyou can tell what he is thinking about by looking at it, as many of\nus are apt to boast. Still more absurd would it be to expect readers\nto know what Hardy is thinking about, when they have never had the\nadvantage of seeing his face even in a photograph. Wherefore, it would\nseem that the author is bound on such occasions to put his readers on\nequal vantage-ground with himself, and not only to tell them what a man\ndoes, but, so far as may be, what he is thinking about also.\n\nHis first thought, then, was one of pleasure at having been sought out\nby one who seemed to be just the sort of friend he would like to have.\nHe contrasted our hero with the few men with whom he generally lived,\nand for some of whom he had a high esteem\u2014whose only idea of exercise\nwas a two hours\u2019 constitutional walk in the afternoons, and whose life\nwas chiefly spent over books and behind sported oaks\u2014and felt that this\nwas more of a man after his own heart. Then came doubts whether his\nnew friend would draw back when he had been up a little longer, and\nknew more of the place. At any rate he had said and done nothing to\ntempt him; \u201cif he pushes the acquaintance\u2014and I think he will\u2014it will\nbe because he likes me for myself. And I can do him good too, I feel\nsure,\u201d he went on, as he ran over rapidly his own life for the last\nthree years. \u201cPerhaps he won\u2019t flounder into all the sloughs that I\nhave had to drag through; he will get too much of the healthy, active\nlife up here for that, which I never had; but some of them he must get\ninto. All the companionship of boating and cricketing, and wine-parties\nand supper-parties, and all the reading in the world won\u2019t keep him\nfrom many a long hour of mawkishness, and discontent, and emptiness\nof heart; he feels that already himself. Am I sure of that, though? I\nmay be only reading myself into him. At any rate, why should I have\nhelped to trouble him before the time? Was that a friend\u2019s part? Well,\nhe _must_ face it, and the sooner the better perhaps. At any rate it\nis done. But what a blessed thing if one can only help a youngster\nlike this to fight his way through the cold clammy atmosphere which is\nalways hanging over him, and ready to settle down on him\u2014can help to\nkeep some living faith in him, that the world, Oxford and all, isn\u2019t a\nrespectable piece of machinery set going some centuries back! Ah! it\u2019s\nan awful business, that temptation to believe, or think you believe,\nin a dead God. It has nearly broken my back a score of times. What are\nall the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil to this? It\nincludes them all. Well, I believe I can help him, and, please God, I\nwill, if he will only let me; and the very sight of him does me good;\nso I won\u2019t believe we went down the lasher together for nothing.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXC.\n\n\nDon\u2019t let reformers of any sort think that they are going really to lay\nhold of the working boys and young men of England by any educational\ngrapnel whatever, which hasn\u2019t some _bona fide_ equivalent for the\ngames of the old country \u201cveast\u201d in it; something to put in the place\nof the back-swording and wrestling and racing; something to try the\nmuscles of men\u2019s bodies, and the endurance of their hearts, and to make\nthem rejoice in their strength. In all the new-fangled comprehensive\nplans which I see, this is all left out: and the consequence is, that\nyour great Mechanics\u2019 Institutes end in intellectual priggism, and your\nChristian Young Men\u2019s Societies in religious Pharisaism.\n\nWell, well, we must bide our time. Life isn\u2019t all beer and skittles\u2014but\nbeer and skittles, or something better of the same sort, must form\na good part of every Englishman\u2019s education. If I could only drive\nthis into the heads of you rising Parliamentary Lords, and young\nswells who \u201chave your ways made for you,\u201d as the saying is\u2014you, who\nfrequent palaver houses and West-end Clubs, waiting always to strap\nyourselves on to the back of poor dear old John Bull, as soon as the\npresent used-up lot (your fathers and uncles), who sit there on the\ngreat Parliamentary-majorities\u2019 pack-saddle, and make believe they\u2019re\ngrinding him with their red-tape bridle, tumble, or have to be lifted\noff!\n\nI don\u2019t think much of you yet\u2014I wish I could; though you do go talking\nand lecturing up and down the country to crowded audiences, and are\nbusy with all sorts of philanthropic intellectualism, and circulating\nlibraries and museums, and heaven only knows what besides, and try to\nmake us think, through newspaper reports, that you are, even as we,\nof the working classes. But, bless your hearts, we ain\u2019t so \u201cgreen,\u201d\nthough lots of us of all sorts toady you enough certainly, and try to\nmake you think so.\n\nI\u2019ll tell you what to do now: instead of all this trumpeting and fuss,\nwhich is only the old Parliamentary-majority dodge over again\u2014just you\ngo, each of you (you\u2019ve plenty of time for it, if you\u2019ll only give up\nthe other line), and quietly make three or four friends, real friends,\namong us. You\u2019ll find a little trouble in getting at the right sort,\nbecause such birds don\u2019t come lightly to your lure\u2014but found they may\nbe. Take, say, two out of the professions, lawyer, parson, doctor\u2014which\nyou will; one out of trade, and three or four out of the working\nclasses, tailors, engineers, carpenters, engravers\u2014there\u2019s plenty of\nchoice. Let them be men of your own ages, mind, and ask them to your\nhomes; introduce them to your wives and sisters, and get introduced to\ntheirs; give them good dinners, and talk to them about what is really\nat the bottom of your hearts, and box, and run, and row with them, when\nyou have a chance. Do all this honestly as man to man, and by the time\nyou come to ride old John, you\u2019ll be able to do something more than sit\non his back, and may feel his mouth with some stronger bridle than a\nred-tape one.\n\nAh, if you only would! But you have got too far out of the right rut,\nI fear. Too much over-civilization, and the deceitfulness of riches.\nIt is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle. More\u2019s the\npity. I never came across but two of you who could value a man wholly\nand solely for what was in him; who thought themselves verily and\nindeed of the same flesh and blood as John Jones, the attorney\u2019s clerk,\nand Bill Smith, the costermonger, and could act as if they thought so.\n\n\n\n\nXCI.\n\n\nThe change in Tom\u2019s opinions and objects of interest brought him now\ninto more intimate relations with a set of whom he had as yet seen\nlittle. For want of a better name, we may call them \u201cthe party of\nprogress.\u201d At their parties, instead of practical jokes, and boisterous\nmirth, and talk of boats, and bats, and guns, and horses, the highest\nand deepest questions of morals, and politics, and metaphysics, were\ndiscussed, and discussed with a freshness and enthusiasm which is apt\nto wear off when doing has to take the place of talking, but has a\nstrange charm of its own while it lasts, and is looked back to with\nloving regret by those for whom it is no longer a possibility.\n\nWith this set Tom soon fraternized, and drank in many new ideas, and\ntook to himself also many new crotchets besides those with which he\nwas really weighted. Almost all his new acquaintances were Liberal in\npolitics, but a few only were ready to go all lengths with him. They\nwere all Union men, and Tom, of course, followed the fashion, and soon\npropounded theories in that institution which gained him the name of\nChartist Brown.\n\nThere was a strong mixture of self-conceit in it all. He had a kind\nof idea that he had discovered something which it was creditable to\nhave discovered, and that it was a very fine thing to have all these\nfeelings for, and sympathies with, \u201cthe masses,\u201d and to believe in\ndemocracy, and \u201cglorious humanity,\u201d and \u201ca good time coming,\u201d and I\nknow not what other big matters. And, although it startled and pained\nhim at first to hear himself called ugly names, which he had hated\nand despised from his youth up, and to know that many of his old\nacquaintances looked upon him, not simply as a madman, but as a madman\nwith snobbish proclivities; yet, when the first plunge was over, there\nwas a good deal on the other hand which tickled his vanity, and was far\nfrom being unpleasant.\n\nTo do him justice, however, the disagreeables were such that, had\nthere not been some genuine belief at the bottom, he would certainly\nhave been headed back very speedily into the fold of political and\nsocial orthodoxy. As it was, amidst the cloud of sophisms, and\nplatitudes, and big one-sided ideas half-mastered, which filled his\nthoughts and overflowed in his talk, there was growing in him and\ntaking firmer hold on him daily a true and broad sympathy for men as\nmen, and especially for poor men as poor men, and a righteous and\nburning hatred against all laws, customs, or notions, which, according\nto his light, either were or seemed to be setting aside, or putting\nanything else in the place of, or above the man. It was with him the\nnatural outgrowth of the child\u2019s and boy\u2019s training (though his father\nwould have been much astonished to be told so), and the instincts of\nthose early days were now getting rapidly set into habits and faiths,\nand becoming a part of himself.\n\nIn this stage of his life, as in so many former ones, Tom got great\nhelp from his intercourse with Hardy, now the rising tutor of the\ncollege. Hardy was travelling much the same road himself as our hero,\nbut was somewhat further on, and had come into it from a different\ncountry, and through quite other obstacles. Their early lives had\nbeen so different; and, both by nature and from long and severe\nself-restraint and discipline, Hardy was much the less impetuous and\ndemonstrative of the two. He did not rush out, therefore (as Tom was\ntoo much inclined to do), the moment he had seized hold of the end of\na new idea which he felt to be good for _him_ and what _he_ wanted,\nand brandish it in the face of all comers, and think himself a traitor\nto the truth if he wasn\u2019t trying to make everybody he met with eat it.\nHardy, on the contrary, would test his new idea, and turn it over, and\nprove it as far as he could, and try to get hold of the whole of it,\nand ruthlessly strip off any tinsel or rose-pink sentiment with which\nit might happen to be mixed up.\n\nOften and often did Tom suffer under this severe method, and rebel\nagainst it, and accuse his friend, both to his face and in his own\nsecret thought, of coldness, and want of faith, and all manner of other\nsins of omission and commission. In the end, however, he generally came\nround, with more or less of rebellion, according to the severity of\nthe treatment, and acknowledged that, when Hardy brought him down from\nriding the high horse, it was not without good reason, and that the\ndust in which he was rolled was always most wholesome dust.\n\nFor instance, there was no phrase more frequently in the mouths of the\nparty of progress than \u201cthe good cause.\u201d It was a fine big-sounding\nphrase, which could be used with great effect in perorations of\nspeeches at the Union, and was sufficiently indefinite to be easily\ndefended from ordinary attacks, while it saved him who used it the\ntrouble of ascertaining accurately for himself or settling for his\nhearers what it really did mean. But, however satisfactory it might\nbe before promiscuous audiences, and so long as vehement assertion or\ndeclaration was all that was required to uphold it, this same \u201cgood\ncause\u201d was liable to come to much grief when it had to get itself\ndefined. Hardy was particularly given to persecution on this subject,\nwhen he could get Tom, and, perhaps, one or two others, in a quiet\nroom by themselves. While professing the utmost sympathy for \u201cthe good\ncause,\u201d and a hope as strong as theirs that all its enemies might find\nthemselves suspended to lamp-posts as soon as possible, he would pursue\nit into corners from which escape was most difficult, asking it and its\nsupporters what it exactly was, and driving them from one cloud-land to\nanother, and from \u201cthe good cause\u201d to the \u201cpeople\u2019s cause,\u201d \u201cthe cause\nof labor,\u201d and other like troublesome definitions, until the great\nidea seemed to have no shape or existence any longer even in their own\nbrains.\n\nBut Hardy\u2019s persecution, provoking as it was for the time, never went\nto the undermining of any real conviction in the minds of his juniors,\nor the shaking of anything which did not need shaking, but only helped\nthem to clear their ideas and brains as to what they were talking and\nthinking about, and gave them glimpses\u2014soon clouded over again, but\nmost useful, nevertheless\u2014of the truth, that there were a good many\nknotty questions to be solved before a man could be quite sure that he\nhad found out the way to set the world thoroughly to rights, and heal\nall the ills that flesh is heir to.\n\nHardy treated another of his friend\u2019s most favorite notions even\nwith less respect than this one of \u201cthe good cause.\u201d Democracy, that\n\u201cuniversal democracy,\u201d which their favorite author had recently\ndeclared to be \u201can inevitable fact of the days in which we live,\u201d was,\nperhaps, on the whole the pet idea of the small section of liberal\nyoung Oxford, with whom Tom was now hand and glove. They lost no\nopportunity of worshipping it, and doing battle for it; and, indeed,\ndid most of them very truly believe that that state of the world which\nthis universal democracy was to bring about and which was coming no man\ncould say how soon, was to be in fact that age of peace and good-will\nwhich men had dreamt of in all times, when the lion should lie down\nwith the kid, and nation should not vex nation any more.\n\nAfter hearing something to this effect from Tom on several occasions,\nHardy cunningly lured him to his rooms on the pretence of talking over\nthe prospects of the boat club, and then, having seated him by the\nfire, which he himself proceeded to assault gently with the poker,\npropounded suddenly to him the question:\n\n\u201cBrown, I should like to know what you mean by \u2018democracy?\u2019\u201d\n\nTom at once saw the trap into which he had fallen, and made several\nefforts to break away, but unsuccessfully; and, being seated to a cup\nof tea, and allowed to smoke, was then and there grievously oppressed,\nand mangled, and sat upon, by his oldest and best friend. He took his\nground carefully, and propounded only what he felt sure that Hardy\nhimself would at once accept\u2014what no man of any worth could possibly\ntake exception to. \u201cHe meant much more,\u201d he said, \u201cthan this; but for\nthe present purpose it would be enough for him to say that, whatever\nelse it might mean, democracy in his mouth always meant that every man\nshould have a share in the government of his country.\u201d\n\nHardy, seeming to acquiesce, and making a sudden change in the subject\nof their talk, decoyed his innocent guest away from the thought\nof democracy for a few minutes, by holding up to him the flag of\nhero-worship, in which worship Tom was, of course, a sedulous believer.\nThen, having involved him in most difficult country, his persecutor\nopened fire upon him from masked batteries of the most deadly kind, the\nguns being all from the armory of his own prophets.\n\n\u201cYou long for the rule of the ablest man, everywhere, at all times?\nTo find your ablest man, and then give him power, and obey him\u2014that\nyou hold to be about the highest act of wisdom which a nation can be\ncapable of?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; and you know you believe that too, Hardy, just as firmly as I do.\u201d\n\n\u201cI hope so. But then, how about our universal democracy, and every man\nhaving a share in the government of his country?\u201d\n\nTom felt that his flank was turned; in fact, the contrast of his two\nbeliefs had never struck him vividly before, and he was consequently\nmuch confused. But Hardy went on tapping a big coal gently with the\npoker, and gave him time to recover himself and collect his thoughts.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t mean, of course, that every man is to have an actual share in\nthe government,\u201d he said at last.\n\n\u201cBut every man is somehow to have a share; and, if not an actual one, I\ncan\u2019t see what the proposition comes to.\u201d\n\n\u201cI call it having a share in the government when a man has share in\nsaying who shall govern him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, you\u2019ll own that\u2019s a very different thing. But, let\u2019s see; will\nthat find our wisest governor for us\u2014letting all the foolishest men in\nthe nation have a say as to who he is to be?\u201d\n\n\u201cCome now, Hardy, I\u2019ve heard you say that you are for manhood suffrage.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s another question; you let in another idea there. At present we\nare considering whether the _vox populi_ is the best test for finding\nyour best man. I\u2019m afraid all history is against you.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s a good joke. Now, there I defy you, Hardy.\u201d\n\n\u201cBegin at the beginning, then, and let us see.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose you\u2019ll say, then, that the Egyptian and Babylonian empires\nwere better than the little Jewish republic.\u201d\n\n\u201cRepublic! well, let that pass. But I never heard that the Jews elected\nMoses, or any of the judges.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, never mind the Jews; they\u2019re an exceptional case: you can\u2019t\nargue from them.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t admit that. I believe just the contrary. But go on.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, then, what do you say to the glorious Greek republics, with\nAthens at the head of them?\u201d\n\n\u201cI say that no nation ever treated their best men so badly. I see I\nmust put on a lecture in Aristophanes for your special benefit. Vain,\nirritable, shallow, suspicious old Demus, with his two oboli in his\ncheek, and doubting only between Cleon and the sausage-seller, which he\nshall choose for his wisest man\u2014not to govern, but to serve his whims\nand caprices. You must call another witness, I think.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut that\u2019s a caricature.\u201d\n\n\u201cTake the picture, then, out of Thucydides, Plato, Xenophon, how you\nwill\u2014you won\u2019t mend the matter much. You shouldn\u2019t go so fast, Brown;\nyou won\u2019t mind my saying so, I know. You don\u2019t get clear in your own\nmind before you pitch into every one who comes across you, and so do\nyour own side (which I admit is mostly the right one) more harm than\ngood.\u201d\n\nTom couldn\u2019t stand being put down so summarily, and fought over the\nground from one country to another, from Rome to the United States,\nwith all the arguments he could muster, but with little success. That\nunfortunate first admission of his, he felt it throughout, like a\nmill-stone round his neck, and could not help admitting to himself,\nwhen he left, that there was a good deal in Hardy\u2019s concluding remark:\n\u201cYou\u2019ll find it rather a tough business to get your \u2018universal\ndemocracy,\u2019 and \u2018government by the wisest,\u2019 to pull together in one\ncoach.\u201d\n\nNotwithstanding all such occasional reverses and cold baths, however,\nTom went on strengthening himself in his new opinions, and maintaining\nthem with all the zeal of a convert. The shelves of his bookcase, and\nthe walls of his room, soon began to show signs of the change which\nwas taking place in his ways of looking at men and things. Hitherto a\nframed engraving of George III. had hung over his mantel-piece; but\nearly in this, his third year, the frame had disappeared for a few\ndays, and when it reappeared, the solemn face of John Milton looked\nout from it, while the honest monarch had retired into a portfolio.\nA facsimile of Magna Charta soon displaced a large colored print of\n\u201cA Day with the Pycheley;\u201d and soon afterwards the death-warrant of\nCharles I., with its grim and resolute rows of signatures and seals,\nappeared on the wall in a place of honor, in the neighborhood of\nMilton.\n\n\n\n\nXCII.\n\n\n\u201cI can\u2019t for the life of me fancy, I confess,\u201d wrote Tom, \u201cwhat you\nthink will come of speculating about necessity and free will. I only\nknow that I can hold out my hand before me, and can move it to the\nright or left, despite of all powers in heaven or earth. As I sit here\nwriting to you I can let into my heart, and give the reins to, all\nsorts of devils\u2019 passions, or to the Spirit of God. Well, that\u2019s enough\nfor me. I _know_ it of myself, and I believe you know it of yourself,\nand everybody knows it of themselves or himself; and why you can\u2019t be\nsatisfied with that, passes my comprehension. As if one hasn\u2019t got\npuzzles enough, and bothers enough, under one\u2019s nose, without going\nafield after a lot of metaphysical quibbles. No, I\u2019m wrong\u2014not going\nafield\u2014anything one has to go afield for is all right. What a fellow\nmeets outside himself he isn\u2019t responsible for, and must do the best\nhe can with. But to go on forever looking inside of one\u2019s self, and\ngroping about amongst one\u2019s own sensations, and ideas, and whimsies of\none kind and another, I can\u2019t conceive a poorer line of business than\nthat. Don\u2019t you get into it now, that\u2019s a dear boy.\n\n\u201cVery likely you\u2019ll tell me you can\u2019t help it; that every one has his\nown difficulties, and must fight them out, and that mine are one sort,\nand yours another. Well, perhaps you may be right. I hope I\u2019m getting\nto know that my plummet isn\u2019t to measure all the world. But it does\nseem a pity that men shouldn\u2019t be thinking about how to cure some of\nthe wrongs which poor dear old England is pretty near dying of, instead\nof taking the edge off their brains, and spending all their steam in\nspeculating about all kinds of things, which wouldn\u2019t make any poor man\nin the world\u2014or rich one either, for that matter\u2014a bit better off, if\nthey were all found out, and settled to-morrow.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXCIII.\n\n\nWilliam Cobbett was born in 1762 at Farnham, the third son of a small\nfarmer, honest, industrious, and frugal, from whom, as his famous son\nwrites, \u201cif he derived no honor, he derived no shame,\u201d and who used to\nboast that he had four boys, the eldest but fifteen, who did as much\nwork as any three men in the parish of Farnham. \u201cWhen I first trudged\nafield,\u201d William writes, \u201cwith my wooden bottle and satchel slung over\nmy shoulder, I was hardly able to climb the gates and stiles.\u201d From\ndriving the small birds from the turnip-seed and rooks from the peas,\nhe rose to weeding wheat, hoeing peas, and so up to driving the plough\nfor 2_d._ a day, which paid for the evening school where he learned\nto read and write, getting in this rough way the rudiments of an\neducation over which he rejoices as he contrasts it triumphantly with\nthat of the \u201cfrivolous idiots that are turned out from Winchester and\nWestminster Schools, or from those dens of dunces called Colleges and\nUniversities,\u201d as having given him the ability to become \u201cone of the\ngreatest terrors to one of the greatest and most powerful bodies of\nknaves and fools that were ever permitted to afflict this or any other\ncountry.\u201d\n\nAt eleven he was employed in clipping the boxedgings in the gardens\nof Farnham Castle, and, hearing from one of the gardeners of the\nglories of Kew, he started for that place with 1_s._ 1\u00bd_d._ in his\npocket, 3_d._ of which sum he spent in buying \u201cSwift\u2019s Tale of a Tub.\u201d\nThe book produced a \u201cbirth of intellect\u201d in the little rustic. He\ncarried it with him wherever he went, and at twenty-four lost it in a\nbox which fell overboard in the Bay of Fundy, a \u201closs which gave me\ngreater pain than I have ever felt at losing thousands of pounds.\u201d\nHe returned home, and continued to work for his father till 1782,\nattending fairs and hearing Washington\u2019s health proposed by his father\nat farmers\u2019 ordinaries. In that year he went on a visit to Portsmouth,\nsaw the sea for the first time, and was with difficulty hindered\nfrom taking service at once on board a man-of-war. He returned home\n\u201cspoilt for a farmer,\u201d and next year started for London. He served in\na solicitor\u2019s office in Gray\u2019s Inn for eight months (where he worked\nhard at grammar), then enlisted in the 54th regiment, and after a few\nweeks\u2019 drill at Chatham embarked for Nova Scotia, where the corps were\nserving. Here his temperate habits, strict performance of duty, and\nmasterly ability and intelligence, raised him in little more than a\nyear to the post of sergeant-major over the heads of fifty comrades\nhis seniors in service. His few spare hours were spent in hard study,\nespecially in acquiring a thorough mastery of grammar. He had bought\nLowth\u2019s Grammar, which he wrote out two or three times, got it by\nheart, and imposed on himself the task of saying it over to himself\nevery time he was posted sentinel. When he had thoroughly mastered\nit, and could write with ease and correctness, he turned to logic,\nrhetoric, geometry, French, to Vauban\u2019s fortification, and books on\nmilitary exercise and evolutions. In this way, by the year 1791, when\nthe 54th was recalled, he had become the most trusted man in the\nregiment. The colonel used him as a sort of second adjutant; all the\npaymaster\u2019s accounts were prepared by him; he coached the officers,\nand used to make out cards with the words of command for many of them,\nwho, on parade, as he scornfully writes, \u201cwere commanding me to move\nmy hands and feet in words I had taught them, and were in everything\nexcept mere authority my inferiors, and ought to have been commanded by\nme.\u201d Notwithstanding the masterfulness already showing itself, Cobbett\nwas a strictly obedient soldier, and left the army with the offer of a\ncommission, and the highest character for ability and zeal.\n\nNo sooner, however, was his discharge accomplished, than he set\nhimself to work to expose and bring to justice several of the officers\nof his regiment, who had systematically mulcted the soldiers in\ntheir companies of their wretched pay. His thorough knowledge of the\nregimental accounts made him a formidable accuser; and, after looking\ninto the matter, the then Judge-Advocate-General agreed to prosecute,\nand a court-martial was summoned at Woolwich for the purpose in 1792.\nBut Cobbett did not appear. He found that it would be necessary to call\nhis clerks, still serving in the regiment, and the consequences to\nthem in those days were likely to be so serious, that he preferred to\nabandon his attempt. Accordingly, he did not appear, and the fact was\nbitterly used against him in later days by his political opponents. The\nwhole story is worth reading, and is very fairly given by Mr. Smith. He\nhad now made a happy marriage with the girl to whom he had entrusted\nall his savings years before, and started with her to Paris; but,\nhearing on the way of the king\u2019s dethronement, and the Bastile riots,\nhe turned aside and embarked for America.\n\nHe arrived in Philadelphia in October 1792, enthusiastic for the land\nof liberty, and an ardent student of Paine\u2019s works, and set to work to\ngain his living by teaching English to the French emigrants there, and\nby such literary work as he could get. In both he was very successful,\nbut soon found himself in fierce antagonism with the American press,\nand, after publishing several pamphlets, \u201cA Kick for a Bite,\u201d \u201cA\nBone to Gnaw for the Democrats,\u201d &c., established his first famous\nperiodical, \u201cPeter Porcupine,\u201d which soon gained him the reputation\nin England as well as America of a staunch and able loyalist, and\nsevere critic of Republican institutions. The only serious mistake\nin his American career was his attack on Dr. Priestly, then also an\nemigrant in Philadelphia. The States had become an undesirable place of\nresidence for him before 1798, when an intimation reached him through\nthe British Embassy that the English Government were sensible of the\nobligations they owed him, and were prepared to advance his interests.\nThese overtures he steadily refused; but, finding a Royalist\u2019s life\nwas becoming too hot, and having been beaten in a libel suit, which\nnearly ruined him (though his expenses were nominally defrayed by the\nsubscriptions of his American admirers), he closed the brilliant career\nof \u201cPeter Porcupine\u2019s Gazette,\u201d and returned to England, having at\nlast, to use his own phrase, \u201cgot the better of all diffidence in my\nown capacity.\u201d\n\nHe reached home in 1800, and found himself at once courted and famous.\nHe was entertained by Ministers of State and publishers, but after\nlooking round him in his own sturdy fashion, and finding the condition\nof the political and literary world by no means to his mind, while\nthat of the great body of the people was becoming worse every day, he\nresisted all temptations and started on the career which he followed\nfaithfully till his death. In 1802 appeared the first number of\n\u201cCobbett\u2019s Political Register,\u201d which (with the break of two months\nin 1817, when he fled from the new Gagging Act to America) continued\nto appear weekly till June 1835, and remains a wonderful witness to\nthe strength and the weaknesses of the Sussex ploughboy. During those\nlong years, and all the fierce controversies which marked them, he was\ngrandly faithful, according to his lights, to the cause of the poor:\u2014\u201cI\nfor my part should not be at all surprised,\u201d he wrote in 1806, \u201cif\nsome one were to propose selling the poor, or mortgaging them to the\nfund-holders. Ah! you may wince; you may cry Jacobin or leveller as\nlong as you please. I wish to see the poor men of England what the poor\nmen of England were when I was born; and from endeavoring to accomplish\nthis wish nothing but the want of means shall make me desist.\u201d And\nloyally he maintained the fight against sinecures, place-hunting, and\ncorruption of all kinds until his death, full of years, the member\nfor Oldham, and the popular leader of the widest influence among the\nLiberal party of the first Reform period. For the incidents of the\nlong struggle\u2014how the government press turned savagely on the man whom\nthey had hailed on his return from America as one \u201cwhom no corruption\ncan seduce nor any personal danger intimidate from the performance of\nhis duty;\u201d how Attorney-Generals watched him and prosecuted; how he\ninsisted on conducting his own causes, and so spent two years in jail,\nand was mulcted again and again in heavy damages; how he fought through\nit all, and tended his farm and fruit-trees, and wrote his \u201cRural\nRides\u201d and \u201cCottage Economy,\u201d and was a tender and loving man in his\nown home, and retained the warm regard of such men as Wyndham and Lord\nRadnor, while he was the best hated and abused man in England\u2014we must\nrefer all (and we hope there are many) who care to know about them to\nthe second volume of Edward Smith\u2019s life of Cobbett.\n\nThere are few lives that we know of better worth careful study in these\ntimes. We have no space here to do more than quote the best estimate of\nthe man\u2019s work which has ever come from one of those classes who for\nthirty-five years looked on him as their most dangerous enemy:\u2014\n\n    \u201cI know him well, on every side\n       Walled round with wilful prejudice;\n     A self-taught peasant rough in speech,\n     Self-taught, and confident to teach,\n       In blame not overwise.\n\n     What matter, if an honest thought\n       Sometimes a homely phrase require?\n     Let those who fear the bracing air\n     Look for a milder sky elsewhere,\n       Or stay beside the fire.\n\n     There are worse things in this bad world\n       Than bitter speech and bearing free\u2014\n     I hail thee, genuine English born\u2014\n     Not yet the lineage is outworn\n       That owns a man like thee.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXCIV.\n\n\nThe state of Europe thirty years ago was far more dead and hopeless\nthan now. There were no wars, certainly, and no expectations of wars.\nBut there was a dull, beaten-down, pent-up feeling abroad, as if the\nlid were screwed down on the nations, and the thing which had been,\nhowever cruel and heavy and mean, was that which was to remain to the\nend. England was better off than her neighbors, but yet in bad case.\nIn the south and west particularly, several causes had combined to\nspread a very bitter feeling abroad amongst the agricultural poor.\nFirst among these stood the new poor law, the provisions of which were\nrigorously carried out in most districts. The poor had as yet felt the\nharshness only of the new system. Then the land was in many places in\nthe hands of men on their last legs, the old sporting farmers, who had\nbegun business as young men while the great war was going on, had made\nmoney hand over hand for a few years out of the war prices, and had\ntried to go on living with grayhounds and yeomanry uniforms\u2014\u201chorse to\nride and weapon to wear\u201d\u2014through the hard years which had followed.\nThese were bad masters in every way, unthrifty, profligate, needy,\nand narrow-minded. The younger men who were supplanting them were\nintroducing machinery, threshing machines and winnowing machines, to\ntake the little bread which a poor man was still able to earn out of\nthe mouths of his wife and children\u2014so at least the poor thought and\nmuttered to one another; and the mutterings broke out every now and\nthen in the long nights of the winter months in blazing ricks and\nbroken machines. Game preserving was on the increase. Australia and\nAmerica had not yet become familiar words in every English village, and\nthe labor market was everywhere overstocked; and last, but not least,\nthe corn laws were still in force, and the bitter and exasperating\nstrife in which they went out was at its height. And while Swing and\nhis myrmidons were abroad in the counties, and could scarcely be kept\ndown by yeomanry and poor-law guardians, the great towns were in almost\nworse case. Here too emigration had not yet set in to thin the labor\nmarket; wages were falling, and prices rising; the corn-law struggle\nwas better understood and far keener than in the country; and Chartism\nwas gaining force every day, and rising into a huge threatening giant,\nwaiting to put forth his strength, and eager for the occasion which\nseemed at hand.\n\nYou generation of young men, who were too young then to be troubled\nwith such matters, and have grown into manhood since, you little\nknow\u2014may you never know!\u2014what it is to be living the citizens of a\ndivided and distracted nation. For the time that danger is past. In\na happy hour, and so far as man can judge, in time, and only just in\ntime, came the repeal of the corn laws, and the great cause of strife\nand the sense of injustice passed away out of men\u2019s minds. The nation\nwas roused by the Irish famine, and the fearful distress in other\nparts of the country, to begin looking steadily and seriously at some\nof the sores which were festering in its body, and undermining health\nand life. And so the tide had turned, and England had already passed\nthe critical point, when 1848 came upon Christendom, and the whole of\nEurope leapt up into a wild blaze of revolution.\n\nIs any one still inclined to make light of the danger that threatened\nEngland in that year, to sneer at the 10th of April, and the monster\npetition, and the monster meetings on Kennington and other commons?\nWell, if there be such persons amongst my readers, I can only say that\nthey can have known nothing of what was going on around them and below\nthem, at that time, and I earnestly hope that their vision has become\nclearer since then, and that they are not looking with the same eyes\nthat see nothing, at the signs of to-day. For that there are questions\nstill to be solved by us in England, in this current half-century,\nquite as likely to tear the nation in pieces as the corn laws, no man\nwith half an eye in his head can doubt. They may seem little clouds\nlike a man\u2019s hand on the horizon just now, but they will darken the\nwhole heaven before long, unless we can find wisdom enough amongst us\nto take the little clouds in hand in time, and make them descend in\nsoft rain.\n\n\n\n\nXCV.\n\n\nThe years 1848-9 had been years of revolution, and, as always happens\nat such times, the minds of men had been greatly stirred on many\nquestions, and especially on the problem of the social condition of\nthe great mass of the poor in all European countries. In Paris, the\nrevolution had been the signal for a great effort on the part of the\nworkmen; and some remarkable experiments had been made, both by the\nProvisional Government of 1848 and by certain employers of labor, and\nbodies of skilled mechanics, with a view to place the conditions of\nlabor upon a more equitable and satisfactory footing, or, to use the\ncommon phrase of the day, to reconcile the interests of capital and\nlabor. The government experiment of \u201cnational workshops\u201d had failed\ndisastrously, but a number of the private associations were brilliantly\nsuccessful. The history of some of these associations\u2014of the sacrifices\nwhich had been joyfully made by the associates in order to collect the\nsmall funds necessary to start them\u2014of the ability and industry with\nwhich they were conducted, and of their marvellous effect on the habits\nof all those engaged in the work, had deeply interested many persons\nin England. It was resolved to try an experiment of the same kind in\nEngland, but the conditions were very different. The seed there had\nalready taken root amongst the industrial classes, and the movement had\ncome from them. In England the workpeople, as a rule, had no belief\nin association, except for defensive purposes. It was chiefly amongst\nyoung professional men that the idea was working, and it was necessary\nto preach it to those whom it most concerned. Accordingly a society was\nformed, chiefly of young barristers, under the presidency of the late\nMr. Maurice, who was then Chaplain of Lincoln\u2019s Inn, for the purpose of\nestablishing associations similar to those in Paris. It was called the\nSociety for Promoting Working Men\u2019s Associations, and I happened to be\none of the original members, and on the Council. We were all full of\nenthusiasm and hope in our work, and of propagandist zeal: anxious to\nbring in all the recruits we could. I cannot even now think of my own\nstate of mind at the time without wonder and amusement. I certainly\nthought (and for that matter have never altered my opinion to this day)\nthat here we had found the solution of the great labor question; but I\nwas also convinced that we had nothing to do but just to announce it,\nand found an association or two, in order to convert all England, and\nusher in the millennium at once, so plain did the whole thing seem\nto me. I will not undertake to answer for the rest of the Council,\nbut I doubt whether I was at all more sanguine than the majority.\nConsequently we went at it with a will: held meetings at six o\u2019clock in\nthe morning (so as not to interfere with our regular work) for settling\nthe rules of our central society, and its off-shoots, and late in the\nevening, for gathering tailors, shoemakers, and other handicraftsmen,\nwhom we might set to work; started a small publishing office, presided\nover by a diminutive one-eyed costermonger, a rough-and-ready speaker\nand poet (who had been in prison as a Chartist leader), from which we\nissued tracts and pamphlets, and ultimately a small newspaper; and,\nas the essential condition of any satisfactory progress, commenced a\nvigorous agitation for such an amendment in the law as would enable\nour infant associations to carry on their business in safety, and\nwithout hindrance. We very soon had our hands full. Our denunciations\nof unlimited competition brought on us attacks in newspapers and\nmagazines, which we answered, nothing loth. Our opponents called\nus Utopians and Socialists, and we retorted that at any rate we\nwere Christians; that our trade principles were on all-fours with\nChristianity, while theirs were utterly opposed to it. So we got, or\nadopted, the name of Christian Socialists, and gave it to our tracts,\nand our paper. We were ready to fight our battle wherever we found\nan opening, and got support from the most unexpected quarters. I\nremember myself being asked to meet Archbishop Whately, and several\neminent political economists, and explain what we were about. After a\ncouple of hours of hard discussion, in which I have no doubt I talked\nmuch nonsense, I retired, beaten, but quite unconvinced. Next day, the\nlate Lord Ashburton, who had been present, came to my chambers and\ngave me a cheque for \u00a350 to help our experiment; and a few days later\nI found another nobleman, sitting on the counter of our shoemakers\u2019\nassociation, arguing with the manager, and giving an order for boots.\n\nIt was just in the midst of all this that my brother came to live with\nus. I had already converted him, as I thought. He was a subscribing\nmember of our Society, and dealt with our Associations; and I had no\ndoubt would now join the Council, and work actively in the new crusade.\nI knew how sound his judgment was, and that he never went back from a\nresolution once taken, and therefore was all the more eager to make\nsure of him, and, as a step in this direction, had already placed his\nname on committees, and promised his attendance. But I was doomed to\ndisappointment. He attended one or two of our meetings, but I could not\ninduce him to take any active part with us. At a distance of more than\ntwenty years it is of course difficult to recall very accurately what\npassed between us, but I can remember his reasons well enough to give\nthe substance of them. And first, as he had formerly objected to the\nviolent language of the leaders of the Anti-Corn-Law agitation, so he\nnow objected to what he looked upon as our extravagance.\n\n\u201cYou don\u2019t want to divide other people\u2019s property?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d I answered.\n\n\u201cThen why call yourselves Socialists?\u201d\n\n\u201cBut we couldn\u2019t help ourselves: other people called us so first.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but you needn\u2019t have accepted the name. Why acknowledge that the\ncap fitted?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it would have been cowardly to back out. We borrow the ideas of\nthese Frenchmen, of association as opposed to competition as the true\nlaw of industry; and of organizing labor\u2014of securing the laborer\u2019s\nposition by organizing production and consumption\u2014and it would be\ncowardly to shirk the name. It is only fools who know nothing about the\nmatter, or people interested in the competitive system of trade, who\nbelieve, or say, that a desire to divide other people\u2019s property is of\nthe essence of Socialism.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat may be very true: but nine-tenths of mankind, or at any rate, of\nEnglishmen, come under one or the other of those categories. If you are\ncalled Socialists, you will never persuade the British public that this\nis not your object. There was no need to take the name. You have weight\nenough to carry already, without putting that on your shoulders.\u201d\n\nThis was his first objection, and he proved to be right. At any rate,\nafter some time we dropped the name, and the \u201cChristian Socialist\u201d was\nchanged into the \u201cJournal of Association.\u201d English Socialists generally\nhave instinctively avoided it ever since, and called themselves\n\u201cco-operators,\u201d thereby escaping much abuse in the intervening years.\nAnd when I look back, I confess I do not wonder that we repelled rather\nthan attracted men who, like my brother, were inclined theoretically to\nagree with us. For I am bound to admit that a strong vein of fanaticism\nand eccentricity ran through our ranks, which the marvellous patience,\ngentleness, and wisdom of our beloved president were not enough to\ncounteract or control. Several of our most active and devoted members\nwere also strong vegetarians, and phonetists. In a generation when\nbeards and wide-awakes were looked upon as insults to decent society,\nsome of us wore both, with a most heroic indifference to public\nopinion. In the same way, there was often a trenchant, and almost\ntruculent, tone about us, which was well calculated to keep men of my\nbrother\u2019s temperament at a distance. I rather enjoyed it myself, but\nlearnt its unwisdom when I saw its effects on him, and others, who were\ninclined to join us, and would have proved towers of strength. It was\nright and necessary to denounce the evils of unlimited competition, and\nthe falsehood of the economic doctrine of \u201cevery man for himself;\u201d but\nquite unnecessary, and therefore unwise, to speak of the whole system\nof trade as \u201cthe disgusting vice of shop-keeping,\u201d as was the habit of\nseveral of our foremost and ablest members.\n\n\n\n\nXCVI.\n\n\nHardy had a way of throwing life into what he was talking about, and,\nlike many men with strong opinions, and passionate natures, either\ncarried his hearers off their legs and away with him altogether,\nor roused every spark of combativeness in them. The latter was the\neffect which his lecture on the Punic Wars had on Tom. He made several\nprotests as Hardy went on; but Grey\u2019s anxious looks kept him from going\nfairly into action, till Hardy stuck the black pin, which represented\nScipio, triumphantly in the middle of Carthage, and, turning round\nsaid, \u201cAnd now for some tea, Grey, before you have to turn out.\u201d\n\nTom opened fire while the tea was brewing.\n\n\u201cYou couldn\u2019t say anything bad enough about aristocracies this morning,\nHardy, and now to-night you are crowing over the success of the\nheaviest and cruelest oligarchy that ever lived, and praising them up\nto the skies.\u201d\n\n\u201cHullo! here\u2019s a breeze!\u201d said Hardy, smiling; \u201cbut I rejoice, O Brown,\nin that they thrashed the Carthaginians, and not, as you seem to think,\nin that they, being aristocrats, thrashed the Carthaginians; for\noligarchs they were not at this time.\u201d\n\n\u201cAt any rate they answer to the Spartans in the struggle, and the\nCarthaginians to the Athenians; and yet all your sympathies are with\nthe Romans to-night in the Punic Wars, though they were with the\nAthenians before dinner.\u201d\n\n\u201cI deny your position. The Carthaginians were nothing but a great\ntrading aristocracy\u2014with a glorious family or two I grant you, like\nthat of Hannibal; but, on the whole, a dirty, bargain-driving,\nbuy-cheap-and-sell-dear aristocracy\u2014of whom the world was well rid.\nThey like the Athenians indeed! Why, just look what the two people have\nleft behind them\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d interrupted Tom; \u201cbut we only know the Carthaginians through the\nreports of their destroyers. Your heroes trampled them out with hoofs\nof iron.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you think the Roman hoof could have trampled out their Homer if\nthey ever had one?\u201d said Hardy. \u201cThe Romans conquered Greece too,\nremember.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut Greece was never so near beating them.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue. But I hold to my point. Carthage was the mother of all\nhucksters, compassing sea and land to sell her wares.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd no bad line of life for a nation. At least Englishmen ought to\nthink so.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, they ought not; at least if \u2018Punica fides\u2019 is to be the rule of\ntrade. Selling any amount of Brummagem wares never did nation or man\nmuch good, and never will. Eh, Grey?\u201d\n\nGrey winced at being appealed to, but remarked that he hoped the Church\nwould yet be able to save England from the fate of Tyre and Carthage,\nthe great trading nations of the old world: and then, swallowing his\ntea, and looking as if he had been caught robbing a hen-roost, he made\na sudden exit, and hurried away out of college to the night-school.\n\n\u201cWhat a pity he is so odd and shy,\u201d said Tom; \u201cI should so like to know\nmore of him.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt _is_ a pity. He is much better when he is alone with me. I think he\nhas heard from some of the set that you are a furious Protestant, and\nsees an immense amount of stiff-neckedness in you.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut about England and Carthage,\u201d said Tom, shirking the subject of his\nown peculiarities; \u201cyou don\u2019t really think us like them? It gave me a\nturn to hear you translating \u2018Punica fides\u2019 into Brummagem wares just\nnow.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think that successful trade is our rock ahead. The devil who holds\nnew markets and twenty per cent. profits in his gift is the devil that\nEngland has most to fear from. \u2018Because of unrighteous dealings, and\nriches gotten by deceit, the kingdom is translated from one people to\nanother,\u2019 said the wise man. Grey falls back on the Church, you see,\nto save the nation; but the Church he dreams of will never do it. Is\nthere any that can? There _must_ be surely, or we have believed a lie.\nBut this work of making trade righteous, of Christianizing trade,\nlooks like the very hardest the Gospel has ever had to take in hand\u2014in\nEngland at any rate.\u201d\n\nHardy spoke slowly and doubtfully, and paused as if asking for Tom\u2019s\nopinion.\n\n\u201cI never heard it put in that way. I know very little of politics or\nthe state of England. But come, now; the putting down the slave-trade\nand compensating our planters, _that_ shows that we are not sold to the\ntrade-devil yet, surely.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t think we are. No, thank God, there are plenty of signs that we\nare likely to make a good fight of it yet.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXCVII.\n\n\nThe newest school of philosophy preaches an \u201corganized religion,\u201d an\nhierarchy of the best and ablest. In an inarticulate way the confession\nrises from the masses that they feel on every side of them the need of\nwise and strong government\u2014of a will to which their will may loyally\nsubmit\u2014before all other needs; have been groping blindly after it this\nlong while; begin to know that their daily life is in daily peril\nfor want of it, in a country of limited land, air, and water, and\npractically unlimited wealth. But Democracy\u2014how about Democracy? We had\nthought a cry for it, and not for kings, God made or of any other kind,\nwas the characteristic of our time. Certainly kings, such as we have\nseen them, have not gained or deserved much reverence of late years,\nare not likely to be called for with any great earnestness by those\nwho feel most need of guidance and deliverance, in the midst of the\nbewildering conditions and surroundings of our time and our life.\n\nThirty years ago the framework of society went all to pieces over the\ngreater part of Christendom, and the kings just ran away or abdicated,\nand the people, left pretty much to themselves, in some places made\nblind work of it. Solvent and well-regulated society caught a glimpse\nof that same \u201cbig black democracy,\u201d\u2014the monster, the Frankenstein, as\nthey hold him, at any rate the great undeniable fact of our time\u2014a\nglimpse of him moving his huge limbs about, uneasily and blindly. Then,\nmainly by the help of broken pledges and bayonets, the so-called kings\nmanaged to get the gyves put on him again, and to shut him down in\nhis underground prison. That was the sum of their work in the great\nEuropean crisis; not a thankworthy one from the people\u2019s point of view.\nHowever, society was supposed to be saved, and the \u201cparty of order,\u201d\nso called, breathed freely. No; for the 1848 kind of king there is\nsurely no audible demand anywhere. In England in that year we had our\n10th of April, and muster of half a million special constables of\nthe comfortable classes, with much jubilation over such muster, and\nmutual congratulations that we were not as other men, or even as these\nFrenchmen, Germans, and the like. Taken for what it was worth, let us\nadmit that the jubilations did not lack some sort of justification.\nThe 10th of April muster may be perhaps accepted as a sign that the\nreverence for the constable\u2019s staff has not quite died out amongst\nus. But let no one think that for this reason democracy is one whit\nless inevitable in England than on the Continent, or that its sure and\nsteady advance, and the longing for its coming, which all thoughtful\nmen recognize, however little they may sympathize, with them, in the\nleast incompatible with the equally manifest longing for what our\npeople intend by this much-worshipped and much-hated name.\n\nFor what does democracy mean to Englishmen? Simply an equal chance for\nall; a fair field for the best men, let them start from where they\nwill, to get to the front; a clearance out of sham governors, and of\nunjust privilege, in every department of human affairs. It cannot be\ntoo often repeated, that they who suppose the bulk of our people want\nless government, or fear the man who \u201ccan rule and dare not lie,\u201d know\nlittle of them. Ask any representative of a popular constituency, or\nother man with the means of judging, what the people are ready for in\nthis direction. He will tell you that, in spite perhaps of all he can\nsay or do, they _will_ go for compulsory education, the organization\nof labor (including therein the sharp extinction of able-bodied\npauperism), the utilization of public lands, and other reforms of\nan equally decided character. That for these purposes they desire\nmore government, not less; will support with enthusiasm measures, the\nvery thought of which takes away the breath and loosens the knees of\nordinary politicians; will rally with loyalty and trustfulness to men\nwho will undertake these things with courage and singleness of purpose.\n\n\n\n\nXCVIII.\n\n\nThe corners of Hardy\u2019s room were covered with sheets of paper of\ndifferent sizes, pasted against the wall in groups. In the line of\nsight, from about the height of four to six feet, there was scarcely\nan inch of the original paper visible, and round each centre group\nthere were outlying patches and streamers, stretching towards floor or\nceiling, or away nearly to the bookcases or fireplace.\n\n\u201cWell, don\u2019t you think it a great improvement on the old paper?\u201d said\nHardy. \u201cI shall be out of rooms next term, and it will be a hint to the\nCollege that the rooms want papering. You\u2019re no judge of such matters,\nor I should ask you whether you don\u2019t see great artistic taste in the\narrangement.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, they\u2019re nothing but maps, and lists of names and dates,\u201d said\nTom, who had got up to examine the decorations. \u201cAnd what in the world\nare all these queer pins for?\u201d he went on, pulling a strong pin with a\nlarge red sealing-wax head out of the map nearest to him.\n\n\u201cHullo! take care there; what are you about?\u201d shouted Hardy, getting up\nand hastening to the corner. \u201cWhy, you irreverent beggar, those pins\nare the famous statesmen and warriors of Greece and Rome.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I beg your pardon; I didn\u2019t know I was in such august company;\u201d\nsaying which, Tom proceeded to stick the red-headed pin back into the\nwall.\n\n\u201cNow, just look at that,\u201d said Hardy, taking the pin out from the\nplace where Tom had stuck it. \u201cPretty doings there would be amongst\nthem with your management. This pin is Brasidas; you\u2019ve taken him away\nfrom Naupactus, where he was watching the eleven Athenian galleys\nanchored under the temple of Apollo, and stuck him down right in the\nmiddle of the Pnyx, where he will be instantly torn in pieces by a\nruthless and reckless mob. You call yourself a Tory indeed! However,\n\u2019twas always the same with you Tories; calculating, cruel, and jealous.\nUse your leaders up, and throw them over\u2014that\u2019s the golden rule of\naristocracies.\u201d\n\n\u201cHang Brasidas,\u201d said Tom, laughing; \u201cstick him back at Naupactus\nagain. Here, which is Cleon? The scoundrel! give me hold of him, and\nI\u2019ll put him in a hot berth.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s he, with the yellow head. Let him alone, I tell you, or all\nwill be hopeless confusion when Grey comes for his lecture. We\u2019re only\nin the third year of the war.\u201d\n\n\u201cI like your chaff about Tories sacrificing their great men,\u201d said Tom,\nputting his hands in his pockets to avoid temptation. \u201cHow about your\nprecious democracy, old fellow? Which is Socrates?\u201d\n\n\u201cHere, the dear old boy!\u2014this pin with the great gray head, in the\nmiddle of Athens, you see. I pride myself on my Athens. Here\u2019s the\nPir\u00e6us and the long walls, and the hill of Mars. Isn\u2019t it as good as a\npicture?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it _is_ better than most maps, I think,\u201d said Tom; \u201cbut you\u2019re\nnot going to slip out so easily. I want to know whether your pet\ndemocracy did or did not murder Socrates.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m not bound to defend democracies. But look at my pins. It may be\nthe natural fondness of a parent, but I declare they seem to me to have\na great deal of character, considering the material. You\u2019ll guess them\nat once, I\u2019m sure, if you mark the color and shape of the wax. This one\nnow, for instance, who is he?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlcibiades,\u201d answered Tom, doubtfully.\n\n\u201cAlcibiades!\u201d shouted Hardy; \u201cyou fresh from Rugby, and not know\nyour Thucydides better than that. There\u2019s Alcibiades, that little\npurple-headed, foppish pin, by Socrates. This rusty colored one is that\nrespectable old stick-in-the-mud, Nicias.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, but you\u2019ve made Alcibiades nearly the smallest of the whole\nlot,\u201d said Tom.\n\n\u201cSo he was, to my mind,\u201d said Hardy; \u201cjust the sort of insolent young\nruffian whom I should have liked to buy at my price, and sell at his\nown. He must have been very like some of our gentlemen-commoners, with\nthe addition of brains.\u201d\n\n\u201cI should really think, though,\u201d said Tom, \u201cit must be a capital plan\nfor making you remember the history.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is, I flatter myself. I\u2019ve long had the idea, but I should never\nhave worked it out and found the value of it but for Grey. I invented\nit to coach him in his history. You see we are in the Grecian corner.\nOver there is the Roman. You\u2019ll find Livy and Tacitus worked out there,\njust as Herodotus and Thucydides are here; and the pins are stuck for\nthe Second Punic War, where we are just now. I shouldn\u2019t wonder if Grey\ngot his first, after all, he\u2019s picking up so quick in my corners; and\nsays he never forgets any set of events when he has pricked them out\nwith the pins.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nXCIX.\n\n\nThe Reformation had to do its work in due course, in temporal as well\nas in spiritual things, in the visible as in the invisible world;\nfor the Stuart princes asserted in temporal matters the powers which\nthe Pope had claimed in spiritual. They, too, would acknowledge the\nsanctity of no law above the will of princes\u2014would vindicate, even\nwith the sword and scaffold, their own powers to dispense with laws.\nSo the second great revolt of the English nation came, against all\nvisible earthly sovereignty in things temporal. Puritanism arose,\nand Charles went to the block, and the proclamation went forth that\nhenceforth the nation would have no king but Christ; that he was the\nonly possible king for the English nation from that time forth, in\ntemporal as well as spiritual things, and that his kingdom had actually\ncome. The national conscience was not with the Puritans as it had been\nwith Henry at the time of the Reformation, but the deepest part of\ntheir protest has held its own, and gained strength ever since, from\ntheir day to ours. The religious source and origin of it was, no doubt,\nthrust aside at the Revolution, but the sagacious statesmen of 1688\nwere as clear as the soldiers of Ireton and Ludlow in their resolve,\nthat no human will should override the laws and customs of the realm.\nSo they, too, required of their sovereigns that they should \u201csolemnly\npromise and swear to govern the people of this kingdom of England,\nand the dominions thereto belonging, according to the statutes in\nParliament agreed on, and the laws and customs of the same; ... that\nthey will to the utmost of their power maintain the laws of God, the\ntrue profession of the Gospel, and the Protestant reformed religion\nestablished by law.\u201d The same protest in a far different form came\nforth again at the great crisis at the end of the eighteenth century,\nwhen the revolutionary literature of France had set Europe in a blaze,\nand the idea of the rights of man had shrunk back, and merged in the\nwill of the mob. Against this assertion of this form of self-will again\nthe English nation took resolute ground. They had striven for a law\nwhich was above popes and kings, to which these must conform on pain of\nsuppression. They strove for it now against mob-law, against popular\nwill, openly avowing its own omnipotence, and making the tyrant\u2019s\nclaim to do what was right in its own eyes. And so through our whole\nhistory the same thread has run. The nation, often confusedly and with\nstammering accents, but still on the whole consistently, has borne the\nsame witness as the Church, that as God is living and reigning there\nmust be a law, the expression of his will, at the foundation of all\nhuman society, which priests, kings, rulers, people must discover,\nacknowledge, obey.\n\n\n\n\nC.\n\n\nChristians may acknowledge that, as a rule, and in the long run, the\ndecision of a country, fairly taken, is likely to be right, and that\nthe will of the people is likely to be more just and patient than that\nof any person or class. No one can honestly look at the history of our\nrace in the last quarter of a century, to go no farther back, and not\ngladly admit the weight of evidence in favor of this view. There is\nno great question of principle which has arisen in politics here, in\nwhich the great mass of the nation has not been from the first on that\nwhich has been at last acknowledged as the right side. In America,\nto take one great example, the attitude of the Northern people from\nfirst to last, in the great civil war, will make proud the hearts of\nEnglish-speaking men as long as their language lasts.\n\n\n\n\nCI.\n\n\nThe real public opinion of a nation, expressing its deepest conviction\n(as distinguished from what is ordinarily called public opinion, the\nfirst cry of professional politicians and journalists, which usually\ngoes wrong,) is undoubtedly entitled to very great respect. But after\nmaking all fair allowances, no honest man, however warm a democrat he\nmay be, can shut his eyes to the facts which stare him in the face at\nhome, in our colonies, in the United States, and refuse to acknowledge\nthat the will of the majority in a nation, ascertained by the best\nprocesses yet known to us, is not always or altogether just, or\nconsistent, or stable; that the deliberate decisions of the people are\nnot unfrequently tainted by ignorance, or passion, or prejudice.\n\nAre we, then, to rest contented with this ultimate regal power, to\nresign ourselves to the inevitable, and admit that for us, here at\nlast in this nineteenth century, there is nothing higher or better to\nlook for; and if we are to have a king at all, it must be king people\nor king mob, according to the mood in which our section of collective\nhumanity happens to be? Surely we are not prepared for this any more\nthan the Pope is. Many of us feel that Tudors, and Stuarts, and Oliver\nCromwell, and cliques of Whig or Tory aristocrats, may have been bad\nenough; but that any tyranny under which England has groaned in the\npast has been light by the side of what we may come to, if we are to\ncarry out the new political gospel to its logical conclusion, and\nsurrender ourselves to government by the counting of heads, pure and\nsimple.\n\nBut if we will not do this is there any alternative, since we repudiate\npersonal government, but to fall back on the old Hebrew and Christian\nfaith, that the nations are ruled by a living, present, invisible King,\nwhose will is perfectly righteous and loving, the same yesterday,\nto-day, and forever? It is beside the question to urge that such a\nfaith throws us back on an invisible power, and that we must have\nvisible rulers. Of course we must have visible rulers, even after\nthe advent of the \u201cconfederate social republic of Europe.\u201d When the\nwhole people is king it must have viceroys like other monarchs. But is\npublic opinion visible? Can we see \u201ccollective humanity?\u201d Is it easier\nfor princes or statesmen\u2014for any man or men upon whose shoulders the\ngovernment rests\u2014to ascertain the will of the people than the will of\nGod? Another consideration meets us at once, and that is, that this\nbelief is assumed in our present practice. Not to insist upon the\ndaily usage in all Christian places of worship and families throughout\nthe land, the Parliament of the country opens its daily sittings with\nthe most direct confession of this faith which words can express,\nand prays\u2014addressing God, and not public opinion, or collective\nhumanity\u2014\u201cThy kingdom come. Thy will be done.\u201d Surely it were better to\nget rid of this solemn usage as a piece of cant, which must demoralize\nthe representatives of the nation, if we mean nothing particular by it,\nand either recast our form of prayer, substituting \u201cthe people,\u201d or\nwhat else we please, for \u201cGod,\u201d or let the whole business alone, as one\nwhich passes man\u2019s understanding. If we really believe that a nation\nhas no means of finding out God\u2019s will, it is hypocritical and cowardly\nto go on praying that it may be done.\n\nBut it will be said, assuming all that is asked, what practical\ndifference can it possibly make in the government of nations? Admit\nas pointedly as you can, by profession and by worship, and honestly\nbelieve, that a Divine will is ruling in the world, and in each nation,\nwhat will it effect? Will it alter the course of events one iota, or\nthe acts of any government or governor. Would not a Neapolitan Bourbon\nbe just as ready to make it his watchword as any English Alfred!\nMight not a committee of public safety placard the scaffold with a\ndeclaration of this faith? It is a contention for a shadow.\n\nIs it so? Does not every man recognize in his own life, and in his\nown observation of the world around him, the enormous and radical\ndifference between the two principles of action and the results which\nthey bring about? What man do we reckon worthy of honor, and delight to\nobey and follow\u2014him who asks, when he has to act, what will A, B, and\nC say to this? or him who asks, is this right, true, just, in harmony\nwith the will of God. Don\u2019t we despise ourselves when we give way to\nthe former tendency, or in other words, when we admit the sovereignty\nof public opinion? Don\u2019t we feel that we are in the right and manly\npath when we follow the latter? And if this be true of private men, it\nmust hold in the case of those who are in authority.\n\nThose rulers, whatever name they may go by, who turn to what\nconstituents, leagues, the press are saying or doing, to guide them as\nto the course they are to follow, in the faith that the will of the\nmajority is the ultimate and only possible arbiter, will never deliver\nor strengthen a nation however skilful they may be in occupying its\nbest places.\n\n\n\n\nCII.\n\n\nAll the signs of our time tell us that the day of earthly kings has\ngone by, and the advent to power of the great body of the people, those\nwho live by manual labor, is at hand. Already a considerable percentage\nof them are as intelligent and provident as the classes above them,\nand as capable of conducting affairs, and administering large\ninterests successfully. In England, the co-operative movement and the\norganization of the trade societies should be enough to prove this, to\nany one who has eyes, and is open to conviction. In another generation\nthat number will have increased tenfold, and the sovereignty of the\ncountry will virtually pass into their hands. Upon their patriotism\nand good sense the fortunes of the kingdom will depend as directly\nand absolutely as they have ever depended on the will of earthly king\nor statesman. It is vain to blink the fact that democracy is upon us,\nthat \u201cnew order of society which is to be founded by labor for labor,\u201d\nand the only thing for wise men to do is to look it in the face, and\nsee how the short intervening years may be used to the best advantage.\nHappily for us, the task has been already begun in earnest. Our\nsoundest and wisest political thinkers are all engaged upon the great\nand inevitable change, whether they dread, or exult in the prospect.\nThus far, too, they all agree that the great danger of the future lies\nin that very readiness of the people to act in great masses, and\nto get rid of personal and individual responsibility, which is the\ncharacteristic of the organizations by which they have gained, and\nsecured, their present position. Nor is there any danger as to how this\ndanger is to be met. Our first aim must be to develop to the utmost the\nsense of personal and individual responsibility.\n\nBut how is this to be done? To whom are men wielding great powers to be\ntaught that they are responsible? If they can learn that there is still\na King ruling in England through them, whom if they will fear they need\nfear no other power in earth or heaven, whom if they can love and trust\nthey will want no other guide or helper, all will be well, and we may\nlook for a reign of justice in England such as she has never seen yet,\nwhatever form our government may take. But, in any case, those who hold\nthe old faith will still be sure that the order of God\u2019s kingdom will\nnot change. If the kings of the earth are passing away, because they\nhave never acknowledged the order which was established for them, the\nconditions on which they were set in high places, those who succeed\nthem will have to come under the same order, and the same conditions.\nWhen the great body of those who have done the hard work of the world,\nand got little enough of its wages hitherto\u2014the real stuff of which\nevery nation is composed\u2014have entered on their inheritance, they may\nsweep away many things, and make short work with thrones and kings.\nBut there is one throne which they cannot pull down\u2014the throne of\nrighteousness, which is over all the nations; and one King whose rule\nthey cannot throw off\u2014the Son of God and Son of Man, who will judge\nthem as he has judged all kings and all governments before them.\n\n\n\n\nCIII.\n\n\nKings, priests, judges, whatever men succeed to, or usurp, or are\nthrust into power, come immediately under that eternal government which\nthe God of the nation has established, and the order of which cannot\nbe violated with impunity. Every ruler who ignores or defies it saps\nthe national life and prosperity, and brings trouble on his country,\nsometimes swiftly, but always surely. There is the perpetual presence\nof a King, with whom rulers and people must come to a reckoning in\nevery national crisis and convulsion, and who is no less present when\nthe course of affairs is quiet and prosperous. The greatest and wisest\nmen of the nation are those in whom this faith burns most strongly.\nElijah\u2019s solemn opening, \u201cAs the Lord liveth, before whom I stand;\u201d\nDavid\u2019s pleading, \u201cWhither shall I go from thy Spirit, or whither shall\nI flee from thy presence?\u201d\u2014his confession that in heaven or hell,\nor the uttermost parts of the sea, \u201cthere also shall thy hand lead,\nand thy right hand shall guide me\u201d\u2014are only well-known instances of\na universal consciousness which never wholly leaves men or nations,\nhowever much they may struggle to get rid of it.\n\n\n\n\nCIV.\n\n\n\u201cWho is that who has just come in, in beaver?\u201d said Tom, touching the\nnext man to him.\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t you know? That\u2019s Blake; he\u2019s the most wonderful fellow in\nOxford,\u201d answered his neighbor.\n\n\u201cHow do you mean?\u201d said Tom.\n\n\u201cWhy, he can do everything better than almost anybody, and without\nany trouble at all. Miller was obliged to have him in the boat last\nyear though he never trained a bit. Then he\u2019s in the eleven, and is a\nwonderful rider, and tennis-player, and shot.\u201d\n\n\u201cAye, and he\u2019s so awfully clever with it all,\u201d joined in the man on the\nother side. \u201cHe\u2019ll be a safe first, though I don\u2019t believe he reads\nmore than you or I. He can write songs, too, as fast as you can talk\nnearly, and sings them wonderfully.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs he of our College, then?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, of course, or he couldn\u2019t have been in our boat last year.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I don\u2019t think I ever saw him in chapel or hall.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, I dare say not. He hardly ever goes to either, and yet he manages\nnever to get hauled up much, no one knows how. He never gets up now\ntill the afternoon, and sits up nearly all night playing cards with the\nfastest fellows, or going round singing glees at three or four in the\nmorning.\u201d\n\nTom looked with great interest at the admirable Crichton of St.\nAmbrose\u2019s; and, after watching him a few minutes, said in a low tone to\nhis neighbor:\n\n\u201cHow wretched he looks! I never saw a sadder face.\u201d\n\nPoor Blake! one can\u2019t help calling him \u201cpoor,\u201d although he himself\nwould have winced at it more than at any other name you could have\ncalled him. You might have admired, feared, or wondered at him, and\nhe would have been pleased; the object of his life was to raise such\nfeelings in his neighbors; but pity was the last which he would have\nliked to excite.\n\nHe was indeed a wonderfully gifted fellow, full of all sorts of energy\nand talent, and power and tenderness; and yet, as his face told only\ntoo truly to any one who watched him when he was exerting himself in\nsociety, one of the most wretched men in the College. He had a passion\nfor success\u2014for beating everybody else in whatever he took in hand,\nand that, too, without seeming to make any great effort himself. The\ndoing a thing well and thoroughly gave him no satisfaction unless he\ncould feel that he was doing it better and more easily than A, B, or C,\nand that they felt and acknowledged this. He had had his full swing of\nsuccess for two years, and now the Nemesis was coming.\n\nFor, although not an extravagant man, many of the pursuits in which he\nhad eclipsed all rivals were far beyond the means of any but a rich\none, and Blake was not rich. He had a fair allowance, but by the end\nof his first year was considerably in debt, and, at the time we are\nspeaking of, the whole pack of Oxford tradesmen, into whose books he\nhad got (having smelt out the leanness of his expectations), were upon\nhim, besieging him for payment. This miserable and constant annoyance\nwas wearing his soul out. This was the reason why his oak was sported,\nand he was never seen till the afternoons, and turned night into day.\nHe was too proud to come to an understanding with his persecutors, even\nhad it been possible; and now, at his sorest need, his whole scheme\nof life was failing him; his love of success was turning into ashes\nin his mouth; he felt much more disgust than pleasure at his triumphs\nover other men, and yet the habit of striving for such successes,\nnotwithstanding its irksomeness, was too strong to be resisted.\n\nPoor Blake! he was living on from hand to mouth, flashing out with all\nhis old brilliancy and power, and forcing himself to take the lead in\nwhatever company he might be; but utterly lonely and depressed when by\nhimself\u2014reading feverishly in secret, in a desperate effort to retrieve\nall by high honors and a fellowship. As Tom said to his neighbors,\nthere was no sadder face than his to be seen in Oxford.\n\n\n\n\nCV.\n\n\nOne of the moralists whom we sat under in my youth\u2014was it the great\nRichard Swiveller, or Mr. Stiggins?\u2014says: \u201cWe are born in a vale,\nand must take the consequences of being found in such a situation.\u201d\nThese consequences, I for one am ready to encounter. I pity people who\nweren\u2019t found in a vale. I don\u2019t mean a flat country, but a vale; that\nis a flat country bounded by hills. The having your hill _always_ in\nview if you choose to turn towards him, that\u2019s the essence of a vale.\nThere he is for ever in the distance, your friend and companion; you\nnever lose him as you do in hilly districts.\n\n\n\n\nCVI.\n\n\nAll dwellers in and about London are, alas, too well acquainted with\nthat never-to-be-enough-hated change which we have to undergo once, at\nleast, in every spring. As each succeeding winter wears away, the same\nthing happens to us.\n\nFor some time we do not trust the fair lengthening days, and cannot\nbelieve that the dirty pair of sparrows who live opposite our window\nare really making love and going to build, notwithstanding all their\ntwittering. But morning after morning rises fresh and gentle; there is\nno longer any vice in the air; we drop our overcoats; we rejoice in the\ngreen shoots which the privet-hedge is making in the square garden, and\nhail the returning tender-pointed leaves of the plane-trees as friends;\nwe go out of our way to walk through Covent Garden Market to see the\never-brightening show of flowers from the happy country.\n\nThis state of things goes on sometimes for a few days only, sometimes\nfor weeks, till we make sure that we are safe for this spring at any\nrate. Don\u2019t we wish we may get it! Sooner or later, but sure\u2014sure as\nChristmas bills, or the income-tax, or anything, if there be anything\nsurer than these\u2014comes the morning when we are suddenly conscious as\nsoon as we rise that there is something the matter. We do not feel\ncomfortable in our clothes; nothing tastes quite as it should at\nbreakfast; though the day looks bright enough, there is a fierce dusty\ntaint about it as we look out through windows, which no instinct now\nprompts us to throw open, as it has done every day for the last month.\n\nBut it is only when we open our doors and issue into the street, that\nthe hateful reality comes right home to us. All moisture, and softness,\nand pleasantness has gone clean out of the air since last night; we\nseem to inhale yards of horsehair instead of satin; our skins dry up;\nour eyes, and hair, and whiskers, and clothes are soon filled with\nloathsome dust, and our nostrils with the reek of the great city. We\nglance at the weathercock on the nearest steeple, and see that it\npoints N.E. And so long as the change lasts, we carry about with us\na feeling of anger and impatience as though we personally were being\nill-treated. We could have borne with it well enough in November;\nit would have been natural, and all in the day\u2019s work in March; but\nnow, when Rotten-row is beginning to be crowded, when long lines of\npleasure-vans are leaving town on Monday mornings for Hampton Court or\nthe poor remains of dear Epping Forrest, when the exhibitions are open\nor about to open, when the religious public is up, or on its way up,\nfor May meetings, when the Thames is already sending up faint warnings\nof what we may expect as soon as his dirty old life\u2019s blood shall have\nbeen thoroughly warmed up, and the Ship, and Trafalgar, and Star and\nGarter are in full swing at the antagonist poles of the cockney system,\nwe do feel that this blight which has come over us and everything is\nan insult, and that while it lasts, as there is nobody who can be made\nparticularly responsible for it, we are justified in going about in\ngeneral disgust, and ready to quarrel with anybody we may meet on the\nsmallest pretext.\n\nThis sort of east-windy state is perhaps the best physical analogy for\ncertain mental ones through which most of us pass. The real crisis\nover, we drift into the skirts of the storm, and lay rolling under\nbare poles, comparatively safe, but without any power as yet to get the\nship well in hand, and make her obey her helm. The storm may break over\nus again at any minute, and find us almost as helpless as ever.\n\n\n\n\nCVII.\n\n\nAmongst other distractions which Tom tried at one crisis of his life,\nwas reading. For three or four days running, he really worked hard\u2014very\nhard, if we were to reckon by the number of hours he spent in his\nown rooms over his books with his oak sported\u2014hard, even though we\nshould only reckon by results. For, though scarcely an hour passed\nthat he was not balancing on the hind legs of his chair with a vacant\nlook in his eyes, and thinking of anything but Greek roots or Latin\nconstructions, yet on the whole he managed to get through a good deal,\nand one evening, for the first time since his quarrel with Hardy, felt\na sensation of real comfort\u2014it hardly amounted to pleasure\u2014as he closed\nhis Sophocles some hour or so after hall, having just finished the last\nof the Greek plays which he meant to take in for his first examination.\nHe leaned back in his chair and sat for a few minutes, letting his\nthoughts follow their own bent. They soon took to going wrong, and\nhe jumped up in fear lest he should be drifting back into the black\nstormy sea, in the trough of which he had been laboring so lately, and\nwhich he felt he was by no means clear of yet. At first he caught up\nhis cap and gown as though he were going out. There was a wine party\nat one of his acquaintance\u2019s rooms; or, he could go and smoke a cigar\nin the pool-room, or at any one of the dozen other places. On second\nthoughts, however, he threw his academicals back on to the sofa, and\nwent to his bookcase. The reading had paid so well that evening that he\nresolved to go on with it. He had no particular object in selecting one\nbook more than another, and so took down carelessly the first that came\nto hand.\n\nIt happened to be a volume of Plato, and opened of its own accord in\nthe \u201cApology.\u201d He glanced at a few lines. What a flood of memories\nthey called up! This was almost the last book he had read at school;\nand teacher, and friends, and lofty oak-shelved library stood out\nbefore him at once. Then the blunders that he himself and others had\nmade rushed through his mind, and he almost burst into a laugh as he\nwheeled his chair round to the window, and began reading where he had\nopened, encouraging every thought of the old times when he first read\nthat marvellous defence, and throwing himself back into them with all\nhis might. And still, as he read, forgotten words of wise comment, and\nstrange thoughts of wonder and longing, came back to him. The great\ntruth which he had been led to the brink of in those early days rose\nin all its awe and all its attractiveness before him. He leant back in\nhis chair, and gave himself up to his thought; and how strangely that\nthought bore on the struggle which had been raging in him of late; how\nan answer seemed to be trembling to come out of it to all the cries,\nnow defiant, now plaintive, which had gone out of his heart in this\ntime of trouble! For his thought was of that spirit, distinct from\nhimself, and yet communing with his inmost soul, always dwelling in\nhim, knowing him better than he knew himself, never misleading him,\nalways leading him to light and truth, of which the old philosopher\nspoke. \u201cThe old heathen, Socrates, did actually believe that\u2014there can\nbe no question about it;\u201d he thought, \u201cHas not the testimony of the\nbest men through these two thousand years borne witness that he was\nright\u2014that he did not believe a lie! That was what we were told. Surely\nI don\u2019t mistake! Were we not told, too, or did I dream it, that what\nwas true for him is true for every man\u2014for me? That there is a spirit\ndwelling in me, striving with me, ready to lead me into all truth if I\nwill submit to his guidance?\n\n\u201cAh! submit, submit, there\u2019s the rub! Give yourself up to his guidance!\nThrow up the reins, and say you\u2019ve made a mess of it. Well, why not?\nHaven\u2019t I made a mess of it? Am I fit to hold the reins?\n\n\u201cNot I,\u201d\u2014he got up and began walking about his rooms\u2014\u201cI give it up.\u201d\n\n\u201cGive it up!\u201d he went on presently; \u201cyes, but to whom? Not to the\nd\u00e6mon, spirit, whatever it was, who took up his abode in the old\nAthenian\u2014at least, so he said, and so I believe. No, no! Two thousand\nyears and all that they have seen have not passed over the world to\nleave us just where he was left. We want no d\u00e6mons or spirits. And yet\nthe old heathen was guided right, and what can a man want more? and who\never wanted guidance more than I now\u2014here\u2014in this room\u2014at this minute?\nI give up the reins; who will take them?\u201d And so there came on him one\nof those seasons when a man\u2019s thoughts cannot be followed in words. A\nsense of awe came upon him, and over him, and wrapped him round; awe at\na presence of which he was becoming suddenly conscious, into which he\nseemed to have wandered, and yet which he felt must have been there,\naround him, in his own heart and soul, though he knew it not. There was\nhope and longing in his heart mingling with the fear of that presence,\nbut withal the old reckless and daring feeling which he knew so well,\nstill bubbling up untamed, untamable it seemed to him.\n\n\n\n\nCVIII.\n\n\nMen and women occupied with the common work of life\u2014who are earning\ntheir bread in the sweat of their brows, and marrying, and bringing up\nchildren, and struggling, and sinning, and repenting\u2014feel that certain\nquestions which school-men are discussing are somehow their questions.\nNot indeed in form, for not one in a thousand of the persons whose\nminds are thus disturbed care to make themselves acquainted with the\nforms and modes of theological controversies. If they try to do so,\nthey soon throw them aside with impatience. They feel, \u201cNo, it is not\nthis. We care not what may be said about ideology, or multitudinism,\nor evidential views, or cogenogonies. At the bottom of all this we\nsuspect\u2014nay, we know\u2014there is a deeper strife, a strife about the very\nfoundations of faith and human life. We want to know from you learned\npersons, whether (as we have been told from our infancy) there is a\nfaith for mankind, for us as well as for you, for the millions of our\nown countrymen, and in all Christian and heathen lands, who find living\ntheir lives a sore business, and have need of all the light they can\nget to help them.\u201d\n\nIt cannot be denied. The sooner we face the fact, the better. This is\nthe question, and it has to be answered now, by us living Englishmen\nand Englishwomen; the deepest question which man has to do with, and\nyet\u2014or rather, therefore\u2014one which every toiling man must grapple with,\nfor the sake of his own honesty, of his own life.\n\n\n\n\nCIX.\n\n\nFor many years I have been thrown very much into the society of young\nmen of all ranks. I spend a great part of my time with them, I like\nbeing with them, and I think they like being with me. I know well,\ntherefore, how rare anything like a living faith\u2014a faith in and by\nwhich you can live, and for which you would die\u2014is amongst them. I know\nthat it is becoming rarer every day. I find it every day more difficult\nto get them to speak on the subject: they will not do so unless you\ndrive them to it.\n\nI feel deeply that for the sake of England they must be driven to it,\nand therefore that it is the bounden duty of every man who has any\nfaith himself, and who has a chance of being listened to by them, to\nspeak out manfully what he has to say, concealing nothing, disguising\nnothing, and leaving the issue to God.\n\n\n\n\nCX.\n\n\nThat which has been called the \u201cnegative theology,\u201d has been spreading\nrapidly these last few years, though for the most part silently. In\nthe first instance it may have been simply \u201ca recoil from some of the\ndoctrines which are to be heard at church and chapel; a distrust of\nthe old arguments for, or proofs of, a miraculous revelation; and\na misgiving as to the authority, or extent of the authority of the\nScriptures.\u201d But as was sure to be the case, the \u201cnegative theology\u201d\ncould not stop, and has not stopped here. Men who have come across\nthese recoils, distrusts, misgivings, will soon find, if they are\nhonest and resolute with themselves, that there is another doubt\nunderlying all these, a doubt which they may turn from in horror when\nit is first whispered in their hearts, but which will come back again\nand again. That doubt is whether there is a God at all, or rather,\nwhether a living, personal God, thinking, acting, and ruling in this\nworld in which we are, has ever revealed Himself to man.\n\nThis is the one question of our time, and of all times; upon the answer\nwhich nations or men can give to it hang life and death.... One cannot\nstand upon a simple negation. The world is going on turning as it used\nto do, night succeeding day and generation generation; nations are\nwaking into life, or falling into bondage; there is a deal of wonderful\nwork of one sort or another going on in it, and you and I in our little\ncorner have our own share of work to get done as well as we can. If you\nput out my old light, some light or other I must have, and you would\nwish me to have. What is it to be?\n\nYou will answer, probably, that I have touched the heart of the matter\nin putting my question. Night follows day, and generation, generation.\nAll things are founded on a \u201cpermanent order,\u201d \u201cself-sustaining\nand self-evolving powers pervade all nature.\u201d Of this order and\nthese powers we are getting to know more every day; when we know\nthem perfectly, man, the colossal man, will have reached the highest\ndevelopment of which he is capable. We need not trouble ourselves\nabout breaking them, or submitting to them; some of you would add,\nfor we cannot either break them or submit to them. They will fulfil\nthemselves. It is they, these great generalizations, which are alone\nacting in, and ruling the world. We, however eccentric our actions may\nbe, however we may pride ourselves on willing and working, are only\nsimple links in the chain. A general _law of average_ orders the unruly\nwills and affections of sinful men.\n\nBut here I must ask, on what is this permanent order, on what are these\nlaws which you tell me of, founded? I acknowledge a permanent order,\nphysical laws, as fully as you can, but believe them to be expressions\nof a living and a righteous will; I believe a holy and true God to be\nbehind them, therefore I can sit down humbly, and try to understand\nthem, and when I understand, to obey. Are the permanent order, the laws\nyou speak of, founded on a will? If so, on whose will? If on the will\nof _a_ God, of what God? Of a God who has revealed His character, His\npurpose, Himself, to you? If so, where, how, when?\n\nBut if you tell me that these laws, this order, are not founded on\nany living will, or that you do not know that they are, then I say you\nare holding out to me \u201can iron rule which guides to nothing and ends\nin nothing\u2014which may be possible to the logical understanding, but\nis not possible to the spirit of man\u201d\u2014and you are telling me, since\nworship is a necessity of my being, to worship that. In the name and\nin the strength of a man, and a man\u2019s will I utterly reject and defy\nyour dead laws, for dead they must be. They may grind me to powder,\nbut I have that in me which is above them, which will own no obedience\nto them. Dead laws are, so far as I can see, just what you and I and\nall mankind have been put into this world to fight against. Call them\nlaws of nature if you will, I do not care. Take the commonest, the most\nuniversal; is it or is it not by the law of nature that the ground\nbrings forth briers and all sorts of noxious and useless weeds if you\nlet it alone? If it is by the law of nature, am I to obey the law, or\nto dig my garden and root out the weeds? Doubtless I shall get too old\nto dig, and shall die, and the law will remain, and the weeds grow over\nmy garden and over my grave, but for all that I decline to obey the law.\n\nI see a law of death working all around me; I feel it in my own\nmembers. Is this one of your laws, a part of the \u201cpermanent order,\u201d\nwhich is to serve me instead of the God of my fathers? If it be I mean\nto resist it to the last gasp. I utterly hate it. No noble or true\nwork is done in this world except in direct defiance of it. What is to\nbecome of the physician\u2019s work, of every effort at sanitary reform, of\nevery attempt at civilizing and raising the poor and the degraded, if\nwe are to sit down and submit ourselves to this law?\n\nAm I never to build a house, out of respect to the law of gravitation?\nSooner or later the law will assert itself, and my house will tumble\ndown. Nevertheless I will conquer the law for such space as I can.\nIn short, I will own no dead law as my master. Dead laws I will hate\nalways, and in all places, with all my heart, with all my soul, with\nall my mind, and with all my strength.\n\n\n\n\nCXI.\n\n\nWe ought to welcome with all our hearts the searching scrutiny, which\nstudents and philosophers of all Christian nations, and of all shades\nof belief, whether Christian or not, are engaged upon, as to the facts\non which our faith rests. The more thorough that scrutiny is the better\nshould we be pleased. We may not wholly agree with the last position\nwhich the ablest investigators have laid down, that unless the truth\nof the history of our Lord\u2014the facts of his life, death, resurrection,\nand ascension\u2014can be proved by ordinary historical evidence, applied\naccording to the most approved and latest methods, Christianity must be\ngiven up as not true. We know that our own certainty as to these facts\ndoes not rest on a critical historical investigation, while we rejoice\nthat such an investigation should be made by those who have leisure,\nand who are competent for it. At the same time, as we also know that\nthe methods and principles of historical investigation are constantly\nimproving and being better understood, and that the critics of the\nnext generation will work, in all human likelihood, at as great an\nadvantage in this inquiry over those who are now engaged in it, as our\nastronomers and natural philosophers enjoy over Newton and Franklin\u2014and\nas new evidence may turn up any day which may greatly modify their\nconclusions\u2014we cannot suppose that there is the least chance of their\nsettling the controversy in our time. Nor, even if we thought them\nlikely to arrive at definite conclusions, can we consent to wait the\nresults of their investigations, important and interesting as these\nwill be. Granting then cheerfully, that if these facts on the study\nof which they are engaged are not facts\u2014if Christ was not crucified,\nand did not rise from the dead, and ascend to God his father\u2014there has\nbeen no revelation, and Christianity will infallibly go the way of all\nlies, either under their assaults or those of their successors\u2014they\nmust pardon us if even at the cost of being thought and called fools\nfor our pains, we deliberately elect to live our lives on the contrary\nassumption. It is useless to tell us that we know nothing of these\nthings, that we can know nothing until their critical examination is\nover; we can only say: \u201cExamine away; but we _do_ know something of\nthis matter, whatever you may assert to the contrary, and, mean to live\non the knowledge.\u201d\n\nBut while we cannot suspend our judgment on the question until we know\nhow the critics and scholars have settled it, we must do justice,\nbefore passing on, to the single-mindedness, the reverence, the\nresolute desire for the truth before all things, wherever the search\nfor it may land them which characterizes many of those who are no\nlonger of our faith, and are engaged in this inquiry, or have set it\naside as hopeless, and are working at other tasks. The great advance\nof natural science within the last few years, and the devotion with\nwhich many of our ablest and best men are throwing themselves into\nthis study, are clearing the air in all the higher branches of human\nthought and making possible a nation, and in the end a world, of\ntruthful men\u2014that blessedest result of all the strange conflicts and\nproblems of the age, which the wisest men have foreseen in their most\nhopeful moods. In this grand movement even those who are nominally, and\nbelieve themselves to be really, against us, are for us: all at least\nwho are truthful and patient workers. For them, too, the spirit of all\ntruth, and patience, and wisdom is leading; and their strivings and\nvictories\u2014aye, and their backslidings and reverses\u2014are making clearer\nday by day that revelation of the kingdom of God in nature, through\nwhich it would seem that our generation, and those which are to follow\nus, will be led back again to that higher revelation of the kingdom of\nGod in man.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe ideal American, as he has been painted for us of late, is a man\nwho has shaken off the yoke of definite creeds, while retaining their\nmoral essence, and finds the highest sanctions needed for the conduct\nof human life in experience tempered by common sense. Franklin,\nfor instance, is generally supposed to have reached this ideal by\nanticipation, and there is a half-truth in the supposition. But whoever\nwill study this great master of practical life will acknowledge that\nit is only superficially true, and that if he never lifts us above\nthe earth or beyond the dominion of experience and common sense, he\nretained himself a strong hold on the invisible which underlies it, and\nwould have been the first to acknowledge that it was this which enabled\nhim to control the accidents of birth, education, and position, and to\nearn the eternal gratitude and reverence of the great nation over whose\nbirth he watched so wisely, and whose character he did so much to form.\n\n\n\n\nCXII.\n\n\n\u201cFrom one thing to another,\u201d said Tom, \u201cthey got to cathedrals, and one\nof them called St. Paul\u2019s \u2018a disgrace to a Christian city.\u2019 I couldn\u2019t\nstand that, you know. I was always bred to respect St. Paul\u2019s; weren\u2019t\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy education in that line was neglected,\u201d said Hardy, gravely. \u201cAnd so\nyou took up the cudgels for St. Paul\u2019s?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, I plumped out that St. Paul\u2019s was the finest cathedral in\nEngland. You\u2019d have thought I had said that lying was one of the\ncardinal virtues\u2014one or two just treated me to a sort of pitying sneer,\nbut my neighbors were down upon me with a vengeance. I stuck to my\ntext though, and they drove me into saying I liked the Ratcliffe more\nthan any building in Oxford; which I don\u2019t believe I do, now I come\nto think of it. So when they couldn\u2019t get me to budge for their talk,\nthey took to telling me that everybody who knew anything about church\narchitecture was against me\u2014of course meaning that I knew nothing about\nit\u2014for the matter of that, I don\u2019t mean to say that I do.\u201d Tom paused;\nit had suddenly occurred to him that there might be some reason in the\nrough handling he had got.\n\n\u201cBut what did you say to the authorities?\u201d said Hardy, who was greatly\namused.\n\n\u201cSaid I didn\u2019t care a straw for them,\u201d said Tom; \u201cthere was no right\nor wrong in the matter, and I had as good a right to my opinion as\nPugin\u2014or whatever his name is\u2014and the rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat heresy!\u201d said Hardy, laughing; \u201cyou caught it for that, I\nsuppose?\u201d\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t I! They made such a noise over it, that the men at the other\nend of the table stopped talking (they were all freshmen at our end),\nand when they found what was up, one of the older ones took me in\nhand, and I got a lecture about the middle ages, and the monks. I\nsaid I thought England was well rid of the monks; and then we got on\nto Protestantism, and fasting, and apostolic succession, and passive\nobedience, and I don\u2019t know what all! I only know I was tired enough of\nit before coffee came; but I couldn\u2019t go, you know, with all of them on\nme at once, could I?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course not; you were like the six thousand unconquerable British\ninfantry at Albuera. You held your position by sheer fighting,\nsuffering fearful loss.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell,\u201d said Tom, laughing, for he had talked himself into good humor\nagain. \u201cI dare say I talked a deal of nonsense; and, when I come to\nthink it over, a good deal of what some of them said had something\nin it. I should like to hear it again quietly; but there were others\nsneering and giving themselves airs, and that puts a fellow\u2019s back up.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d said Hardy, \u201ca good many of the weakest and vainest men who come\nup take to this sort of thing now. They can do nothing themselves, and\nget a sort of platform by going in for the High Church business from\nwhich to look down on their neighbors.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat\u2019s just what I thought,\u201d said Tom; \u201cthey tried to push mother\nChurch, mother Church, down my throat at every turn. I\u2019m as fond of the\nChurch as any of them, but I don\u2019t want to be jumping up on her back\nevery minute, like a sickly chicken getting on the old hen\u2019s back to\nwarm its feet whenever the ground is cold, and fancying himself taller\nthan all the rest of the brood.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXIII.\n\n\nI have spoken of that which I cannot believe; let me speak to you now\nof that which I do believe, of that which I hold to be a faith, the\nfaith, the only faith for mankind. Do not turn from it because it seems\nto be egotistic. I can only speak for myself, for what I know in my own\nheart and conscience. While I keep to this, I can speak positively, and\nI wish above all things to speak positively.\n\nI was bred as a child and as a boy to look upon Christ as the true\nand rightful King and Head of our race, the Son of God and the Son of\nman. When I came to think for myself I found the want, the longing\nfor a perfectly righteous king and head, the deepest of which I was\nconscious\u2014for a being in whom I could rest, who was in perfect sympathy\nwith me and all men. \u201cLike as the hart panteth after the water-brooks,\nso longeth my soul after thee, O God. My soul is athirst for God, yea,\neven for the living God,\u201d\u2014these, and the like sayings of the Psalmist,\nbegan to have a meaning for me.\n\nThen the teaching which had sunk into me unconsciously rose up and\nseemed to meet this longing. If that teaching were true, here was He\nfor whom I was in search. I turned to the records of His life and\ndeath. I read and considered as well as I could, the character of\nChrist, what he said of himself and his work; his teachings, his acts,\nhis sufferings. Then I found that this was indeed He. Here was the\nHead, the King, for whom I had longed. The more I read and thought the\nmore absolutely sure I became of it. This is He. I wanted no other\nthen, I have never wanted another since. Him I can look up to and\nacknowledge with the most perfect loyalty. He satisfies me wholly.\nThere is no recorded thought, word or deed of his that I would wish to\nchange\u2014that I do not recognize and rejoice in as those of my rightful\nand righteous King and Head. He has claimed for me, for you, for every\nman, all that we can ask for or dream of, for He has claimed every one\nof us for his soldiers and brethren, the acknowledged children of his\nand our Father and God.\n\nBut this loyalty I could never have rendered, no man can ever render,\nI believe, except to a Son of man. He must be perfect man as well as\nperfect God to satisfy us\u2014must have dwelt in a body like ours, have\nfelt our sorrows, pains, temptations, weaknesses. He was incarnate\nby the Spirit of God of the Virgin. In this way I can see how he was\nindeed perfect God and perfect Man. I can conceive of no other in which\nhe could have been so. The Incarnation is for me the support of all\npersonal holiness, and the key to human history.\n\nWhat was Christ\u2019s work on earth? He came to make manifest, to make\nclear to us, the will and nature of this Father, our God. He made that\nwill and nature clear to us as the perfectly loving and long-suffering\nand righteous will and nature. He came to lead us men, his brethren,\nback into perfect understanding of and submission to that will\u2014to\nmake us at one with it; and this he did triumphantly by his own\nperfect obedience to that will, by sacrificing himself even to death\nfor us, because it was the will of his and our Father that he should\ngive himself up wholly and unreservedly; thus, by his one sacrifice,\nredeeming us and leaving us an example that we too should sacrifice\nourselves to Him for our brethren. Thus I believe in the Atonement.\n\n\n\n\nCXIV.\n\n\nChrist was not only revealed to those who saw him here. He did not only\ngo about doing his Father\u2019s will here on earth for thirty-three years,\neighteen hundred years ago, and then leave us. Had this been so, he\nwould certainly in one sense have been revealed, in the only sense in\nwhich some orthodox writers seem to teach that he has been revealed.\nHe would have been revealed to certain men, at a certain time, in\nhistory, and to us in the accounts which we have of him in the Gospels,\nthrough which accounts only we should have had to gain our knowledge\nof him, judging of such accounts by our own fallible understandings.\nBut He said, \u201cI will be with you always, even to the end of the world.\u201d\n\u201cI will send my Spirit into your hearts to testify of me;\u201d and He\nhas fulfilled his promise. He is revealed, not in the Bible, not in\nhistory, not in or to some men at a certain time, or to a man here and\nthere, but in the heart of you, and of me, and of every man and woman\nwho is now, or ever has been, on this earth. His Spirit is in each of\nus, striving with us, cheering us, guiding us, strengthening us. At\nany moment in the lives of any one of us we may prove the fact for\nourselves; we may give ourselves up to his guidance, and He will accept\nthe trust, and guide us into the knowledge of God, and of all truth.\nFrom this knowledge, (more certain to me than any other, of which I am\nten thousand times more sure than I am that Queen Victoria is reigning\nin England, that I am writing with this pen at this table,) if I could\nsee no other manifestation of Christ in creation, I believe in the\nTrinity in Unity, the name on which all things in heaven and earth\nstand, which meets and satisfies the deepest needs and longings of my\nsoul.\n\nThe knowledge of this name, of these truths, has come to me, and to all\nmen, in one sense, specially and directly through the Scriptures. I\nbelieve that God has given us these Scriptures, this Bible, to instruct\nus in these the highest of all truths. Therefore I reverence this Bible\nas I reverence no other book; but I reverence it because it speaks of\nhim, and his dealings with us. The Bible has no charm or power of its\nown. It may become a chain round men\u2019s necks, an idol in the throne\nof God, to men who will worship the book, and not Him of whom the\nbook speaks. There are many signs that this is, or is fast becoming,\nthe case with us; but it is our fault, and not the Bible\u2019s fault. We\npersist in reading our own narrowness and idolatry into it, instead of\nhearing what it really is saying to us.\n\n\n\n\nCXV.\n\n\nI believe that the writers of Holy Scripture were directly inspired\nby God, in a manner, and to an extent, in and to which no other men\nwhose words have come down to us have been inspired. I cannot draw the\nline between their inspiration and that of other great teachers of\nmankind. I believe that the words of these, too, just in so far as they\nhave proved themselves true words, were inspired by God. But though\nI cannot, and man cannot, draw the line, God himself has done so; for\nthese books have been filtered out, as it were, under his guidance,\nfrom many others, which, in ages gone by, claimed a place beside them,\nand are now forgotten, while these have stood for thousands of years,\nand are not likely to be set aside now. For they speak if men will read\nthem, to needs and hopes set deep in our human nature, which no other\nbooks have ever spoken to, or ever can speak to, in the same way\u2014they\nset forth his government of the world as no other books ever have set\nit forth, or ever can set it forth.\n\nBut though I do not believe that the difference between the inspiration\nof Isaiah and Shakespeare is expressible by words, the difference\nbetween the inspiration of the Holy Scripture\u2014the Bible as a whole\u2014and\nany other possible or conceivable collection of the utterances of men\nseems to me clear enough. The Bible has come to us from the Jewish\nnation, which was chosen by God as the one best fitted to receive for\nall mankind, and to give forth to all mankind, the revelation of Him\u2014to\nteach them His name and character\u2014that is, to enable them to know Him\nand in knowing Him, to feel how they and the world need redemption, and\nto understand how they and the world have been redeemed. This Bible,\nthis Book of the chosen people, taken as a whole, has done this, is in\nshort the written revelation of God. This being so, there can be no\nother inspired book in the same sense in which the Bible is inspired,\nunless we, or some other world, are not redeemed, require another\nredemption and another Christ. But as we and all worlds are redeemed,\nand Christ is come, and God has revealed his name and his character\nin Christ so that we can know Him, the Bible is and must remain _the_\ninspired Book, the Book of the Church for all time, to which nothing\ncan be added, from which nothing can be taken, as they will find who\ntry to take from it or add to it. There may be another Homer, Plato,\nShakespeare; there can be no other Bible.\n\n\n\n\nCXVI.\n\n\nThe longing for a Deliverer and Redeemer of himself and his race was\nthe strongest and deepest feeling in the heart of every Jewish patriot.\nHis whole life was grounded and centred on the promise and hope of such\nan one. Just therefore when his utterances would be most human and\nnoble, most in sympathy with the cries and groanings of his own nation\nand the universe, they would all point to and centre in that Deliverer\nand Redeemer\u2014just in so far as they were truly noble, human, and\nGodlike, they would shadow forth His true character, the words He would\nspeak, the acts He would do. Doubtless the prophet would have before\nhis mind any notable deliverance, and noble sufferer, or deliverer of\nhis own time; his words would refer to these. But from these he would\nbe inevitably drawn up to the great promised Deliverer and Redeemer of\nhis nation and his race, because he would see after all how incomplete\nthe deliverance wrought by these must be, and his faith in the promise\nmade to his fathers and to his nation\u2014the covenant of God in which he\nfelt himself to be included\u2014would and could be satisfied with nothing\nless than a full and perfect deliverance, a Redeemer who should be the\nHead of men, the Son of man, and the Son of God.\n\nMen may have insisted, may still insist, on seeing all sorts of\nfanciful references to some special acts of his in certain words of\nthe Bible. But I must again insist that men\u2019s fancies about the Bible\nand Christ are not the question, but what the Bible itself says, what\nChrist is. The whole book is full of Him, there is no need to read Him\ninto any part of it as to which there can be any possible doubt.\n\nHolding this faith as to the Scriptures, I am not anxious to defend\nthem. I rejoice that they should be minutely examined and criticised.\nThey will defend themselves, one and all, I believe. Men may satisfy\nthemselves\u2014perhaps, if I have time to give to the study, they may\nsatisfy me\u2014that the Pentateuch was the work of twenty men; that Baruch\nwrote a part of Isaiah; that David did not write the Psalms, or the\nEvangelists the Gospels; that there are interpolations here and there\nin the originals; that there are numerous and serious errors in our\ntranslation. What is all this to me? What do I care who wrote them,\nwhat is the date of them, what this or that passage ought to be? They\nhave told me what I wanted to know. Burn every copy in the world\nto-morrow, you don\u2019t and can\u2019t take that knowledge from me, or any man.\nI find them _all_ good for me; so, as long as a copy is left, and I can\nget it, I mean to go on reading them all, and believing them all to be\ninspired.\n\n\n\n\nCXVII.\n\n\nOur Lord came proclaiming a kingdom of God, a kingdom ordained by God\non this earth, the order and beauty of which the unruly and sinful\nwills of men had deformed, so that disease, and death, and all miseries\nand disorder, had grown up and destroyed the order of it, and thwarting\nthe perfectly loving will of God.\n\nIn asserting this kingdom and this order, our Lord claimed (as he must\nhave claimed if indeed he were the Son of God) dominion over disease\nand death. This dominion was lower than that over the human heart and\nwill, but he claimed it as positively. He proved his claim to be good\nin other ways, but specially for our present purpose by healing the\nsick, and raising the dead. Were these works orderly or disorderly?\nEvery one of them seems to me to be the restoring of an order which\nhad been disturbed. They were witnesses for the law of life, faithful\nand true manifestations of the will of a loving Father to his children.\n\nYes, you may say, but he did other miracles besides those of healing.\nHe turned water into wine, stilled the waves, multiplied loaves and\nfishes. These at any rate were capricious suspensions of natural laws.\nYou say you believe in natural laws which have their ground in God\u2019s\nwill. Such laws he suspended or set aside in these cases. Now were\nthese suspensions orderly?\n\nI think they were. The natural laws which Christ suspended, such as the\nlaw of increase, are laws of God. Being his laws, they are living and\nnot dead laws, but they are not the highest law; there must be a law\nof God, a law of his mind, above them, or they would be dead tyrannous\nrules. Christ seems to me to have been asserting the freedom of that\nlaw of God by suspending these natural laws, and to have been claiming\nhere again, as part of his and our birthright, dominion over natural\nlaws.\n\nAll the other miracles, I believe, stand on the same ground. None have\nbeen performed except by men who felt that they were witnessing for\nGod, with glimpses of his order, full of zeal for the triumph of that\norder in the world, and working as Christ worked, in his spirit, and in\nthe name of his Father, or of him. If there are any miracles which do\nnot on a fair examination fulfil these conditions\u2014which are such as a\nloving Father educating sons who had strayed from or rebelled against\nhim would not have done\u2014I am quite ready to give them up.\n\n\n\n\nCXVIII.\n\n\nYou have another charge against Christianity. You say it is after all a\nselfish faith, in which, however beautiful and noble the moral teaching\nmay be, the ultimate appeal has always been to the hope of reward\nand fear of punishment. You will tell me that in ninety-nine of our\nchurches out of a hundred I shall hear this doctrine, and shall find it\nin ninety-nine out of every hundred of theological or religious works.\n\nIf it be so I am sorry for it. But I am speaking of Christ\u2019s Gospel,\nand I say that you will not find the doctrine you protest against\nthere. I cannot go through our Lord\u2019s teaching and his disciples\u2019 to\nprove this. I ask you to read for yourselves, bringing honest and clear\nheads to the study, and not heads full of what you have thought, or\nthis and the other man has preached or written, and I say that then you\nwill give up this charge.\n\nBut as I have tried to do in all other cases, so here, I will tell you\nexactly what my own faith on this matter is.\n\nChrist has told me that the only reward I shall ever get will be \u201clife\neternal,\u201d and that life eternal is to know God and Him. That is all\nthe reward I care about. The only punishment I can ever bring on myself\nwill be, to banish myself from his presence and the presence of all who\nknow him, to dwell apart from him and my brethren, shut up in myself.\nThat is the only punishment I dread.\n\nBut this reward he has given us already, here. He has given us to know\nGod, and knowing God involves entering his kingdom, and dwelling in it.\nThat kingdom Christ has opened to you, and to me, here. We, you and I\nmay enter in any hour we please. If we don\u2019t enter in now, and here,\nI can\u2019t see how we are ever likely to enter in in another world. Why\nshould not we enter in? It is worth trying. There are no conditions. It\nis given for the asking.\n\nI think you will find it all you are in search of and are longing for.\nAbove all, you will find in it and nowhere else, rest, peace\u2014\u201cnot a\npeace which depends upon compacts and bargains among men, but which\nbelongs to the very nature and character and being of God. Not a\npeace which is produced by the stifling and suppression of activities\nand energies, but the peace in which all activities and energies are\nperfected and harmonized. Not a peace which comes from the toleration\nof what is base or false, but which demands its destruction. Not a\npeace which begins from without, but a peace which is first wrought in\nthe inner man, and thence comes forth to subdue the world. Not a peace\nwhich a man gets for himself by standing aloof from the sorrows and\nconfusions of the world in which he is born, of the men whose nature\nhe shares, choosing a calm retreat and quiet scenery and a regulated\natmosphere; but a peace which has never thriven except in those who\nhave suffered with their suffering kind, who have been ready to give\nup selfish enjoyments, sensual or spiritual, for their sakes, who have\nabjured all devices of escape from ordained toils and temptations;\nthe peace which was His who bore the sorrows and sins and infirmities\nof man, who gave up himself that he might become actually one with\nthem, who thus won for them a participation in the Divine nature, and\ninheritance in that peace of God which passeth all understanding.\u201d\n\nThis kingdom of God is good enough for me at any rate. I can trust him\nwho has brought me into it to add what he will, to open my eyes, and\nstrengthen my powers, that I may see and enjoy ever more and more of\nit, in this world, or in any other in which he may put me hereafter.\nWhere that may be is no care of mine; it will be in his kingdom still,\nthat I know; no power in Heaven or Hell, or Earth can cast me out of\nthat, except I myself. While I remain in it I can freely use and enjoy\nevery blessing and good gift of his glorious earth, the inheritance\nwhich he has given to us, his father\u2019s children, his brethren. When it\nshall be his good pleasure to take me out of it he will not take me\nout of but bring me into more perfect communion with him and with my\nbrethren. He nourisheth my heart with good things on this earth, he\nwill not cease to do this anywhere else. He reveals himself to me here,\nthough as a man I cannot take in his full and perfect revelation, but\nwhen I awake up after his likeness I shall be satisfied\u2014and not till\nthen.\n\n\n\n\nCXIX.\n\n\nOne stumbling block in your way is, you say, that you are revolted\nand kept at arm\u2019s-length by the separatist and exclusive habits and\nmaxims of those who profess to have the faith you want. Many of them\nare kind, exemplary men, but just because they are Christians, and in\nso far forth as they are Christians, they are calling to you to come\nout from amongst the people of the world\u2014to separate yourselves from an\nadulterous generation.\n\nAgainst this call something which you know to be true and noble in you\nrises up. You have felt that what your age is crying out for, is union.\nYou acknowledge the power of that cry in your own hearts. You want to\nfeel with all men, and for all men. If you need a faith at all, it is\none which shall meet that cry, which shall teach you how all men are\nbound together; not how some may be separated from the rest. You will\nnot be false to your age. You will have no faith at all, or a faith for\nall mankind.\n\nKeep to that; take nothing less than that; only look again and see\nwhether that is not just what Christ offers you. Again I urge you not\nto look at his followers, real or professing\u2014look at him, look at his\nlife.\n\nWas He exclusive? Did ever man or woman come near him and he turn\naway? Did he not go amongst all ranks, into every society? Did he not\ngo to the houses of great men and rulers; of Pharisees, of poor men,\nof publicans? Did he not frequent the temple, the marketplace, the\nsynagogue, the sea-shore, the hillside, the haunts of outcasts and\nharlots? Was he not to be found at feasts and at funerals? Wherever men\nand women were to be found, there was his place and his work; and there\nis ours. He who believes in him must go into every society where he\nhas any call whatever. Who are we that we should pick and choose? The\ngreatest ruffian, the most abandoned woman, that ever walked the face\nof this earth, were good enough for our Lord to die for. If he sends\nus amongst them, he will take care of us, and has something for us to\ndo or speak, for or to them. The greatest king, the holiest saint on\nearth, is not too high company for one for whom Christ died, as he did\nfor you and me. So, if he sends us amongst great or holy people, let us\ngo, and learn what he means us to learn there.\n\nI know how deeply many of you feel and mourn over the miseries and\ndisorder of England and the world\u2014how you long to do something towards\nlightening ever so small a part of those miseries, rescuing ever\nso small a corner of the earth from that disorder. I know well how\nearnestly many of you are working in one way or another for your\ncountry and your brethren. I know what high hopes many of you have\nfor the future of the world and the destiny of man. I say, mourn on,\nwork on; abate not one jot of any hope you have ever had for the world\nor for man. Your hopes, be they what they may, have never been high\nenough\u2014your work never earnest enough. But I ask you whether your\nhopes and your work have not been marred again and again, whether\nyou have not been thrown back again and again into listlessness and\nhopelessness, by failures of one kind or another, whether you have not\nfelt that those failures have been caused more or less by your own\nuncertainty, by your having had to work and fight without a leader,\nwith comrades to whom you were bound only by chance, to journey without\nany clear knowledge of the road you were going, or where it led to?\n\nAt such times have you not longed for light and guidance? What would\nyou have not given for a well of light and hope and strength, springing\nup within you and renewing your powers and energies? What would you not\nhave given for the inward certainty that the road you were travelling\nwas the right one, however you might stumble on it; that the line\nof battle in which you stood was the line for all true men, and was\nmarching break at the point which had been given you to hold, whatever\nmight become of you? Well, be sure that light and guidance, that\nrenewal of strength and hope, that certainty as to your side and your\nroad, you are meant to have; they have been prepared, and are ready,\nfor every man of you, whenever you will take them. The longings for\nthem are whispered in your hearts by the Leader, whose cross, never\nturned back, ever triumphing more and more over all principalities and\npowers of evil, blazes far ahead in the van of our battles. He has\nbeen called the Captain of our Salvation, the Lion of the tribe of\nJudah, the Lamb who was slain for the world; He has told us his name,\nthe Son of God and the Son of Man; He has claimed to be the redeemer,\ndeliverer, leader of mankind.\n\n\n\n\nCXX.\n\n\nMy younger brothers, I am not speaking to you the words of enthusiasm\nor excitement, but the words of sober every-day knowledge and\ncertainty. I tell you that all the miseries of England and of other\nlands consist simply in this and in nothing else, that we men, made in\nthe image of God, made to know him, to be one with him in his Son, will\nnot confess that Son our Lord and Brother, to be the Son of God and\nSon of man, the living Head of our race and of each one of us. I tell\nyou that if we would confess him and lay hold of him and let him enter\ninto and rule and guide us and the world, instead of trying to rule and\nguide ourselves and the world without him, we should see and know that\nthe kingdom of God is just as much about us now as it will ever be.\nI tell you that we should see all sorrow and misery melting away and\ndrawn up from this fair world of God\u2019s like mountain mist before the\nJuly sun.\n\n\n\n\nCXXI.\n\n\nI do not ask you to adopt any faith of mine. But as you would do good\nwork in your generation, I ask of you to give yourselves no peace till\nyou have answered these questions, each one for himself, in the very\nsecret recesses of his heart, \u201cDo I, does my race, want a head? Can we\nbe satisfied with any less than a Son of man and a Son of God? Is this\nChrist, who has been so long worshipped in England, He?\u201d\n\nIf you can answer, though with faltering lips, \u201cYes, this is He,\u201d I\ncare very little what else you accept, all else that is necessary or\ngood for you will come in due time, if once he has the guidance of you.\n\n\n\n\nCXXII.\n\n\nMy faith has been no holiday or Sunday faith, but one for every-day\nuse; a faith to live and die in, not to argue or talk about. It has\nhad to stand the wear and tear of life; it was not got in prosperity.\nIt has had to carry me through years of anxious toil and small means,\nthrough the long sicknesses of those dearer to me than my own life,\nthrough deaths amongst them both sudden and lingering. Few men of my\nage have had more failures of all kinds; no man has deserved them more,\nby the commission of all kinds of blunders and errors, by evil tempers,\nand want of faith, hope, and love.\n\nThrough all this it has carried me, and has risen up in me after every\nfailure and every sorrow, fresher, clearer, stronger. Why do I say\n\u201c_it_?\u201d I mean He. He has carried me through it all; He who is your\nHead and the Head of every man, woman, child, on this earth, or who\nhas ever been on it, just as much as he is my Head. And he will carry\nus all through every temptation, trial, sorrow, we can ever have to\nencounter, in this world or any other, if we will only turn to him, lay\nhold of him, and cast them all upon him, as he has bidden us.\n\nMy younger brothers, you on whom the future of your country, under God,\nat this moment depends, will you not try him? Is he not worth a trial?\n\n\n\n\nCXXIII.\n\n\nPrecious as his love was to him, and deeply as it affected his whole\nlife, Tom felt that there must be something beyond it\u2014that its full\nsatisfaction would not be enough for him. The bed was too narrow for a\nman to stretch himself on. What he was in search of must underlie and\nembrace his human love, and support it. Beyond and above all private\nand personal desires and hopes and longings, he was conscious of a\nrestless craving and feeling about after something which he could\nnot grasp, and yet which was not avoiding him, which seemed to be\nmysteriously laying hold of him and surrounding him.\n\nThe routine of chapels, and lectures, and reading for degree, boating,\ncricketing, Union-debating\u2014all well enough in their way\u2014left this\nvacuum unfilled. There was a great outer visible world, the problems\nand puzzles of which were rising before him and haunting him more and\nmore; and a great inner and invisible world opening round him in awful\ndepth. He seemed to be standing on the brink of each\u2014now, shivering\nand helpless, feeling like an atom about to be whirled into the great\nflood and carried he knew not where\u2014now, ready to plunge in and take\nhis part, full of hope and belief that he was meant to buffet in the\nstrength of a man with the seen and the unseen, and to be subdued by\nneither.\n\n\n\n\nCXXIV.\n\n\nFar on in the quiet night he laid the whole before the Lord and slept!\nYes, my brother, even so: the old, old story; but start not at the\nphrase, though you may never have found its meaning.\u2014He laid the whole\nbefore the Lord, in prayer, for his friend, for himself, for the whole\nworld.\n\nAnd you, too, if ever you are tried\u2014as every man must be in one way or\nanother\u2014must learn to do the like with every burthen on your soul, if\nyou would not have it hanging round you heavily, and ever more heavily,\nand dragging you down lower and lower till your dying day.\n\n\n\n\nCXXV.\n\n\nThe English prejudice against Franklin on religious grounds is quite\nunreasonable. He was suspected of being a Freethinker, and was\nprofessedly a philosopher and man of science; he was a friend of\nTom Paine and other dreadful persons; he had actually published \u201cAn\nAbridgment of the Church Prayer-Book,\u201d dedicated \u201cto the serious and\ndiscerning,\u201d by the use of which he had the audacity to suppose that\nreligion would be furthered, unanimity increased, and a more frequent\nattendance on the worship of God secured. Any one of these charges\nwas sufficient to ruin a man\u2019s religious reputation in respectable\nEngland of the last generation, but it is high time that amends were\nmade in these days. Let us glance at the real facts. As a boy, Franklin\nhad the disease which all thoughtful boys have to pass through, and\npuzzled himself with speculations as to the attributes of God and the\nexistence of evil, which landed him in the conclusion that nothing\ncould possibly be wrong in the world, and that vice and virtue were\nempty distinctions. These views he published at the mature age of\nnineteen, but became disgusted with them almost immediately, and\nabandoned metaphysics for other more satisfactory studies. Living in\nthe eighteenth century, when happiness was held to be \u201cour being\u2019s end\nand aim,\u201d he seems to have now conformed to that popular belief; but as\nhe came also to the conclusion that \u201cthe felicity of life\u201d was to be\nattained through \u201ctruth, sincerity, and integrity in dealings between\nman and man,\u201d and acted up to this conclusion, no great objection from\na moral or religious standpoint can be taken to this stage of his\ndevelopment. At the age of twenty-two he composed a little liturgy for\nhis own use, which he fell back on when the sermons of the minister\nof the only Presbyterian church in Philadelphia had driven him from\nattendance at chapel. He did not, however, long remain unattached, and\nafter his marriage joined the Church of England, in which he remained\ntill the end of his life. What his sentiments were in middle life may\nbe gathered from his advice to his daughter on the eve of his third\ndeparture for England: \u201cGo constantly to church, whoever preaches. The\nact of devotion in the Common Prayer-Book is your principle business\nthere, and if properly attended to will do more toward amending the\nheart than sermons.... I do not mean you should despise sermons,\neven of the preachers you dislike, for the discourse is often much\nbetter than the man, as sweet and clear waters come through very dirty\nearth. I am the more particular on this head as you seem to express\nsome inclination to leave our church, which I would not have you do.\u201d\nAs an old man of eighty, he reminded his colleagues of the National\nConvention (in moving unsuccessfully that there should be daily prayers\nbefore business) how in the beginnings of the contest with Britain\n\u201cwe had daily prayers in this room.... Do we imagine we no longer\nneed assistance? I have lived now a long time, and the longer I live\nthe more convincing proofs I see of this truth, that God rules in the\naffairs of men.\u201d Later yet, in answer to President Yates, of Yale\nCollege, who had pressed him on the subject, he writes, at the age of\neighty-four: \u201cHere is my creed: I believe in one God, the Creator of\nthe universe; that he governs it by his providence; that he ought to\nbe worshipped; that the most acceptable service we render to him is\ndoing good to his other children; that the soul of man is immortal, and\nwill be treated with justice in another life respecting its conduct\nin this.\u201d These are his \u201cfundamentals,\u201d beyond which he believes that\nChrist\u2019s system of morals and religion is the best the world is ever\nlikely to see, though it has been much corrupted. To another friend he\nspeaks with cheerful courage of death, which \u201cI shall submit to with\nless regret as, having seen during a long life a good deal of this\nworld, I feel a growing curiosity to be acquainted with some other;\nand can cheerfully, with filial confidence, resign my spirit to the\nconduct of that great and good Parent of mankind who has so graciously\nprotected and prospered me from my birth to the present hour.\u201d One more\nquotation we cannot resist; it is his farewell letter to his old friend\nDavid Hartley: \u201cI cannot quit the coasts of Europe without taking leave\nof my old friend. We were long fellow-laborers in the best of all\nworks, the work of peace. I leave you still in the field, but, having\nfinished my day\u2019s task, I am going home to bed. Wish me a good night\u2019s\nrest, as I do you a pleasant evening. Adieu, and believe me ever yours\nmost affectionately,\u2014B. FRANKLIN.\u201d\n\nAs to his relations with Paine, they should have reassured instead\nof frightened the orthodox, for he did his best to keep the author\nof \u201cThe Rights of Man\u201d from publishing his speculations. Franklin\nadvises him that he will do himself mischief and no benefit to others.\n\u201cHe who spits against the wind, spits in his own face.\u201d Paine is\nprobably indebted to religion \u201cfor the habits of virtue on which you\nso justly value yourself. You might easily display your excellent\ntalents of reasoning upon a less hazardous subject, and thereby obtain\na rank amongst our most distinguished authors. For among us it is not\nnecessary, as among the Hottentots, that a youth, to be raised into the\ncompany of men, should prove his manhood by beating his mother.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXXVI.\n\n\nOf course, it is more satisfactory to one\u2019s own self-love, to make\nevery one who comes to one to learn, feel that he is a fool, and we\nwise men; but, if our object is to teach well and usefully what we know\nourselves there cannot be a worse method. No man, however, is likely to\nadopt it, so long as he is conscious that he has anything himself to\nlearn from his pupils; and as soon as he has arrived at the conviction\nthat they can teach him nothing\u2014that it is henceforth to be all give\nand no take\u2014the sooner he throws up his office of teacher the better\nit will be for himself, his pupils, and his country, whose sons he is\nmisguiding.\n\n\n\n\nCXXVII.\n\n\n\u201cWhen one thinks what a great centre of learning and faith like\nOxford ought to be\u2014that its highest educational work should just be\nthe deliverance of us all from flunkeyism and money-worship\u2014and then\nlooks at matters here without rose-colored spectacles, it gives one\nsometimes a sort of chilly, leaden despondency, which is very hard to\nstruggle against.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am sorry to hear you talk like that, Jack, for one can\u2019t help loving\nthe place after all.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I do, God knows. If I didn\u2019t, I shouldn\u2019t care for its\nshortcomings.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, the flunkeyism and money-worship were bad enough, but I don\u2019t\nthink they were the worst things\u2014at least not in my day. Our neglects\nwere almost worse than our worships.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean the want of all reverence for parents? Well, perhaps that\nlies at the root of the false worships. They spring up on the vacant\nsoil.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the want of reverence for women, Jack. The worst of all, to my\nmind!\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps you are right. But we are not at the bottom yet.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean that we must worship God before we can reverence parents or\nwomen, or root out flunkeyism and money-worship.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. But after all can we fairly lay that sin on Oxford? Surely,\nwhatever may be growing up side by side with it, there\u2019s more\nChristianity here than almost anywhere else.\u201d\n\n\u201cPlenty of common-room Christianity\u2014belief in a dead God. There, I have\nnever said it to any one but you, but that is the slough we have got to\nget out of. Don\u2019t think that I despair for us. We shall do it yet; but\nit will be sore work, stripping off the comfortable wine-party religion\nin which we are wrapped up\u2014work for our strongest and our wisest.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXXVIII.\n\n\nEverybody, I suppose, knows the dreamy delicious state in which one\nlies, half asleep, half awake, while consciousness begins to return\nafter a sound night\u2019s rest in a new place which we are glad to be in,\nfollowing upon a day of unwonted excitement and exertion. There are\nfew pleasanter pieces of life. The worst of it is that they last such\na short time; for nurse them as you will, by lying perfectly passive\nin mind and body, you can\u2019t make more than five minutes or so of them.\nAfter which time the stupid, obstrusive, wakeful entity which we call\n\u201cI,\u201d as impatient as he is stiff-necked, spite of our teeth will force\nhimself back again, and take possession of us down to our very toes.\n\n\n\n\nCXXIX.\n\n\nThe sun was going down behind the copse, through which his beams came\naslant, chequered and mellow. The stream ran dimpling down, sleepily\nswaying the masses of weed, under the surface and on the surface; and\nthe trout rose under the banks, as some moth or gnat or gleaming\nbeetle fell into the stream; here and there one more frolicsome than\nhis brethren would throw himself joyously into the air. The swifts\nrushed close by, in companies of five or six, and wheeled, and\nscreamed, and dashed away again, skimming along the water, baffling the\neye as one tried to follow their flight. Two kingfishers shot suddenly\nup on to their supper station, on a stunted willow stump, some twenty\nyards below him, and sat there in the glory of their blue backs and\ncloudy red waistcoats, watching with long sagacious beaks pointed to\nthe water beneath, and every now and then dropping like flashes of\nlight into the stream, and rising again, with what seemed one motion,\nto their perches. A heron or two were fishing about the meadows;\nand Tom watched them stalking about in their sober quaker coats, or\nrising on slow heavy wing, and lumbering away home with a weird cry.\nHe heard the strong pinions of the wood pigeon in the air, and then\nfrom the trees above his head came the soft call, \u201cTake-two-cow-Taffy,\ntake-two-cow-Taffy,\u201d with which that fair and false bird is said to\nhave beguiled the hapless Welchman to the gallows. Presently, as he\nlay motionless, the timid and graceful little water-hens peered out\nfrom their doors in the rushes opposite, and, seeing no cause for\nfear, stepped daintily into the water, and were suddenly surrounded by\nlittle bundles of black soft down, which went paddling about in and\nout of the weeds, encouraged by the occasional sharp, clear, parental\n\u201ckeck\u2014keck,\u201d and merry little dabchicks popped up in mid-stream, and\nlooked round, and nodded at him, pert and voiceless, and dived again;\neven old cunning water-rats sat up on the bank with round black noses\nand gleaming eyes, or took solemn swims out, and turned up their tails\nand disappeared for his amusement. A comfortable low came at intervals\nfrom the cattle, revelling in the abundant herbage. All living things\nseemed to be disporting themselves, and enjoying, after their kind, the\nlast gleams of the sunset, which were making the whole vault of heaven\nglow and shimmer; and, as he watched them, Tom blessed his stars as\nhe contrasted the river-side with the glare of lamps and the click of\nballs in the noisy pool-room.\n\nAnd then the summer twilight came on, and the birds disappeared, and\nthe hush of night settled down on river, and copse, and meadow\u2014cool and\ngentle summer twilight, after the hot bright day. He welcomed it too,\nas it folded up the landscape, and the trees lost their outline, and\nsettled into soft black masses rising here and there out of the white\nmist, which seemed to have crept up to within a few yards all round him\nunawares. There was no sound now but the gentle murmur of the water,\nand an occasional rustle of reeds, or of the leaves over his head, as\na stray wandering puff of air passed through them on its way home to\nbed. Nothing to listen to, and nothing to look at; for the moon had not\nrisen, and the light mist hid everything except a star or two right up\nabove him. So, the outside world having left him for the present, he\nwas turned inwards on himself.\n\n\n\n\nCXXX.\n\n\nThe nights are pleasant in May, short and pleasant for travel. We will\nleave the city asleep, and do our flight in the night to save time.\nTrust yourselves, then, to the story-teller\u2019s a\u00ebrial machine. It is but\na rough affair, I own, rough and humble, unfitted for high or great\nflights, with no gilded panels, or dainty cushions, or C-springs\u2014not\nthat we shall care about springs, by the way, until we alight on\nterra-firma again\u2014still, there is much to be learned in a third-class\ncarriage if we will only not look while in it for cushions, and fine\npanels, and forty miles an hour travelling, and will not be shocked\nat our fellow-passengers for being weak in their h\u2019s and smelling of\nfustian. Mount in it, then, you who will, after this warning; the fares\nare holiday fares, the tickets return tickets. Take with you nothing\nbut the poet\u2019s luggage,\n\n    \u201cA smile for Hope, a tear for Pain,\n     A breath to swell the voice of Prayer,\u201d\n\nand may you have a pleasant journey, for it is time that the stoker\nshould be looking to his going gear!\n\nSo now we rise slowly in the moonlight from St. Ambrose\u2019s quadrangle,\nand, when we are clear of the clock-tower, steer away southwards, over\nOxford city and all its sleeping wisdom and folly, over street and past\nspire, over Christ Church and the canons\u2019 houses, and the fountain in\nTom quad; over St. Aldate\u2019s and the river, along which the moonbeams\nlie in a pathway of twinkling silver, over the railway sheds\u2014no,\nthere was then no railway, but only the quiet fields and foot-paths\nof Hincksey hamlet. Well, no matter; at any rate, the hills beyond,\nand Bagley Wood, were there then as now: and over hills and wood we\nrise, catching the purr of the night-jar, the trill of the nightingale,\nand the first crow of the earliest cock-pheasant, as he stretches his\njewelled wings, conscious of his strength and his beauty, heedless of\nthe fellows of St. John\u2019s, who slumber within sight of his perch, on\nwhose hospitable board he shall one day lie, prone on his back, with\nfair larded breast turned upwards for the carving knife, having crowed\nhis last crow. He knows it not; what matters it to him? If he knew it,\ncould a Bagley Wood cock-pheasant desire a better ending?\n\nWe pass over the vale beyond; hall and hamlet, church, and meadow,\nand copse, folded in mist and shadow below us, each hamlet holding in\nits bosom the materials of three-volumed novels by the dozen, if we\ncould only pull off the roofs of the houses and look steadily into\nthe interiors; but our destination is farther yet. The faint white\nstreak behind the distant Chilterns reminds us that we have no time\nfor gossip by the way; May nights are short, and the sun will be up\nby four. No matter; our journey will now be soon over, for the broad\nvale is crossed, and the chalk hills and downs beyond. Larks quiver\nup by us, \u201chigher, ever higher,\u201d hastening up to get a first glimpse\nof the coming monarch, careless of food, flooding the fresh air with\nsong. Steady plodding rooks labor along below us, and lively starlings\nrush by on the look-out for the early worm; lark and swallow, rook and\nstarling, each on his appointed round. The sun arises, and they get\nthem to it; he is up now, and these breezy uplands over which we hang\nare swimming in the light of horizontal rays, though the shadows and\nmists still lie on the wooded dells which slope away southwards.\n\nThis is no chalk, this high knoll which rises above\u2014one may almost say\nhangs over\u2014the village, crowned with Scotch firs, its sides tufted\nwith gorse and heather. It is the Hawk\u2019s Lynch, the favorite resort\nof Englebourn folk, who come up for the view, for the air, because\ntheir fathers and mothers came up before them, because they came up\nthemselves as children\u2014from an instinct which moves them all in leisure\nhours and Sunday evenings, when the sun shines and the birds sing,\nwhether they care for view or air or not. Something guides all their\nfeet hitherward; the children, to play hide-and-seek and look for\nnests in the gorse-bushes; young men and maidens, to saunter and look\nand talk, as they will till the world\u2019s end\u2014or as long, at any rate,\nas the Hawk\u2019s Lynch and Englebourn last\u2014and to cut their initials,\ninclosed in a true lover\u2019s knot, on the short rabbit\u2019s turf; steady\nmarried couples, to plod along together consulting on hard times and\ngrowing families; even old tottering men, who love to sit at the feet\nof the firs, with chins leaning on their sticks, prattling of days long\npast, to any one who will listen, or looking silently with dim eyes\ninto the summer air, feeling perhaps in their spirits after a wider and\nmore peaceful view which will soon open for them. A common knoll, open\nto all, up in the silent air, well away from every-day Englebourn life,\nwith the Hampshire range and the distant Beacon Hill lying soft on the\nhorizon, and nothing higher between you and the southern sea, what a\nblessing the Hawk\u2019s Lynch is to the village folk, one and all! May\nHeaven and a thankless soil long preserve it and them from an inclosure\nunder the Act!\n\n\n\n\nCXXXI.\n\n\nIn January, 878, King Alfred disappears from the eyes of Saxon and\nNorthmen, and we follow him, by such light as tradition throws upon\nthese months, into the thickets and marshes of Selwood. It is at this\npoint, as is natural enough, that romance has been most busy, and it\nhas become impossible to disentangle the actual facts from monkish\nlegend and Saxon ballad. In happier times Alfred was in the habit\nhimself of talking over the events of his wandering life pleasantly\nwith his courtiers, and there is no reason to doubt that the foundation\nof most of the stories still current rests on those conversations of\nthe truth-loving king, noted down by Bishop Asser and others.\n\nThe best known of these is, of course, the story of the cakes. In the\ndepths of the Saxon forests there were always a few neat-herds and\nswine-herds, scattered up and down, living in rough huts enough we\nmay be sure, and occupied with the care of the cattle and herds of\ntheir masters. Amongst these in Selwood was a neat-herd of the king, a\nfaithful man, to whom the secret of Alfred\u2019s disguise was intrusted,\nand who kept it even from his wife. To this man\u2019s hut the king came\none day alone, and, sitting himself down by the burning logs on the\nhearth, began mending his bows and arrows. The neat-herd\u2019s wife had\njust finished her baking, and, having other household matters to attend\nto, confided her loaves to the king, a poor, tired looking body, who\nmight be glad of the warmth, and could make himself useful by turning\nthe batch, and so earn his share while she got on with other business.\nBut Alfred worked away at his weapons, thinking of anything but the\ngood housewife\u2019s batch of loaves, which in due course were not only\ndone, but rapidly burning to a cinder. At this moment the neat-herd\u2019s\nwife comes back, and flying to the hearth to rescue the bread, cries\nout, \u201cD\u2019rat the man! never to turn the loaves when you see them\nburning. I\u2019ze warrant you ready enough to eat them when they\u2019re done.\u201d\nBut beside the king\u2019s faithful neat-herd, whose name is not preserved,\nthere are other churls in the forest, who must be Alfred\u2019s comrades\njust now if he will have any. And even here he has an eye for a good\nman, and will lose no opportunity to help one to the best of his power.\nSuch a one he finds in a certain swine-herd called Denewulf, whom he\ngets to know, a thoughtful Saxon man, minding his charge there in the\noak woods. The rough churl, or thrall, we know not which, has great\ncapacity, as Alfred soon finds out, and desire to learn. So the king\ngoes to work upon Denewulf under the oak trees, when the swine will let\nhim, and is well satisfied with the results of his teachings and the\nprogress of his pupil.\n\nBut in those miserable days the commonest necessaries of life were hard\nenough to come by for the king and his few companions, and for his wife\nand family, who soon joined him in the forest, even if they were not\nwith him from the first. The poor foresters cannot maintain them, nor\nare this band of exiles the men to live on the poor. So Alfred and his\ncomrades are soon foraging on the borders of the forest, and getting\nwhat subsistence they can from the Pagan, or from the Christians who\nhad submitted to their yoke. So we may imagine them dragging on life\ntill near Easter when a gleam of good news comes up from the west, to\ngladden the hearts and strengthen the arms of these poor men in the\ndepths of Selwood.\n\nSoon after Guthrum and the main body of the Pagans moved from Gloster,\nsouthwards, the Viking Hubba, as had been agreed, sailed with thirty\nships of war from his winter quarters on the South Welsh coast, and\nlanded in Devon. The news of the catastrophe at Chippenham, and of the\ndisappearance of the king, was no doubt already known in the west; and\nin the face of it Odda the alderman cannot gather strength to meet the\nPagans in the open field. But he is a brave and true man, and will\nmake no term with the spoilers; so, with other faithful thegns of\nKing Alfred and their followers, he throws himself into a castle or\nfort called Cynwith, or Cynnit, there to abide whatever issue of this\nbusiness God will send them. Hubba, with the war-flag Raven, and a host\nladen with the spoil of rich Devon vales, appear in due course before\nthe place. It is not strong naturally, and has only \u201cwalls in our own\nfashion,\u201d meaning probably rough earth-works. But there are resolute\nmen behind them, and on the whole Hubba declines the assault, and sits\ndown before the place. There is no spring of water, he hears, within\nthe Saxon lines, and they are otherwise wholly unprepared for a siege.\nA few days will no doubt settle the matter, and the sword or slavery\nwill be the portion of Odda and the rest of Alfred\u2019s men; meantime\nthere is spoil enough in the camp from Devonshire homesteads, which\nbrave men can revel in round the war-flag Raven, while they watch the\nSaxon ramparts. Odda, however, has quite other views than death from\nthirst, or surrender. Before any stress comes, early one morning, he\nand his whole force sally out over their earth-works, and from the\nfirst \u201ccut down the Pagans in great numbers;\u201d eight hundred and forty\nwarriors (some say one thousand two hundred), with Hubba himself, are\nslain before Cynnit fort; the rest, few in number, escape to their\nships. The war-flag Raven is left in the hands of Odda and the men of\nDevon.\n\nThis is the news which comes to Alfred, Ethelnoth the alderman of\nSomerset, Denewulf the swine-herd, and the rest of the Selwood Forest\ngroup, some time before Easter. These men of Devonshire, it seems,\nare still staunch, and ready to peril their lives against the Pagans.\nNo doubt up and down Wessex, thrashed and trodden out as the nation\nis by this time, there are other good men and true, who will neither\ncross the sea or the Welsh marches, nor make terms with the Pagan; some\nsprinkling of men who will yet set life at stake, for faith in Christ\nand love of England. If these can only be rallied, who can say what\nmay follow? So, in the lengthening days of spring, council is held in\nSelwood and there will have been Easter services in some chapel, or\nhermitage, in the forest, or, at any rate in some quiet glade. The \u201cday\nof days\u201d will surely have had its voice of hope for this poor remnant.\nChrist is risen and reigns; and it is not in these heathen Danes, or\nin all the Northmen who ever sailed across the sea, to put back his\nkingdom, or enslave those whom he has freed.\n\nThe result is, that, far away from the eastern boundary of the\nforest, on a rising ground\u2014hill it can scarcely be called\u2014surrounded\nby dangerous marshes formed by the little rivers Thone and Parret,\nfordable only in summer, and even then dangerous to all who have not\nthe secret, a small fortified camp is thrown up under Alfred\u2019s eye, by\nEthelnoth and the Somersetshire men, where he can once again raise his\nstandard. The spot has been chosen by the king with the utmost care,\nfor it is his last throw. He names it the Etheling\u2019s eig or island,\n\u201cAthelney.\u201d Probably his young son, the Etheling of England, is there\namongst the first, with his mother and his grand-mother Eadburgha, the\nwidow of Ethelred Mucil, the venerable lady whom Asser saw in later\nyears, and who has now no country but her daughter\u2019s. There are, as\nhas been reckoned, some two acres of hard ground on the island, and\naround vast brakes of alder-bush, full of deer and other game. Here the\nSomersetshire men can keep up constant communication with him, and a\nsmall army grows together. They are soon strong enough to make forays\ninto the open country, and in many skirmishes they cut off parties of\nthe Pagans, and supplies. \u201cFor, even when overthrown and cast down,\u201d\nsays Malmesbury, \u201cAlfred had always to be fought with; so then, when\none would esteem him altogether worn down and broken, like a snake\nslipping from the hand of him who would grasp it, he would suddenly\nflash out again from his hiding-places, rising up to smite his foes in\nthe height of their insolent confidence, and never more hard to beat\nthan after a flight.\u201d\n\nBut it was still a trying life at Athelney. Followers came in slowly,\nand provender and supplies of all kinds are hard to wring from the\nPagan, and harder still to take from Christian men. One day, while it\nwas yet so cold that the water was still frozen, the king\u2019s people had\ngone out \u201cto get them fish or fowl, or some such purveyance as they\nsustained themselves withal.\u201d No one was left in the royal hut for the\nmoment but himself and his mother-in-law, Eadburgha. The king (after\nhis constant wont whensoever he had opportunity) was reading from the\nPsalms of David, out of the Manual which he carried always in his\nbosom. At this moment a poor man appeared at the door and begged for a\nmorsel of bread \u201cfor Christ his sake.\u201d Whereupon the king, receiving\nthe stranger as a brother, called to his mother-in-law to give him to\neat. Eadburgha replied that there was but one loaf in their store, and\na little wine in a pitcher, a provision wholly insufficient for his\nown family and people. But the king bade her, nevertheless, to give\nthe stranger part of the last loaf, which she accordingly did. But\nwhen he had been served, the stranger was no more seen, and the loaf\nremained whole, and the pitcher full to the brim. Alfred, meantime,\nhad turned to his reading, over which he fell asleep and dreamed that\nSt. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne stood by him, and told him it was he who\nhad been his guest, and that God had seen his afflictions and those of\nhis people, which were now about to end, in token whereof his people\nwould return that day from their expedition with a great take of fish.\nThe king awaking, and being much impressed with his dream, called to\nhis mother-in-law and recounted it to her, who thereupon assured him\nthat she too had been overcome with sleep, and had had the same dream.\nAnd while they yet talked together on what had happened so strangely\nto them, their servants came in, bringing fish enough, as it seemed to\nthem, to have fed an army.\n\nThe monkish legend goes on to tell that on the next morning the king\ncrossed to the mainland in a boat, and wound his horn thrice, which\ndrew to him before noon five hundred men. What we may think of the\nstory and the dream, as Sir John Spelman says, \u201cis not here very much\nmaterial,\u201d seeing that whether we deem it natural or supernatural,\n\u201cthe one as well as the other serves at God\u2019s appointment, by raising\nor dejecting of the mind with hopes or fears, to lead man to the\nresolution of those things whereof he has before ordained the event.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXXXII.\n\n\n\u201cMrs. Winburn is ill, isn\u2019t she?\u201d asked Tom, after looking his guide\nover.\n\n\u201cEes, her be\u2014terrible bad,\u201d said the constable.\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter with her, do you know?\u201d\n\n\u201cZummat o\u2019 fits, I hears. Her\u2019ve had \u2019em this six year, on and off.\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose it\u2019s dangerous. I mean she isn\u2019t likely to get well?\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2019Tis in the Lord\u2019s hands,\u201d replied the constable, \u201cbut her\u2019s that bad\nwi\u2019 pain, at times, \u2019twould be a mussy if \u2019twoud plaase He to tak\u2019 her\nout on\u2019t.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps she mightn\u2019t think so,\u201d said Tom, superciliously; he was not\nin the mind to agree with any one. The constable looked at him solemnly\nfor a moment and then said:\n\n\u201cHer\u2019s been a God-fearin\u2019 woman from her youth up, and her\u2019s had a deal\no\u2019 trouble. Thaay as the Lord loveth He chasteneth, and \u2019tisn\u2019t such as\nthaay as is afeard to go afore Him.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I never found that having trouble made people a bit more anxious\nto get \u2018out on\u2019t,\u2019 as you call it,\u201d said Tom.\n\n\u201cIt don\u2019t seem to me as you can \u2019a had much o\u2019 trouble to judge by,\u201d\nsaid the constable, who was beginning to be nettled by Tom\u2019s manner.\n\n\u201cHow can you tell that?\u201d\n\n\u201cLeastways \u2019twould be whoam-made, then,\u201d persisted the constable; \u201cand\nther\u2019s a sight o\u2019 odds atween whoam-made troubles and thaay as the Lord\nsends.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo there may; but I may have seen both sorts for anything you can\ntell.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, nay; the Lord\u2019s troubles leave His marks.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXXXIII.\n\n\n\u201cAnd I be to write to you, sir, then, if Harry gets into trouble?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; but we must keep him out of trouble, even home-made ones, which\ndon\u2019t leave good marks, you know,\u201d said Tom.\n\n\u201cAnd thaay be nine out o\u2019 ten o\u2019 aal as comes to a man, sir,\u201d said\nDavid, \u201cas I\u2019ve a told Harry scores o\u2019 times.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat seems to be your text, David,\u201d said Tom, laughing.\n\n\u201cAh, and \u2019tis a good un too, sir. \u2019Tis a sight better to have the\nLord\u2019s troubles while you be about it, for thaay as hasn\u2019t makes wus\nfor theirselves out o\u2019 nothin\u2019.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXXXIV.\n\n\nGrey, who had never given up hopes of bringing Tom round to his own\nviews, had not neglected the opportunities which his residence in town\noffered, and had enlisted Tom\u2019s services on more than one occasion. He\nhad found him specially useful in instructing the big boys, whom he\nwas trying to bring together and civilize in a \u201cYoung Men\u2019s Club,\u201d in\nthe rudiments of cricket on Saturday evenings. But on the morning in\nquestion an altogether different work was on hand.\n\nA lady living some eight or nine miles to the northwest of London,\nwho took great interest in Grey\u2019s doings, had asked him to bring the\nchildren of his night-school down to spend a day in her grounds, and\nthis was the happy occasion. It was before the days of cheap excursions\nby rail, so that vans had to be found for the party; and Grey had\ndiscovered a benevolent remover of furniture in Paddington, who was\nready to take them at a reasonable figure. The two vans, with awnings\nand curtains in the height of the fashion, and horses with tasselled\near-caps, and everything handsome about them, were already drawn up in\nthe midst of a group of excited children, and scarcely less excited\nmothers, when Tom arrived. Grey was arranging his forces, and laboring\nto reduce the Irish children, who formed almost half of his ragged\nlittle flock, into something like order before starting. By degrees\nthis was managed, and Tom was placed in command of the rear van, while\nGrey reserved the leading one to himself. The children were divided,\nand warned not to lean over the sides and tumble out\u2014a somewhat\nsuperfluous caution, as most of them, though unused to riding in any\nlegitimate manner, were pretty well used to balancing themselves behind\nany vehicle which offered as much as a spike to sit on, out of sight\nof the driver. Then came the rush into the vans. Grey and Tom took up\ntheir places next the doors as conductors, and the procession lumbered\noff with great success, and much shouting from treble voices.\n\nTom soon found that he had plenty of work on his hands to keep the\npeace amongst his flock. The Irish element was in a state of wild\neffervescence, and he had to draft them down to his own end, leaving\nthe foremost part of the van to the sober English children. He was\nmuch struck by the contrast of the whole set to the Englebourn school\nchildren, whom he had lately seen under somewhat similar circumstances.\nThe difficulty with them had been to draw them out, and put anything\nlike life into them; here, all he had to do was to repress the\nsuperabundant life. However, the vans held on their way, and got\nsafely into the suburbs, and so at last to an occasional hedge, and a\nsuspicion of trees, and green fields beyond.\n\nIt became more and more difficult now to keep the boys in; and when\nthey came to a hill, where the horses had to walk, he yielded to their\nentreaties, and, opening the door, let them out, insisting only that\nthe girls should remain seated. They scattered over the sides of the\nroads, and up the banks; now chasing pigs and fowls up to the very\ndoors of their owners; now gathering the commonest road-side weeds,\nand running up to show them to him, and ask their names, as if they\nwere rare treasures. The ignorance of most of the children as to the\ncommonest country matters astonished him. One small boy particularly\ncame back time after time to ask him, with solemn face, \u201cPlease,\nsir, is this the country?\u201d and when at last he allowed that it was,\nrejoined, \u201cThen, please, where are the nuts?\u201d\n\nThe clothing of most of the Irish boys began to tumble to pieces in\nan alarming manner. Grey had insisted on their being made tidy for\nthe occasion, but the tidiness was of a superficial kind. The hasty\nstitching soon began to give way, and they were rushing about with\nwild locks; the strips of what might have once been nether garments\nhanging about their legs; their feet and heads bare, the shoes which\ntheir mothers had borrowed for the state occasion having been deposited\nunder the seat of the van, so when the procession arrived at the trim\nlodge-gates of their hostess, and his charge descended and fell in on\nthe beautifully clipped turf at the side of the drive, Tom felt some\nof the sensations of Falstaff when he had to lead his ragged regiment\nthrough Coventry streets.\n\nHe was soon at his ease again, and enjoyed the day thoroughly, and the\ndrive home; but, as they drew near town again, a sense of discomfort\nand shyness came over him, and he wished the journey to Westminster\nwell over, and hoped that the carman would have the sense to go\nthrough the quiet parts of the town.\n\nHe was much disconcerted, consequently, when the vans came to a sudden\nstop, opposite one of the Park entrances, in the Bayswater road. \u201cWhat\nin the world is Grey about?\u201d he thought, as he saw him get out, and all\nthe children after him. So he got out himself, and went forward to get\nan explanation.\n\n\u201cOh, I have told the man that he need not drive us round to\nWestminster. He is close at home here, and his horses have had a hard\nday; so we can just get out and walk home.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat, across the Park?\u201d asked Tom.\n\n\u201cYes, it will amuse the children, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut they\u2019re tired,\u201d persisted Tom; \u201ccome now, it\u2019s all nonsense\nletting the fellow off; he\u2019s bound to take us back.\u201d\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid I have promised him,\u201d said Grey; \u201cbesides, the children all\nthink it a treat. Don\u2019t you all want to walk across the Park?\u201d he went\non, turning to them, and a general affirmative chorus was the answer.\nSo Tom had nothing for it but to shrug his shoulders, empty his own\nvan, and follow into the Park with his convoy, not in the best humor\nwith Grey for having arranged this ending to their excursion.\n\nThey might have got over a third of the distance between the Bayswater\nRoad and the Serpentine, when he was aware of a small thin voice\naddressing him.\n\n\u201cOh, please won\u2019t you carry me a bit? I\u2019m so tired,\u201d said the voice.\nHe turned in some trepidation to look for the speaker, and found her\nto be a sickly undergrown little girl, of ten or thereabouts, with\nlarge pleading gray eyes, very shabbily dressed, and a little lame.\nHe had remarked her several times in the course of the day, not for\nany beauty or grace about her, for the poor child had none, but for\nher transparent confidence and trustfulness. After dinner, as they had\nbeen all sitting on the grass under the shade of a great elm to hear\nGrey read a story, and Tom had been sitting a little apart from the\nrest with his back against the trunk, she had come up and sat quietly\ndown by him, leaning on his knee. Then he had seen her go up and take\nthe hand of the lady who had entertained them, and walk along by her,\ntalking without the least shyness. Soon afterwards she had squeezed\ninto the swing by the side of the beautifully-dressed little daughter\nof the same lady, who, after looking for a minute at her shabby little\nsister with large round eyes, had jumped out and run off to her mother,\nevidently in a state of childish bewilderment as to whether it was not\nwicked for a child to wear such dirty old clothes.\n\nTom had chuckled to himself as he saw Cinderella settling herself\ncomfortably in the swing in the place of the ousted princess, and had\ntaken a fancy to the child, speculating to himself as to how she could\nhave been brought up, to be so utterly unconscious of differences of\nrank and dress. \u201cShe seems really to treat her fellow-creatures as if\nshe had been studying the _Sartor Resartus_,\u201d he thought. \u201cShe has cut\ndown through all clothes-philosophy without knowing it. I wonder, if\nshe had a chance, whether she would go and sit down in the Queen\u2019s lap?\u201d\n\nHe did not at that time anticipate that she would put his own\nclothes-philosophy to so severe a test before the day was over. The\nchild had been as merry and active as any of the rest during the\nearlier part of day; but now, as he looked down in answer to her\nreiterated plea, \u201cWon\u2019t you carry me a bit? I\u2019m so tired!\u201d he saw that\nshe could scarcely drag one foot after another.\n\nWhat was to be done? He was already keenly alive to the discomfort\nof walking across Hyde Park in a procession of ragged children, with\nsuch a figure of fun as Grey at their head, looking, in his long\nrusty, straight-cut black coat, as if he had come fresh out of Noah\u2019s\nark. He didn\u2019t care about it so much while they were on the turf\nin the out-of-the-way parts, and would meet nobody but guards, and\nnurse-maids, and trades-people, and mechanics out for an evening\u2019s\nstroll. But the Drive and Rotten-row lay before them, and must be\ncrossed. It was just the most crowded time of the day. He had almost\nmade up his mind once or twice to stop Grey and the procession, and\npropose to sit down for half an hour or so and let the children play,\nby which time the world would be going home to dinner. But there was\nno play left in the children; and he had resisted the temptation,\nmeaning, when they came to the most crowded part, to look unconscious,\nas if it were by chance that he got into such company, and had in fact\nnothing to do with them. But now, if he listened to the child\u2019s plea,\nand carried her, all hope of concealment was over. If he did not, he\nfelt that there would be no greater flunkey in the Park that evening\nthan Thomas Brown, the enlightened radical and philosopher, amongst the\nyoung gentlemen riders in Rotten-row, or the powdered footmen lounging\nbehind the great glaring carriages in the drive.\n\nSo he looked down at the child once or twice in a state of puzzle. A\nthird time she looked up with her great eyes, and said, \u201cOh, please\ncarry me a bit!\u201d and her piteous, tired face turned the scale. \u201cIf she\nwere Lady Mary or Lady Blanche,\u201d thought he, \u201cI should pick her up at\nonce, and be proud of the burden. Here goes!\u201d And he took her up in his\narms, and walked on, desperate and reckless.\n\nNotwithstanding all his philosophy, he felt his ears tingling and his\nface getting red, as they approached the Drive. It was crowded. They\nwere kept standing a minute or two at the crossing. He made a desperate\neffort to abstract himself wholly from the visible world, and retire\ninto a state of serene contemplation. But it would not do, and he was\npainfully conscious of the stare of lack-lustre eyes of well-dressed\nmen leaning over the rails, and the amused look of delicate ladies,\nlounging in open carriages, and surveying him and Grey and their ragged\nrout through glasses.\n\nAt last they scrambled across, and he breathed freely for a minute, as\nthey struggled along the comparatively quiet path leading to Albert\nGate, and stopped to drink at the fountain. Then came Rotten-row, and\nanother pause amongst the loungers, and a plunge into the Ride, where\nhe was nearly run down by two men whom he had known at Oxford. They\nshouted to him to get out of the way; and he felt the hot defiant blood\nrushing through his veins as he strode across without heeding. They\npassed on, one of them having to pull his horse out of his stride to\navoid him. Did they recognize him? He felt a strange mixture of utter\nindifference, and longing to strangle them.\n\nThe worst was now over; besides, he was getting used to the situation,\nand his good sense was beginning to rally. So he marched through Albert\nGate, carrying his ragged little charge, who prattled away to him\nwithout a pause, and surrounded by the rest of the children, scarcely\ncaring who might see him.\n\nThey went safely through the omnibuses and carriages on the Kensington\nRoad, and so into Belgravia. At last he was quite at his ease again,\nand began listening to what the child was saying to him, and was\nstrolling carelessly along, when once more, at one of the crossings, he\nwas startled by a shout from some riders. There was straw laid down in\nthe street, so that he had not heard them as they cantered round the\ncorner, hurrying home to dress for dinner; and they were all but upon\nhim, and had to rein up their horses sharply.\n\nThe party consisted of a lady and two gentlemen, one old, the other\nyoung; the latter dressed in the height of fashion, and with the\nsupercilious air which Tom hated from his soul. The shout came from the\nyoung man, and drew Tom\u2019s attention to him first. All the devil rushed\nup as he recognized St. Cloud. The lady\u2019s horse swerved against his,\nand began to rear. He put his hand on its bridle, as if he had a right\nto protect her. Another glance told Tom that the lady was Mary, and the\nold gentleman, fussing up on his stout cob on the other side of her,\nMr. Porter.\n\nThey all knew him in another moment. He stared from one to the other,\nwas conscious that she turned her horse\u2019s head sharply, so as to\ndisengage the bridle from St. Cloud\u2019s hand, and of his insolent stare,\nand of the embarrassment of Mr. Porter; and then, setting his face\nstraight before him, he passed on in a bewildered dream, never looking\nback till they were out of sight. The dream gave way to bitter and\nwild thoughts, upon which it will do none of us any good to dwell. He\nput down the little girl outside the school, turning abruptly from the\nmother, a poor widow in scant, well-preserved black clothes, who was\nwaiting for the child, and began thanking him for his care of her;\nrefused Grey\u2019s pressing invitation to tea, and set his face eastward.\nBitterer and more wild and more scornful grew his thoughts as he strode\nalong past the Abbey, and up Whitehall, and away down the Strand,\nholding on over the crossings without paying the slightest heed to\nvehicle, or horse, or man. Incensed coachmen had to pull up with a jerk\nto avoid running over him, and more than one sturdy walker turned round\nin indignation at a collision which they felt had been intended, or at\nleast which there had been no effort to avoid.\n\nAs he passed under the window of the Banqueting Hall, and by the place\nin Charing-cross where the pillory used to stand, he growled to himself\nwhat a pity it was that the times for cutting off heads and cropping\nears had gone by. The whole of the dense population from either side\nof the Strand seemed to have crowded out into that thoroughfare to\nimpede his march and aggravate him. The further eastward he got the\nthicker got the crowd; and the vans, the omnibuses, the cabs, seemed\nto multiply and get noisier. Not an altogether pleasant sight to a man\nin the most Christian frame of mind is the crowd that a fine summer\nevening fetches out into the roaring Strand, as the sun fetches out\nflies on the window of a village grocery. To him just then it was at\nonce depressing and provoking, and he went shouldering his way towards\nTemple Bar as thoroughly out of tune as he had been for many a long day.\n\nAs he passed from the narrowest part of the Strand into the space\nround St. Clement Danes\u2019 church, he was startled, in a momentary lull\nof the uproar, by the sound of chiming bells. He slackened his pace to\nlisten; but a huge van lumbered by, shaking the houses on both sides,\nand drowning all sounds but its own rattle; and then he found himself\nsuddenly immersed in a crowd, vociferating and gesticulating round a\npoliceman, who was conveying a woman towards the station-house. He\nshouldered through it\u2014another lull came, and with it the same slow,\ngentle, calm cadence of chiming bells. Again and again he caught it as\nhe passed on to Temple Bar; whenever the roar subsided the notes of the\nold hymn-tune came dropping down on him like balm from the air. If the\nancient benefactor who caused the bells of St. Clement Danes\u2019 church to\nbe arranged to play that chime so many times a day is allowed to hover\nround the steeple at such times, to watch the effect of his benefaction\non posterity, he must have been well satisfied on that evening. Tom\npassed under the Bar, and turned into the Temple another man, softened\nagain, and in his right mind.\n\n\u201cThere\u2019s always a voice saying the right thing to you somewhere, if\nyou\u2019ll only listen for it,\u201d he thought.\n\n\n\n\nCXXXV.\n\n\n\u201cIt was because you were out of sorts with the world, smarting with\nthe wrongs you saw on every side, struggling after something better\nand higher, and siding and sympathizing with the poor and weak, that\nI loved you. We should never have been here, dear, if you had been a\nyoung gentleman satisfied with himself and the world, and likely to get\non well in society.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, Mary, it\u2019s all very well for a man. It\u2019s a man\u2019s business. But why\nis a woman\u2019s life to be made wretched? Why should you be dragged into\nall my perplexities, and doubts, and dreams, and struggles?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd why should I not?\u201d\n\n\u201cLife should be all bright and beautiful to a woman. It is every man\u2019s\nduty to shield her from all that can vex, or pain, or soil.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut have women different souls from men?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod forbid!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen are we not fit to share your highest hopes?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo share our highest hopes! Yes, when we have any. But the mire and\nclay where one sticks fast over and over again, with no high hopes or\nhigh anything else in sight\u2014a man must be a selfish brute to bring one\nhe pretends to love into all that.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow, Tom,\u201d she said almost solemnly, \u201cyou are not true to yourself.\nWould you, part with your own deepest convictions? Would you if you\ncould, go back to the time when you cared for and thought about none of\nthese things?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe thought a minute, and then, pressing her hand, said:\n\n\u201cNo, dearest, I would not. The consciousness of the darkness in one\nand around one brings the longing for light. And then the light dawns;\nthrough mist and fog, perhaps, but enough to pick one\u2019s way by.\u201d He\nstopped a moment, and then added, \u201cand shines ever brighter unto\nthe-perfect day. Yes, I begin to know it.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen, why not put me on your own level? Why not let me pick my way\nby your side? Cannot a woman feel the wrongs that are going on in the\nworld? Cannot she long to see them set right, and pray that they may\nbe set right? We are not meant to sit in fine silks, and look pretty,\nand spend money, any more than you are meant to make it, and cry peace\nwhere there is no peace. If a woman cannot do much herself, she can\nhonor and love a man who can.\u201d\n\nHe turned to her, and bent over her, and kissed her forehead, and\nkissed her lips. She looked up with sparkling eyes and said:\n\n\u201cAm I not right, dear?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, you are right, and I have been false to my creed. You have taken\na load off my heart, dearest. Henceforth there shall be but one mind\nand one soul between us. You have made me feel what it is that a man\nwants, what is the help that is meet for him.\u201d\n\nHe looked into her eyes, and kissed her again; and then rose up,\nfor there was something within him like a moving of new life, which\nlifted him, and set him on his feet. And he stood with kindling brow,\ngazing into the autumn air, as his heart went sorrowing, but hopefully\n\u201csorrowing, back through all the faultful past.\u201d And she sat on at\nfirst, and watched his face; and neither spoke nor moved for some\nminutes. Then she rose too, and stood by his side:\n\n    And on her lover\u2019s arm she leant,\n      And round her waist she felt it fold;\n    And so across the hills they went,\n      In that new world which is the old.\n\n\n\n\nCXXXVI.\n\n\nThere is no recorded end of a life that I know of more entirely brave\nand manly than the one of Captain John Brown, of which we know every\nminutest detail, as it happened in the full glare of our modern life\nnot twenty years ago. About that I think there would scarcely be\ndisagreement anywhere. The very men who allowed him to lie in his\nbloody clothes till the day of his execution, and then hanged him,\nrecognized this. \u201cYou are a game man, Captain Brown,\u201d the Southern\nsheriff said in the wagon. \u201cYes,\u201d he answered, \u201cI was so brought up. It\nwas one of my mother\u2019s lessons. From infancy I have not suffered from\nphysical fear. I have suffered a thousand times more from bashfulness;\u201d\nand then he kissed a negro child in its mother\u2019s arms, and walked\ncheerfully on to the scaffold, thankful that he was \u201callowed to die\nfor a cause, and not merely to pay the debt of nature, as all must.\u201d\n\nThere is no simpler or nobler record in the \u201cBook of Martyrs,\u201d and\nin passing I would only remind you, that he at least was ready to\nacknowledge from whence came his strength. \u201cChrist, the great Captain\nof liberty as well as of salvation,\u201d he wrote just before his death,\n\u201csaw fit to take from me the sword of steel after I had carried it for\na time. But he has put another in my hand, the sword of the Spirit,\nand I pray God to make me a faithful soldier wherever he may send me.\u201d\nAnd to a friend who left him with the words, \u201cIf you can be true to\nyourself to the end how glad we shall be,\u201d he answered, \u201cI cannot say,\nbut I do not think I shall deny my Lord and Master, Jesus Christ.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXXXVII.\n\n\nPatience, humility, and utter forgetfulness of self are the true royal\nqualities.\n\n\n\n\nCXXXVIII.\n\n    \u201cBy the light of burning martyr fires Christ\u2019s bleeding feet I track,\n     Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back.\u201d\n\n\nAll chance of the speedy triumph of the kingdom of God, humanly\nspeaking, in the lake country of Galilee\u2014the battle-field chosen by\nhimself, where his mightiest works had been done and his mightiest\nwords spoken\u2014the district from which his chosen companions came, and\nin which clamorous crowds had been ready to declare him king\u2014is now\nover. The conviction that this is so, that he is a baffled leader, in\nhourly danger of his life, has forced itself on Christ. Before entering\nthat battle-field, face to face with the tempter in the wilderness, he\nhad deliberately rejected all aid from the powers and kingdoms of this\nworld, and now, for the moment, the powers of this world have proved\ntoo strong for him.\n\nThe rulers of that people\u2014Pharisee, Sadducee, and Herodian, scribe\nand lawyer\u2014were now marshalled against him in one compact phalanx,\nthroughout all the coasts of Galilee, as well as in Judea.\n\nHis disciples, rough, most of them peasants, full of patriotism, but\nwith small power of insight or self-control, were melting away from\na leader who, while he refused them active service under a patriot\nchief at open war with C\u00e6sar and his legions, bewildered them by\nassuming titles and talking to them in language which they could not\nunderstand. They were longing for one who would rally them against the\nRoman oppressor, and give them a chance, at any rate, of winning their\nown land again, purged of the heathen and free from tribute. Such an\none would be worth following to the death. But what could they make of\nthis \u201cSon of Man,\u201d who would prove his title to that name by giving\nhis body and pouring out his blood for the life of man\u2014of this \u201cSon\nof God,\u201d who spoke of redeeming mankind and exalting mankind to God\u2019s\nright hand, instead of exalting the Jew to the head of mankind?\n\nIn the face of such a state of things, to remain in Capernaum, or the\nneighboring towns and villages, would have been to court death, there,\nand at once. The truly courageous man, you may remind me, is not turned\nfrom his path by the fear of death, which is the supreme test and\ntouchstone of his courage. True; nor was Christ so turned, even for a\nmoment.\n\nWhatever may have been his hopes in the earlier part of his career, by\nthis time he had no longer a thought that mankind could be redeemed\nwithout his own perfect and absolute sacrifice and humiliation. The\ncup would indeed have to be drunk to the dregs, but not here, nor now.\nThis must be done at Jerusalem, the centre of the national life and\nthe seat of the Roman government. It must be done during the Passover,\nthe national commemoration of sacrifice and deliverance. And so he\nwithdraws, with a handful of disciples, and even they still wayward,\nhalf-hearted, doubting, from the constant stress of a battle which\nhas turned against him. From this time he keeps away from the great\ncentres of population, except when, on two occasions\u2014at the Feast of\nTabernacles and the Feast of the Dedication\u2014he flashes for a day on\nJerusalem, and then disappears again into some haunt of outlaws, or\nof wild beasts. This portion of his life comprises something less\nthan the last twelve months, from the summer of the second year of his\nministry till the eve of the last Passover, at Easter, in the third\nyear.\n\nIn glancing at the main facts of this period, as we have done in the\nformer ones, we have to note chiefly his intercourse with the twelve\napostles, and his preparation of them for the end of his own career\nand the beginning of theirs; his conduct at Jerusalem during those two\nautumnal and winter feasts, and the occasions when he again comes into\ncollision with the rulers and Pharisees, both at these feasts, and in\nthe intervals between them.\n\nThe keynote of it, in spite of certain short and beautiful interludes,\nappears to me to be a sense of loneliness and oppression, caused by\nthe feeling that he has work to do, and words to speak, which those\nfor whom they are to be done and spoken, and whom they are, first of\nall men, to bless, will either misunderstand or abhor. Here is all\nthe visible result of his labor and of his travail, and the enemy is\ngathering strength every day.\n\nThis becomes clear, I think, at once, when, in the first days after his\nquitting the lake shores, he asks his disciples the question, \u201cWhom\ndo the world, and whom do ye, say that I am?\u201d He is answered by Peter\nin the well-known burst of enthusiasm, that, though the people only\nlook on him as a prophet, such as Elijah or Jeremiah, his own chosen\nfollowers see in him \u201cthe Christ, the Son of the living God.\u201d\n\nIt is this particular moment which he selects for telling them\ndistinctly, that Christ will _not_ triumph as they regard triumphing;\nthat he will fall into the power of his enemies, and be humbled and\nslain by them. At once the proof comes of how little even the best of\nhis own most intimate friends had caught the spirit of his teaching or\nof his kingdom. The announcement of his humiliation and death, which\nnone but the most truthful and courageous of men would have made at\nsuch a moment, leaves them almost as much bewildered as the crowds in\nthe lake cities had been a few days before.\n\nTheir hearts are faithful and simple, and upon them, as Peter has\ntestified, the truth has flashed once for all, and there can be no\nother Saviour of men than this man with whom they are living. Still, by\nwhat means and to what end the salvation shall come, they are scarcely\nless ignorant than the people who had been in vain seeking from him a\nsign such as they desired. His own elect \u201cunderstood not his saying,\nand it was hid from them, that they perceived it not.\u201d Rather, indeed,\nthey go straight from that teaching to dispute amongst themselves who\nof them shall be the greatest in that kingdom which they understand so\nlittle. And so their Master has to begin again at the beginning of his\nteaching, and, placing a little child amongst them, to declare that not\nof such men as they deem themselves, but of such as this child, is the\nkingdom of heaven.\n\nThe episode of the Transfiguration follows; and immediately after it,\nas though purposely to warn even the three chosen friends who had been\npresent against new delusions, he repeats again the teaching as to his\ndeath and humiliation. And he reiterates it whenever any exhibition\nof power or wisdom seems likely to encourage the frame of mind in the\ntwelve generally which had lately brought the great rebuke on Peter.\nHow slowly it did its work, even with the foremost disciples, there are\nbut too many proofs.\n\nAmongst his kinsfolk and the people generally, his mission, thanks\nto the cabals of the rulers and elders, had come by this time to be\nlooked upon with deep distrust and impatience. \u201cHow long dost thou make\nus to doubt? Go up to this coming feast, and there prove your title\nbefore those who know how to judge in such matters,\u201d is the querulous\ncry of the former as the Feast of Tabernacles approaches. He does not\ngo up publicly with the caravan, which would have been at this time\nneedlessly to incur danger, but, when the feast is half over, suddenly\nappears in the temple. There he again openly affronts the rulers by\njustifying his former acts, and teaching and proclaiming that he who\nhas sent him is true, and is their God.\n\nIt is evidently on account of this new proof of daring that the people\nnow again begin to rally around him. \u201cBehold, he speaketh boldly. Do\nour rulers know that this is Christ?\u201d is the talk which fills the air,\nand induces the scribes and Pharisees, for the first time, to attempt\nhis arrest by their officers.\n\nThe officers return without him, and their masters are, for the moment,\npowerless before the simple word of him who, as their own servants\ntestify, \u201cspeaks as never man spake.\u201d But if they cannot arrest and\nexecute, they may entangle him further, and prepare for their day,\nwhich is surely and swiftly coming. So they bring to him the woman\ntaken in adultery, and draw from him the discourse in which he tells\nthem that the truth will make them free\u2014the truth which he has come\nto tell them, but which they will not hear, because they are of their\nfather the devil. He ends with asserting his claim to the name which\nevery Jew held sacred, \u201cbefore Abraham was, I am.\u201d The narrative of\nthe seventh and eighth chapters of St. John, which record these scenes\nat the Feast of Tabernacles, have, I believe, done more to make men\ncourageous and truly manly than all the stirring accounts of bold deeds\nwhich ever were written elsewhere.\n\n\n\n\nCXXXIX.\n\n\nAll that was best and worst in the Jewish character and history\ncombined to render the Roman yoke intolerably galling to the nation.\nThe peculiar position of Jerusalem\u2014a sort of Mecca to the tribes\nacknowledging the Mosaic law\u2014made Syria the most dangerous of all the\nRoman provinces. To that city enormous crowds of pilgrims of the most\nstiff-necked and fanatical of all races flocked, three times at least\nin every year, bringing with them offerings and tribute for the temple\nand its guardians, on a scale which must have made the hierarchy at\nJerusalem formidable even to the world\u2019s master, by their mere command\nof wealth.\n\nBut this would be the least of the causes of anxiety to the Roman\ngovernor, as he spent year after year face to face with these terrible\nleaders of a terrible people.\n\nThese high priests and rulers of the Jews were indeed quite another\nkind of adversaries from the leaders, secular or religious, of any of\nthose conquered countries which the Romans were wont to treat with\ncontemptuous toleration. They still represented living traditions of\nthe glory and sanctity of their nation, and of Jerusalem, and exercised\nstill a power over that nation which the most resolute and ruthless of\nRoman procurators did not care wantonly to brave.\n\nAt the same time the yoke of high priest and scribe and Pharisee was\neven heavier on the necks of their own people than that of the Roman.\nThey had built up a huge superstructure of traditions and ceremonies\nround the law of Moses, which they held up to the people as more sacred\nand binding than the law itself. This superstructure was their special\ncharge. This was, according to them, the great national inheritance,\nthe most valuable portion of the covenant which God had made with\ntheir fathers. To them, as leaders of their nation\u2014a select, priestly,\nand learned caste\u2014this precious inheritance had been committed. Outside\nthat caste, the dim multitude, \u201cthe people which knoweth not the law,\u201d\nwere despised while they obeyed, accursed as soon as they showed any\nsign of disobedience. Such being the state of Judea, it would not be\neasy to name in all history a less hopeful place for the reforming\nmission of a young carpenter, a stranger from a despised province, one\nentirely outside the ruling caste, though of the royal race, and who\nhad no position whatever in any rabbinical school.\n\nIn Galilee the surroundings were slightly different, but scarcely\nmore promising. Herod Antipas, the weakest of that tyrant family, the\nseducer of his brother\u2019s wife, the fawner on C\u00e6sar, the spendthrift\noppressor of the people of his tetrarchy, still ruled in name over the\ncountry, but with Roman garrisons in the cities and strongholds. Face\nto face with him, and exercising an _imperium in imperio_ throughout\nGalilee were the same priestly caste, though far less formidable to\nthe civil power and to the people, than in the southern province.\nAlong the western coast of the Sea of Galilee, the chief scene of our\nLord\u2019s northern ministry, lay a net-work of towns densely inhabited,\nand containing a large admixture of Gentile traders. This infusion of\nforeign blood, the want of any such religious centre as Jerusalem, and\nthe contempt with which the southern Jews regarded their provincial\nbrethren of Galilee, had no doubt loosened to some extent the yoke of\nthe priests and scribes and lawyers in that province. But even here\ntheir traditionary power over the masses of the people was very great,\nand the consequences of defying their authority as penal, though the\npenalty might be neither so swift or so certain, as in Jerusalem\nitself. Such was the society into which Christ came.\n\nIt is not easy to find a parallel case in the modern world, but perhaps\nthe nearest exists in a portion of our own empire. The condition of\nparts of India in our day resembles in some respects that of Palestine\nin the year A. D. 30. In the Mahratta country, princes, not of the\nnative dynasty, but the descendants of foreign courtiers (like the\nIdumean Herods), are reigning. British residents at their courts,\nhated and feared, but practically all-powerful as Roman procurators,\nanswer to the officers and garrisons of Rome in Palestine. The people\nare in bondage to a priestly caste scarcely less heavy than that which\nweighed on the Judean and Galilean peasantry. If the Mahrattas were\nMohammedans, and Mecca were situate in the territory of Scindia or\nHolkar; if the influence of twelve centuries of Christian training\ncould be wiped out of the English character, and the stubborn and\nfierce nature of the Jew substituted for that of the Mahratta; a\nvillage reformer amongst them, whose preaching outraged the Brahmins,\nthreatened the dynasties, and disturbed the English residents, would\nstart under somewhat similar conditions to those which surrounded\nChrist when he commenced his ministry.\n\nIn one respect, and one only, the time seemed propitious. The mind and\nheart of the nation was full of the expectation of a coming Messiah\u2014a\nKing who should break every yoke from off the necks of his people,\nand should rule over the nations, sitting on the throne of David. The\nintensity of this expectation had, in the opening days of his ministry,\ndrawn crowds into the wilderness beyond Jordan from all parts of Judea\nand Galilee, at the summons of a preacher who had caught up the last\ncadence of the song of their last great prophet, and was proclaiming\nthat both the deliverance and the kingdom which they were looking for\nwere at hand. In those crowds who flocked to hear John the Baptist\nthere were doubtless some even amongst the priests and scribes, and\nmany amongst the poor Jewish and Galilean peasantry, who felt that\nthere was a heavier yoke upon them than that of Rome or of Herod\nAntipas. But the record of the next three years shows too clearly that\neven these were wholly unprepared for any other than a kingdom of this\nworld, and a temporal throne to be set up in the holy city.\n\nAnd so, from the first, Christ had to contend not only against the\nwhole of the established powers of Palestine, but against the highest\naspirations of the best of his countrymen. These very Messianic hopes,\nin fact, proved the greatest stumbling-block in his path. Those who\nentertained them most vividly had the greatest difficulty in accepting\nthe carpenter\u2019s son as the promised Deliverer. A few days only before\nthe end he had sorrowfully to warn the most intimate and loving of his\ncompanions and disciples, \u201cYe know not what spirit ye are of.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCXL.\n\n\nThe Jews were always thinking of their exclusive religious privileges,\nof the sacredness of the Temple and of the law, and of the questionable\nand dangerous position of those who were outside the covenant. Now\nthis habit of mind, undoubtedly religious as it was, is not held\nup to our admiration in the New Testament, but the contrary. It is\ndenounced as being the opposite of a true spirituality. It is shown\nto us as associated with intolerance, bigotry, hardness, cruelty, as\nmost offensive to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, and fruitful\nof mischief in the world. St. Paul had to undergo the reproach of\nbeing disloyal to the religion of his fathers, because he contended\nagainst this ecclesiastical spirit. But the reproach was as unjust as\nit was painful to him. He loved the holy city and the temple and the\nordinances of the law and his kindred according to the flesh; but he\nknew that the proper aim of a devout man was not to hedge round an\norganization, but to glorify and bear witness to the Divine Spirit.\n\n\n\n\nCXLI.\n\n\nNot St. Paul only, but all the Apostles and Evangelists, were\ncontinually contemplating the heavenly glory of a brotherhood of men\nin full harmony with each other because all joined to Christ, of men\nwalking in humility and meekness and love, endeavoring to keep the\nunity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. There is nothing in such an\nideal less suited to us to-day than to the Christians of the first age.\nFor ourselves, and for our neighbors and fellow-men, this hope should\nbe in our hearts, this Divine ideal before our eyes. Let us believe\nthat it is the Divine purpose, and that we are called to the fulfilment\nof it.\n\n\n\n\nCXLII.\n\n\nIs it not an express principle in the teaching of our Lord himself and\nof his Apostles, that means and instruments and agencies are not to\nbe worshipped in themselves but to be estimated with reference to the\nend they are to promote? Think, for example, what is implied in that\npregnant sentence, \u201cThe Sabbath was made for man, and not man for the\nSabbath.\u201d Means and instruments are not dishonored by this principle.\nIf the end they serve is high and precious, they also will deserve\nto be valued. If the spiritual freedom of man is important, then the\nordinance of a Day of Rest, which ministers to it, may well be sacred.\nBut it is often appointed in the Providence of God that an apparent\ndishonor should be cast on means, that the minds of men may be forced\naway from resting upon them. And means may be varied, according to\ncircumstances, whilst the same permanent end is to be sought.\n\n\n\n\nCXLIII.\n\n\nWherever there is good, in whatever Samaritan or heathen we may see\nkindness and the fear of God, there we are to welcome it and rejoice in\nit in our Father\u2019s name.\n\nThere is no respect of persons with God, no acceptance of any man on\naccount of his religion or his profession; under whatever religious\ngarb, he that loveth is born of God, he that doeth righteousness is\nborn of God. There is no danger in being ready to appreciate simple\ngoodness and to refer it to the working of the Divine Spirit wherever\nwe may find it; there is the greatest danger in failing to appreciate\nit. This is doctrine of unquestionable Divine authority, which we may\noften have opportunities of putting into practice. Let us remember to\ncherish it in all our dealings with those who do not belong to our\nown church. Let us be afraid lest nature and the flesh should make us\nintolerant and unsympathetic; let us be sure that Christ and the Spirit\nwould win us to modesty and reverence and sympathy.\n\n\n\n\nCXLIV.\n\n\n\u201cThere is one body and one spirit, even as ye were called in one hope\nof your calling; one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father\nof all, who is above all and through all and in all.\u201d With this unity,\nthere are distinctions of function; and each member, St. Paul holds,\nhas his own gift of endowment to enable him to fill his own place.\nChrist is the great Giver, and besides these gifts to the several\nmembers of the body, he gave to the body as a whole the apostles,\nprophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers, by whose various\nministries sinful and self-willed men were to be moulded into true\nmembers, and ultimate perfecting of the body to be accomplished. St.\nPaul looked forward in hope to the time when the Body of Christ might\nbe not only ideally perfect, but actually perfect also, in its adult\ngrowth and in the harmonious co-operation of all its parts.\n\n\n\n\nCXLV.\n\n\nThere may be every sort of defect and irregularity in the men and\nwomen whom Christ has called to be his members. The unity is not made\nby them, and does not depend upon them. Their business is to _keep_\nthe unity, to conform themselves to it. The supernatural body of\nChrist is the _ideal_ one, and it is realized with various degrees of\nimperfection wherever men acknowledge Christ as their head.\n\n\n\n\nCXLVI.\n\n\nAs I understand the word \u201cpolitician,\u201d it means a man who, whatever his\nother engagements in life may be, and however he may earn his daily\nbread, feels above all things deeply interested, feels that he is bound\nto be deeply interested, and to take as active a part as he can, in the\npublic affairs of his country. I believe that every Englishman, if he\nis worth anything at all, is bound to be a politician, and can\u2019t for\nthe life of him help taking a deep interest in the public affairs of\nhis country. The object of politics is the well-being of the nation, or\nin other words to make \u201ca wise and understanding people.\u201d Now, what are\nthe means by which a wise and an understanding people is to be made?\nWell, of course, the chief means of making a wise and understanding\npeople is by training them up in wisdom and understanding. The State\nwants men who are brave, truthful, generous; the State wants women who\nare pure, simple, gentle. By what means is the State to get citizens of\nthat kind?\n\nSuch a politician looking around him and seeing how the national\nconscience is to be touched\u2014for unless the national conscience be\ntouched you can never raise citizens of that kind\u2014finds that the great\npower which alone can do it, is that which goes by the name of religion.\n\n\n\n\nCXLVII.\n\n\nThe true work of the Liberal Party in a Liberal age is, with singleness\nof purpose and all its might, to lift the people to a fair and full\nshare of all the best things of this life,\u2014its highest culture,\nhopes, aspirations, burdens\u2014as well as its loaves and fishes\u2014and,\nsetting before them a truly noble ideal of citizenship, to help them\nto attain it. Whatever goes beyond that, or beside that, savors of\nJacobinism, for then comes in that jealousy which is the bane of true\ndemocracy. The true democrat has no old scores to pay, covets no\nman\u2019s good things, wants nothing for himself which is not open to his\nneighbors, will destroy nothing which others value merely because he\ndoesn\u2019t value it himself, unless it is palpably and incurably unjust\nand unrighteous. I need not go on to contrast the Jacobin with him,\nbeyond saying that the one is before all things constructive, the other\ndestructive.\n\n\n\n\nCXLVIII.\n\n\nA liberal politician is a man who looks to the future and not to the\npast; he looks for progress; he desires to see the whole nation raised;\nhe desires to go on from better things to better things, and he is not\nafraid of new things; he holds that every institution must be tried by\nits worth and its value to the nation;\u2014he holds above all things that\nthere should be equality before the law for every institution, for\nevery society, and for every individual citizen.\n\n\n\n\nCXLIX.\n\n\nAlfred the Great had his problems of anarchy, widespread lawlessness,\nterrorism, to meet. After the best thought he could give to the\nbusiness, he met them and prevailed. Like diseases call for like cures;\nand we may assume without fear that a remedy which has been very\nsuccessful in one age is at least worth looking at in another.\n\nWe too, like Alfred, have our own troubles\u2014our land-questions,\nlabor-questions, steady increase of pauperism, and others. In our\nstruggle for life we fight with different weapons, and have our\nadvantages of one kind or another over our ancestors; but when all is\nsaid and done there is scarcely more coherence in the English nation\nof to-day than in that of 1079. Individualism, no doubt, has its noble\nside; and \u201cevery man for himself\u201d is a law which works wonders; but we\ncannot shut our eyes to the fact that under their action English life\nhas become more and more disjointed, threatening in some directions\naltogether to fall to pieces. What we specially want is something\nwhich shall bind us more closely together. Every nation of Christendom\nis feeling after the same thing. The need of getting done in some\nform that which frank-pledge did for Alfred\u2019s people expresses itself\nin Germany in mutual-credit banks, open to every honest citizen; in\nFrance, in the productive associations of all kinds; at home, in our\nco-operative movements and trades-union.\n\nNo mere machinery, nothing that governments or legislatures can do in\nour day, will be of much help, but they may be great hindrances. The\nstudy of the modern statesman must be how to give such movements full\nscope and a fair chance, so that the people may be able without let\nor hindrance to work out in their own way the principle which Alfred\nbrought practically home to his England, that in human society men\ncannot divest themselves of responsibility for their neighbors, and\nought not to be allowed to attempt it.\n\n\n\n\nCL.\n\n\nThe more attentively we study Alfred\u2019s life, the more clearly does\nthe practical wisdom of his methods of government justify itself by\nresults. Of strong princes, with minds \u201crectified and prepared\u201d on the\nMachiavellian model, the world has had more than enough, who have won\nkingdoms for themselves, and used them for themselves, and so left\na bitter inheritance to their children and their people. It is well\nthat, here and there in history, we can point to a king whose reign has\nproved that the highest success in government is not only compatible\nwith, but dependent upon, the highest Christian morality.\n\n\n\n\nCLI.\n\n\nThink well over your important steps in life, and having made up your\nminds, never look behind.\n\n\n\n\nCLII.\n\n\nA gentleman should shrink from the possibility of having to come on\nothers, even on his own father, for the fulfilment of his obligations,\nas he would from a lie. I would sooner see a son of mine in his grave\nthan crawling on through life a slave to wants and habits which he must\ngratify at other people\u2019s expense.\n\n\n\n\nCLIII.\n\n\nNo two men take a thing just alike, and very few can sit down quietly\nwhen they have lost a fall in life\u2019s wrestle, and say, \u201cWell, here I\nam, beaten no doubt this time. By my own fault too. Now, take a good\nlook at me, my good friends, as I know you all want to do, and say your\nsay out, for I mean getting up again directly and having another turn\nat it.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nCLIV.\n\n\nNo man who is worth his salt can leave a place where he has gone\nthrough hard and searching discipline, and been tried in the very\ndepths of his heart, without regret, however much he may have winced\nunder the discipline. It is no light thing to fold up and lay by for\never a portion of one\u2019s life, even when it can be laid by with honor\nand in thankfulness.\n\n\n\n\nINDEX.\n\n\n                                            PAGE.\n    AMBITION                 civ-cv          203\n    BELIEF, RELIGIOUS     lxxvii-lxxxiv      136\n    BIGOTRY               cxxxix-            286\n    COURAGE                    i-xviii        13\n    CHRISTIANITY             cxi-cxxv        218\n    DEATH                 lxxiii-lxxvi       117\n    DISCIPLINE            cxxxii-cxxxiv      264\n    DOUBT                    cvi-cx          206\n    EDUCATION              cxxvi-cxxvii      248\n    ENJOYMENT               xlvi-lii          72\n    FAITH                   liii-lvi          82\n    FRIENDSHIP              xlii-xlv          68\n    GOVERNMENT            xcviii-ciii        190\n    HEROISM               cxxxvi-cxxxviii    279\n    HUMAN NATURE             lxi-lxxii       104\n    HUMILITY                 xxv-xxvi         41\n    INFLUENCE, PERSONAL    lxxxv-lxxxix      143\n    PATIENCE               lviii-lx           93\n    PROVIDENCE             cxxxi-            256\n    POLITICIAN, THE        cxlvi-cliv        295\n    POWER                  xxvii-xxxiv        43\n    PURITY                  lvii-             91\n    REFORMS                   xc-xcvii       155\n    REST                 cxxviii-cxxx        250\n    RIGHTS, WOMAN\u2019S        cxxxv-            276\n    STRENGTH                 xix-xxiv         34\n    SUCCESS                 xxxv-xli          60\n    TOLERATION               cxl-cxlv        291\n\n\n\n\nFROM DIFFERENT STANDPOINTS.\n\n\nBy _Pansy_ and _Faye Huntington_. 12mo. Price $1.50, Boston: D. Lothrop\n& Co.,\n\nIf there is any better writer of Sunday School books than \u201cPansy,\u201d we\nshould like to make her acquaintance, she has a rare tact in story\ntelling, and knows quite as well what to omit as what to say. Even the\nsternest critics, of S. S. Literature surrender to Pansy, in spite of\nthemselves, and confess that her books are worth reading.\n\n\u201cFrom Different Standpoints\u201d is not quite so broad in its range as some\nof her previous works, but is more intense. The story is so full of\nlife, though made up largely of letters and journals, the characters\nare so sharply drawn with so thorough an insight into the possibilities\nof human nature, and the religious element is of so high a type, and\nyet withal so natural, that the most careless reader is fascinated,\nand feels the inspiration of a noble Christian life. Such books, are a\nvaluable addition to any S. S. libraries, and will supplement the best\nreligious teachings of Bible-class or pulpit.\n\nAs to the double authorship of the book, Faye Huntington is so nearly\nthe double of Pansy, that her separate work cannot be detected.\n\n\n\n\nSUNDAY-SCHOOL HELPS.\n\n\n    THE LESSON IN STORY. _Pansy\u2019s_ Sunday-School Lesson\n      Book, for Boys and Girls Price                               10\n\n    Every scholar will be delighted with its suggestiveness\n    and can hardly fail to be benefited by the light and\n    beauty of the lessons as unfolded by \u201cPansy\u201d in the\n    simple but strong language in which she tells them in\n    story.\u2014_Baptist Weekly._\n\n\n    SUNDAY-SCHOOL CONCERT EXERCISES. Each                           4\n\n\n    WIDE AWAKE SERIES.\n\n    Sheets A\u2014Leaves and Sheaves. By _Mary B. C. Slade_.\n            \u2014Faith, Hope and Charity. By _Mary Townley_.\n            \u2014Plain Directions for a S. S. Entertainment. By _Geo.\n                 B. Bartlett_.\n\n    Sheets B\u2014The Lesson of the Wheat. By _Mary B. C. Slade_.\n            \u2014The Christmas Story. By          \u201c          \u201c\n\n    Sheets C\u2014The Lilies. By                   \u201c          \u201c\n            \u2014Ten Young Men of the Bible. By   \u201c          \u201c\n\n    BIBLE LESSONS, for S. S. Concerts and Anniversaries. By\n      _Edmund Clark_. 18 Numbers, as follows:\n\n    No. 1. Temperance Band.\n        2. Roses.\n        3. Flowers.\n        4. Our Shepherd.\n        5. Names of Christ.\n        6. Praise Concert.\n        7. The Morning Star.\n        8. The New Year.\n        9. Faith.\n       10. The Circle of the Graces.\n       11. The Six Days of the Creation.\n       12. The Sea.\n       13. The Christian Graces.\n       14. Consider the Lilies.\n       15. Brevity of Life.\n       16. The Two Ways.\n       17. Rock of Ages.\n       18. Musical Instruments of the Bible.\n\n                     Price 5 cents each.\n\n    The same bound in one 16mo. volume, cloth                       1 00\n\n    CUNNING WORKMEN. By _Pansy_. 16mo. Illustrated                  1 25\n\n    A story of rare interest and value to all interested in\n    Sabbath-school work.\n\n    CRUDEN\u2019S CONCORDANCE. 12mo                                      2 00\n\n    TROPHIES OF SONG. _Rev. W. F. Crafts._ 16mo                     1 25\n\n    A rich storehouse of articles and incidents\n    illustrating hymns, and the power and ministry of\n    sacred music. The hymns referred to in this volume may\n    be found in a small book entitled _Historic Hymns_.\n\n    SONG VICTORIES of Bliss and Sankey Hymns. Illustrated.\n      Boards                                                          50\n      Cloth                                                           75\n\n    A few words, as to the history of a hymn about to be\n    sung gives it fresh interest and power.\n\n    HISTORY OF THE JEWISH NATION (A). By _E. K. Palmer_. Revised\n      and edited by _S. F. Smith, D. D._ Fully illustrated. 8vo     1 25\n\n    SMITH\u2019S BIBLE DICTIONARY. New edition, with additional\n      matter referring to recent discoveries in Palestine, to\n      which is added a complete HISTORY OF THE JEWISH NATION, by\n      _E. H. Palmer_. Revised and edited by _S. F. Smith, D.D._\n      Thick 8vo. Cloth                                              4 00\n\n    R S. S. CONCERTS. By _A. P._ and _M. T. Folsom_. A choice\n      selection of poems. 12mo                                      1 00\n\n    NDARD SUNDAY-SCHOOL RECORD, containing a place for recording\n      all the necessary business of a Sunday-school. Price          1 00\n\n    SCHOOL LIBRARY RECORD BOOK. Price.                              1 00\n      Larger                                                        1 50\n\n    D SUNDAY-SCHOOL CLASS BOOK, for attendance, contributions,\n      book No., etc. Per dozen                                        75\n\n    By _C. H. M._ Genesis, $1. Exodus, $1. Leviticus, $1. Numbers,\n      $1. The set of 4 Vols. sent postpaid for                      3 50\n      Mr. D. L. Moody says: \u201cThey have been to me a very key to\n      the Scriptures.\u201d\n\n    GRACE AND TRUTH, under twelve different aspects. By _W. P.\n      MacKay, A. M._ 7th edition. 12mo. 272 pages.\n\n      Paper                                                           50\n      Cloth                                                         1 00\n\n    COMMENTARY ON THE INTERNATIONAL SABBATH SCHOOL LESSONS FOR\n      1878. By _Rev. J. E. Todd_ and _M. B. Riddle, D. D._          1 25\n\n    SELECT NOTES ON THE INTERNATIONAL S. S. LESSONS FOR 1878. By\n      _Rev. F. N._ and _M. A. Peloubet_.                            1 25\n\n    THE HAPPY YEAR. An Almanac, Diary, and Daily Food combined,\n      with readings for each month selected by Miss M. B. LYMAN.\n      A neat pocket volume, in leatherette binding                    15\n\n    A great variety of MAPS OF PALESTINE. Among the latest and\n      most desirable are HOBART\u2019S OLD TESTAMENT MAPS. Cloth         1 50\n\n      Mounted                                                       2 00\n\n    INTERNATIONAL S. S. MAPS, A & B, each, Cloth                    2 00\n\n      Mounted                                                       3 00\n\n    A Full Line of QUESTION BOOKS, COMMENTARIES, MUSIC BOOKS, and\n              other requisites for the Sunday-school.\n\n\n\n\nJUST READY.\n\n\nTHE CHAUTAUQUA GIRLS AT HOME\n\n    By _Pansy_. 12mo. Illustrated.      1 50\n\n\n\u201cPansy knows girls, and has the gift of story-telling, by which the\nhard facts of every-day life take on a charm as of fairy-land. No\none can look into \u2018The Chautauqua Girls\u2019 without feeling the subtle\nfascination of its pictures of quiet life, and being drawn into warm\nsympathy with the four friends who long to form noble characters.\nThey have been won to a love of Jesus by attending a camp-meeting at\nChautauqua; but they find it so hard to be true to their new impulses,\nand to carry the spirit of the Bible into every-day life, that the\nstory of their struggles, disheartening failures relieved by partial\nsuccesses, is very human and full of genuine pathos. It is good\nsummer reading, for beguiling away hours, and inspiring with generous\npurposes.\u201d\n\n\u201cPansy\u2019s last book, \u2018The Chautauqua Girls at Home,\u2019 is as fresh and\ninspiring as a fine morning in June. The four friends, Marion, Ruth,\nFlossy and Eurie, are of genuine flesh and blood, with the petty\nweaknesses that flesh is heir to, and the noble aspirations that come\nat times to every high-minded girl. Their unlikeness to each other in\ncharacter and social position, and their mutual helpfulness in all\nsorts of difficulties, make a delightful story; instructive as well as\nfascinating. One finds it hard to lay down the book after beginning\nthe first chapter. It will find many readers who will welcome its\nstimulating power to high aims in life, and to patience and hope in\nfighting hard battles.\u201d\n\n\n_Boston: D. LOTHROP & CO., Publishers._\n\n\n\n\n_Two new Books just ready. The most popular Children\u2019s Books of the\nSeason._\n\n\n1st.\n\nSUNSHINE FOR BABY-LAND.\n\nBY LAURIE LORING.\n\nLarge print. Charming stories. Quarto. More than 100 large\nillustrations, heavier, on better paper, and more elegantly printed\nthan any book ever before issued at =$1.25=.\n\n\n2d.\n\nWIDE AWAKE PLEASURE BOOK.\n\nBY THE BEST AMERICAN AUTHORS.\n\nOn the finest paper. Numerous full-page illustrations. Page a little\nlarger than \u201cChatterbox.\u201d About 400 pages, choicely printed at the\nUniversity Press. Elegantly black and gold back die, chromo side.\nPrice, =$1.50=.\n\n\n_Six new and beautiful large Print Picture Books._\n\nJust Ready. In Beautiful Bindings.\n\n    Illustrated Primer.\n    Easy Reading.\n    Birds and Fishes.\n    Book of Animals.\n    Book of Birds.\n    Book of Natural History.\n\nPrice, =40 cts.= each.\n\n\n_Six handsome new Story Books for the Little Folks._\n\n    My Pet.\n    The Plot.\n    Falsely Accused.\n    Robie Grey.\n    A Brave Boy.\n    Little Gretchen.\n\nOnly =25 cts.= each.\n\n\n_Four very elegant large Print Picture Books._\n\nLarge Page, with colored Frontispiece.\n\n    The Christmas Visit.\n    A Queer Carriage.\n    Somebody\u2019s Darlings.\n    Our Bertie.\n\n=75 cts.= each.\n\n\n_Two elegant and very choice Picture Books._\n\n_Eighty-eight_ Full-page Illustrations in each Book.\n\n    The Holiday Album for Boys.\n    The Holiday Album for Girls.\n\nPrice, =$1.00= each.\n\n\nCHILDREN\u2019S PICTURE-BOOK,\n\nPrice, =$1.50=,\n\nA NEW EDITION of this book is now ready. The demand was so great for it\nduring the Holidays last season, that orders for thousands of copies\ncould not be filled.\n\n\n\n\n    BOOKS FOR YOUNG HEROES AND BRAVE WORKERS.\n\n\n    VIRGINIA. By _W. H. G. Kingston_. 16mo. Illustrated           $1 25\n\n    A stirring story of adventure upon sea and land.\n\n    AFRICAN ADVENTURE AND ADVENTURERS. By _Rev. G. T. Day, D. D._\n      16 mo. Illustrated                                            1 50\n\n    The stories of Speke, Grant, Baker, Livingstone and\n    Stanley are put into simple shape for the entertainment\n    of young readers.\n\n    NOBLE WORKERS. Edited by _S. F. Smith, D. D._ 16mo.             1 50\n\n    STORIES OF SUCCESS. Edited by _S. F. Smith, D. D._ 16mo         1 50\n\n    Inspiring biographies and records which leave a most\n    wholesome and enduring effect upon the reader.\n\n    MYTHS AND HEROES. 16 mo. Illustrated. Edited by _S. F. Smith,\n      D. D._                                                        1 50\n\n    KNIGHTS AND SEA KINGS. Edited by _S. F. Smith, D. D._ 12mo.\n      Illustrated                                                   1 50\n\n    Two entertaining books, which will fasten forever the\n    historical and geographical lessons of the school-room\n    firmly in the student\u2019s mind.\n\n    CHAPLIN\u2019S LIFE OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 16mo. Illustrated          1 50\n\n    LIFE OF AMOS LAWRENCE. 12mo. Ill.                               1 50\n\n    Two biographies of perennial value. No worthier books\n    were ever offered as holiday presents for our American\n    young men.\n\n    WALTER NEAL\u2019S EXAMPLE. By _Rev. Theron Brown_. 16 mo.\n      Illustrated                                                   1 25\n\n    Walter Neal\u2019s Example is by Rev. Theron Brown, the\n    editor of that very successful paper, _The Youth\u2019s\n    Companion_. The story is a touching one, and is in\n    parts so vivid as to seem drawn from the life.\u2014_N. Y.\n    Independent._\n\n    TWO FORTUNE-SEEKERS. Stories by _Rossiter Johnson_, _Louise\n      Chandler Moulton_, _E. Stuart Phelps_, _Ella Farman_, _etc._\n      Fully illustrated                                             1 50\n\n\n\n\n\nMISS JULIA A. EASTMAN is one of the most popular of our modern writers.\n\n    YOUNG RICK. By _Julia A. Eastman_. Large 16mo. Twelve\n      illustrations by Sol Eytinge                                 $1 50\n\n    A bright, fascinating story of a little boy who was\n    both a blessing and a bother.\u2014_Boston Journal._\n\n    The most delightful book on the list for the children\n    of the family, being full of adventures and gay home\n    scenes and merry play-times. \u201cPaty\u201d would have done\n    credit to Dickens in his palmiest days. The strange\n    glows and shadows of her character are put in lovingly\n    and lingeringly, with the pencil of a master. Miss\n    Margaret\u2019s character of light is admirably drawn,\n    while Aunt Lesbia, Deacon Harkaway, Tom Dorrance, and\n    the master and mistress of Graythorpe poor-house are\n    genuine \u201ccharcoal sketches.\u201d\n\n    STRIKING FOR THE RIGHT. By _Julia A. Eastman_. Large 16mo.\n      Illustrated                                                   1 75\n\n    While this story holds the reader breathless with\n    expectancy and excitement, its civilizing influence in\n    the family is hardly to be estimated. In all quarters\n    it has met with the warmest praise.\n\n    THE ROMNEYS OF RIDGEMONT. By  _Julia A. Eastman_. 16mo.\n      Illustrated                                                   1 50\n\n    BEULAH ROMNEY. By _Julia A. Eastman_. 16 mo. Illustrated        1 50\n\n    Two stories wondrously alive, flashing with fun,\n    sparkling with tears, throbbing with emotion. The next\n    best thing to attending Mrs. Hale\u2019s big boarding-school\n    is to read Beulah\u2019s experience there.\n\n    SHORT-COMINGS AND LONG-GOINGS. By _Julia A. Eastman_. 16 mo.\n      Illustrated                                                   1 25\n\n    A remarkable book, crowded with remarkable characters.\n    It is a picture gallery of human nature.\n\n    KITTY KENT\u2019S TROUBLES. _By Julia A. Eastman_. 16 mo.\n      Illustrated                                                   1 50\n\n    \u201cA delicious April-day style of book, sunshiny with\n    smiles on one page while the next is misty with tender\n    tears. Almost every type of American school-girl is\n    here represented\u2014the vain Helen Dart, the beauty, Amy\n    Searle, the ambitious, high bred, conservative Anna\n    Matson; but next to Kitty herself sunny little Pauline\n    Sedgewick will prove the general favorite. It is a\n    story fully calculated to win both girls and boys\n    toward noble, royal ways of doing little as well as\n    great things. All teachers should feel an interest in\n    placing it in the hands of their pupils.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n\u201cMISS FARMAN has the very desirable knack of imparting valuable ideas\nunder the guise of a pleasing story.\u201d\u2014_The New Century._\n\n\n    MRS. HURD\u2019S NIECE. By _Ella Farman_. Ill.                      $1 50\n\n    A thrilling story for the girls, especially for those\n    who think they have a \u201cmission,\u201d to whom we commend\n    sturdy English Hannah, with her small means, and her\n    grand success. Saidee Hurd is one of the sweetest girls\n    ever embalmed in story, and Lois Gladstone one of the\n    noblest.\n\n    THE COOKING CLUB OF TU-WHIT HOLLOW. By _Ella Farman_. 16 mo.\n      Eight full-page illustrations                                 1 25\n\n    Worth reading by all who delight in domestic\n    romance.\u2014_Fall River Daily News._\n\n    The practical instructions in housewifery, which are\n    abundant, are set in the midst of a bright, wholesome\n    story, and the little housewives who figure in it are\n    good specimens of very human, but at the same time very\n    lovable, little American girls. It ought to be the\n    most successful little girls\u2019 book of the season.\u2014_The\n    Advance._\n\n    A LITTLE WOMAN. By _Ella Farman_. 16mo.                         1 00\n\n    The daintiest of all juvenile books. From its merry\n    pages, winsome Kinnie Crosby has stretched out her warm\n    little hand to help thousands of young girls.\n\n    A WHITE HAND. By _Ella Farman_. 12mo. Ill.                      1 50\n\n    A genuine painting of American society. Millicent and\n    Jack are drawn by a bold, firm hand. No one can lay\n    this story down until the last leaf is turned.\n\n\n\n\n_WIDE AWAKE._\n\nAN ILLUSTRATED MAGAZINE\n\nFor the Young Folks.\n\n$2.00 PER ANNUM. POSTAGE PREPAID.\n\nEdited by ELLA FARMAN.\n\nPublished by D. LOTHROP & CO., Boston, Mass.\n\n    It always contains a feast of fat things for the little\n    folks, and folks who are no longer little find there\n    lost childhood in its pages. We are not saying too much\n    when we say that its versatile editor\u2014Ella Farman, is\n    more fully at home in the child\u2019s wonder-land than any\n    other living American writer. She is thoroughly _en\n    rapport_ with her readers, gives them now a sugar plum\n    of poesy, now a dainty jelly-cake of imagination, and\n    cunningly intermixes all the solid bread of thought\n    that the child\u2019s mind can digest and assimilate.\u2014_York\n    True Democrat._\n\n\n\n\nPANSY\u2019S PAGE.\n\n\n    FOUR GIRLS AT CHAUTAUQUA. By _Pansy_. 12 mo. Illustrated       $1 50\n\n    The most fascinating \u201cwatering-place\u201d story ever\n    published. Four friends, each a brilliant girl in her\n    way, tired of Saratoga and Newport, try a fortnight\n    at the new summer resort on Chautauqua Lake, choosing\n    the time when the National Sunday-school Assembly is\n    in camp. Rev. Drs. Vincent, Deems, Cuyler, Edward\n    Eggleston, Mrs. Emily Huntington Miller, move\n    prominently through the story.\n\n    HOUSEHOLD PUZZLES. By _Pansy_. 12mo. Illustrated                1 50\n\n    How to make one dollar do the work of five. A family of\n    beautiful girls seek to solve this \u201cpuzzle.\u201d Piquant,\n    humorous, but written with an intense purpose.\n\n    THE RANDOLPHS. By _Pansy_. 12 mo. Illustrated                   1 50\n\n    A sequel to Household Puzzles, in which the Puzzles are\n    agreeably disposed of.\n\n    GRANDPA\u2019S DARLINGS. By _Pansy_. 16 mo. Illustrated              1 25\n\n    A big book, full of \u201cgood times\u201d for the little people\n    of the family.\n\n      ESTER RIED              By _Pansy_.  1 50\n      JULIA RIED                  \u201c      1 50\n      THREE PEOPLE                \u201c      1 50\n      THE KING\u2019S DAUGHTER         \u201c      1 50\n      WISE AND OTHERWISE          \u201c      1 50\n      CUNNING WORKMEN             \u201c      1 25\n      JESSIE WELLS                \u201c        75\n      DOCIA\u2019S JOURNAL             \u201c        75\n      BERNIE\u2019S WHITE CHICKEN      \u201c        75\n      HELEN LESTER                \u201c        75\n      A CHRISTMAS TIME            \u201c        15\n\n\n\n\nThe $1000 Prize Series\n\n_Pronounced by the Examining Committee, Rev. Drs. Lincoln, Rankin and\nDay, superior to any similar series._\n\n\n    STRIKING FOR THE RIGHT,            $1.75\n    SILENT TOM,                         1.75\n    EVENING REST,                       1.50\n    THE OLD STONE HOUSE,                1.50\n    INTO THE LIGHT,                     1.50\n    WALTER MCDONALD,                    1.50\n    STORY OF THE BLOUNT FAMILY,         1.50\n    MARGARET WORTHINGTON,               1.50\n    THE WADSWORTH BOYS,                 1.50\n    GRACE AVERY\u2019S INFLUENCE,            1.50\n    GLIMPSES THROUGH,                   1.50\n    RALPH\u2019S POSSESSION,                 1.50\n    LUCK OF ALDEN FARM,                 1.50\n    CHRONICLES OF SUNSET MOUNTAIN,      1.50\n    THE MARBLE PREACHER,                1.50\n    GOLDEN LINES,                       1.50\n\n_Sold by Booksellers generally, and sent by Mail, postpaid, on receipt\nof price._\n\n\n    _BOSTON:\n    D. LOTHROP & CO., PUBLISHERS._\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Notes:\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired. Text occasionally uses the archaic\n\u201can one\u201d where the more modern \u201ca one\u201d would be used currently. This\nwas retained as printed.\n\nPage 11, \u201ccorderoy\u201d changed to \u201ccorduroy\u201d (fustian or corduroy)\n\nPage 31, \u201cof\u201d changed to \u201coff\u201d (them off, and)\n\nPage 34, \u201cneccessary\u201d changed to \u201cnecessary\u201d (country if necessary)\n\nPage 52, \u201cBosworth\u2019s\u201d changed to \u201cBosworth\u201d (these, Mr. Bosworth\nSmith\u2019s)\n\nPage 152, \u201cinterveiw\u201d changed to \u201cinterview\u201d (interview with the Dean)\n\nPage 170, \u201caud\u201d changed to \u201cand\u201d (for ability and zeal)\n\nPage 187, \u201chierachy\u201d changed to \u201chierarchy\u201d (hierarchy of the best)\n\nPage 201, \u201cin\u201d changed to \u201cis\u201d (there is still a King)\n\nPage 237, \u201ccryung\u201d changed to \u201ccrying\u201d (is crying out for)\n\nPage 244, \u201cbeford\u201d changed to \u201cbefore\u201d (laid the whole before)\n\nPage 274, \u201cschools\u201d changed to \u201cschool\u201d (outside the school)\n\nPage 281, \u201cmigthiest\u201d changed to \u201cmightiest\u201d (and his mightiest words)\n\nPage 282, \u201cdiciples\u201d changed to \u201cdisciples\u201d (handful of disciples)\n\nPage 283, \u201cdiciples\u201d changed to \u201cdisciples\u201d (he asks his disciples)\n\nPage 290, \u201cwhieh\u201d changed to \u201cwhich\u201d (those which surrounded)\n\nPage 299, \u201cMechiavellian\u201d changed to \u201cMachiavellian\u201d (on the\nMachiavellian)\n\nPage cciv, \u201cMusieal\u201d changed to \u201cMusical\u201d (Musical Instruments of)\n\nPage cccvii, \u201cAcused\u201d changed to \u201cAccused\u201d (Falsely Accused)\n\nPage cccix, \u201cremarkabls\u201d changed to \u201cremarkable\u201d (A remarkable book,\ncrowded)\n\nPage cccx, \u201c16m\u201d and \u201c12m\u201d changed to \u201c16mo\u201d and \u201c12mo\u201d for (A LITTLE\nWOMAN) and (A WHITE HAND) respectively.","title":"True Manliness: From the Writings of Thomas Hughes","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":80649}