{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_66079/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_66079","id":"gutenberg_66079","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66079","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Essays, Letters & Speeches","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Teaching & Education","English essays -- 20th century","Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 20th century"],"text":"+-------------------------------------------------+\n|Transcriber\u2019s note:                              |\n|                                                 |\n|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.  |\n|                                                 |\n+-------------------------------------------------+\n\n\n\n\nFREE OPINIONS\n\nFREELY EXPRESSED\n\n\n\n\nCONSTABLE\u2019S NEW 6/- NOVELS\n\n\n     _ROBERT W. CHAMBERS._\n\n     IN SEARCH OF THE UNKNOWN.\n\n     _JOHN FOX_ (_Author of \u201cThe Little Shepherd of Kingdom Come\u201d_).\n\n     CRITTENDEN.\n\n     _MRS. STEPNEY RAWSON._\n\n     TALES OF RYE TOWN.\n\n     _ERNEST GLANVILLE._\n\n     A ROUGH REFORMER.\n\n     _UNA L. SILBERRAD._\n\n     THE WEDDING OF THE LADY OF LOVELL.\n\n     _HELEN H. COLVILL._\n\n     THE STEPPING STONE.\n\n     _MRS. COMYNS CARR._\n\n     JOHN FLETCHER\u2019S MADONNA.\n\n     _MAY SINCLAIR._\n\n     THE DIVINE FIRE.\n\nLONDON:\nARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO. LTD.\n\n\n\n\nFREE OPINIONS\n\nFREELY EXPRESSED\n\nON\n\nCertain Phases of Modern Social\nLife and Conduct\n\n\nBy\n\nMARIE CORELLI\n\nAUTHOR OF \u201cGOD\u2019S GOOD MAN\u201d \u201cTEMPORAL POWER\u201d\n\u201cBARABBAS\u201d \u201cTHE MASTER CHRISTIAN\u201d ETC\n\n\nLONDON\nARCHIBALD CONSTABLE & CO LTD\n1905\n\n\n\n\nBUTLER & TANNER,\nTHE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS,\nFROME, AND LONDON.\n\n\n\n\n           A Toi, Sauvage!\n\n     \u201cSi vous voulez combattre,\n         Il faut croire d\u2019abord;\n     Il faut que le lutteur\n         Affirme la justice;\n     Il faut, pour le devoir\n         Qu\u2019il s\u2019offre au sacrifice,\n     Et qu\u2019il soit le plus pur,\n         S\u2019il n\u2019est pas le plus fort.\u201d\n                          EUG\u00c8NE MANUEL.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n                                                    PAGE\nA VITAL POINT OF EDUCATION                             1\n\nTHE RESPONSIBILITY OF THE PRESS                       14\n\n\u201cPAGAN LONDON\u201d                                        29\n\nA QUESTION OF FAITH                                   38\n\nUNCHRISTIAN CLERICS                                   68\n\nTHE SOCIAL BLIGHT                                     79\n\nTHE DEATH OF HOSPITALITY                              89\n\nTHE VULGARITY OF WEALTH                               98\n\nAMERICAN WOMEN IN ENGLAND                            117\n\nTHE AMERICAN BOUNDER                                 128\n\nCOWARD ADAM                                          143\n\nACCURS\u00cbD EVE                                         152\n\n\u201cIMAGINARY\u201d LOVE                                     162\n\nTHE ADVANCE OF WOMAN                                 169\n\nTHE PALM OF BEAUTY                                   185\n\nTHE MADNESS OF CLOTHES                               195\n\nTHE DECAY OF HOME LIFE IN ENGLAND                    207\n\nSOCIETY AND SUNDAY                                   233\n\nTHE \u201cSTRONG\u201d BOOK OF THE ISHBOSHETH                  245\n\nTHE MAKING OF LITTLE POETS                           252\n\nTHE PRAYER OF THE SMALL COUNTRY M.P.                 262\n\nTHE THANKSGIVING OF THE SMALL COUNTRY M.P.\u2019S WIFE    267\n\nTHE VANISHING GIFT                                   273\n\nTHE POWER OF THE PEN                                 292\n\nTHE GLORY OF WORK                                    310\n\nTHE HAPPY LIFE                                       326\n\nTHE SOUL OF THE NATION                               340\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR\u2019S NOTE\n\n\nSome of these social papers which are now collected together for the\nfirst time, have appeared before in various periodicals enjoying\na simultaneous circulation in this country and the United States.\nEleven of them were written for an American syndicate, which (for the\npurpose of copyright in Great Britain) sold them to a London weekly\njournal, wherein they were duly issued. \u201cPagan London,\u201d however, which\ncaused some little public discussion, was not included among those\nsupplied to the American syndicated press, that article having been\nwritten specially for readers in this country as a protest against\nArchdeacon Sinclair\u2019s sweeping condemnation of the lax morality and\nneglect of religion among the teeming millions that populate our\ngreat English metropolis,--a condemnation which I ventured, and still\nventure to think unfair, in the face of the open worldliness, and gross\ninattention to the spiritual needs of their congregations on the part\nof a very large majority of the clergy themselves. Certain people,\nwhose brains must be of that peculiar density which is incapable\nof receiving even the impression of a shadow of common sense, have\nsince accused me of attacking \u201call\u201d the clergy. Such an accusation is\nunwarranted and unwarrantable, for no one appreciates more than I do\nthe brave, patient, self-denying and silent work of the true ministers\nof the Gospel, who, seeking nothing for themselves, sacrifice all for\ntheir Master. But it is just these noble clergy whose high profession\nis degraded by the ever-increasing tribe of the false hypocrites of\ntheir order, such as those mentioned in \u201cUnchristian Clerics,\u201d all\nof whom have come within the radius of my own personal experience. I\nreadily admit that I have little patience with humbug of any kind,\nand that \u201creligious\u201d humbug does always seem to me more like open\nblasphemy than what is commonly called by that name. I equally confess\nthat I have no sympathy with any form of faith which needs continuous\nblatant public advertisement in the press of a so-called \u201cChristian\u201d\ncountry--nor do I believe in a Brass-band \u201crevival\u201d of what, if our\nreligion is religion at all, should never need \u201creviving.\u201d I have put\nforward these views plainly in \u201cThe Soul of the Nation,\u201d which appears\nfor the first time in the present volume.\n\nI have only to add that I attach no other merit to such \u201copinions\u201d as\nwill be found in the following pages, than that they are honest, and\nthat they are honestly expressed, without fear or favour. This is their\nonly claim upon the attention of the public.\n\nSTRATFORD-ON-AVON,\n_March, 1905_.\n\n\n\n\nA VITAL POINT OF EDUCATION\n\n\nIn days like these, when the necessity of Education, technical or\notherwise, is strenuously insisted upon by all the learned, worshipful,\ngovernmental and dictatorial personages who \u201csit\u201d on County Councils,\nor talk the precious time recklessly away in Parliament without\napparently arriving at any decision of definite workable good for the\nnation, it will not perhaps be considered obtrusive or intrusive if a\nsuggestion be put forward as to the importance of one point,--\n\n\nTHE NECESSITY OF TEACHING PEOPLE TO READ.\n\nThis essential of education is sadly lacking among the general majority\nof \u201ceducated\u201d persons in Great Britain, and I think I may say America.\nEspecially among those of the \u201cupper\u201d classes, in both countries.\nWhen we speak of these \u201cupper\u201d classes, we mean of course those, who\nby chance or fortune have been born either to such rank or to such\nsufficient wealth as to be lifted above the toiling million, and\nwho may be presumed to have had all the physical, mental and social\nadvantages that tuition, training and general surroundings can give\nthem. Yet it is precisely among these that we find the ones who cannot\nread, who frequently cannot spell, and whose handwriting is so bad as\nto be well-nigh illegible. When it is said that they cannot read,\nthat statement is not intended to convey the idea that if a book or\nnewspaper be given to them they do not understand the letters or the\nprint in which the reading matter is presented to their eyes. They\ndo. But such letters and such print impress no meaning upon their\nminds. Anyone can prove this by merely asking them what they have been\nreading. In nine cases out of ten they \u201cdon\u2019t know.\u201d And if they ever\ndid know, during one unusual moment of brain-activity, they \u201cforget.\u201d\nThe thinking faculty is, with them, like a worn-out sieve, through\nwhich everything runs easily and drops to waste. The news of the day,\nbe it set forth never so boldly in no matter what startlingly stout\nheadlines, barely excites their interest for more than a second.\nThey may perhaps glance at a couple of newspaper placards and lazily\nobserve, \u201cRussia at it again,\u201d but of the ins and outs of policy, the\ndifficulties of Government, the work of nations, they grasp absolutely\nnothing. Thus it happens that when they are asked their opinion on\nany such events of the hour as may be making history in the future,\nthey display their utter ignorance in such a frankly stupid fashion\nthat any intelligent enquirer is bound to be stunned by their lack\nof knowledge, and will perhaps murmur feebly: \u201cHave you not read the\nnews?\u201d to which will come the vague reply: \u201cOh, yes, I read all the\nnewspapers! But I really don\u2019t remember the particulars just now!\u201d What\nthey do remember--these \u201ccultured\u201d persons, (and the more highly they\nare cultured, the more tenacious appears to be their memory in this\nrespect)--is a divorce case. They always read that carefully over and\nover again. They comment upon it afterwards with such gusto as to make\nit quite evident to the merest tyro, that they have learned all its\nworst details by heart. If they can only revel in the published shame\nand disgrace of one or two of their very \u201cdearest\u201d friends, they enjoy\nand appreciate that kind of mental fare more than all the beautiful\npoems and idyllic romances ever written.\n\nThe \u201cmillion\u201d have long ago learned to read,--and are reading. The last\nis the most important fact, and one which those who seek to govern them\nwould do well to remember. For their reading is of a most strange,\nmixed, and desultory order--and who can say what wondrous new notions\nand disturbing theories may not leap out sprite-like from the witch\u2019s\ncauldron of seething ideas round which they gather, watching the\nliterary \u201cbubble, bubble, toil and trouble,\u201d wherein the \u201ceye of newt\nand toe of frog\u201d in the book line may contrast with something which is\naltogether outside the boiling hotch-potch,--namely that \u201csick eagle\nlooking at the sky\u201d which is the true symbol of the highest literary\nart. But the highest literary art, particularly in its poetic form, is\nat a discount nowadays. And why? Simply because even the million do\nnot know \u201chow\u201d to read. Moreover, it is very difficult to make them\nlearn. They have neither the skill nor the patience to study beautiful\nthoughts expressed in beautiful language. They want to \u201crush\u201d something\nthrough. Whether poem, play, or novel, it must be \u201crushed through\u201d and\ndone with. Very few authors\u2019 work, if any, can be sure of an honest and\nunprejudiced reading, either by those whose business it is to review\nit for the press, or those whose pleasure it is to \u201cskim\u201d it for\nthemselves. \u201cThey have no time.\u201d They have time for motoring, cycling,\ncard-playing, racing, betting, hockey and golf,--anything in short\nwhich does not directly appeal to the intellectual faculties,--but for\nreal reading, they can neither make leisure, nor acquire aptitude.\n\nThis vague, sieve-like quality of brain and general inability to\ncomprehend or retain impressions of character or events, which is\nbecoming so common among modern so-called \u201creaders\u201d of books, can but\nmake things very difficult for authors who seek to contribute something\nof their utmost and best to the world of literature. Most men and\nwomen who feel the \u201cdivine afflatus,\u201d and who are able to write in a\nstyle above the average, must be conscious of a desire to rise yet\nhigher than any of their own attempted efforts, and to do something\nnew, strong, and true enough to hold life and lasting in it when other\ncontemporary work is forgotten. It is the craving of the \u201csick eagle\nlooking at the sky\u201d perhaps, nevertheless it is a noble craving. In\ntaking an aim, it is as well to let fly at the moon, even if one only\nhits a tree. But when fiery-footed Pegasus would fain gallop away with\nits rider into the realms of imagination and enchantment,--when the\naspiring disciple of literature, all aglow with freshness and fervour,\nstrives to catch some new spirit of thought as it rushes past on its\nswift wings, or seeks to create some fair consoling idyll of human\ncircumstance, then all the publishers stand massed in the way and cry\n\u201cHalt!\u201d \u201cDon\u2019t let us have any great ideas!\u201d they say--\u201cThey are above\nthe heads of the public. Be domestic--be matrimonially iniquitous,--be\nanything in the line of fiction but \u2018great.\u2019 Don\u2019t give us new things\nto think about,--the public have no time to think. What they want is\njust something to glance at between tea and dinner.\u201d\n\nNow this condition of affairs, which is positively disastrous to all\nliterary art, is brought about by the lack of the one vital point in\nthe modern education of the British and American people,--namely, that\nthey have not been taught \u201chow\u201d to read. As a result of this, they\nfrequently pronounce a book \u201ctoo long\u201d or \u201ctoo dull,\u201d--too this, or too\nthat, without having looked at more than perhaps twenty pages of its\ncontents. They will skim over any amount of cheap newspapers and trashy\nsociety \u201cweeklies\u201d full of the unimportant movements and doings of he\nand she and they, but to take up a book with any serious intention of\nreading it thoroughly, is a task which only the thoughtful few will\nbe found ready to undertake. What is called the appreciation of the\n\u201cbelles lettres\u201d is indeed \u201ccaviare to the general.\u201d Knowledge brings\nconfidence; and if it were made as much the fashion to read as it is to\nride in motor-cars, some improvement in manners and conduct might be\nthe happy result of such a prevailing taste. But as matters stand at\nthe present day, there are a large majority of the \u201ceducated\u201d class,\nwho actually do not know the beginnings of \u201chow\u201d to read. They have\nnever learned--and some of them will never learn. They cannot realize\nthe unspeakable delight and charm of giving one\u2019s self up to one\u2019s\nauthor, _sans_ prejudice, _sans_ criticism, _sans_ everything that\ncould possibly break or mar the spell, and being carried on the wings\nof gentle romance away from Self, away from the everyday cares and\npetty personalities of social convention, and observance, and living\n\u201cwith\u201d the characters which have been created by the man or woman whose\nfertile brain and toiling pen have unitedly done their best to give\nthis little respite and holiday to those who will take it and rejoice\nin it with gratitude.\n\nFew there are nowadays who will so permit themselves to be carried\naway. Far larger is the class of people who take up a novel or a\nvolume of essays, merely to find fault with it and fling it aside half\nunread. The attitude of the bad-tempered child who does not know what\ntoy to break next, is the attitude of many modern readers. Nothing is\nmore manifestly unfair to an author than to judge a book by the mere\n\u201cskimming\u201d of its pages, and this injustice becomes almost felonious\nwhen the merits or demerits of the work are decided without reading it\nat all. For instance, Smith meets Jones in the train which is taking\nthem out to their respective \u201clittle places\u201d in the country, and says:\n\n\u201cHave you read So-and-So\u2019s latest book? If not, don\u2019t!\u201d Whereupon\nJones murmurs: \u201cReally! So bad as all that! Have _you_ read it?\u201d\nTo which Smith rejoins rudely: \u201cNo! And don\u2019t intend! I\u2019ve _heard_\nall about it!\u201d And Jones, acquiescing feebly, decides that he must\n\u201ctaboo\u201d that book, also its author, lest perhaps Mrs. Jones\u2019 virtue\nbe put to the blush at the mention of either. Now if Smith dared to\ncondemn a tradesman in this way, and depreciated his goods to Jones\nin such wise that the latter should be led to avoid him altogether,\nthat tradesman could claim damages for injuring his character and\ndepriving him of custom. Should not the same rule apply to authors when\nthey are condemned on mere hearsay? Or when their work is wilfully\nmisrepresented and misquoted in the press?\n\nIt may not, perhaps, be considered out of place here to recall a\n\u201cpersonal reminiscence\u201d of the wilful misrepresentation made to a\ncertain section of the public of a novel of mine entitled \u201cTemporal\nPower.\u201d That book had scarcely left the printer\u2019s hands when W. T.\nStead, of the _Review of Reviews_, wrote me a most cordial letter,\ncongratulating me on the work, and averring that it was \u201cthe best\u201d\nof all I had done. But in his letter he set forth the startling\nproposition that I \u201cmust have meant\u201d King Edward, our own gracious\nSovereign, for my \u201cfictional\u201d King, Queen Alexandra for the Queen,\nthe Prince of Wales for my \u201cPrince Humphry,\u201d and Mr. Chamberlain for\nthe defaulting Secretary of State, who figures in the story as \u201cCarl\nPerousse.\u201d I was so amazed at this curious free translation of my\nideas, that at first I thought it was \u201cJulia\u201d who had thus persuaded\nMr. Stead to see things upside down. But as his criticism of the book\nhad not yet appeared in the _Review of Reviews_, I wrote to him at\nonce, and earnestly assured him of the complete misapprehension he\nhad made of my whole scope and intention. Despite this explanation on\nmy part, however, Mr. Stead wrote and published a review of the book\nmaintaining his own fabricated \u201ccase\u201d against me, notwithstanding\nthe fact that he held my denial of his assertions in his possession\n_before_ the publication of his criticism! And though a dealer in\nmeat, groceries, and other food stuffs may obtain compensation if his\nwares are wilfully misrepresented to the buying public, the purveyor\nof thoughts or ideas has no remedy when such thoughts or ideas are\ndeliberately and purposefully falsified to the world through the press.\nYet the damage is surely as great,--and the injury done to one\u2019s honest\nintention quite as gratuitous. From this little incident occurring to\nmyself, I venture to say in reference to the assertion that people do\nnot know how to read, that if those who \u201crushed\u201d through the misleading\ncriticism of \u201cTemporal Power\u201d had honestly read the book so criticized\nfor themselves, they would have seen at once how distorted was Mr.\nStead\u2019s view of the whole story. But,--while many who had read the book\nand _not_ the review, laughed at the bare notion of there being any\nresemblance between my fictional hero-king of romance and the Sovereign\nof the British Empire, others, reading the review only, foolishly\ndecided that I must have written some \u201ctravesty\u201d upon English royalty,\nand condemned the book _without reading it_. This is what all authors\nhave a right to complain of,--the condemnation or censure of their\nbooks by persons who have not read them. For though there never was so\nmuch reading matter put before the public, there was never less actual\n\u201creading\u201d in the truest and highest sense of the term than there is at\npresent.\n\nTo read, as I take it, means to sit down quietly and enjoy a book in\nits every line and expression. Whether it be tragic or humourous,\nsimple or ornate, it has been written to beguile us from our daily\nroutine of life, and to give us a little change of thought or mood.\nIt may please us, or it may make us sad--it may even anger us by\nupsetting our pet theories and contradicting us on our own lines of\nargument; but if it has taken us away for a time from ourselves, it\nhas fulfilled the greater part of its mission, and done us a good\nturn. Those who have really learned to read, are no encouragers of the\nFree Library craze. The true lover of books will never want to peruse\nvolumes that are thumbed and soiled by hundreds of other hands--he or\nshe will manage to buy them and keep them as friends in the private\nhousehold. Any book, save the most expensive \u201c\u00e9dition de luxe,\u201d can\nbe purchased for a few shillings,--a little saving on drugged beer\nand betting would enable the most ordinary mechanic to stock himself\nwith a very decent library of his own. To borrow one\u2019s mental fare\nfrom Free Libraries is a dirty habit to begin with. It is rather like\npicking up eatables dropped by some one else in the road, and making\none\u2019s dinner off another\u2019s leavings. One book, clean and fresh from the\nbookseller\u2019s counter, is worth half a dozen of the soiled and messy\nknock-about volumes, which many of our medical men assure us carry\ndisease-germs in their too-frequently fingered pages. Free Libraries\nare undoubtedly very useful resorts for betting men. They can run in,\nglance at the newspapers for the latest \u201cSporting Items\u201d and run out\nagain. But why ratepayers should support such houses of call for these\ngentry remains a mystery which one would have to pierce through all\nthe Wool and Wobble of Municipal Corporations to solve. An American\n\u201cprofessor\u201d--(there are so many of them) spoke to me the other day in\nglowing terms of Andrew Carnegie. \u201cHe\u2019s cute, you bet!\u201d he remarked,\n\u201che goes one better than Pears\u2019 Soap! Pears has got to pay for the\nupkeep of his hoardings, but Carnegie plants his down in the shape of\nlibraries and gets the British ratepayer to keep them all going! Ain\u2019t\nhe spry!\u201d\n\nPoor British ratepayer! It is to be feared he is easily gulled!\nBut,--to return to the old argument--if he knew \u201chow\u201d to read--really\nknew,--he would not be so easily taken in, even by the schemes of\nphilanthropy. He would buy his books himself, and among them he might\neven manage to secure a copy of a very interesting volume published in\nAmerica, so I am given to understand, which tells us how Carnegie made\nhis millions, and how he sanctioned the action of the Pinkerton police\nforce in firing on his men when they \u201cstruck\u201d for higher wages.\n\nApropos of America and things American, there is just now a pretty\nlittle story started in the press on both sides of the water, about\nBritish novels and British authors no longer being wanted in the United\nStates. The Children of the Eagle are going to make their fiction\nthemselves. All power to their elbows! But British authors will do\nthemselves no harm by enquiring carefully into this report. It may\neven pay some of them to send over a private agent on their own behalf\nto study the American book stores, and take count of the thousands of\nvolumes of British fiction which are selling there \u201clike hot cakes,\u201d to\nquote a choice expression of Transatlantic slang. It is quite evident\nthat the Children of the Eagle purchase British fiction. It is equally\nevident that the publishers who cater for the Children of the Eagle\nare anxious to get British fiction cheap, and are doing this little\ndeal of the \u201cNo demand\u201d business from an acute sense of urgency. It is\nall right, of course! If I were an American publisher and had to pay\nlarge prices to popular British authors for popular British fiction\n(now that \u201cpiracy\u201d is no longer possible), I should naturally tell\nthose British authors that they are not wanted in America, and that it\nis very good and condescending of me to consider their wares at all.\nI should give a well-known British author from \u00a3100 to \u00a3500 for the\nsole American rights of his or her newest production, and proceed to\nmake \u00a35,000 or \u00a37,000 profit out of it. That kind of thing is called\n\u201cbusiness.\u201d I should never suspect the British author of being so base\nas to send over and get legal statements as to how his or her book was\nselling, or to take note of the thousands of copies stacked up every\nday in the stores, to be melted away as soon as stacked, in the hands\nof eager purchasers. No! As a strictly honourable person, I should\nhope that the British author would stay at home and mind his or her\nown business. But let us suppose that the American publisher\u2019s latest\ndelicate \u201cfeeler\u201d respecting the \u201cNo demand for British literature\u201d\nwere true, it would seem that Americans, even more than the British,\nrequire to be taught \u201chow\u201d to read. If one may judge from their own\noutput of literature, the lesson is badly needed. Ralph Waldo Emerson\nremains, as yet, their biggest literary man. He knew \u201chow\u201d to read,\nand from that knowledge learned \u201chow\u201d to write. But no American author\nhas come after him that can be called greater than he, or as great.\nConcerning the art of fiction, the present American \u201cmake\u201d is, whatever\nthe immediate \u201ccatching on\u201d of it may be, distinctly ephemera of the\nutmost ephemeral. Such \u201cliterature\u201d would not exist even in America, if\nAmericans knew \u201chow\u201d to read. What is called the \u201cYellow Journalism\u201d\nwould not exist either. Why? Because a really educated reader of things\nworth reading would not read it--and it would therefore be a case of\nthe wicked ceasing to trouble and the weary being at rest.\n\nThere is a general complaint nowadays--especially among authors--of\nthe \u201cdecadence\u201d of literature. It is true enough. But the cause of the\n\u201cdecadence\u201d is the same--simply and solely that people cannot and will\nnot read. They do not know \u201chow\u201d to do it. If they ever did know in the\nbygone days of Dickens and Thackeray, they have forgotten. Every book\nis \u201ctoo long\u201d for them. Yet scarcely any novel is published now as long\nas the novels of Dickens, which were so eagerly devoured at one time by\ntens of thousands of admiring readers. A short, risky, rather \u201cnasty\u201d\nbook, (reviewers would call it strong, but that is only a little joke\nof theirs,--they speak of this kind of literature as though it were\ncheese) finds most favour with the \u201cupper\u201d circles of society in Great\nBritain and America. Not so with the \u201cmillion\u201d though. The million\nprefer simpler fare--and they read a good deal--though scarcely in the\nright way. It is always more a case of \u201cskimming\u201d than reading. If\nthey are ever taught the right way to read, they may become wiser than\nany political government would like them to be. For right reading makes\nright thinking--and right thinking makes right living--and right living\nwould result in what? Well! For one thing, members of councils and\nother \u201cruling\u201d bodies would be lazier than ever, with less to do--and\nthe Education Act would no longer be necessary, as the fact of simply\nknowing \u201chow\u201d to read, would educate everybody without further trouble.\n\nDear Sir or Madam,--read! Don\u2019t \u201cskim\u201d! Learn your letters! Study the\npronunciation and meaning of words thoroughly first, and then you may\nproceed to sentences. Gradually you will be able to master a whole\npassage of prose or poetry in such a manner as actually to understand\nit. That will be a great thing! And once you understand it, you may\neven possibly remember it! And then,--no matter how much you may have\npreviously been educated,--your education will only have just begun.\n\n[Illustration: Decoration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE RESPONSIBILITY OF THE PRESS\n\n\nNot very long ago a Royal hint was given by one of the wisest and most\ntactful among the great throned Rulers of the world, to that other\nruling power which is frequently alluded to as \u201cthe Fourth Estate.\u201d\nEdward the Seventh, King by the Grace of God over Great Britain and\nall the dependencies which flourish under the sign of the Rose,\nShamrock and Thistle, using that courteous and diplomatic manner which\nparticularly belongs to him, expressed his \u201chope\u201d that the Gentlemen\nof the Press would do their best to foster amity and goodwill between\nthe British Empire and other nations. Now amongst the many kindly,\nthoughtful, sagacious and farsighted things which His Majesty has done\nsince he ascended the English Throne, that highest seat of honour in\nthe world--perhaps this mild and friendly suggestion to the Press is\none of the most pointed, necessary and admirable. It is a suggestion\nwhich, if accepted in the frank, manly and magnanimous spirit in\nwhich it has been conveyed, would make for the peace of Europe. Petty\ninsult often begets serious strife, and the cheap sneer of a would-be\n\u201csmart\u201d journalist at another country\u2019s governmental mistakes may lead\nto consequences undreamt of in newspaper-office philosophy. Yet the\njournalist, as journalist, is scarcely to blame if, in a praiseworthy\ndesire to give a \u201cselling\u201d impetus to the paper on which he is\nemployed, he gets up a little bit of speculative melodrama, such as\n\u201cGerman Malignity,\u201d \u201cRussian Trickery,\u201d \u201cMysterious Movements of the\nFleet,\u201d \u201cFrench Insult to the King,\u201d \u201cAmerica\u2019s Secret Treaty,\u201d or\n\u201cAlarming Eastern Rumours.\u201d He is perhaps not in any way departing\nfrom his own special line of business if he counts on the general\ngullibility of the public, though in this matter he is often liable to\nbe himself gulled. For the public have been so frequently taken in by\nmere \u201csensationalism\u201d in war news and the like, that they are beginning\nto view all such rumours with more contempt than credence. Nevertheless\nthe ambitious little Press boys (for they are only boys in their lack\nof discernment, whatever may be their external appearance as grown\nmen) do not deserve so much reproof for their hot-headed, impulsive\nand thoughtless ways as the personages set in authority over them,\nwhose business it is to edit their \u201ccopy\u201d before passing it on to the\nprinters. _They_ are the responsible parties,--and when they forget the\ndignity of their position so much as to allow a merely jejune view of\nthe political situation to appear in their journals, under flamboyant\nheadlines which catch the eye and ensnare the attention of the more\nor less uninstructed crowd, one naturally deplores the lapse of their\nhonourable duty. For in this way a great deal of harm may be done and\nendless misunderstanding and mischief created. It is quite wrong and\nwholly unpatriotic that the newspapers of any country should strive to\nfoster ill-feeling between conflicting nations or political parties.\nWhen they engage in this kind of petty strife one is irresistibly\nreminded of the bad child in the nursery who, seeing his two little\nbrothers quarrelling, cries out: \u201cGo it, Tom! Go it, Jack! Hit him in\nthe eye!\u201d and then, when the hit is given and mutual screams follow,\nruns to his mother with the news--\u201cMa! Tom and Jack are fighting!\u201d\ncarefully suppressing the fact that he helped to set them at it. And\nwhen the trouble begins to be serious, and national recriminations are\nfreely exchanged, it is curious to note how quickly the Press, on both\nsides, assumes the attitude of an almost matronly remonstrance. One\nhears in every leading article the \u201cHow can you behave so, Jack? What a\nnaughty boy you are, Tom! Positively, I am ashamed of you both!\u201d\n\nThere would be no greater force existing in the world as an aid to\ncivilization and human fraternity than the Press, if its vast powers\nwere employed to the noblest purposes. It ought to resemble a mighty\nship, which, with brave, true men at the helm, moves ever on a straight\ncourse, cleaving the waters of darkness and error, and making direct\nfor the highest shores of peace and promise. But it must be a ship\nindeed,--grandly built, nobly manned, and steadily steered,--not a\ncrazy, water-logged vessel, creaking with the thud of every wave, or\nbobbing backwards and forwards uncertainly in a gale. Its position\nat the present day is, or appears to be, rather the latter than the\nformer. Unquestionably the people, taken in the mass, do not rely\nupon it. They read the newspapers--but they almost immediately forget\neverything in them except the headlines and one or two unpleasant\npolice cases. And why do they forget? Simply because first of all they\nare not sufficiently interested; and, secondly, because they do not\nbelieve the news they read. A working man told me the other day that he\nhad been saving sixpence a week on two halfpenny papers which he had\nbeen accustomed to take in for the past year. \u201cI found \u2019em out in ten\nlies, all on top of one another, in two weeks,\u201d he candidly explained;\n\u201cand so I thought I might as well keep my money for something more\nuseful. So I started putting the halfpence by for my little kiddie, and\nI\u2019m going to stick to it. There\u2019s five shillings in the Savings Bank\nalready!\u201d\n\nGlancing back to the early journalism of the past century, when Dickens\nand Thackeray wrote for the newspapers (\u201cthere were giants in those\ndays\u201d), one cannot help being struck by the great deterioration in the\nwhole \u201ctone\u201d of the press at the present time, as contrasted with that\nwhich prevailed in the dawn of the Victorian era. There is dignity,\nrefinement, and power in the leading articles of the _Times_ and other\njournals then in vogue, such as must needs have compelled people not\nonly to read, but to think. The vulgar \u201cpersonal\u201d note, the flippant\nsneer at this, that, or t\u2019other personage,--the monkey-like mockery of\nwomen,--the senseless gibes flung at poets and poetry,--the clownish\nkick at sentiment,--were all apparently unknown.\n\nTrue it is that the _Times_ still holds its own as a journal in\nwhich one may look in vain for \u201csensationalism\u201d but its position is\nrather like that of a grim old lion surrounded by cubs of all sizes\nand ages, that yap and snap at its whiskers and take liberties with\nits tail. It can be said, however, that all the better, higher-class\nperiodicals are in the same situation--the yapping and snapping goes\non around them precisely in the same way--\u201cCirculation Five Times as\nLarge as that of any Penny Morning Journal,\u201d etcetera, etcetera. And\nthe question of the circulation of any particular newspaper resolves\nitself into two points,--first, the amount of money it puts into the\npockets of its proprietors or proprietor,--and secondly, the influence\nit has, or is likely to have, on the manners and morals of the public.\nThe last is by far the most important matter, though the first is\nnaturally the leading motive of its publication. Herein we touch the\nkeynote of responsibility. How, and in what way are the majority of\npeople swayed or affected by the statements and opinions of some one\nman or several men employed on the world\u2019s press? On this point it\nmay perhaps be asked whether any newspaper is really justified in\nsetting before readers of all ages and temperaments, a daily fare of\nsuicides, murders, divorce-cases, sudden deaths, or abnormal \u201chorrors\u201d\nof every kind to startle, depress or warp the mind away from a sane\nand healthful outlook upon life and the things of life in general? A\nvery brilliant and able journalist tells me that \u201cif we don\u2019t put these\nthings in, we are so deadly dull!\u201d One can but smile at this candid\nstatement of inefficiency. The idea that there can be any \u201clively\u201d\nreading in the sorrowful details of sickness, crime or mania, leaves\nmuch room for doubt. And when it is remembered how powerfully the human\nmind is affected by suggestion, it is surely worth while enquiring\nas to whether the newspapers could not manage to offer their readers\nnoble and instructive subjects of thought, rather than morbid or\ndegrading ones. Fortunately for all classes, the bulk of what may be\ncalled \u201cmagazine literature\u201d makes distinctly for the instruction and\nenlightenment of the public, and though a \u201cgutter press\u201d exists in\nGreat Britain, as in America, a great portion of the public are now\neducated enough to recognize its type and to treat it with the contempt\nit merits. I quote here part of a letter which recently appeared in the\n_Westminster Gazette_ signed \u201cObserver,\u201d and entitled:\n\n\n     \u201cA PRESS-GOVERNED EMPIRE.\n\n     \u201cTo the Editor of the _Westminster Gazette_.\n\n     \u201cSIR,--We have it on the highest authority that the Government\n     acts on the same information as is at the disposal of \u2018the man in\n     the street\u2019 (_vide_ Mr. Balfour at Manchester). The man in the\n     street obviously must depend on the Press for his information. How\n     has the Press served him?\n\n     \u201cLet me take a recent illustration. A great experiment was\n     to be made by the Navy. A battleship with all its tremendous\n     armament was to pound a battleship. Naturally the Press was well\n     represented, and the public was eager for its report.\n\n     \u201cIn due course a narrative appeared describing the terrible havoc\n     wrought. The greatest stress was laid upon the instant ignition\n     and complete destruction by fire of all the woodwork on the doomed\n     ship. Elaborate leading articles appeared enforcing the lesson\n     that wood was no longer a possible material for the accessory\n     furniture of a battleship.\n\n     \u201cA day or two after, a quiet answer in the House of Commons from\n     Mr. Goschen informed the limited public who read it, that no fire\n     whatever had occurred on the occasion so graphically described by\n     the host of Press correspondents.\n\n     \u201cThe events dealt with on these occasions took place in our own\n     country, and under our own eyes, so to speak. If such untrue\n     reports are set forth with the verisimilitude of accurate and\n     detailed personal description of eye-witnesses, what are we to say\n     of the truth in the reports of events occurring at a distance?\n\n     \u201cSpecial knowledge, special experience long continued, speaking\n     under a sense of responsibility, are set at nought. The regular\n     channels of information are neglected, and the conduct of affairs\n     is based on newspaper reports. Any private business conducted\n     and managed on these lines would be immediately ruined. The\n     business of the Empire is more important, and the results of its\n     mismanagement are more serious. For how long will it be possible\n     to continue its management, trusting to the light thrown on events\n     by an irresponsible Press?\u201d\n\n                *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe \u201cirresponsibility\u201d here complained of comes out perhaps more often\nand most glaringly in those papers which profess to chronicle the\nsayings and doings of kings and queens, prime ministers, and personages\nmore or less well known in the world of art, letters and society. In\nnine cases out of ten, the journalist who reports these sayings and\ndoings has never set eyes on the people about whom he writes with such\na free and easy flippancy. Even if he has, his authority to make their\nconversation public may be questioned. It is surely not too much to ask\nof the editors of newspapers that they should, by applying directly to\nthe individuals concerned, ascertain whether such and such a statement\nmade to them is true before giving it currency. A couple of penny\nstamps expended in private correspondence would settle the matter to\nthe satisfaction of both parties.\n\n\u201cPersonalities,\u201d however, would seem to be greatly in vogue. Note the\nfollowing:\n\n\u201cAt seven o\u2019clock the King left the hotel and walked to the spring to\ndrink more of the water. Altogether, His Majesty has to drink about a\nquart of the water every morning, before breakfast.\n\n\u201cStanding among the throng, in which every type and nationality of\nhumanity was represented, the King sipped his second pint glass of\nwater.\n\n\u201cAfter drinking the quart of water, the regulations laid down for the\n\u2018cure\u2019 further require the King to walk for two hours before eating a\nmorsel of food.\n\n\u201cThis His Majesty performed by pacing up and down the promenade from\nthe Kruez spring at one end, to the Ferdinand spring at the other.\n\n\u201cNotwithstanding all the appeals of the local authorities to the\nvisitors, King Edward was[1]_much greatly_ inconvenienced by the\nsnobbish curiosity of the crowd.\u201d\n\nOne may query whether \u201cthe snobbish curiosity of the crowd\u201d or the\nsnobbish information as to how \u201cthe King sipped his second pint glass\nof water\u201d was the more reprehensible. Of course there are both men and\nwomen who delight in the personalities of the Press, especially when\nthey concern themselves. Many ladies of rank and title are only too\nhappy to have their dresses described to the man in the street, and\ntheir physical charms discussed by Tom, Dick and Harry. And when the\nPress is amiable enough to oblige them in these little yearnings for\npersonal publicity, let us hope that the labourer, being worthy of his\nhire, hath his reward.\n\nThe following extract, taken from a daily journal boasting a large\ncirculation, can be called little less than a pandering to the lowest\ntastes of the abandoned feminine snob, as well as a flagrant example\nof the positively criminal recklessness with which irresponsible\njournalists permit themselves to incite, by their flamboyant praise\nof the _demi-mondaine_, the envy and cupidity of thoughtless girls\nand women, who perhaps but for the perusal of such tawdry stuff,\nwould never have known of, or half-unconsciously coveted the\ndress-and-diamond gew-gaws which are the common reward of female\ndegradation and dishonesty:\n\n\n     \u201cMiss W., a young American actress, has burst upon London. She has\n     brought back from Paris to the Savoy Hotel, along with her golden\n     hair and lovely brown eyes, an enormous jewel-case, innumerable\n     dress-baskets--and a story. It concerns herself and how she\n     made a fortune on the Paris Bourse, and she told it to our\n     representative yesterday.\n\n     \u201cShe is an American, and was eating candy when she met M. J----\n     L----. \u2018Ah!\u2019 said he, \u2018give up stick and buy stock.\u2019 She \u2018took\n     the tip,\u2019 she says, and staked her fortune--every penny--on the\n     deal. A fortnight later she came back one night to her flat in the\n     Avenue du Bois de Boulogne, from the Olympia, where she plays a\n     leading part. A telegram from her bankers was waiting. It said:\n     \u2018You have been successful.\u2019 \u2018Next day,\u2019 says Miss W., \u2018I called on\n     those bankers and picked up the \u00a320,000 I had made.\u2019\n\n                         \u201cINVETERATE GAMBLER.\n\n     \u201c\u2018Wonderful, wasn\u2019t it?\u2019 said Miss W., and our representative\n     agreed that it was. \u2018Oh, but it was a mere nothing!\u2019 she said. \u2018I\n     have gambled since I was seven. Then I used to bet in pop-corn and\n     always won. At seventeen I was quite \u2018a dab\u2019 at spotting winners\n     on the Turf.\n\n     \u201c\u2018Monte Carlo? Oh, yes. I won a trifle there this year--\u00a3800 or\n     so. And Trouville! Why, you may not believe it, but I won \u00a34,000\n     there this year in a few weeks.\n\n     \u201c\u2018Of course, I don\u2019t know the tricks of the Stock Exchange, though\n     I was once chased by a bull,\u2019 observed Miss W., with a smile.\n     \u2018Still, I think I\u2019ll stick to it.\u2019\n\n     \u201cOpposite the Bourse is a shop where fashionable Parisians buy\n     their furs. She spent \u00a31,600 in a sable coat and hat on the day\n     that the Bourse made her. Her other purchases include:--\n\n\n     Paris hats to the value of \u00a3200.\n     A robe of baby lamb, \u00a3150.\n     Fifteen Paquin gowns.\n     Two long fur coats.\n     Five short fur coats.\n     Three sets of furs.\n\n\n     \u201cShe also admits that she bought such trifles in the way of\n     jewellery as:--\n\n\n     A corsage with thirteen large diamonds.\n     Eighteen rows of pearls.\n     Eighteen diamond rings.\n     Two diamond butterflies.\n     One emerald ring.\n     Several pendants.\n\n\n     \u201cDiamonds, says Miss W., are the joy of her life. Each night on\n     the stage of the Olympia she wears between \u00a330,000 and \u00a340,000\n     worth of jewellery.\u201d\n\n\nThe woman who confides her wardrobe list and the prices of her clothes\nto a Fleet Street hack of the pen is far gone past recall, but her\nmanner of misdemeaning herself should not be proclaimed in the Press\nunder \u201cheadings\u201d as if it were news of importance to the country; and\nit would not be so proclaimed were the Press entirely, instead of only\npartially, in the hands of educated men.\n\nIn olden days it would seem that a great part of the responsibility\nof the Press lay in its criticism of art and literature. That burden,\nhowever, no longer lies upon its shoulders. Since the people began\nto read for themselves, newspaper criticism, so far as books are\nconcerned, carries little weight. When some particular book secures\na great success, we read this kind of thing about it: \u201cIn argument,\nintrigue and style it captures the fancy of the masses without\nattracting the slightest attention from the critical and discriminating\nfew whose approval alone gives any chance of permanence to work.\u201d This\nis, of course, very old hearing. \u201cThe critical and discriminating few\u201d\nin Italy long ago condemned Dante as a \u201cvulgar\u201d rhymer, who used the\n\u201cpeople\u2019s vernacular.\u201d Now the much-abused Florentine is the great\nItalian classic. The same \u201ccritical and discriminating few\u201d condemned\nJohn Keats, who is now enrolled among the chiefest of English poets.\nOnslaughts of the bitterest kind were hurled at the novels of Charles\nDickens by the \u201ccritical and discriminating few\u201d--in the great writer\u2019s\ntime--but he \u201ccaptured the fancy of the masses\u201d and lives in the hearts\nand homes of thousands for whom the \u201ccritical and discriminating few\u201d\nmight just as well never have existed. And when we look up the names\nof the \u201ccritical and discriminating few\u201d in our own day, we find,\nstrange to say, that they are all disappointed authors! All of them\nhave-written poems or novels, which are failures. So we must needs pity\ntheir \u201ccriticism\u201d and \u201cdiscrimination\u201d equally, knowing the secret\nfount of gall from which these delicate emotions spring. At the same\ntime, the \u201cresponsibility\u201d of the Press might still be appealed to in\nliterary, dramatic and artistic matters as, for example:\n\nWhy allow an unsuccessful artist to criticize a successful picture?\n\nWhy ask an unlucky playwright who cannot get even a farce accepted by\nthe managers, to criticize a brilliant play?\n\nWhy depute a gentleman or lady who has \u201cessayed\u201d a little unsuccessful\nfiction to \u201creview\u201d a novel which has \u201ccaptured the fancy of the\nmasses\u201d and is selling well?\n\nThese be weighty matters! Common human nature is common human nature\nall the world over, and it is not in common human nature to give\npraise to another for qualities we ourselves envy. Every one has\nnot the same fine endowment of generosity as Sir Walter Scott, who\nwrote an anonymous review of Lord Byron\u2019s poems, giving them the most\nenthusiastic praise, and frankly stating that after the appearance of\nso brilliant a luminary of genius, Walter Scott could no longer be\nconsidered worthy of attention as a poet. What rhymer of to-day would\nthus nobly condemn himself in order to give praise to a rival?\n\nMay it not, with due respect, be suggested to those who have the\nhandling of such matters that neither the avowed friends nor the avowed\nfoes of authors be permitted to review their books?--the same rule\nof criticism to apply equally to the works of musicians, painters,\nsculptors and playwrights? Neither personal prejudice nor personal\nfavouritism should be allowed to interfere with the impression produced\non the mind by a work of art. Vulgar abuse and fervid eulogy are\nalike out of place. In the productions of the human brain nothing\nis wholly bad and nothing is wholly good. Perfection is impossible\nof attainment on our present plane of existence. We do not find it\nin Nature,--still less shall we find it in ourselves. The critic\ncan show good in everything if he himself is of a good mind. Or he\ncan show bad in everything as easily, should his digestion be out\nof order. Unfortunately the \u201cwear and tear of life\u201d--to quote the\npatent medicine advertisements, wreaks natural havoc on the physical\ncomposition of the gentleman who is perhaps set down to review twenty\nnovels in one column of print for the trifling sum of a guinea. All\nsorts of difficulties beset him. For instance, he may be employed on\na certain \u201cliterary\u201d paper which, being the property of the relatives\nof a novelist, exists chiefly to praise that novelist, even though it\nbe curiously called an \u201corgan of English literature,\u201d--and woe betide\nthe miserable man who dares to praise anyone else! Knowing much of the\nins and outs of the literary grind, I tender my salutations to all\nreviewers of books, together with my respectful sympathy. I am truly\nsorry for them, and I do not in the least wonder that they hate with\na deadly hatred every scribbling creature who writes a \u201clong\u201d novel.\nBecause the \u201cpay\u201d for reviewing such a book is never in proportion to\nits length, as of course it ought to be. But anyway it doesn\u2019t matter\nhow much or how little of it is criticized. The bulk of the public do\nnot read reviews. That is left to the \u201cdiscriminating few.\u201d And oh,\nhow that \u201cdiscriminating few\u201d would love to \u201ccapture the fancy of the\nmasses\u201d if they could only manage to do it! Yet--\u201cNever mind!\u201d they\nsay, with the tragedian\u2019s glare and scowl--\u201cOur names will be inscribed\nupon the scroll of fame when all ye are forgotten!\u201d Dear things! Heaven\ngrant them this poor comfort in their graves!\n\nOne cannot but regret that in these days of wonderful research,\ndiscovery and invention, so little is done to popularize science in the\ncolumns of the daily Press. The majority of the public are appallingly\nignorant of astronomy for instance. Would it not be as interesting to\ninstruct them in a simple and easy style as to the actual wonders of\nthe heavens about us, as to fill their minds with the details of a\nmurder? I hardly like to touch on the subject of geography, for out of\nfifteen \u201ceducated\u201d persons I asked the question of recently, not one\nknew the actual situation on the map, of Tibet. Now it seems to me that\nthe Press could work wonders in the way of education,--much more than\nthe \u201cBill\u201d will ever do. Books on science and learning are often sadly\ndull and generally expensive, and the public cannot afford to buy them\nlargely, nor do they ask for them much at the libraries. If the daily\njournals made it a rule to give bright picturesque articles on some\ngrand old truths or great new discoveries of science, such a course\nof procedure would be far more productive of good than any amount of\n\u201cShort Sermons\u201d such as we have lately heard discussed in various\nquarters. For the Press is a greater educational force than the Pulpit.\nIn its hands it has the social moulding of a people, and the dignity\nof a nation as represented to other nations. There could hardly be a\nnobler task,--there can certainly never be a higher responsibility.\n\n[Illustration: Decoration]\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[1] Copied _verbatim_ from the Press report.\n\n\n\n\n\u201cPAGAN LONDON\u201d\n\n\nLondon is \u201ca pagan city.\u201d Such was the uncompromising verdict lately\npronounced upon it by the Venerable Archdeacon Sinclair, of great\nSt. Paul\u2019s. \u201cA pagan city\u201d--he said, or was reported to say--\u201cwith\nchurches glimmering here and there like fairy lamps twinkling in the\nspaces of darkness upon a lawn. Like fairy lamps, they serve to show\nthe darkness rather than to illuminate it.\u201d It was in a manner striking\nand curious that the Archdeacon should have chosen such a simile as\n\u201cfairy lamps\u201d for the Churches. It was an unconsciously happy hit--no\ndoubt absolutely unintentional. But it described the Churches of to-day\nwith marvellous exactitude. They are \u201cfairy lamps\u201d--no more!--only\nfit for show--of no use in a storm--and quenched easily with a\nstrong puff of wind. Fairy lamps!--not strong or steady beacons--not\nlighthouses in the rough sea of life, planted bravely on impregnable\nrocks of faith to which the drowning sailor may cling for rescue and\nhaply find life again. Fairy lamps! Multiply them by scores, good\nArchdeacon!--quadruple them in every corner of this \u201cpagan\u201d city of\nours, over which the heart of every earnest thinker must yearn with a\npassion of love and pity, and they shall be no use whatever to light\nthe blackness of one soul\u2019s midnight of despair! \u201cPagan London!\u201d The\nroaring, rushing crowd--the broad deep river of suffering, working,\nloving, struggling humanity, sweeping on, despite itself, to the\nlimitless sea of Death,--every unit in the mass craving for sympathy,\npraying for guidance, longing for comfort, trying to discover ways out\nof pain and grief, and hoping to find God somehow and somewhere--and\nnaught but \u201cfairy lamps\u201d--twinkling doubtfully, making the gloom more\nvisible, the uncertainty of the gathering shadows more confusing and\nmisleading!--\u201cfairy lamps\u201d of which the \u201cChurch of the Laodiceans,\u201d so\nstrongly reproved by the \u201cSpirit\u201d in the Revelation of St. John the\nDivine, must have been the originator and precursor--\u201cI know thy works,\nthat thou art neither cold nor hot; I would thou wert cold or hot. So,\nbecause thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee\nout of my mouth!\u201d\n\nIt is perhaps to be doubted whether any Churchman, no matter how\ndistinguished, learned, fashionable or popular, has the right to call\nLondon or any city which is under the Christian dispensation \u201cpagan.\u201d\nNo one man can honestly say he has probed the heart of another,--and\nif this be true, as it undoubtedly is, still less can one man assume\nto judge the faith or the emotions of six million hearts--six million\nstriving, working and struggling souls. That even a handful of the\nsix million should still wander towards \u201cfairy lamp\u201d Churches, in\nthe hope to find warmth and luminance for their poor lives in such\nflickering and easily quenched sparks of life, speaks volumes for the\ntouching faith, the craving hope, the desire of ultimate good, which\nanimates our \u201cpagan\u201d citizens. For, if after two thousand years of\nChristianity, some of them are still passionately asking to be taught\nand guided, still praying for strength and courage to fight against\nmany natural besetting sins, and still seeking after such pure ideals\nof work and attainment as can alone make life worth living, it is not\nthey, surely, who merit the term \u201cpagan.\u201d They should not be so much\nblamed as compassionated, if, when searching for God\u2019s fair and open\nsunshine, they only stumble at the \u201cfairy lamps,\u201d and, angered thereby,\nturn altogether away into the outer darkness. Such a term as \u201cpagan\u201d\ncan be applied with far more justice to their teachers and preachers,\nwho, having all the means of help and consolation at their disposal,\nfail to perform their high duties with either power, conviction or\neffect. It is quite easy to say \u201cPagan London,\u201d but what if one spoke\nof \u201cpagan clergy\u201d? What of certain ecclesiastics who do not believe\none word of the creed they profess, and who daily play the part of\nJudas Iscariot over again in taking money for a new betrayal of Christ?\nWhat of the ordained ministers of Christianity who are un-Christian\nin every word and act of their daily lives? What of the surpliced\nhypocrites who preach to others what they never even try to practise?\nWhat of certain vicious and worldly clerical _bon-vivants_, who may\nconstantly be met with in the houses of wealthy and titled persons,\n\u201cclothed in fine linen and faring sumptuously every day,\u201d talking\nunsavoury society scandal with as much easy glibness as any dissolute\n\u201clay\u201d decadent that ever cozened another man\u2019s wife away from the path\nof honour in the tricky disguise of a \u201cSoul\u201d? What of the spiteful,\nsmall-minded, quarrelsome \u201clocal\u201d parsons, who, instead of fostering\nkindness, neighbourliness, goodwill and unity among their parishioners,\nset them all by the ears, and play the petty tyrant with a domineering\nobstinacy which is rather worse than pagan, being purely barbarous?\nMany cases could easily be quoted where the childish, not to say\nquerulous, pettiness of the ruling vicar of a country parish has helped\nto narrow, coarsen, and deteriorate the spirit of a whole community,\nspreading mean jealousies, fostering cheap rivalries, and making every\nsoul in the place, from Sunday school children up to poor workhouse\noctogenarians, irritable, discontented and unhappy. And if the word\n\u201cpagan\u201d be used at all, should it not be particularly and specially\napplied to those theatrical dignitaries of the Church whose following\nof the simple and beautiful doctrine of Christ consists in sheer\ndisobedience to His commands--disobedience openly displayed in the\nornate ritual and \u201cvain repetitions\u201d which Christ expressly forbade.\n\u201cFor all their works they do to be seen of men; they make broad their\nphylacteries, and enlarge the borders of their garments.\u201d And while\n\u201cenlarging the borders of their garments\u201d they institute \u201cprocessional\u201d\nservices and promenades round the \u201cfairy lamp\u201d churches, with various\naltar-bobbings and other foolish ceremonies, caring nothing for the\n_Spirit_ of the faith, if only all forms and observances, imported\nfrom Rome, or from still older \u201cpagan\u201d rites than the Roman, namely,\nthe Gr\u00e6co-Egyptian, may be in some way introduced into the simple and\nunaffected form of prayer authorized by the Church of England. Disloyal\nto both God and the King, the \u201cpagan clergy\u201d are doing more at this\npresent day to injure the cause of true religion among the masses than\nis any lack of zeal or want of faith that may exist in the people\nthemselves. Who can blame sensible men and women for staying away from\nchurch, when in nine cases out of ten they know that the officiating\nminister is less Christian, less enlightened, less charitable and\nkind-hearted than themselves? Canon Allen Edwards, in an admirable\nletter addressed to the Press, put the case of \u201cpagan London\u201d very\nclearly. He says: \u201cWe do not want new churches.\u201d True. No more \u201cfairy\nlamps\u201d are required for the general misleading of the straying sheep.\nHe adds: \u201cWe want new men.\u201d\n\nThis is the real need--men! Men of thought--men of heart,--men of\ntrue conviction, ardent faith, passionate exaltation, and unceasing\ndevotion,--men who will not play about with \u201cshow\u201d services, like\namateur actors in a charity performance,--but who will sincerely care\nfor and sympathize with their fellow-creatures, and will offer up the\nprayer and praise of humanity to an all-wise Omnipotence with that deep\nheartfelt fervour which is always expressed in the utmost simplicity\nof form and language,--men who have the intelligence to understand\nintelligent people, and who are as able to deal sympathetically\nwith the spiritual troubles and perplexities of an educated person\nas with those of the ill-taught and frequently ill-fed rustic,--men\nwho, if they preach, can find something to say of the marvels of this\nGod-born creation of which we are a part--who will teach as well as\nadmonish,--and who will take reverent care not to set the Almighty\nCreator within a small circle of their own special form of orthodoxy,\nand condemn every creature that wanders outside that exclusive \u201cfairy\nlamp\u201d enclosure. Canon Allen Edwards further remarked that \u201cThe reason\nwhy the working classes do not go to church is the same reason why I\ndo not go to the Derby, not because I think it wrong, for I have no\nopinion on the subject, but because I have no interest in the things\nthat go on there. And this is the reason, and no other, why many men\ndo not go to church. They are not interested in what is done there....\nA large number of those who are going into the ministry to-day are,\nfor one most essential part of their work, entirely without the first\nelements of equipment. They cannot preach, and they are not helped to\ntry and learn, and yet preaching is that very part of their work for\nwhich the people expect, and have a right to expect, equipment of the\nhighest order.\u201d\n\nThe Canon says: \u201cthey cannot preach.\u201d That is true enough, but why?\nI maintain that if they _felt_ their mission, they could preach it.\nIf they loved their fellow-creatures a thousand times better than\nthemselves, as they should do, they would find much of greatness,\nbeauty and truth to say! If they honoured and worshipped their Divine\nMaster as they profess to honour and worship Him, there would be little\nlack of spirit or of eloquence! People always know when a speaker or a\npreacher is _in earnest_. He may have a faulty utterance--his elocution\nmay be far from perfect, but if the _heart_ attunes the voice, the\nvoice carries. There are many hundreds of noble clergy--but they are\nfewer than the ignoble of the same calling. And many there are, not\nonly ignoble in themselves, but who attempt to pervert their very\nchurches to illegitimate uses. I quote the following from a letter\naddressed to me on one occasion by a notorious \u201cminister\u201d of the Gospel.\n\n\u201cAs the vicar of one of the largest parishes in England, I am often\nput to it how best to attract to the church the careless and the\nindifferent. Though a very strong High Anglican, I am an intense\nbeliever in the Priesthood of the Laity. It is the one weak spot in\nthe Church\u2019s system that she does not, as do the non-conformists, make\nsufficient use of and properly appreciate the services of her lay\nmembers. It has occurred to me therefore this year that by way of a\nstart in this direction I should ask the help of certain leading people\nin the Literary, Dramatic and Artistic worlds. My friend, Mrs. X.,\nhas already made a beginning by reciting two poems in my Church, and\nthereby moving intensely a congregation of upwards of 3,000 people.\u201d\nNow Mrs. X. was, and is, a well-known actress, and she recited the\ntwo poems in question _from the chancel steps at the conclusion of\nthe Sunday evening service_. I am told, (though for this I will not\nvouch,) that money was taken at the church doors, and seats reserved\nand paid for, precisely as if the sacred building had been suddenly\nmetamorphosed into a theatre or music hall. It never seemed to occur to\nthe reverend gentleman who is the proprietor of this once \u201cconsecrated\u201d\nbuilding, that if he could not attract to his church \u201cthe careless\nand indifferent,\u201d the fault probably lay in himself and his general\nunfitness. As a \u201cvery strong High Anglican\u201d he would naturally have\nleanings towards the theatre and its lime-light effects, and _certes_,\nthe \u201cPriesthood of the Laity,\u201d whatever may be meant by that term, is\nmore to be believed in than the Priesthood of this particular ordained\n\u201cpriest\u201d who instituted and encouraged a kind of stage recital from the\nsteps of a sacred chancel, where the actor or actress concerned was\ninvited to declaim his or her lines, with back turned to the Altar, the\nCommunion-table serving as the \u201cscenery.\u201d Such men as these are the\nreal \u201cpagans,\u201d and they do infinite harm to the dignity and purity of\nthe Christian doctrine by their unworthy and debasing example. Churches\nunder their dominance are less than \u201cfairy lamps\u201d in their influence\nfor good,--they are the mere flare of stage footlights, showing up the\ngrease-paint and powder of the clerical mime.\n\nA deep religious sentiment lies at the hearts of the British people,\nas indeed of all peoples in the world. No nation, small or great,\nwas ever entirely given over to atheism. If atheism and indifference\naffect a few, or even a majority of persons, the fault is assuredly\nwith those who are elected to teach \u201cthe Way, the Truth, and the Life.\u201d\nThey are chosen and solemnly ordained to be the friends, lovers and\nguides of humanity,--not to be selfish pedants, quarrelsome quidnuncs,\nand bigoted despots, exposing themselves, as they often do, to the\nrighteous scorn, as well as to the careless contempt of the more honest\nlaity. When they show themselves unworthy, the people fall away. When\neven one minister of religion appears as co-respondent in a divorce\ncase, tens of thousands of men and women turn their backs on the\nChurch. When anything low, mean, despicable or treacherous is said or\ndone by a professing \u201cservant of Christ,\u201d the evil word or deed from\nsuch a source makes Christianity a byword to many more than the merely\nprofane. When certain great dignitaries of the Church sit wine-bibbing\nat \u201cswagger\u201d dinner-parties, relating questionable or \u201cspicy\u201d anecdotes\nunfitting for the ears of decent women, they lose not only caste\nthemselves, but they lay all the brethren of their order open to\ndoubt. \u201cExample is better than precept.\u201d We have all written that in\nour school copy-books,--and nothing has ever happened, or ever will\nhappen, that is likely to contradict the statement. If London is indeed\na \u201cpagan\u201d city, as Archdeacon Sinclair has solemnly declared from\nunder the shadowy luminance of his own big \u201cfairy lamp,\u201d St. Paul\u2019s\nCathedral, then the clergy, and the clergy alone are responsible. On\ntheir \u201cordained\u201d heads be it! For \u201cpagan\u201d people are merely the natural\noutcome of a \u201cpagan\u201d priesthood.\n\n[Illustration: Decoration]\n\n\n\n\nA QUESTION OF FAITH\n\nPROPOUNDED TO ALL WHOM IT MAY CONCERN\n\n\nBefore fully entering on this paper, I should like those who may be\ninclined to read it to understand very distinctly, once and for all,\nthat I am a Christian. I am sorry that the too-hasty misjudgment of\nothers compels me to assert the fact. The term \u201cAtheist\u201d has been\napplied to me by several persons who should know better,--for it is an\nabsolutely false, and I may add, libellous accusation. That it has been\nuttered unthinkingly and at random, by idle chatterers who have never\nread a line I have written I can well believe,--nevertheless it is a\nmischievous rumour, as senseless as wicked. Poor and inadequate as my\nservice is, and must ever be, still I am a follower of the Christian\nFaith, as expounded in Christ\u2019s own words to His disciples. I believe\nthat Christian Faith to be the grandest and purest in the world,--the\nmost hopeful, the most strengthening, the most soul-supporting and\nennobling religion ever taught to humanity. To me, in hours of the\nbitterest trial, it has proved not \u201ca reed shaken by the wind,\u201d--but\na rock firmer than the foundations of the world, against which the\nwaves of tribulation break in vain and disperse to naught,--and when\nbrought face to face with imminent death as I have been, it has kept me\nfearless and calm. I know--because I have experienced,--its priceless\nworth, its truth, its grand uplifting power; and it is because this\nsimple Christian Faith is so dear to me, and so much a part of my\nevery-day life, that I venture to ask a few straight questions of\nthose who, calling themselves Christians, seem to have lost sight\naltogether of their Master and His commands. I like people who are\nconsistent. Inconsistency of mind is like uncleanliness of body; it\nbreeds discomfort and disease. And in this wonderful age of ours, in\nwhich there is so little real \u201cgreatness,\u201d--when even the tried heroism\nof our leading statesmen and generals is sullied by contemptible\njealousies and petty discussions of a quarrelsome nature,--when the\nminds of men are bent chiefly on money-making and mechanical inventions\nto save labour (labour being most unfortunately estimated as a curse\ninstead of the blessing it indubitably is), I find inconsistency the\nchief ingredient of all modern thought. Things are jumbled up in a\nheterogeneous mass, without order, distinction or merit. And the\nprincipal subject on which men and women are most wildly, glaringly\ninconsistent, is that which is supposed to be the guiding rule of\nlife--Religion. I should like to try and help to settle this vexed\nquestion. I want to find out what the Christian Empire means by its\n\u201cfaith.\u201d I venture to lift up my voice as the voice of one alone in\nthe wilderness, and to send it with as clear a pitch and true a tone\nas I can across the sea of discussion,--the stormy ocean of angry and\ncontradictory tongues,--and I ask bluntly and straightly, \u201cWhat is it\nall about? DO YOU BELIEVE YOUR RELIGION, OR DO YOU NOT?\u201d\n\nIt is an honest question, and demands an honest answer. Put it to\nyourselves plainly. DO YOU BELIEVE WITH ALL YOUR HEART AND SOUL IN THE\nFAITH YOU PROFESS TO FOLLOW?\n\nAgain--put it with equal plainness--DO YOU NOT BELIEVE ONE IOTA OF IT\nALL? AND ARE YOU ONLY FOLLOWING IT AS A MATTER OF CUSTOM AND FORM?\n\nLet us, my reader or readers, be round and frank with each other. If\nyou are a Christian, your religion is to believe that Christ was a\nhuman Incarnation or Manifestation of an Eternal God, born miraculously\nof the Virgin Mary; that He was crucified in the flesh as a criminal,\ndied, was buried, rose again from the dead, and ascended to heaven as\nGod and Man in one, and there perpetually acts as Mediator between\nmankind and Divine Justice. Remember, that if you believe this, you\nbelieve in the PURELY SUPERNATURAL. But let any one talk or write of\nthe purely supernatural as existent in any other form save this one of\nthe Christian Faith, and you will probably be the first to scout the\nidea of the supernatural altogether. Why? Where is your consistency? If\nyou believe in one thing which is supernatural, why not in others?\n\nNow let us consider the other side of the question. You who do\nnot believe, but still pretend to do so, for the sake of form and\nconventional custom, do you realize what you are? You consider yourself\nvirtuous and respectable, no doubt; but facts are facts, and you, in\nyour pretence at faith, are nothing but a Liar. The honest sunshiny\nface of day looks on you, and knows you for a hypocrite--a miserable\nunit who is trying in a vague, mad fashion to cheat the Eternal Forces.\nBe ashamed of lying, man or woman, whichever you be! Stand out of the\npress and say openly that you do not believe; so at least shall you be\nrespected. Do not show any religious leanings either to one side or the\nother \u201cfor the sake of custom\u201d--and then we shall see you as you are,\nand refrain from branding you \u201cliar.\u201d I would say to all, clergy and\nlaity, who do not in their hearts believe in the Christian Faith, \u201cGo\nout of all churches; stand aside and let us see who is who. Let us have\nspace in which to count up those who are willing to sacrifice all their\nearthly well-being for Christ\u2019s sake (for it amounts to nothing less\nthan this), and those who prefer this world to the next.\u201d I will not\npresume to calculate as to which will form the larger majority. I only\nsay it is absurd to keep up churches, and an enormous staff of clergy,\narchbishops, bishops, popes, cardinals, and the like, for a faith in\nwhich we do not TRULY, ABSOLUTELY, AND ENTIRELY BELIEVE. It is a mere\npageant of inflated Falsehood, and as such must be loathsome in the\nsight of God,--this always with the modern proviso, \u201cif there indeed be\na God.\u201d Yet, apart from a God altogether, it is degrading to ourselves\nto play the hypocrite with the serious facts of life and death.\nTherefore, I ask you again--Do you believe, or do you not believe? My\nobject in proposing the question at all is to endeavour to show the\nspiritual and symbolic basis upon which the Christian Faith rests,\nand the paramount necessity there is for accepting it in its pristine\npurity and beauty, if we would be wise. To grasp it thoroughly, we\nmust view it, not as it now seems to look to us through the darkening\nshadows of sectarianism, BUT AS IT WAS ORIGINALLY FOUNDED. The time\nhas come upon us that is spoken of in the New Testament, when \u201cone\nshall be taken and the other left,\u201d and the sorting of the sheep from\nthe goats has already commenced. It can be said with truth that most\nof our Churches, as they now exist, are diametrically opposed to the\nactual teachings of their Divine Founder. It can be proved that in our\ndaily lives we live exactly in the manner which Christ Himself would\nhave most sternly condemned. And when all the proofs are put before\nyou plainly, and without disguise or hyperbole, in the simplest and\nstraightest language possible, I shall again ask you, \u201cDO YOU BELIEVE,\nOR DO YOU NOT BELIEVE?\u201d If you do believe, declare it openly and live\naccordingly; if you do not believe, in God\u2019s name leave off lying!\n\nThe Symbolism of the Christian Faith has been, and is still, very much\nlost sight of, owing to the manner in which the unimaginative and\nunthinking majority of people will persist in looking at things from a\ndirectly physical, materialistic and worldly point of view. But if we\ntake the life and character of Christ as a Symbolic representation of\nthat Perfect Manhood which alone can be pleasing to God,--which alone\ncan be worthy to call the Divine Source of Creation \u201cFather!\u201d--some of\nour difficulties may possibly be removed. Christ\u2019s Gospel was first\nproclaimed in the East,--and the Eastern peoples were accustomed to\nlearn the great truths of religion by a \u201csymbolic,\u201d or allegorical\nmethod of instruction. Christ Himself knew this,--for \u201cHe taught them\nmany things by parables.\u201d\n\nWe shall do well to keep this spirit of Eastern symbolism in mind when\nconsidering the \u201cmiraculous\u201d manner of Christ\u2019s birth. Note the extreme\npoverty, humility, well-nigh shame attending it! Joseph doubted Mary,\nand was \u201cminded to put her away privily.\u201d Mary herself doubted the\nAngelic Annunciation, and said, \u201cHow shall this be?\u201d\n\nThus, even with those most closely concerned, a cloud of complete\ndisbelief and distrust environed the very thought, suggestion, and\nannouncement of the God-in-Man.\n\nIt should be remembered that the Evangelists, Mark and John, have no\naccount of a \u201cmiraculous\u201d birth at all. John, supreme as a Symbolist,\nthe \u201cdisciple whom Jesus loved,\u201d wrote, \u201cThe WORD was made flesh and\ndwelt among us.\u201d\n\nSecuring this symbolic statement for ourselves, we find that two of the\nchief things to which we attach importance in this world--namely, birth\nand position--are altogether set aside in this humanizing of the WORD,\nand are of no account whatever. And, that the helpless Child lying in\na manger on that first Christmas morning of the world, was,--despite\npoverty and humility,--fore-destined to possess more power than all the\nkings and emperors ever born in the purple.\n\nThus, the first lessons we get from the birth of Christ are--Faith and\nHumility--these are indeed the whole spirit of His Divine doctrine.\n\nNow,--How does this spirit pervade our social community to-day, after\nnearly two thousand years of constant preaching and teaching?\n\nLook round on the proud array of the self-important, pugnacious,\nquarrelsome, sectarian and intolerant so-called \u201cservants of the Lord.\u201d\nThe Pope of Rome, and his Cardinals and his Monsignori! The Archbishop\nof Canterbury, and _his_ Bishops, Deacons, Deans and Chapters and the\nlike! The million \u201csects\u201d--and all the cumbrous paraphernalia of the\nwealthy and worldly, \u201cordained\u201d to preach the Gospel! Ask them for\n\u201cproofs\u201d of faith! For signs of \u201chumility\u201d! For evidences of any kind\nto show that they are in very soul and life and truth, the followers of\nthat Master who never knew luxury, and had not where to lay His head!\n\nAnd you, among the laity, how can you pray, or pretend to pray to a\npoor and despised \u201cMan of Sorrows,\u201d in these days, when with every act\nand word of your life you show your neighbours that you love Money\nbetter than anything else in earth or in heaven!--when even you who are\nmillionaires only give and do just as much as will bring you notoriety,\nor purchase you a \u201chandle\u201d to your names! Why do you bend your\nhypocritical heads on Sundays to the Name of \u201cJesus,\u201d who (so far as\nvisible worldly position admitted) was merely the son of a carpenter,\nand followed the carpenter\u2019s trade, while on week-days you make no\nsecret of your scorn of, or indifference to the \u201cworking-man,\u201d and more\noften than not spurn the beggar from your gates!\n\nBe consistent, friends!--be consistent! IF YOU BELIEVE IN\nCHRISTIANITY, you must also believe in these three things:--\n\n\n     1. The virtue of poverty.\n\n     2. The dignity of labour.\n\n     3. The excellence of simplicity.\n\n\nRank, wealth, and all kinds of ostentation should be to you\npitiable--not enviable.\n\nIS IT SO? Do you prefer poverty, with a pure conscience, to ill-gotten\nriches? Would you rather be a faithful servant of Christ or a slave of\nMammon? Give the answer to your own soul,--but give it honestly--if you\ncan!\n\nIf you find, on close self-examination, that you love yourself, your\nown importance, your position, your money, your household goods and\nclothes, your place in what you call \u201csociety,\u201d more than the steady\nworking for and following of Christ,--YOU ARE NOT A CHRISTIAN. That\nbeing the case, be brave about it! Say what you are, and do not pretend\nto be what you are not!\n\nIt ought to be quite easy for you to come to a clear understanding\nwith yourselves. Take down the New Testament and read it. Read it as\nclosely and carefully as you read your cheap newspapers, and with\nas much eagerness to find out \u201cnews.\u201d For news there is in it, and\nof grave import. Not news affecting the things of this world, which\npass like a breath of wind and are no more,--but news which treats of\nEternal Facts, outlasting the creation and re-creation of countless\nworlds. Read this book for yourselves, I say, rather than take it in\nportions on Sundays only from your clergy,--and devote your earnest\nattention to the simple precepts uttered by Christ Himself. If you\nare a Christian, you believe Christ was an Incarnation of God,--then\ndoes it not behove you to listen when God speaks? Or is it a matter\nof indifference to you that the Maker and Upholder of millions of\nuniverses should have condescended to come and teach you how to live?\nIf it is, then stand forth and let us see you! Do not attend places of\nworship merely to be noticed by your neighbours. For,--apart from such\nconduct being strictly forbidden by Christ,--you insult other persons\nby your presence as a liar and hypocrite. This is what you may call a\n\u201crude\u201d statement;--plain-speaking and truth-telling are always called\n\u201crude.\u201d You will find the utmost plain-speaking in the Gospels upon\nwhich you profess to pin your faith. If you have any \u201cfancy Ritualism\u201d\nlurking about you, you will discover that \u201cforms\u201d are not tolerated by\nthe Saviour of mankind.\n\n\u201cAll their works they do for to be seen of men; they make broad their\nphylacteries and enlarge the borders of their garments.\u201d\n\n\u201cShows\u201d of religion are severely censured and condemned by Him whose\ncommands we assume to try and obey--we can scarcely find even a peg\nwhereon to hang an excuse for our practice of praying in public, while\n\u201cvain repetitions\u201d of prayer are expressly prohibited. I repeat--Read\nthe Four Gospels; they are very much mis-read in these days, and even\nin the Churches are only gabbled. See if your private and personal\nlives are in keeping with the commands there set down. If not, cease to\nplay Humbug with the Eternities;--they will avenge themselves upon your\nhypocrisy in a way you dream not of! \u201cWhosoever excuses himself accuses\nhimself.\u201d\n\nThe true Christian faith has no dogma,--no form,--no sect. It starts\nwith Christ as God-in-Man, in an all-embracing love for God and His\nwhole Creation, with an explicit and clear understanding (as symbolized\nso emphatically in the Crucifixion and Resurrection), that each\nindividual Soul is an immortal germ of life, in process of eternal\ndevelopment, to which each new \u201cexperience\u201d of thought, whether on\nthis planet or others, adds larger powers, wider intelligence, and\nintensified consciousness. There are no \u201cisms\u201d in this faith--no\nbigotry, and no intolerance. It leaves no ground for discussion.\n\n\u201cThis is my commandment,--That ye love one another as I have loved you.\u201d\n\nIt is all there,--simple, straight and pure--no more, no less than this.\n\n\u201cLove feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what\nis above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility. It is,\ntherefore, able to undertake all things, and it completes many things\nand warrants them to take effect where he who does not love would faint\nand lie down. Love is watchful, and, sleeping, slumbereth not. Though\nweary, it is not tired; though alarmed, it is not confounded, but, as a\nlively flame and burning torch, it forces its way upwards, and securely\npasses all.... Love is born of God and cannot rest but in God, above\nall created things.\u201d\n\nIs our Gospel of modern life and society to-day one of love or of hate?\nDo we help each other more readily than we kick each other down? Do we\nprefer to praise or to slander our neighbours? Is it not absolutely\ntrue that \u201ca cruel story runs on wheels, and every hand oils the wheels\nas they run\u201d? Can we leave anybody alone without covert or open\ndetraction from his or her merits? Even in the most ordinary, every-day\nlife do we not see people taking a malicious, insane delight in making\ntheir next-door neighbours as uncomfortable as possible in every petty\nway they can? These persons, by the way, are generally the class who go\nto Church most regularly, and are constant Communicants. Do they not by\ntheir profane attempt to assimilate the malignity of their dispositions\nwith the gospel of Christ, deserve to be considered as mere blasphemers\nof the Faith?\n\nYet, as a matter of fact, it is much easier to love than to hate. Love\nis the natural and native air of the immortal soul. \u201cWhile we fulfil\nthe law of love in all our thoughts and actions, we cannot fail to\ngrow.\u201d Hatred, discontent, envy, and pessimism, cramp all the higher\nfaculties of the mind and very often actually breed disease in the\nbody. To love all creation is to draw the responsive health and life of\ncreation into one\u2019s own immortal cognizance. \u201cLove easily loosens all\nour bonds. There is no discomfort that will not yield to its sovereign\npower.\u201d But it must not be a selfish love. It must be a Love which is\nthe keynote of the Christian Faith--\u201cLove one another as I have loved\nyou.\u201d\n\nIt follows very plainly that if we truly loved one another there would\nbe no wars, no envyings, no racial hatreds, no over-reaching of our\nbrethren for either wealth, place or power. There would be no such\nhells as the Lancashire factories, for example, where, as Allen Clarke\ngraphically tells us,[2] \u201cAmidst that sickening jerry-jumble of cheap\nbricks and cheaper British industry, over a hundred thousand men,\nwomen and children, toil and exist, sweating in the vast, hot, stuffy\nmills and sweltering forges--going, when young, to the smut-surrounded\nschools to improve their minds, and trying to commune with the living\nGod in the dreary, dead, besmirched churches and grimy puritanical\nchapels; growing up stunted, breeding thoughtlessly, dying prematurely,\nknowing not, nor dreaming, except for here and there a solitary one\ncursed with keen sight and sensitive soul, of aught better and brighter\nthan this sickening, steaming sphere of slime and sorrow.\u201d Contrast\nthis picture with a crowded \u201csupper-night\u201d at the Carlton or any other\nfashionable Feeding-place of London, and then maintain, if you dare,\nthat the men and women who are responsible for two such differing sides\nof life are \u201cChristians\u201d!\n\nEngland is, we are told, in danger of becoming \u201cRomanized.\u201d Priests\nand nuns of various \u201corders\u201d who have been thrust out of France and\nSpain for intermeddling, are seeking refuge here, in company with the\norgan-grinders and other folk who have been found unnecessary in their\nown countries. From Paris official news was cabled on September 11,\n1902, as follows:--\n\n\n     \u201cJESUIT EXODUS FROM FRANCE.\n\n     \u201cPARIS, _Wednesday, September 11_.\n\n     \u201cIt is announced officially that by the 1st of next month\n     not a single Jesuit will be left in France. Most of them\n     are emigrating to England, and will make Canterbury their\n     headquarters.--DALZIEL.\u201d\n\n\nFrance will not have the Jesuits; may it be asked why _we_ are to have\nthem? It is England\u2019s proud privilege to be an international workhouse\nfor all the decrepit of the world, and for this cause a happy hunting\nground is open to Rome among these same decrepit. There is no creed in\nthe world which is better adapted for those who are morally weak, and\nfrightened of themselves. All the millionaires who have gotten their\ngoods by fraud, can, by leaving the greater part of these goods to\nRome, secure a reserved seat in Rome\u2019s Heaven, with a special harp and\ncrown. All the women with \u201csoul-affinities\u201d other than lawful, can,\nafter a considerable wallow in social mire, enter the Church of Rome,\nand, after confession, be \u201ccleansed\u201d sufficiently to begin again a new\nlife, approved of the saints. All the spiritualists and faith-healers\ncan find support for their theories with Rome,--and the Roman hell,\nfull of large snakes and much brimstone, is a satisfactory place\nto consign one\u2019s enemies to, when we have quite put aside Christ\u2019s\ncommand, \u201cLove one another.\u201d Altogether Romanism is calculated to\nappeal to a very large majority of persons through the sensuous and\nemotional beauty of its ritual;--it is a kind of heavenly narcotic\nwhich persuades the believer to resign his own will into the hypnotic\nmanagement of the priests. The church is made gorgeous with soft lights\nand colours,--glorious music resounds through the building, and the\nmind drowses gently under the influence of the Latin chanting, which\nwe need not follow unless we like,--we are permitted to believe that\na large number of saints and angels are specially looking after us,\nand that the sweet Virgin Mary is ever ready with outstretched hands\nto listen to all our little griefs and vexations. It is a beautiful\nand fascinating Creed, hallowed by long antiquity, graced by deeds\nof romance and chivalry, sanctified by the memories of great martyrs\nand pure saints, and even in these degenerate days, glorified by\nthe noble-hearted men and women who follow it without bigotry or\nintolerance, doing good everywhere, tending the sick, comforting the\nsorrowful, and gathering up the little children into their protecting\narms, even as Jesus Himself gathered them. It would need an angel\u2019s pen\ndipped in fire, to record the true history of a faithful, self-denying\npriest of the Roman Church, who gives up his own advantage for the sake\nof serving others,--who walks fearlessly into squalid dens reeking\nwith fever, and sets the pure Host between the infected lips of the\ndying,--who combats with the Demon of Drink, and drags up the almost\nlost reprobate out of that horrible chasm of vice and destruction.\nNo one could ever give sufficient honour to such a man for all the\nimmense amount of good he does, unostentatiously and without hope of\nreward. But many men like himself exist equally in the English Church\nas the Roman,--in the Presbyterian Church, in the Greek Church, in the\nBuddhist temples, among the Quakers, \u201cPlymouth Brethren,\u201d and other\nsects--among the followers of Mahomet or of Confucius. For there are\ngood men and good women in every Church, faithful to the SPIRIT OF\nCHRIST, and, therefore, \u201cChristians,\u201d even if called Jews or Hindoos.\n\nPersonally, I have no more objection or dislike to Romanism than I\nhave to any other \u201cism\u201d ever formulated. From a student\u2019s point of\nview I admire the Roman Catholic priesthood, because they understand\ntheir business, and thoroughly know the material with which they have\nto deal. Wise as their Egyptian prototypes of old, they decline to\nunveil \u201cmysteries\u201d to the uninitiated vulgar--therefore the laity are\nnot expected to read the Bible for themselves. Knowing the terrors\nof a guilty conscience, they are able to intimidate the uneducated\nruffian of both sexes more successfully than all the majesty of the\nlaw. Thoroughly aware of the popular delight in \u201cshows,\u201d they organize\npublic processions on feast days, just as the \u201cMasters of the Stars\u201d\nused to do in Memphis, where, by the way (as those who take the\ntrouble to study ancient Egyptian records will discover), our latest\ninventions, such as the electric light, the telephone, the phonograph,\nand many other modern conveniences, were used by the priests for\n\u201cmiraculous\u201d effects. From the Egyptian priesthood we derive the\nbeginnings of scientific discovery;--to the early Roman Catholic\npriesthood we owe the preservation of much history and learning. The\none is, intellectually speaking, a lineal descendant of the other, and\nboth deserve the utmost respect for their immense capacity as Rulers of\nthe Ignorant.\n\nThe greater majority of persons have no force of will and no decided\nopinions, but only an under-sense of coward fear or vexation at the\npossible unsuccessful or damaging result of their own ill-doings. Hence\nthe power of the Roman Catholic dogma. It is not Christianity; it has\nnot the delicate subtlety of Greek mythology; it is simply pagan Rome\nengrafted on the conversion and repentance of the Jew, Peter, who, in\nthe time of trial, \u201cknew not the Man.\u201d Curiously enough, it is just the\n\u201cMan,\u201d the real typical Christ, the pure, strong God-in-humanity who\nis still \u201cnot known\u201d in the Roman Catholic ritual. There are prayers\nto the \u201cSacred Heart\u201d and to other physical attributes of Jesus,--just\nas in old Rome there were prayers to the physical attributes of\nthe various deities, but of the perfect \u201cMan,\u201d as seen in Christ\u2019s\ndauntless love of truth and exposure of shams, His scourging of the\nthieves out of the holy temple, His grand indifference to the world\u2019s\nmalice and hatred, and His conquest over death and the grave,--of\nthese things we are given no clear or helpful image. Nevertheless, it\nis the \u201cMan\u201d we most need,--the \u201cMan\u201d who came to us to teach us how\nto live;--the brother, the friend, the close sympathizer,--the great\nCreator of all life mingling Himself with His human creation in a\nbeautiful, tender, loving, wise and all-pitiful Spirit, wherein is no\nhate, no revenge, and no intolerance! This is the Christ;--this is His\nChristianity. Romanism, on the contrary, allows plenty of space for\nthose who want to hate as well as to love, and it is as helpful or as\nuseless as any of the thousand and one dogmas built up around Christ,\ndogmas which include bad passions as well as divine aspirations. The\ndanger of such a creed gaining too much ground in England, the land\nwhere our forefathers fought against it and trampled it out with\ntheir own blood and tears, is not because it is a particular form of\nreligious Faith, but because it is an intolerant system of secret\nGovernment. This has been proved over and over again throughout\nhistory. Its leaders have not shown themselves as gentle pagans by any\nmeans, either now or in the past;--and intolerance in any form, from\nany sect, is no part of the Constitution of a free country.\n\nHence the real cause of the objection which has been entertained by\nmillions of persons in the Empire to the suggested alteration of\nthe King\u2019s Coronation oath. The British King is a Constitutional\nmonarch,--and the words \u201cDefender of the Faith\u201d imply that he is\nequally Defender of the Constitution. He agrees, when he is crowned\nKing of England, to uphold that Constitution,--he therefore tacitly\nrejects all that might tend to undermine it,--all secret methods of\ntampering with political, governmental or financial matters relating\nto the State. The wording of the Coronation Oath is, and must be\ndistinctly offensive to thousands of excellent persons who are Roman\nCatholics,--nevertheless, in the times when it was so worded, the\noffending terms were made necessary by the conduct of the Roman\nCatholics themselves. Those times, we are assured, are past. We have\nmade progress in education,--we are now broad-minded enough to be\nfair to foes, as well as to friends. We should, therefore, in common\ncourtesy to a rival Church, consent to have this irritating formula\naltered. Perhaps we should,--but is it too much to ask our Roman\nCatholic brethren that they also should, if they wish for tolerance,\nexhibit it on their own side? When Queen Victoria died, was it not\nquite as offensive on the part of Pope Leo to publicly state that he\n\u201ccould not be represented at the funeral of a Protestant Queen\u201d--as it\nmay be for our King to publicly repudiate the service of the Mass?\nNothing could have been more calculated to gratuitously wound the\nfeelings of a great People than that most unnecessary announcement\nmade from an historical religious centre like the Vatican, at a time\nof universal grief for the death of a good Monarch. If the Pope\u2019s act\nwas according to the rule of his Church, the King\u2019s oath is according\nto the rule of the British Constitution. No one could accuse the Pope\nof any particularly \u201cChristian\u201d feeling in declining to be represented\nat the last obsequies of the best Queen that ever reigned--no one can\nor would ever conscientiously accuse an English King of \u201creligious\nintolerance\u201d when he takes the oath as it is set down for him. Both\nacts are matters of policy. We have seen the foremost peer of England,\nthe Duke of Norfolk, forgetting himself so far on one occasion as\nto drag his religious creed into the political arena, and publicly\nexpressing the hope on behalf of all English Catholics that the Pope\nmay soon regain temporal power (which means, to put it quite plainly,\nthat the British Constitution should be disintegrated and laid under\nsubjection to Rome): the natural consequence of such conduct is that\nan enormous majority of perfectly sensible broad-minded people doubt\nwhether it is wise to leave an entirely loose rein on the neck of\nthe papal Pegasus. Tolerance and equity on the one side must be met\nby tolerance and equity on the other, if a fair understanding is to\nbe arrived at. And when the professors of any religious Creed still\npersecute heroism and intellect, or refuse reverence to the last\nrite of a noble Queen, whose long reign was a blessing to the whole\nworld, one may be permitted to question their fitness for the task\nof elevating and refining the minds and morals of those whom their\nteachings help to influence. And having, as a man of intellectual\nand keen perception, the full consciousness that such unuttered\n\u201cquestioning\u201d was burning the hearts and minds of thousands, the late\nCardinal Vaughan showed himself a master of the art of Roman Catholic\ndiplomacy in his speech at Newcastle-on-Tyne on September 9, 1902.\nSpeaking of the inrush of Roman Catholic priests into England, he\nsaid:--\n\n\u201cA statement from a London paper has been running through the\nprovincial Press to the effect that I have deliberately outraged\npublic feeling by inviting to England certain French religieux, some\nof those _confr\u00e8res_ who have made themselves particularly obnoxious\nby their constant attacks upon this country. The fact is that, upon\nthe passing of the iniquitous law against the religious congregations,\nI gave a general invitation to any religieux who might wish, to come\nto my diocese until they could return to France. Among those who\napplied were three or four fathers, some of those _confr\u00e8res_ who do\nnot love England. My invitation being general, I was not, and am not\ngoing to make distinctions. None will come who do not intend to obey\nthe laws and follow my direction. And if there be any who have not\nbeen sufficiently enlightened to appreciate this country while living\nin France, they are the very people who had best come and make our\nacquaintance. This is the surest way to change their views. But while\nEngland boasts of her generous hospitality to every kind of refugee, I\nshall certainly offer whatever hospitality I can to the men and women\nwho have suffered for Christ\u2019s sake. _I am too broad an Englishman to\nknow any other policy._\u201d\n\n\u201cBroad Englishman\u201d as the Cardinal professed to be, he had no pity on\nthe aged Dr. St. George Mivart, the circumstances of whose treatment\nare not yet forgotten.\n\nSpeaking of the Coronation oath, the Cardinal said: \u201cI entirely and\nfrankly accept the decision of the country that the King must be a\nProtestant. They believe that this is in some way bound up with the\nwelfare of the Empire. WITHOUT GOING THIS LENGTH, I am convinced that\nin the present condition of the English people, HAUNTED AS THEY ARE\nBY FEARS AND SUSPICIONS, it is expedient that the King should be of\nthe religion of the overwhelming majority. Besides, the King being, in\nvirtue of Royal supremacy, head of the State Church, it is impossible\nthat he should be other than a Protestant. Catholics have no difficulty\nin paying most loyal allegiance to a Protestant Sovereign. In this\nthey seem to be of more liberal and confiding temper than those who\nwould refuse allegiance to a King unless he professed their creed. The\nCatholic has no difficulty, because he gives his allegiance and his\nlife, when needed, primarily to the civil power ordained of God.\u201d\n\n(The Cardinal did not pause here to try and explain why God has thus\n\u201cordained\u201d a Protestant sovereign instead of a Roman Catholic one! Yet\nno doubt he will admit that God knows best.)\n\n\u201cThe Sovereign REPRESENTS THIS POWER, whatever be his religion. Was\nit not Catholic Belgium that placed the Protestant King Leopold upon\nthe Throne, and gave to him at least as hearty a devotion as ever has\nbeen shown to his Catholic successor? Other Catholic States are ruled\nby Protestant Sovereigns. And who can say that the 16,000,000 of German\nCatholics are a whit less loyal to their German Protestant Emperor\nthan the millions who are of the Protestant or of no religion? There\nare people, I believe, pursued by the conviction that we Catholics\nwould do anything in the world to get a Catholic King upon the Throne;\nthat the Pope would give us leave to tell lies, commit perjury, plot,\nscheme, and kill to any extent for such a purpose; that there is no\ncrime we should stick at if the certainty, or even the probability\nof accomplishing such an end were in view. Now let me put it to our\nProtestant friends in this way. If the King of England were an absolute\nMonarch, the dictator of the laws to be enacted, and his own executive,\nthere might be something of vital importance to our interests and\nto those of religion to excite in us an intense desire to have a\nCatholic King. Though even then the end could never, even remotely,\njustify the means suggested. But how do matters really stand? We have\na Constitutional Monarch who is subject to the laws, and in practice\nbound to follow the advice of his Ministers. A Catholic King, under\npresent circumstances, would be a cause of weakness, of perpetual\ndifficulty, and of untold anxiety. We are far better off as we are. Our\ndangers and grievances, our hopes and our happiness, LIE IN THE WORKING\nOF THE CONSTITUTION, not in the favour or power of any Sovereign. IT\nIS THE PARLIAMENT, THE HOUSE OF COMMONS, THAT WE MUST CONVERT, or at\nleast strive to retain within the influence of Christianity. For the\nwell-being of this country and the salvation of its people depend,\nabove all other human things, UPON THE VIEW THAT THE HOUSE OF COMMONS\nCAN BE GOT TO TAKE OF ITS DUTY--to respect and obey the law of Christ.\nWhat we want is to get the House of Commons to maintain the Christian\nlaws of marriage as the basis of society, and to secure to parents and\ntheir children a true and proper liberty in the matter of Christian\neducation. And in this, remember well, THAT THE HOUSE OF COMMONS\nDEPENDS NOT UPON THE KING, WHATEVER HIS RELIGION, BUT UPON OURSELVES.\nThe people of this country must work out their own salvation. And\nhere let me point out to you, in passing, that the next Session of\nParliament may settle for ever the position of Christianity in this\ncountry. Secondary and middle-class education will be thrown into the\nmelting-pot. In the process of the devolution of educational authority\nupon county councils, Christianity will run the risk of losing rights\nwhich it seems to have almost secured under the working of the\nEducation Department. The adoption of a single clause or principle\nwill have far-reaching and most vital results. There will be another\neducational struggle. Struggles will be inevitable until the Christian\ncause which is becoming more and more openly the cause of the majority\nhas permanently triumphed.\u201d\n\nHere we have four distinct \u201cmoves\u201d on the plan of campaign.\n\n\n     1. \u201cIt is the Parliament, the House of Commons, that we must\n     convert.\u201d\n\n\nThis means, that wherever influence can be brought to bear on the\nreturn of Roman Catholic members to the House, that influence will not\nbe lacking.\n\n\n     2. \u201cThe next Session of Parliament may settle for ever the\n     position of Christianity in this country.\u201d\n\n\nNot CHRISTIANITY, for that is above all \u201csettling,\u201d--save with its\nFounder--but that the next or other Sessions may open the way to a more\ncomplete Roman Catholic domination is what is here hoped for.\n\n\n     3. \u201cThe adoption of a _single clause_ or principle will have\n     far-reaching and most vital results.\u201d\n\n\nPrecisely;--so far-reaching and vital that England must be on her guard\nagainst even a \u201csingle clause or principle\u201d which endangers the liberty\nof the subject.\n\n\n     4. \u201cStruggles will be inevitable until the Christian cause which\n     is becoming more and more openly the cause of the majority has\n     permanently triumphed.\u201d\n\n\nFor Cardinal Vaughan there was only one \u201cChristian\u201d cause--viz., the\nRoman Catholic, and he who runs may read the meaning of the above\nphrase without much difficulty.\n\nConcerning the King\u2019s Declaration Oath, said the Cardinal:--\n\n\u201cIt is not the King who is responsible for the drafting or the\nretention of this detestable Declaration. It is the Ministry, the\nLegislature, the Constitution that are responsible for its retention,\nand for forcing its acceptance upon the Sovereign. The gravamen,\ntherefore, lies against the State, not against the person of the King.\u201d\n\nQuite true; and it is therefore against the State that the Vatican\npowers must, and possibly may, in time, be directed.\n\n\u201cAnd,\u201d went on the Cardinal, \u201cdo not devout clergymen swear every day\nin good faith to teach the Thirty-nine Articles, and find every day\nthat conscience and good faith compel them to break their engagement by\nsubmitting to the Catholic Church? When a man fully realizes that by a\npromise or an oath he has pledged himself to something that is unjust,\nimmoral, untrue, the engagement ceases to bind.\u201d\n\n_Ergo_, the English Church, the particular \u201cFaith\u201d which our King\nundertakes to DEFEND, is \u201cunjust, immoral and untrue.\u201d\n\nAnd, \u201cCould Englishmen see themselves as others see them, they would be\nmore chary than they are of provoking hatred by such wanton contempt\nfor the feelings of other nations.\u201d\n\nWell, Englishmen have every chance of seeing themselves as others see\nthem, when they have to chronicle a \u201cChristian\u201d Cardinal\u2019s indictment\naccusing them of \u201cwanton contempt for the feelings of other nations.\u201d\nTo whom do other nations turn in want or distress but England? From\nwhom do the famine and fever-stricken in all corners of the world\nobtain relief? England! Where is there any Roman Catholic country that\nhas poured out such limitless charity and pity to all in sorrow as\nEngland? And why should the \u201cconversion of England\u201d be so valuable to\nthe Roman Church? Merely because of England\u2019s incalculable wealth and\npower!\n\nAgain, concerning the Declaration Oath, the Cardinal continued:--\u201cNow,\nshould it ever happen that the King became convinced, by God\u2019s grace,\nof the truth of the doctrines that he abjured, of what value would be\nthe Declaration? Absolutely none!\u201d\n\nOf course not!--he would simply cease to be King, and would enjoy the\ncomplete liberty of the subject.\n\n\u201cBy all means,\u201d went on his Eminence, warming with his theme, \u201clet the\nmajority, if it please, stand by the law, which exists apart from the\nDeclaration, declaring that to reign over England the Sovereign must be\na Protestant. Retain this law and enforce it; but respect our creed, at\nleast just so far as to ignore it, and to leave us alone. This, surely,\nis not a heavy demand to make upon the spirit of modern toleration.\u201d\n\nThen why did not the Cardinal and all his followers \u201crespect the\ncreed\u201d established in this country,--the religion of the State,--\u201cjust\nso far as to ignore it,\u201d and to leave those who honour it \u201calone\u201d?\n\u201cThis, surely, is not a heavy demand to make upon the spirit of\nmodern toleration.\u201d It was not the Church of England which started\nany discussion on the Coronation Oath at the time of King Edward the\nSeventh\u2019s crowning,--the quarrel emanated entirely from the Roman\nCatholic side. And the Cardinal\u2019s speech was intended to be more\naggressive than pacifying.\n\n\u201cBut if,\u201d he continued, \u201cafter all, there must be a Declaration _as\na sop to certain fears and passions_, let there be one to the effect\nthat the King is a Protestant--and stop there. Should, however, a\ndenunciation of the Catholic religion be added to a profession of\nProtestantism, the whole world will understand it; it will understand\nit as a pitiable _confession of English fear and weakness_. And as to\nourselves; well, we shall take it as a complimentary acknowledgment\nby our Protestant fellow-countrymen of the importance and power of\nfaith--that it can not only remove mountains, but is capable of _moving\neven the fabric of the British Empire itself_. But I should like to\nconclude in another strain, and add to these observations a resolution\nto this effect:--\n\n\u201cThat the Sovereign of this Empire ought to be raised high above the\nstrife of all political and religious controversies, the more easily to\ndraw to himself and to retain the unabated loyalty of all creeds and\nraces within his Empire.\u201d\n\nWith the latter part of the Cardinal\u2019s harangue every one of every\ncreed and class will agree, but \u201ca pitiable confession of English fear\nand weakness\u201d is a phrase that should never have been uttered by an\nEnglishman, whether \u201cbroad\u201d or narrow, cardinal or layman. \u201cEnglish\nfear and weakness\u201d has never yet been known in the world\u2019s history.\nAnd as for \u201cmoving the fabric of the British Empire,\u201d that can only\nbe done through the possible incompetence or demoralization of its\nown statesmen,--by shiftiness, treachery and corruption in State\naffairs--and even at this utmost worst, though England might be bent,\nshe would never be broken.\n\nAll this, however, has nothing to do with the Christian faith as Christ\nHimself expounded it in His own commands. Quarrels and dissensions are\nas far from the teaching of the Divine Master as an earth\u2019s dusthole\nis from the centre of the sun. Differences of dogma are not approved\nin His eyes. Whether candles shall, or shall not, be set on the altar,\nwhether incense shall, or shall not, be burnt, may be said to relegate\nto the \u201ccleansing of the outside of the cup and platter,\u201d and are not\na vital part of His intention--for He has nothing but condemnation\nfor \u201cforms\u201d and \u201cceremonies.\u201d There is something both strange and\nunnatural in the provocative spirit which is at present being exercised\nby professing rulers of the Church of England against one another;\nand another matter too for deep regret is the attitude of favour\nmaintained by certain political ministers, towards the practice of an\nalmost theatrical display in the form of English Christian services.\nThe various appointments of High Churchmen to important bishoprics\nshows the tendency towards extravagant ritualism; certainly the more\nsimple and unaffected men of pure taste and dignity in Church ritual\nget little chance of encouragement; and that the path is being prepared\nfor a second Cromwell is only too evident. It is lamentable indeed that\nany discussions should arise between the different sects as to \u201cforms\nand ceremonies,\u201d and those who excite fanatical hatreds by their petty\nquarrels over unimportant \u201cshows\u201d and observances, are criminally to\nblame for any evils that are likely to ensue. What Christ commands is\n\u201cLove one another\u201d;--what He desires is that all mankind should be\nfriends and brothers in His Name. And it is from this point of view\nthat I again ask the question of those who may have glanced through\nthis paper--DO YOU BELIEVE, OR DO YOU NOT BELIEVE? Are you a CHRISTIAN?\nOr a SECTARIAN? The one is not the other.\n\nFor my own part I would desire to see all the Sects cease their long\nquarrel,--all \u201cdogmas\u201d dropped--and all creeds amalgamated into one\ngreat loving family under the name of Christ. I should like to see\nan end to all bigotry, whether of Protestantism against Romanism, or\nRomanism against Protestantism,--a conclusion to all differences--and\none Universal Church of simple Love and Thanksgiving, and obedience\nto Christ\u2019s own commands. \u201cTemporal power\u201d should be held as the poor\nthing which it is, compared to Spiritual power,--for Spiritual power,\naccording to the Founder of the Christian Faith, is the transcendent\nforce of Love--love to God and love to man,--\u201cthat perfect love which\ncasteth out fear,\u201d and which, being \u201cborn of God, cannot rest but in\nGod above all created things.\u201d\n\nThus it follows--That if we hate or envy or slander any person, WE ARE\nNOT CHRISTIANS.\n\nIf we prefer outward forms of religious ceremonial to the every-day\npractice of a life lived as closely as possible in accordance with the\ncommands laid down for us in the Gospel, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.\n\nIf we love ourselves more than our neighbours, WE ARE NOT CHRISTIANS.\n\nIf we care for money, position, and the ostentation attending these\nthings, more than truth, simplicity and plain dealing, WE ARE NOT\nCHRISTIANS.\n\nThese ordinary tests of our daily conduct are quite enough to enable\nus to decide whether we are or are not of the faith. If we are _not_,\nwe should cease to \u201csham\u201d that we _are_. It will be far better for\nall those with whom we are brought in contact. For, thank God, there\nexist thousands of very real \u201cChristians\u201d--(\u201cby their fruits ye shall\nknow them\u201d), doing unostentatious good everywhere, rescuing the lost,\naiding the poor, comforting the sick, and helping the world to grow\nhappier and better. They may be _called_ Jews, or Baptists, Papists,\nor Buddhists,--but I hold them all as \u201cChristians\u201d if they perform\nthose good deeds and live those good lives which are acceptable to\nChrist,--while many church-going hypocrites called \u201cChristians\u201d whose\nsocial existence is a scandal, whose dissipations, gross immoralities\nand pernicious example of living are open dangers to the whole\ncommunity, do not deserve even such a complimentary term as \u201cpagan\u201d\napplied to them. For the pagans--aye, the earliest savages, believed\nin Something higher than themselves,--but these sort of people believe\nin nothing but the necessity of getting what they want at all costs,\nand are mere human cancers of evil, breeding infection and pestilence.\nAnd it is particularly incumbent on the clergy of all denominations\nat the present juncture to sift Themselves as to their calling and\nelection while sifting others,--to ask Themselves whether they may\nnot be in a great measure to blame for much of the infamy which reeks\nfrom our great cities--for much of the apathy and indifference to\nthat bitter poverty, that neglected suffering which often gives birth\nto Anarchy,--for much of the open atheism which shames the upper\nclasses of society. Let them live such lives as may liberate them\nfrom all fear or hesitation in speaking out boldly to the souls they\nhave in charge--let them \u201cpreach the Gospel\u201d as they were commanded,\nrather than expound human dogmas. Sympathy, tenderness, patience, love\nfor all living creatures, rejection of everything that is mean and\ncruel, false and cowardly,--a broad mind, open to all the beautiful\nand gracious influences of Nature--a spirit uplifted in thanksgiving\nto the loving God of all worlds, who is brought close to us and made\nthe friend of man in the Divine Personality of Christ,--this surely\nis CHRISTIANITY,--a Faith which leaves no corner anywhere for the\nadmission of hate, dissension or despair. Such is the Faith the Master\ntaught, saying:\n\n[3]\u201cI have not spoken of myself, but of the Father which sent me; He\ngave me a commandment what I should say, and what I should speak.\n\n\u201cAnd I know that His commandment is life everlasting--whatsoever I\nspeak, therefore, even as the Father taught me, so I speak.\u201d\n\nSo He speaks--but do we listen? And if we listen,--and believe,--why do\nwe not obey?\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[2] \u201cEffects of the Factory System.\u201d--Allen Clarke.\n\n[3] John xii. 49.\n\n\n\n\nUNCHRISTIAN CLERICS\n\n\nIt is generally supposed that an ordained minister of the Gospel is a\nChristian. Whatever the faults, negligences and shortcomings of other\npeople in other conditions of life, it is tacitly expected that the\nprofessing disciples of Christ, the priests, teachers and exponents of\nholy and spiritual things, should be more or less holy and spiritual\nin themselves. They are at any rate accredited with honest effort to\npractise, as well as to preach, the divine ethics of their Divine\nMaster. Their position in the social community is one which, through\nold-time tradition, historical sentiment, and inborn national piety, is\nbound to command a certain respect from the laity. Any public disgrace\nbefalling a clergyman is always accompanied by a strong public sense of\nshame, disappointment and regret. And when we meet (as most unhappily\nwe often do), with men in \u201choly orders\u201d who,--instead of furnishing\nthe noble and pure examples of life and character which we have a\ndistinct right to look for in them,--degrade themselves and their high\nprofession by conduct unworthy of the lowest untutored barbarian, we\nare moved by amazement as well as sorrow to think that such wolves in\nsheep\u2019s clothing should dare to masquerade as the sacredly ordained\nhelpers and instructors of the struggling human soul.\n\nDuring the past few years there have been many examples of men\nbelonging to the hierarchy of the Church, who have wantonly and\nknowingly outraged every canon of honour and virtue, and their sins\nappear all the blacker because of the whiteness of the faith they\nprofess to serve. A criminal is twice a criminal when he adds hypocrisy\nto his crime. The clergyman of a parish, who has all doors thrown open\nto him,--who invites and receives the trust of his parishioners,--who\nis set among them to guide, help and comfort them in the devious\nand difficult ways of life, is a thousand times more to blame than\nany other man in a less responsible position, when he knowingly and\ndeliberately consents to sin. Unless he is able to govern his own\npassions, and eschew every base, mean and petty motive of action,\nhe is not fit to influence his fellow men, nor should he presume to\ninstruct them in matters which he makes it evident he does not himself\nunderstand.\n\nQuite recently a case was chronicled in the daily press of a clergyman\nwho went to visit a dying woman at her own request. She wished to make\na last confession to him, and so unburden her soul of its secret misery\nbefore she passed away, trusting in God\u2019s mercy for pardon and peace.\nThe clergyman went accordingly, and heard what she had to say. When the\nunhappy creature was dead, however, he refused her poor body the sacred\nrites of burial! Now it surely may be asked what authority had he or\nany man calling himself a Christian minister to refuse the rites of\nburial even to the worst of sinners? Whatever the woman\u2019s faults might\nhave been, vengeance wreaked on a corpse is both futile and barbarous.\nThere is nothing in Christ\u2019s pure and noble teaching that can endorse\nso unholy a spirit of intolerance,--one too, which is calculated to\ngive the bitterest pain to the living friends and relations of the so\ncoarsely-insulted dead, and to breed in them a relentless hostility\nto the Church and its representatives. For the poorest erring human\ncreature that ever turned over the pages of the New Testament, knows\nthat such conduct is not Christ-like, inasmuch as Christ had nothing\nbut the tenderest pity, pardon and peace for the worst sinner at the\nlast moment. When death steps in to close all accounts, it behoves man\nto be more than merciful to his brother man. \u201cFor if ye forgive not men\ntheir trespasses neither will your Father forgive you your trespasses.\u201d\n\nStill fresh in the minds of many must be the un-Christian conduct of\nthe late Cardinal Vaughan in denying the rites of Christian burial\nto the venerable Dr. St. George Mivart. Dr. St. George Mivart was a\nman of science whose theories did not agree with the tenets of the\nRoman Catholic Church, and as he belonged ostensibly to that form of\nfaith, one may call him, if one so chooses, a bad Catholic. But when\nit is remembered that within quite recent days, so-called \u201cChristian\u201d\npriests in Servia have given their solemn benediction to the assassins\nof the late King and Queen of that country, it is somewhat difficult\nto understand or appreciate the kind of \u201creligion\u201d that blesses\nmurderers and regicides, yet refuses burial to a modern scientist who,\nas far as his intellectual powers allowed him, was working for the\ngood and the wider instruction of the human race. At the time of the\n\u201cinhibition\u201d and subsequent death of Dr. Mivart, I ventured to address\nan \u201cOpen Letter\u201d to Cardinal Vaughan on the subject. This Letter was\npublished in March 1900, and though no doubt the great \u201cPrince of the\nChurch\u201d never deigned to read it, a large majority of the public did,\nand I have had much cause to rejoice that in the timorously silent\nacquiescence of the Christian world in a deed which shames the very\nname of Christ, I, at least, as one of the humblest among the followers\nof the Christian faith, did have sufficient courage to speak out openly\nagainst the wicked intolerance which made the Church itself seem mere\n\u201csounding brass or a tinkling cymbal,\u201d because lacking in that holy\ncharity \u201cwhich suffereth long and is kind.\u201d It was a barbarous act\nto \u201cinhibit\u201d Dr. Mivart,--it was still more barbarous to refuse his\nbody the sacred burial-rites,--and though the great Cardinal has now\nfollowed his victim to that world where all the secrets of the soul are\nmade manifest, his cruelty remains as a blot on his mortal career,--a\nblack smirch, ugly to look upon in the chronicle of his various virtues\nand excellencies. No ordained minister of the Gospel has the right\nto be intolerant. He has not the slightest excuse for arrogating to\nhimself any other code of ethics or conduct than that which is set out\nplainly for him in the New Testament. Away from that he should not dare\nto go, if he truly believes what he elects to preach,--and if he does\nnot believe, he should at once resign his office and not live on the\nproceeds of what in his own private conscience he considers untrue.\n\nMost of us have met with many a mean little curate,--many a sly,\nspiteful, scandal-mongering hypocritical parson,--in the daily\nround of our common lives and duties. Most of us know the \u201csalad\u201d\ncleric,--the gentleman who is a doubtful compound of oil and vinegar,\nwith a good deal of tough green vegetable matter growing where\nthe brain should be,--coarse weed of bigotry, prejudice, and rank\nobstinacy. None of us are entirely ignorant of the sedately amorous\nparson who is either looking out for a wife on his own account, or\nattempting a \u201cChristianly\u201d conversion of the wife of somebody else. In\ncountry towns we can scarcely fail to have come across the domineering\nvicar,--the small and petty tyrant, who whips the souls committed to\nhis charge with rods steeped in his own particular pickle of arrogance,\nausterity and coercion, playing the part of a little despot over\nterrorized Sunday-school children, and laying down the law for his\nparishioners by way of a \u201cnew dispensation\u201d wherein the Gospel has no\npart. One such petty martinet, well known in a certain rural parish,\nplays regular \u201cogre\u201d to his choir boys. It is always a case of \u201cFee,\nfi, fa, fo, fum, I smell the blood of a chorister,\u201d with him. Should\none of these unfortunate minstrels chance to sneeze during service,\nthis vicar straightway imposes a penny fine (sometimes more) on the\nunlucky little wretch for yielding to an irresistible nasal impulse!\nThis kind of thing is, of course, ridiculous, and would merit nothing\nbut laughter, were it not for the dislike, distrust and contempt\nengendered in the minds of the boys by the display of such a peevish\nspirit of trumpery oppression on the part of a man who is placed in\nthe position he holds to be an example of kindness, good temper,\ncheerfulness and amiability to all. True, the vicar in question is\nwhat may be called \u201cliverish,\u201d and a small boy\u2019s sneeze may seem, to\na mind perverted by bilious bodily secretions, like the collapse of a\nuniverse. But there are various ways of conquering even one\u2019s physical\nills,--at least to the extent of sparing poor children the infliction\nof fines because they have noses which occasionally give them trouble.\n\nThe begging cleric is of all sacerdotal figures the one most familiar\nto the general community. One can seldom attend a church without\nhearing the mendicant\u2019s plea. If the collection taken were indeed for\nthe poor, and one felt that it was really and truly going to help\nfeed the starving and nourish the sick, how gladly most of us would\ncontribute, to the very best of our ability! But sad experience teaches\nus that this is not so. There are \u201cFunds\u201d of other mettle than for\nthe sick and poor,--\u201crestoration\u201d funds especially. For many years a\nfamous church was in debt owing to \u201crestorations,\u201d and Sunday after\nSunday the vicar implored his congregation to lift \u201cthe burden\u201d off its\ntime-honoured walls--in vain! At last one parishioner paid the amount\nrequired in full. The vicar acknowledged the cheque,--put a recording\nline in the \u201cParish Magazine,\u201d--wrote a formal letter of thanks\nregretting that the donor did not \u201cshow a good example by attending\npublic worship on Sundays,\u201d--after which, _for more than a year he did\nnot speak to that parishioner again_! This is a fact. Neither he nor\nhis wife during that time ever showed the slightest common civility\nto the one individual who, out of all the parish, had \u201clifted the\nburden,\u201d concerning which so many pious exordiums had been preached.\n_Till_ the debt was paid, the vicar showed every friendliness to the\nperson in question--but afterwards--well!--one can only suppose it\nwas a case of \u201cOthello\u2019s occupation gone!\u201d He could beg no more,--not\nfor that particular object. But I understand he has started fresh\n\u201crestorations\u201d lately, so till he finds another trusting sheep in the\nway of a too sympathetic parishioner, he will be quite happy.\n\nThere are some clerics who, to their sacred duties add \u201ca little\nliterary work.\u201d They are not literary men,--indeed very frequently\nthey have no idea whatever of literature--they are what may be called\n\u201cliterary jobbers.\u201d Many clergymen have been, and are still, greatly\ndistinguished in the literary calling--but I am not alluding to\npast or future Kingsleys. The men I mean are those who \u201cdo a bit of\nwriting\u201d--and help in compiling books of reference to which few ever\nrefer. They are apt to be the most pertinacious beggars of their\nclass,--beggars, not for others\u2019 needs, but for their own. They want\nintroductions to \u201cuseful\u201d people--people of \u201cinfluence\u201d--and they ask\nfor letters to publishers, which they sometimes get. The publishers\nare not grateful. They are over-run, they say, with clergymen who want\nto write guide-books, books of travel, books of reference, books of\nreminiscence. One of these \u201creverend\u201d individuals, pleading stress of\npoverty, was employed by a lady to do some copying work, for which,\nin a well-meant wish to satisfy the immediate needs of his wife and\nchildren, she paid him in advance the sum of Fifty Pounds. He sent her\na signed receipt for the money with the following gushing epistle:\n\n\n     \u201cDEAR ----,\n\n     Could I write as you do, I might find words to express in part\n     some of my feelings of gratitude to you for all your kindness.\n     My little daughter owes to you untold happiness, and I believe\n     the goodness you ever show her will brighten her whole future\n     life. My dear wife you help to bear her many burdens of health\n     and loneliness as no other has ever attempted to do; and my\n     very mediocre self owes to you, a recognition, after many long\n     struggles, I will not say of merit, for no one knows better than\n     myself, my own shortcomings, but of \u2018effort.\u2019 In fact, you come to\n     us as Amenhotep sung of the sun:--\n\n\n       Thou art very beautiful, brilliant and exalted above earth,\n       Thy beams encompass all lands, which thou hast made.\n       Thou art our sun.\n       Thou bindest us with thy love.\n       Thou art on high, but the day passes with thy going!\n\n\n     Even so, your kindly heart has shone upon our life, and made us\n     feel the springs of life within us. May the Great Master of all\n     things for ever bless you and yours!\u201d\n\n\nAfter this poetical effusion,[4] it is difficult to believe that\nthis same \u201cChristian\u201d minister, in order to gratify the private\njealousy, spite and malice of a few common persons whom he fancied\nmight be useful to him on account of their \u201clocal\u201d influence, wrote\nand published a scurrilous lampoon on the very friend who had tried\nto benefit him and his wife and family, and to whom he had expressed\nhimself in the above terms of unmeasured gratitude! But such,\nnevertheless, was the case. Report says that he was handsomely paid\nfor his trouble, which may perhaps serve as his excuse,--for in many\ncases, as we know, money outweighs principle, even with a disciple of\nChrist. It did so in the case of Judas Iscariot, who, however, \u201cwent\nout and hanged himself\u201d promptly. Perhaps the \u201cvery mediocre\u201d cleric\nwho owed to the woman he afterwards insulted, \u201ca recognition after many\nlong struggles,\u201d will do the same morally and socially in due course.\nFor it would be as great a wrong to the Church to call such a man a\n\u201cChristian\u201d as it would be to canonize Judas. Even the untutored savage\nwill not injure one with whom he has broken bread. And to bite the hand\nthat has supplied a need, is scarcely the act of a mongrel cur,--let us\nhope it is a sufficiently rare performance among mongrel clerics.\n\nAmong other such \u201ctrifling\u201d instances of the _un_-Christianity of\nChristian ministers may be quoted a recent instance of a letter\naddressed to a country newspaper by a clergyman who complained of\nthe small fees allowed him for the burial of paupers! \u201cThe game,\u201d so\nhe expressed it, \u201cwas not worth the candle.\u201d Christian charity was\nno part of the business. Unless one can make a margin of profit, by\ncommitting paupers to the hope of a joyful resurrection, why do it\nat all? Such appeared to be the sum and substance of the reverend\ngentleman\u2019s argument. Another case in point is the following: A poor\nman of seventy-five years old, getting the impression that Death was\ntoo long in coming to fetch him, committed suicide by hanging himself\nin a coal-shed. His widow, nearly as aged as he was, went tottering\nfeebly along to the clergyman of the parish, to relate the disaster and\nseek for help. The first thing the good minister told her was, that\nher husband, by committing suicide, had gone to hell. He then relaxed\nhis sternness somewhat, and kindly said that, considering her age,\ninfirmity and trouble, she \u201cmight call at the rectory every afternoon\nfor the tea-leaves.\u201d This gracious invitation meant that the bereaved\nold creature could have, for her consolation, the refuse of the\nafternoon tea-pot after it had been well drained by this \u201cChristian\u201d\ngentleman, his wife and family! Of other help she got none, and life\nhaving become too hard for her to manage alone, despite the assistance\nof the clergyman\u2019s tea-leaves, she very soon, fortunately for herself,\ndied of grief and starvation. \u201cHe that giveth to the poor\u201d in this\nfashion, truly \u201clendeth to the Lord.\u201d\n\n\u201cChristianity\u201d and \u201cChristian\u201d are beautiful words, emblematic of\nbeautiful thoughts and beautiful deeds. The men who profess to teach\nthe value of those thoughts, the influence of those deeds, should\nbe capable in themselves of practically illustrating what they mean\nby their faith, in their own lives and actions. Inspired by the\npurest Creed that was ever taught to mankind for its better hope and\nenlightenment, they should express in their attitude to the world, a\nconfident and constant joy and belief in God\u2019s goodness, and should\nremember that if He, their divine Master \u201cso loved us,\u201d equally should\nthey, His ordained ministers, love us, ay, even the worst of us, in\ntheir turn. When, on the contrary, they do things for which the poorest\npeasant or dockyard labourer would have the right, and the honest\nright too, to despise them,--when they commit base actions for money\nor advancement,--when they are harsh, unyielding, discourteous and\nobstinate to the degree of even declining to aid a good cause or assist\nin some benefit to the nation at large, merely because _they_ have not\nbeen consulted as to ways and methods, they do not deserve to be called\n\u201cChristian\u201d at all. They are of that class, unhappily increasing in\nnumber, who cry out: \u201cLord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name?\u201d\nto whom will be given the answer: \u201cI never knew you; depart from Me,\nye that work iniquity!\u201d Great and noble beyond all praise are true\n\u201cChristian\u201d ministers,--and thousands of them are to be found in all\nparts of the world, working silently and bravely for the rescue of\nbodies as well as souls, giving practical as well as spiritual help and\nsympathy to their fellow-men in trouble. But just because their labours\nare so valuable, one resents all the more deeply the conduct of certain\nmembers of the clergy who cast dishonour upon their whole calling,--and\njust because the vocation of \u201cpriest\u201d is so high, we intensely deplore\nevery action that tends to debase it. The un-Christian cleric belongs\nto no spiritual form of faith whatsoever, and should not be allowed\nto pretend that he does. He has but one religion,--Self. And from the\nprofessor of Self, no man need ask either help or instruction.\n\nFOOTNOTE:\n\n[4] As some doubt has been expressed as to whether this incident is a\ntrue one, the author wishes it to be known that she holds the original\nletter written and signed by the reverend lampooner in question.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SOCIAL BLIGHT\n\n\nPeople who live in the country know what is meant by a \u201cblight\u201d--a\nthing which is neither mist nor storm, neither cloud nor rain,--a\nfever of the atmosphere, without any freshening or cleansing force\nin its composition. Like a dull stretch of smoky fog, it hangs for\nhours and often for days over the face of the landscape, poisoning\nthe wholesome fruit and grain in the orchards and fields, and leaving\ntrails of noxious insect pests behind it upon trees and flowers,\nwithering their foliage, and blackening all buds of promise with a\ndestroying canker to their very core. It is a suffocating, malodorous\nmiasma, clinging to the air, for which there is no remedy but a\nstrong, ay, even a tempestuous wind,--a wind which vigorously pierces\nthrough the humid vapour and disperses it, tearing it to shreds, and\nfinally working up such a storm as shall drown it out of existence in\ntorrents of purifying rain. Then all nature is relieved,--the air is\ncleared,--health and gladness re-assert their beneficent influences,\nand the land lies open to renewed life and easy breathing once more.\n\nEven as \u201cblight\u201d is known in things natural, so is it known and easily\nrecognizable in things moral and social. It occurs periodically and\nwith more or less regularity, between certain changing, and not always\nprogressive phases or epochs of human civilization. It visited Sodom\nand Gomorrah, Tyre and Sidon; it loomed over Nineveh and Babylon,--and\nin our day it is steadily spreading its pall over Europe and America.\nIts gloom is heavy and pronounced,--it would seem to be darkening\ninto the true sable or death colour, for there is no light of faith\nto illumine it. It is the outcome of the infected breath of peoples\nwho are deliberately setting God aside out of their countings, and\nliving for Self and the Hour alone. So-called \u201cscientists,\u201d scraping\nat the crust-covering of the mine of knowledge, and learning of its\nhidden treasure about as much as might be measured with a finger-nail,\nhave boldly asserted that there is no God, no Supreme Intelligent\nForce back of the universe,--no future life,--nothing but death and\ndestruction for the aspiring, fighting, working human soul,--and that,\ntherefore, having been created out of caprice, a \u201csport\u201d of chance\nand the elements, and having nothing to exist for but to make chance\nand the elements as agreeable as possible during his brief conscious\nexperience of them, the best thing for man to do is to \u201ceat, drink,\nand be merry all the days of his life,\u201d though even this, according to\nSolomon, is \u201calso vanity.\u201d For of eating comes indigestion, of drink\nstupefaction, and of merriment satiety. Strange it is that if there\nis no higher destiny for man than this world and its uses, he should\nalways be thrown back upon himself dissatisfied! Give him millions of\nmoney, and when he has them, he cares little for what they can bring;\ngrant him unlimited power and a few years suffice to weary him of its\nuse. And stranger still it is to realize, that while those who do not\nadmit God\u2019s existence, strut forth like bantams on a dunghill, crowing\ntheir little opinions about the sun-rise, we are all held fast and\nguided, not only in our physical, but in our moral lives by immutable\nlaws, invisible in their working, but sooner or later made openly\nmanifest. Crime meets with punishment as surely as night follows day.\nIf the retribution is not of man\u2019s making,--if human law, often so\nvicious and one-sided in itself, fails to give justice to the innocent,\nthen Something or Someone steps in to supply man\u2019s lack of truth and\ncourage, and executes a judgment from which there is no appeal. What\nit is or Who it is, we may not presume to declare,--the Romans called\nit Jove or Jupiter;--we call it God, while denying, with precisely the\nsame easy flippancy as the Romans did just before their downfall, that\nsuch a Force exists. It is convenient and satisfying to Mammonites\nand sensualists generally, to believe in nothing but themselves, and\nthe present day. It would be very unpleasant for them to have to\ncontemplate with any certainty a future life where neither Money nor\nSex prevail. And because it would be unpleasant, they naturally do not\nadmit its possibility. Nevertheless, without belief in the Creator and\nRuler of all things,--without faith in the higher spiritual destiny of\nman as an immortal and individual soul, capable of progressing ever\nonwards to wider and grander spheres of action, life in this world\nappears but a poor and farcical futility.\n\nYet it is precisely the poor, farcical and futile view of life that\nis taken by thousands of European and American people in our present\nperiod. Both press and pulpit reflect it; it is openly shown in the\ndecadence of the drama, of art, of literature, of politics, and of\nsocial conduct. The \u201cblight\u201d is over all. The blight of atheism,\ninfidelity, callousness and indifference to honourable principle,--the\nblight of moral cowardice, self-indulgence, vanity and want of heart.\nWithout mincing matters, it can be fairly stated that the aristocratic\nJezebel is the fashionable woman of the hour, while the men vie with\none another as to who shall best screen her from her amours with\nthemselves. And so far as the sterner sex are personally concerned,\nthe moneyed man is the one most sought after, most tolerated, most\nappreciated and flattered in that swarm of drones called \u201csociety\u201d\nwhere each buzzing insect tries to sting the other, or crawl over it\nin such wise as to be the first to steal whatever honey may be within\nreach. And worst of all things is the selfish apathy which pervades\nthe majority of the well-to-do classes. As little sympathy is shown\namong them for the living, as regret for the dead. The misfortunes of\nfriends are far more often made subject for ill-natured mockery than\nfor compassion,--the deaths of parents and relations are accepted\nwith a kind of dull pleasure, as making way for the inheritance of\nmoney or estates. No real delight is shown in the arts which foster\npeace, progress and wisdom; and equally little enthusiasm is stirred\nfor such considerations of diplomacy or government which help to\nkeep nations secure. A great man dies one day, and is forgotten the\nnext,--unless some clumsy and scandalous \u201cbiography\u201d which rakes up\nall his faults and mistakes in life, and publishes private letters of\nthe most intimate and sacred character, can be hawked to the front\nby certain literary vultures who get their living by tearing out the\nheart of a corpse. Say that a dire tragedy is enacted,--such as the\nassassination of the Empress Elizabeth of Austria, or the atrocious\nmurder of the late King and Queen of Servia,--or, what is to many minds\nalmost as bad,--the heartless and un-Christian conduct of Leopold,\nKing of the Belgians, to his unhappy daughter St\u00e9phanie,--and though\neach event may be as painful and terrible as any that ever occupied\nthe attention of the historian, they appear to excite no more human\nemotion than a few cold expressions of civil surprise or indifference.\nFeeling,--warm, honest, active, passionate feeling for any cause, is\nmore difficult to rouse than the Sloth from its slumbers. It would,\nin truth, seem to be dead. The Church cannot move it. The Drama fails\nto stir it. Patriotism,--National Honour,--have no power to lift it\nfrom the quagmire of inertia. But let there be a sudden panic on the\nStock Exchange,--let the Paris Bourse be shaken,--let Wall Street be\nablaze with sinister rumour--and then hey and halloo for a reckless,\ndegrading, humiliating, miserable human stampede! Like infuriated\nmaniacs men shriek and stamp and wrestle;--with brains on fire,\nthey forget that they were born to be reasoning creatures capable\nof self-control;--their much boasted-of \u201ceducation\u201d avails them\nnothing,--and they offer to the gods a spectacle of frantic fear and\nignominy of which even an untaught savage might well be ashamed.\n\nBut perhaps the most noxious sign of the blight in the social\natmosphere is the openly increasing laxity of morals, and the frankly\ndisgraceful disregard of the marriage tie. Herein the British\naristocracy take the lead as the choicest examples of the age. Whatever\nEurope or America may show in the way of godless and dissolute living,\nwe are unhappily forced to realize that there are men in Great Britain,\nrenowned for their historic names and exclusive positions, who are\ncontent to stand by, the tame witnesses of their own marital dishonour,\naccepting, with a cowardice too contemptible for horsewhipping,\nother men\u2019s children as their own, all the time knowing them to be\nbastards. We have heard of a certain \u201cnobleman\u201d who,--to quote Holy\nWrit,--\u201cneighed after\u201d another man\u2019s wife to such an extent, that to\nstop the noise, the obliging husband accepted \u00a360,000, a trifling sum,\nwhich was duly handed over. Whether the gentleman who neighed, or the\ngentleman who paid, was the worst rascal, must be left to others to\ndetermine. It was all hushed up quite nicely,--and both parties are\nreceived \u201cin the best society,\u201d with even more attention than would be\nshown to them if they were clean and honest, instead of being soiled\nand disreputable. The portrait of the lady whose damaged virtue was\nplastered up for \u00a360,000 is often seen in pictorials, with appended\nletterpress suitably describing her as a lily-white dove of sweet\npurity and peace. One blames the sinners in this sordid comedy less\nthan the \u201cfashionable\u201d folk who tolerate and excuse their conduct.\nSinners there are, and sinners there always will be,--modern Davids\nwill always exist who seek after Bathsheba, and do their level best to\nget Uriah the Hittite comfortably out of the way,--but that they should\nbe encouraged in their sins and commended for them, is quite another\nstory. Apart from the pernicious influence they exercise on their own\nparticular \u201cset,\u201d the example of conduct they give to the nation at\nlarge, not only arouses national contempt, but in some cases, where\ncertain notable politicians are concerned, may breed national disaster.\n\nWith looseness of morals naturally comes looseness of conversation.\nThe conversation of many of the Upper Ten, in England at least, shows\na remarkable tendency towards repulsive subjects and objectionable\ndetails. It is becoming quite a common thing to hear men and women\ntalking about their \u201cLittle Marys,\u201d a phrase which, though invented\nby Mr. J. M. Barrie, is not without considerable vulgarity and\noffence. Before the brilliant Scottish novelist chose this title\nfor a play dealing with the digestive apparatus, it would have done\nhim no harm to pause and reflect that with a very large portion of\nthe Christian world, namely the Roman Catholic, the name of Mary is\nheld to be the most sacred of all names, second to none save that of\nthe Divine Founder of the Faith. I am told on good authority that\nAmericans,--especially the best of the American women,--have been\namazed and more or less scandalized at the idea that any portion of the\n\u201ccultured\u201d British public should be found willing to attend a dramatic\nrepresentation dealing with matters pertaining to the human stomach.\nI hope this report is true. My admiration for some American women is\nconsiderable, but it would go up several points higher if I were made\nquite sure that their objection to this form of theatrical enterprise\nwas genuine, permanent, and unconquerable. I like Mr. Barrie very much,\nand his Scottish stories delight me as they delight everybody, but I\nwant him to draw the line at the unbeautiful details of dyspepsia.\nPeople are already too fond of talking about the various diseases\nafflicting various parts of their bodies to need any spur in that way\nfrom the romantic drama. One of the most notorious women of the day has\nattained her doubtful celebrity partially by conversing about her own\ninner mechanism and other people\u2019s inner mechanisms in a style which\nis not only \u201cfree,\u201d but frankly disgusting. But,--\u201cshe is so amusing!\u201d\nsay the Smart Set,--\u201cOne cannot repeat her stories, of course--they go\n_rather_ far!--but--but--you really ought to hear her tell them!\u201d This\nkind of thing is on a par with certain lewd fiction lately advertised\nby certain enterprising publishers who announce--\u201cYou must have this\nbook! The booksellers will not show it on their bookstalls. They say\nyou ought NOT to read it. GET IT!\u201d\n\nAll homage to the booksellers who draw the line at printed garbage! One\nmust needs admire and respect them for refusing to take percentages\non the sale of corrupt matter. For business is always business,--and\nwhen business men see that the tendency of a certain portion of the\nreading public is towards prurient literature, they might, were they\nless honourable and conscientious than they are, avail themselves\nfinancially of this morbid and depraved taste. Especially as there are\na large number of self-called \u201cstylists\u201d who can always be relied\nupon to praise the indecent in literature. They call it \u201cstrong,\u201d or\n\u201cvirile,\u201d and reck nothing of the fact that the \u201cstrong\u201d stench of it\nmay poison previously healthy minds, and corrupt otherwise innocent\nsouls. Prurient literature is always a never-failing accompaniment\nof social \u201cblight.\u201d The fancy for it arises when wholesome literary\nfare has become too simple for the diseased and capricious mental\nappetite, and when the ideal conceptions of great imaginative minds,\nsuch as the romances of Scott and Dickens, are voted \u201ctoo long and\nboresome!--there\u2019s really no time to read such stories nowadays!\u201d\nNo,--there is no time! There\u2019s plenty of time to play Bridge though!\n\nPoetry--the greatest of the arts--is neglected at the present day,\nbecause nobody will read it. Among the most highly \u201ceducated\u201d persons,\nmany can be met with who prattle glibly about Shakespeare, but who\nneither know the names of his plays nor have read a line of his work.\nWith the decline of Poesy comes as a matter of course the decline of\nSculpture, Painting, Architecture and Music. For Poesy is the parent\nstem from which all these arts have sprung. The proofs of their decline\nare visible enough amongst us to-day. Neither Great Britain, nor\nEurope, nor America, can show a really great Poet. England\u2019s last great\npoet was Tennyson,--since his death we have had no other. Similarly\nthere is no great sculptor, no great painter, no great novelist,\nno great architect, no great musician. I use the word \u201cgreat,\u201d of\ncourse, in its largest sense, in the sense wherein we speak of Michael\nAngelo, Raffaelle, or Beethoven. There are plenty of clever \u201csketchy\u201d\nartists,--\u201cimpressionist\u201d painters and fictionists, \u201crococo\u201d sculptors,\nand melodious drawing-room song-writers,--but we wait in vain for a new\n\u201cgrand\u201d opera, a nobly-inspired statue, a novel like \u201cGuy Mannering,\u201d\nor a Cathedral, such as the devout old monks designed in the intervals\nbetween prayer and praise. The beautiful and poetic ideals that made\nsuch work possible are, if not quite dead, slowly dying, under the\ninfluence of the \u201cblight\u201d which infects the social atmosphere,--the\nblight which is thick with Self and Sensuality,--which looms between\nman and his Maker, shutting out every hopeful glimpse of the sun of\nfaith, whose life-giving rays invigorate the soul. And those who see\nit slowly darkening--those who have been and are students of history,\nand are thereby able to recognize its appearance, its meaning, and its\nmission, and who know the mischief wrought by the poison it exhales,\nwill pray for a Storm!\n\n\n     \u201cCome but the direst storm and stress that Fate\n     Can bring upon us in its darkest hour,\n     Then will the realm awake, however late,\n     From the warm sloth in which we yawn and cower,\n     And pass our sordid lives in greed, or mate\n     With animal delights in luxury\u2019s bower;\n     Then will the ancient virtues bloom anew,\n     And love of country quench the love of gold;\n     Then will the mocking spirits that imbue\n     Our daily converse fade like misty cold\n     When the clear sunshine permeates the blue;\n     Men will be manly as in days of old,\n     And scorn the base delights that sink them down\n     Into the languid waters where they drown!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEATH OF HOSPITALITY\n\n\nThere is an old song, a very old song, the refrain of which runs\nthus: \u201c\u2019Twas merry in the hall, when the beards wagged all, We shall\nnever see the like again, again!--We shall never see the like again!\u201d\nWhether there was anything particularly hilarious in the wagging of\nbeards we may not feel able to determine, but there is unquestionably\na vague sense of something festive and social conveyed in the quaint\nlines. We feel, without knowing why, that it was, it _must_ have\nbeen, \u201cmerry in the hall,\u201d at the distant period alluded to,--while\nat the present time we are daily and hourly made painfully aware\nthat whether it be in hall, drawing-room or extensive \u201creception\ngallery,\u201d the merriment formerly so well sung and spoken of exists\nno longer. The Harp that once through Tara\u2019s Halls--no!--I mean the\nBeards that once wagged in the Hall, wag no more. Honest laughter has\ngiven place to the nanny-goat sniggering bleat now common to polite\nsociety, and understood to be the elegantly trained and \u201ccultured\u201d\nexpression of mirth. The warm hand-shake has, in a very great measure,\ndegenerated into the timorous offer of two or three clammy fingers\nextended dubiously, as with a fear of microbes. And Hospitality,\nlarge-hearted, smiling, gracious Hospitality, is dead and wrapped in\nits grave-clothes, waiting in stiff corpse-like state for its final\nburial. Public dinners, public functions of all kinds,--in England at\nany rate,--are merely so many funeral feasts in memory of the great\ndefunct virtue. Its spirit has fled,--and there is no calling it\nback again. The art of entertaining is lost,--together with the art\nof conversation. And when our so-called \u201cfriends\u201d are \u201cat home,\u201d we\nare often more anxious to find reasons for declining rather than for\naccepting their invitations, simply because we know that there is no\nreal \u201cat home\u201d in it, but merely an \u201cout-of-home\u201d arrangement, in which\na mixed crowd of people are asked to stand and swelter in an uneasy\ncrush on staircases and in drawing-rooms, pretending to listen to music\nwhich they can scarcely hear, and scrambling for tea which is generally\ntoo badly made to drink. Indeed, it may be doubted whether, of all\nthe various ludicrous social observances in which our progressive\nday takes part, there is anything quite so sublimely idiotic as a\nsmart \u201cAt Home\u201d in London during the height of the season. Nothing\ncertainly presents men and women in such a singularly unintelligent\naspect. Their faces all wear more or less the same expression of forced\namiability,--the same civil grin distorts their poor mouths--the same\nwondering and weary stare afflicts their tired straining eyeballs--and\nthe same automatic arm-movement and hand-jerk works every unit, as\neach approaches the hostess in the conventional manner enjoined by the\nusages of that \u201ccultured\u201d hypocrisy which covers a multitude of lies.\nSheep, herding in a field and cropping the herbage in the comfortable\nunconsciousness that they are eating merely to be eaten, are often\nstated to be the silliest of animals,--but whether they are sillier\nthan the human beings who consent to be squashed together in stuffy\nrooms where they can scarcely move, under the sham impression that they\nare \u201cat home\u201d with a friend, is a matter open to question. Of course\nto some minds it may be, and no doubt is, extremely edifying to learn\nby the society papers that Mrs. So-and-So, or Lord and Lady Thingummy\nwill \u201centertain a great deal this season.\u201d People who have no idea\nwhat this kind of \u201centertaining\u201d means, may have glittering visions\nthereof. They may picture to themselves scenes of brilliancy where \u201ca\nthousand hearts beat happily, and when, Music arose with its voluptuous\nswell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went\nmerry as a marriage-bell!\u201d Only these things do not happen. Anything\nbut love is \u201clooked\u201d from soft eyes and hard eyes equally;--derision,\ncontempt, indifference, dejection, malice, and (so far as champagne,\nices and general messy feeding are concerned) greed, light up these\n\u201cwindows of the soul\u201d from time to time during the progress of such\nfestivities; but love, never! The women are far too busy finding\nstanding-room wherein to show themselves and their newest frocks off\nto advantage, to waste any moment in mere sentiment, and it is a\nChristianly beautiful sight to see how the dear things who wear the\ndressmaker\u2019s latest \u201ccreations\u201d elbow and push and hustle and tread on\nthe toes of their sisters who are less highly favoured than themselves\nin the matter of mere clothes. As for the men,--if they have, by\ndint of hard exertion, managed to get in at the \u201ccrush,\u201d and near\nenough to the hostess to bow and touch her hand, their sole attention\nhenceforward becomes concentrated on the business of getting out again\nas rapidly as possible. For let it be said to the praise, honour and\nglory of the sterner sex, that taken in the rough majority, they detest\nthe fashionable \u201cAt Home,\u201d with vigorous and honest intensity,--and\nunless they are of that degenerate class who like to be seen hanging\nround some notoriously press-puffed \u201cprofessional beauty,\u201d or some\nequally notoriously known leader of the Smart Set, they are seldom\nseen at such gatherings. They feel themselves to be incongruous and\nout of place,--and so they are. \u201cAt Homes\u201d are curious sort of social\npoultry-yards, where the hens have it all their own way, and do most\ndistinctly crow.\n\nBut if \u201cAt Homes\u201d are bad enough, the smart, the very smart\ndinner-party is perhaps a little worse in its entire lack of the true\nhospitality which, united to grace and tact and ready conversation,\nshould make every guest feel that his or her presence is valuable\nand welcome. A small private dinner, at which the company are some\nsix or eight persons at most, is sometimes (though not by any means\nalways) quite a pleasant affair, but a \u201cbig\u201d dinner in the \u201cbig\u201d sense\nof the word, is generally the most painful and dismal of functions,\nexcept to those for whom silent gorging and after repletion are the\nessence of all mental and physical joy. I remember--and of a truth\nit would be impossible to forget--one of these dinners which took\nplace one season in a very \u201cswagger\u201d house--the house of a member of\nthat old British nobility whose ancestors and titles always excite a\ngentle flow of saliva in the mouths of snobs. The tables--there were\ntwo,--were, to use the formal phrase, \u201claid for forty covers\u201d--that\nis to say that each table accommodated twenty guests. The loveliest\nflowers, the most priceless silver, the daintiest glass, adorned\nthe festive boards,--everything that taste could suggest or wealth\nsupply, had its share in the general effect of design and colour,--the\nhost was at the head of one table,--the hostess at the other--and\nbetween-whiles a fine string band discoursed the sweetest music. But\nwith it all there was no real hospitality. We might as well have been\nseated at some extra-luxurious table-d\u2019h\u00f4te in one of the \u201cKur\u201d houses\nof Austria or Germany, paying so much per day for our entertainment.\nAny touch of warm and kindly feeling was altogether lacking; and to\nmake matters worse, a heavy demon brooded over the brave outward show\nof the feast,--a demon with sodden grey wings that refused to rise\nand soar,--the demon of a hopeless, irremediable Stupidity! Out and\nalas!--here was the core of the mischief! For sad as it is to lack\nHeart in the entertaining of our friends, it doubles the calamity to\nlack Brain as well! Our host was stupid;--dull to a degree unimaginable\nby those who do not know what some lordly British aristocrats can be at\ntheir own tables,--our hostess, a beautiful woman, was equally stupid,\nbeing entirely engrossed in herself and her own bodily charms, to the\nutter oblivion of the ease and well-being of her guests. What a meal\nit was! How interminably it dragged its slow length along! What small\nhydraulic bursts of meaningless talk spurted out between the entr\u00e9es\nand the game!--talk to be either checked by waiters proffering more\nfood, or drowned in the musical growling of the band! I believe one\nman hazarded a joke,--but it was not heard,--and I know that a witty\nold Irish peer told an anecdote which was promptly \u201cquashed\u201d by a dish\nof asparagus being thrust before him, just as he was, in the richest\nbrogue, arriving at the \u201cpoint.\u201d But as nobody listened to him, it\ndid not matter. Nobody does listen to anybody or anything nowadays at\nsocial functions. Everybody talks with insane, babbling eagerness,\napparently indifferent as to whether they are heard or not. Any amount\nof people ask questions and never think of waiting for the answers.\nShould any matters, small or great, require explanation, scarce a\nsoul has the patience or courtesy to attend to such explanation or to\nfollow it with any lucidity or comprehension. It is all hurry-skurry,\nhelter-skelter, and bad, shockingly bad, manners.\n\nI am given to understand that Americans, and Americans alone, retain\nand cherish the old-fashioned grace of Hospitality, which is so rapidly\nbecoming extinct in Great Britain. I would fain believe this, but of\nmyself I do not know. I have had no experience of social America,\nsave such as has been freely and cordially taught me by Americans\nin London. Some of these have indeed proved that they possess the\nart of entertaining friends with real friendly delight in the grace\nand charm and mutual help of social intercourse,--others again, by\nan inordinate display of wealth, and a feverish yearning for the\nParagraph-Man (or Woman), have plainly shown that Hospitality is,\nwith them, a far less concern than Notoriety. However this may be,\nno sane person will allow that it is \u201chospitality\u201d to ask a number of\nfriends into your house and there keep them all standing because you\nhave managed that there shall be no room to sit down, while strong,\nhalf-cold tea and stale confectionery are hastily dispensed among them.\nIt is not \u201chospitality\u201d to ask people to dinner, and never speak a\nword to them all the evening, because you, if a man, are engaged upon\nyour own little \u201cbusiness affair,\u201d or, if a woman, are anxious not\nto lose hold of your special male flatterer. If friends are invited,\nthey should surely be welcomed in the manner friendly, and made to\nfeel at home by the personal attention of both host and hostess. It\nis not \u201chospitality\u201d to turn them loose in bewildered droves through\ngrounds or gardens, to listen to a band which they have no doubt heard\nmany times before,--or to pack them all into a stuffy room to be\n\u201centertained\u201d by a professional musician whom they could hear to much\nmore comfortable and independent advantage by paying for stalls at the\nlegitimate concert hall. What do we really mean by Hospitality? Surely\nwe mean friendship, kindness, personal interest, and warm-hearted\nopenness of look and conduct,--and all of these are deplorably missing\nfrom the \u201csmart\u201d functions of up-to-date society in London, whatever\nthe state of things may be concerning this antique virtue in New York\nand Boston. It would appear that the chief ingredients of Hospitality\nare manners,--for as Emerson says: \u201cManners are the _happy way_ of\ndoing things.\u201d This \u201chappy way\u201d is becoming very rare. Society,\nparticularly the \u201cUpper Ten\u201d society,--is becoming, quite noticeably,\nvery rude. Some of the so-called \u201csmartest\u201d women are notoriously\nvery vulgar. Honesty, simplicity, sympathy, and delicacy of feeling\nare, or seem to be, as much out of date as the dainty poems of Robert\nHerrick, and the love-sonnets of Sir Philip Sidney. Time goes on, say\nthe iconoclasts--and we must go with it--we must, if our hurrying\ncivilization requires it, pass friends by with a cool nod, mock at\nthe vices of the young, and sneer at the failings of the old;--we\nare all too busy to be courteous,--too much in a hurry grabbing gold\nto be kind, and much too occupied with ourselves to be thoughtful of\nothers. So let us bury Hospitality decently once and for all, and\ntalk no more about it! It was a grand old Virtue!--let us inter it\nwith honour,--and cease to hold our funeral feasts and entertainments\nin its name. For, being dead, \u2019tis dead and done with,--and amid all\nour twentieth-century shams, let us at least drop, for shame, our\nbase imitations of the great-souled splendid Grace that was meant to\nlink our lives more sweetly together, to engender love, and to make\nhome more home-like. For nowadays, few of us are simple and truthful\nenough in our lines of conduct even to understand Hospitality in\nits real meaning. \u201cBetween simple and noble persons,\u201d--says a great\nphilosopher--\u201cthere is always a quick intelligence; they recognize\nat sight; and meet on a better ground than the talents and skills\nthey may chance to possess, namely, on sincerity and uprightness.\u201d\nSincerity and uprightness are the very fibre and life-blood of true\nHospitality. But the chief canon of modern society is hypocrisy, to\nbegin with. Insincerity and lack of principle naturally follow, with\ntheir usual accompaniment, moral cowardice,--and so men and women sneak\nand crawl, and flatter base persons for what they can get, and reject\nall chances of faithful friendship for mere ephemeral show. Under such\nconditions as these, what can good old Hospitality do but draw its\nlast breath with a gentle sigh of expiring sorrow for the mistaken\nworld which prefers a lie to a truth, and still to this day crucifies\nall its loving would-be redeemers on miserable Calvarys of desolation!\nNo happiness does it gain thereby, but only increased bitterness and\nweariness,--and the fact that all our social customs have greatly\nchanged since the old time when households were wisely ruled and very\nsimply ordered, is no advantage to the general social community. We\nmay, if we choose,--(and we very often do so choose,) fly from one\ndesire to another and thence to satiety, and back again from satiety to\ndesire, but we shall never, in such pursuit, find the peace engendered\nby simplicity of life, or the love and lasting joy inspired by that\nhonourable confidence in one another\u2019s best and noblest attributes,\nwhich should frankly and openly set the seal on friendship, and make\nHospitality a glad duty as well as a delight. \u201cOld-fashioned\u201d as it may\nbe, no new fashion can ever replace it.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VULGARITY OF WEALTH\n\n\nThere are certain periods in the lives of nations when the balance of\nthings in general would seem to be faultily adjusted; when one side\nof the scale almost breaks and falls to the ground through excess of\nweight, and the other tips crazily upward, well-nigh to overturning,\nthrough an equally undue excess of lightness. The inequality can be\ntraced with mathematical precision as occurring at regular intervals\nthroughout the world\u2019s history. It is as though the clock of human\naffairs had been set correctly for a certain limited time only, and\nwas then foredoomed to fall out of gear in such a manner as to need\ncleansing and winding up afresh. A good many people, including some of\nthe wisest of our few wise men, have openly expressed the opinion that\nwe, of the proudest and greatest Empire at present under the sun, have\nalmost reached that particularly fatal figure on the Eternal Dial,\n\n\n     When all the wheels run down,\n\n\nand when the scales of Justice are becoming so dangerously worn\nout and uneven, as to suggest an incapacity for holding social and\npolitical weights and measures much longer. One of the symptoms of this\noverstrained condition of our latter-day civilization is precisely\nthe same danger-signal which has in all ages accompanied national\ndisaster--a pernicious influence, like that of the planet \u201cAlgol,\u201d\nwhich, when in the ascendant, is said to betoken mischief and ruin\nto all who see it rise on the horizon. Our evil Star, the evil star\nof all Empires, has long ago soared above the eastern edge; fully\ndeclared, it floods our heaven with such lurid brilliancy that we\ncan scarce perceive any other luminary. And its name is Mammon. The\npresent era in which we are permitted by Divine law to run through\nour brief existence and make our mark or miss it, as we choose, is\nprincipally distinguished by an insane worship of Wealth. Wealth in\nexcess--wealth in chunks--wealth in great awkward, unbecoming dabs,\nis plastered, as it were, by the merest hap-hazard toss of fortune\u2019s\ndice, on the backs of uncultured and illiterate persons, who, bowed\ndown like asses beneath the golden burden, are asininely ignorant\nof its highest uses. The making of millions would seem to be like a\nmalignant fever, which must run its course, ending in either the death\nor the mental and physical wreck of the patient. He who has much money\nseems always to find it insufficient, and straightway proceeds to make\nmore; while he who has not only much, but superabundance of the dross,\nscatters it in every direction broadcast, wherever it can best serve\nas an aid to his own self-advertisement, vanity and ostentation. Once\nupon a time wealth could not purchase an entrance into society; now\nit is the only pass-key. Men of high repute for learning, bravery,\nand distinctive merit, are \u201cshunted\u201d as it were off the line to make\nway for the motor-car traffic of plutocrats, who, by dint of \u201cpush,\u201d\neffrontery, and brazen impudence, manage to shout their income figures\npersistently in the ears of those whose high privilege it is to\n\u201cgive the lead\u201d in social affairs. And to the shame of such exalted\nindividuals be it said, that they listen, with ears stretched wide,\nto the yell of the huckster in stocks and shares; and setting aside\nevery thought for the future of Great Britain and the highest honour\nof her sons and daughters, they sell their good word, their influence,\nand their favour easily, for so much cash down. Men and women who have\nthe privilege of personally knowing, and frequently associating with\nthe Royal Family, are known to accept payment for bringing such and\nsuch otherwise obscure persons under the immediate notice of the King;\nand it is a most unfortunate and regrettable fact that throughout the\nrealm the word goes that no such obscure persons ever dine with their\nSovereign without having paid the \u201cmiddle man\u201d for the privilege. It\nwould be an easy matter for the present writer to name at least a\ndozen well-known society women, assuming to be \u201cloyal,\u201d who make a\nvery good thing out of their \u201cloyalty\u201d by accepting huge payments in\nexchange for their recommendation or introduction to Royal personages,\nand who add considerably to their incomes by such means, bringing\nthe names of the King and Queen down to their own sordid level of\nbargain and sale, with a reckless disregard of the damaging results\nof such contemptible conduct. These are some of the very ladies who\nare most frequently favoured by notice at Court, and who occupy the\nposition of being in the \u201cswagger set.\u201d Whereas, the men and women\nwho are faithful, who hold the honour of their King dearer than their\nown lives, who refuse to truckle to the spirit of money-worship, and\nwho presume to denounce the sickening hypocrisy of modern society\nlife and its shameless prostitution of high ideals, are \u201chounded\u201d by\nthose portions of the Press which are governed by Jew syndicates, and\nslandered by every dirty cad that makes his cheap living by putting his\nhand secretly in his neighbour\u2019s pocket. Never, in all the ages of the\nworld, have truth-tellers been welcome; from Socrates to Christ the\nsame persecution has followed every human being who has had enough of\nGod in him or her to denounce shams; and the Christian religion itself\nis founded on the crucifixion of Honesty by the priests of Hypocrisy.\nIt is a lesson that can hardly be too deeply dwelt upon at the present\nnotable time of day, which seems, for many students of national\naffairs, the crucial point of a coming complete change in British\nhistory.\n\nOn every side, look where we may, we see an almost brutal dominance\nof wealth. We see the Yankee Trade-octopus, stretching out greedy\ntentacles in every direction, striving to grasp British shipping,\nBritish industries, and British interests everywhere, in that devouring\nand deadly grip, which, if permitted to hold, would mean mischief and\nloss of prestige to our country, though, no doubt, it might create\nrejoicing in America. For America is by no means so fond of us as\ncertain interested parties would have us suppose. She would dearly like\nto \u201cpatronise\u201d us, but she does not love us, though at present she\nhides her hand. In a case of struggle, she would not support the \u201cold\ncountry\u201d for mere sentimental love of it. She would naturally serve\nonly her own best interests. As a nation of bombast and swagger, she\nis a kind of \u201craree-show\u201d in the world\u2019s progress; but her strength\nis chiefly centred in dollars, and her influence on the social world\nteaches that \u201cdollars are the only wear.\u201d English society has been\nsadly vulgarized by this American taint. Nevertheless, it is, as it\nhas always been, a fatal mistake for any nation to rely on the extent\nof its cash power alone. Without the real spirit which makes for\ngreatness--without truth, without honour, without sincere patriotism\nand regard for the real well-being and honest government of the\nmajority--any national system, whether monarchical or republican, must\ninevitably decay and perish from the face of the earth.\n\nUnblemished honesty is the best policy for statesmen; but that such has\nbeen their rule of conduct in these latter years may perhaps be open to\nquestion. The late Mr. W. E. H. Lecky, whose broad-minded, impartial\nviews of life, commend themselves forcibly to every literary student,\nwriting of Cecil Rhodes, whose funeral service was celebrated with such\nalmost royal pomp in St. Paul\u2019s Cathedral, gives us a sketch which\nshould make the most casual \u201cman in the street\u201d pause and reflect as to\nwhether those solemn public rites and tributary honours from both the\nKing and Queen were not somewhat out of place on such an occasion.\n\n\u201cWhat Mr. Rhodes did,\u201d wrote Mr. Lecky, in his strong, trenchant\nway, \u201chas been very clearly established. When holding the highly\nconfidential position of Prime Minister of the Cape Colony, and being\nat the same time a Privy Councillor of the Queen, he engaged in a\nconspiracy for the overthrow of the Government of a neighbouring\nand friendly State. In order to carry out this design, he deceived\nthe High Commissioner whose Prime Minister he was. He deceived his\nown colleagues in the Ministry. He collected under false pretences\na force which was intended to co-operate with an insurrection in\nJohannesburg. Being a Director of the Chartered Company, he made use\nof that position without the knowledge of his colleagues to further\nthe conspiracy. He took an active and secret part in smuggling great\nquantities of arms into the Transvaal, which were intended to be used\nin the rebellion; and at a time when his organs in the Press were\nrepresenting Johannesburg as seething with spontaneous indignation\nagainst an oppressive Government, he, with another millionaire, was\nsecretly expending many thousands of pounds in that town in stimulating\nand subsidizing the rising. He was also directly connected with the\nshabbiest incident in the whole affair, the concoction of a letter\nfrom the Johannesburg conspirators absurdly representing English women\nand children at Johannesburg as in danger of being shot down by the\nBoers, and urging the British to come at once and save them. It was a\nletter drawn up with the sanction of Mr. Rhodes many weeks before the\nraid, and before any disturbance had arisen; and kept in reserve to\nbe dated and used in the last moment for the purpose of inducing the\nyoung soldiers in South Africa to join in the raid, and of subsequently\njustifying their conduct before the War Office, and also for the\npurpose of being published in the English Press at the same time as\nthe first news of the raid in order to work upon English opinion, and\npersuade the English people that the raid, though technically wrong was\nmorally justifiable.... No reasonable judge can question that in these\ntransactions he was more blamable than those who were actually punished\nby the law for taking part in the raid, far more blamable than those\nyoung officers who were, in truth, the most severely punished and who\nhad been induced to take part in it under false representation of the\nwishes of the Government at home, and a grossly false representation\nof the state of things at Johannesburg. The failure of the raid, and\nhis undoubted complicity with its design, obliged Mr. Rhodes to resign\nthe post of Prime Minister, and his directorship of the Chartered\nCompany.... But what can be thought of the language of a Minister who\nvolunteered to assure the House of Commons that in all the transactions\nI have described, Mr. Rhodes, though he had made \u2018a gigantic mistake,\u2019\na mistake perhaps as great as a statesman could make, had done nothing\naffecting his personal honour?\u201d\n\nWhat has been thought, and what _is_ thought of the matter, has been\nlargely suppressed by party politicians. The War Enquiry was conducted\nwith secrecy; Cabinet Ministers held their Councils, as it were, with\nlocked doors. An eager desire to conceal the real state of affairs in\nthe country, and an unfortunate tendency to \u201chush up\u201d such matters\nas are the plain right of ratepayers to know, are the betraying signs\nof many of our statesmen\u2019s inward disquiet. Because, as many people\ninstinctively feel, the trail of finance is likely to be openly traced\nto an unlawful, and in some cases, dishonourable extent, over much\nrecent political work. Honour, however, is due to those Ministers who\nvaliantly endeavour to screen greater names than their own behind their\nskilful diplomacy; and one naturally admires the zeal and courage with\nwhich they fight for this cause, even as M. Maurepas and M. Necker\nfought a similar campaign long ago in the dark days of France, when,\nas Carlyle writes, it was \u201cclearly a difficult point for Government,\nthat of the dealing with the masses--if indeed it be not rather the\nsole point and problem of Government, and all other points were\nincidental crotchets, superficialities, and beatings of the wind! For\nlet Charter-chests, Use and Wont, Law, common and special, say what\nthey will, the masses count to so many millions of units, made to all\nappearance by God, whose earth this is declared to be. Besides, the\npeople are not without ferocity; they have sinews and indignation.\u201d\n\nAt the immediate moment, the masses in our country are, rightly or\nwrongly, vaguely conscious of two things which they view as forms\nof injustice, namely, that they are asked to pay rates for an\neducational system which a large bulk of them do not approve, and that\nthey are taxed for the expenses of a war, the conduct of which was\ndiscussed \u201csecretly,\u201d as though its methods implied some dishonour\nto those concerned in it. Moreover, they understand, with more or\nless bewilderment, that though the King is now \u201cSupreme Lord of the\nTransvaal\u201d there is no chance whatever for British subjects to make\nfortune there, the trades being swamped by Germans, and the mines\ncontrolled by Jews. Therefore, in their inability to follow the devious\npaths of reasoning by which politicians explain away what they term\n\u201cignorant and illiterate\u201d conclusions, some of them begin to think that\nthe blood of their sons has been shed in hard battle, not so much for\nthe glory and good of the many, as for the private greed of the few.\nThey are no doubt wrong; but it will take something more than \u201csecret\u201d\nenquiries to set them right.\n\nMeanwhile, the passing of the social pageant interests them more\ndeeply than is apparent on the frothy surface of social things. Their\ncontempt is aroused and kept sullenly alive by daily contemplation of\nthe flagrant assertion of money-dominance over every other good. They\nhear of one Andrew Carnegie strewing Free Libraries over the surface\nof the country, as if these institutions were so many lollipops thrown\nout of a schoolboy\u2019s satchel; they follow the accounts of his doings\nwith a mingling of wonder and derision, some of them up in Scotland\nopenly and forcibly regretting the mischief done to the famed \u201cgrit and\ngrip\u201d of Scottish students, who are not now, as of yore, forced by hard\nnecessity to work for their University education themselves, and win\nit, as it were, by the very skin of their teeth. Hard necessity is a\nfine taskmaster, and turns out splendid scholars and useful men. But\nwhen educational advantages are thrown headlong at aspiring students,\nand Universities are opened freely, as though they were a species of\npauper-refuge, the delights of learning are apt to be proportionately\ncheapened and lessened. Lads with real ability naturally and invariably\nseek to do something that shall prove their own capabilities of pluck\nand endurance; and a truly independent spirit not only chafes at,\nbut absolutely resents, assistance. Thus it has come to pass that\nMr. Carnegie\u2019s Free Libraries are looked upon by hosts of people as\nso many brick and mortar advertisements of his own great wealth and\nunfailing liberality. A labour leader of some repute among his own\nclass, remarked the other day that \u201cthe Carnegie libraries were like\n\u2018So-and-So\u2019s Pills,\u2019 posted up everywhere lest the inventor\u2019s name\nshould be forgotten!\u201d This was an unkind, and perhaps an ungrateful\nobservation, but we have to recollect that a People, taken _as_ a\nPeople, do not want to be grateful for anything. They want to work\nfor all they get, and to feel that they have honestly deserved their\nearnings. It is only the drones of the hive that seek to be taken care\nof. The able citizen strenuously objects to be helped in obtaining\nsustenance for either his soul or his body. What is necessary for him,\nthat he will fight for, and, having won the battle, he enjoys the\nvictory. There is no pleasure in conquering an enemy, if a policeman\nhas helped you to knock him down.\n\nThus, with many of the more independently-thinking class, millionaire\nCarnegie\u2019s money, pitched at the public, savours of \u201cpatronage\u201d which\nthey resent, and ostentation which they curtly call \u201cswagger.\u201d Free\nLibraries are by no means essential to perfect happiness, while they\nmay be called extremely detrimental to the prosperity of authors. A\npopular author would have good reason to rejoice if his works were\nexcluded from Free Libraries, inasmuch as his sales would be twice,\nperhaps three times as large. If a Free Library takes a dozen copies of\na book, that dozen copies has probably to serve for five or six hundred\npeople, who get it in turn individually. But if the book could not\npossibly be obtained for gratuitous reading in this fashion, and could\nonly be secured by purchase, then it follows that five or six hundred\ncopies would be sold instead of twelve. This applies only to authors\nwhose works the public clamour for, and insist on reading; with the\nmore select \u201cunpopular\u201d geniuses the plan, of course, would not meet\nwith approval. In any case, a Free Library is neither to an author,\nnor to the reading public, an unmitigated boon. One has to wait for\nmonths sometimes for the book specially wanted; sometimes one\u2019s name\nis 1,000 on the list, though certain volumes known as \u201cheavy stock\u201d\ncan always be obtained immediately on application, but are seldom\napplied for. Real book-lovers buy their books and keep them. Reading\nwhich is merely haphazard and casual is purely pernicious, and does\nfar more harm than good. However, Carnegie, being the possessor of\nmillions, probably does not know what else to do with the cash except\nin the way of Libraries. To burden a human biped with tons of gold,\nand then set him adrift to get rid of it as best he may, is one of the\nscurviest tricks of Fortune. Inasmuch as ostentation is the trade mark\nof vulgarity, and a rich man cannot spend his money without at least\n_appearing_ ostentatious. The revival of the spinning and silk-weaving\nindustries in England would be a far nobler and more beneficial help\nto the country and to the many thousands of people, than any number\nof Free Libraries, yet no millionaire comes forward to offer the\nneedful assistance towards this deserving end. But perhaps a hundred\nlooms set going, with their workers all properly supported, would not\nbe so prominently noticed in the general landscape as a hundred Free\nLibraries.\n\nApart from the manner in which certain rich men spend their wealth,\nthere is something in an overplus of riches which is distinctly \u201cout\nof drawing,\u201d and lop-sided. It is a false note in the musical scale.\nJust as a woman, by wearing too great a number of jewels, vulgarizes\nwhatever personal beauty she may possess by the flagrant exhibition of\nvaluables and bad taste together, so does a man who has no other claim\nupon society than that of mere wealth, appear as a kind of monstrosity\nand deformity in the general equality and equilibrium of Nature. When\nsuch a man\u2019s career is daily seen to be nothing more than a constant\npursuit of his own selfish ends, regardless of truth, honour, high\nprinciple, and consideration for his fellow-men, he becomes even more\nthan a man-camel with a golden hump--he is an offence and a danger to\nthe community. If, by mere dint of cash, he is allowed to force his\nway everywhere--if no ruling sovereign on the face of the earth has\nsufficient wisdom or strength of character to draw a line against the\nentrance into society and politics of Money, for mere Money\u2019s sake,\nthen the close of our circle of civilisation is nearly reached, and\nthe old story of Tyre and Sidon and Babylon will be re-told again for\nus with the same fatal conclusion to which Volney, in his _Ruins of\nEmpires_ impressively calls attention, in the following passage:\n\n\u201cCupidity, the daughter and companion of ignorance, has produced\nall the mischiefs that have desolated the globe. Ignorance and the\nlove of accumulation, these are the two sources of all the plagues\nthat infest the life of man. They have inspired him with false ideas\nof his happiness, and prompted him to misconstrue and infringe the\nlaws of nature, as they related to the connection between him and\nexterior objects. Through them his conduct has been injurious to his\nown existence, and he has thus violated the duty he owes to himself;\nthey have fortified his heart against compassion, and his mind against\nthe dictates of justice, and he has thus violated the duty he owes\nto others. By ignorant and inordinate desire, man has armed himself\nagainst man, family against family, tribe against tribe, and the earth\nis converted into a bloody theatre of discord and robbery. They have\nsown the seeds of secret war in the bosom of every state, divided\nthe citizens from each other, and the same society is constituted of\noppressors and oppressed, of masters and slaves. They have taught the\nheads of nations, with audacious insolence, to turn the arms of society\nagainst itself, and _to build upon mercenary avidity the fabric of\npolitical despotism_, or they have a _more hypocritical and deep-laid\nproject, that imposes, as the dictate of heaven, lying sanctions and\na sacrilegious yoke, thus rendering avarice the source of credulity_.\nIn fine, they have corrupted every idea of good and evil, just and\nunjust, virtue and vice; they have misled nations in a _labyrinth\nof calamity and mistake_. Ignorance and the love of accumulation!\nThese are the malevolent beings that have laid waste the earth; these\nare the decrees of fate that have overturned empires; these are the\ncelestial maledictions that have struck these walls, once so glorious,\nand converted the splendour of populous cities into a sad spectacle of\nruins!\u201d\n\nLaughable, yet grievous, is the childish conduct of many American\nplutocrats who are never tired of announcing in the daily Press that\nthey are spending Three Thousand Pounds on roses for one afternoon\u2019s\n\u201cAt Home,\u201d or Five Thousand Pounds on one single banquet! After this,\nwhy should we call the Roman Heliogabalus a sensualist and voluptuary?\nHis orgies were less ostentatious than many social functions of to-day.\nIt is not, we believe, recorded that he paid any \u201cfashion-papers\u201d\n(if there were any such in the Roman Empire) to describe his \u201cFeasts\nof Flowers,\u201d though a lively American lady, giving out her \u201csocial\nexperiences\u201d recently at an \u201cAfternoon tea\u201d said gaily: \u201cI always send\nan account of my dinners, my dresses, and the dresses of my friends to\n\u2018_The ----_\u2019 with a cheque. Otherwise, you know, I should never get\nmyself or my parties mentioned at all!\u201d One is bound to entertain the\ngravest doubts as to the truth of her assertion, knowing, of course,\nthat of all institutions in the world, the Press, in Great Britain at\nany rate, is the last to be swayed by financial considerations. One\nhas never heard (in England at least) of any \u201cCompany\u201d paying several\nthousand pounds to the Press for \u201cfloating it.\u201d Though such things\nmay be done in America, they are never tolerated here. But, the Press\napart, which in its unblemished rectitude \u201cshines like a good deed\nin a naughty world,\u201d most things in modern politics and society are\nswayed by money considerations, and the sudden acquisition of wealth\ndoes not in many cases improve the morality of the person so favoured,\nor persuade him to discharge such debts as he may have incurred in\nhis days of limited means. On the contrary, he frequently ignores\nthese, and proceeds to incur fresh liabilities, as in the striking\ncase of a lady \u201cleader of society\u201d at the present day, who, having\nowed large sums to certain harmless and confiding tradesmen for the\npast seven or eight years, ignores these debts or \u201cshunts them,\u201d and\nspends six thousand pounds recklessly on the adornment of rooms for\nthe entertainment of Royalty--which fact most notably proclaims her\nvulgarity, singularly allied to her social distinction. The payment of\nher debts first, and the entertainment of great personages afterwards,\nwould seem to be a nobler and more becoming thing.\n\nBut show and vanity, pride and \u201cbounce,\u201d appear to have taken the\nplace of such old-fashioned virtues as simplicity, sincerity, and that\ngenuine hospitality which asserts nothing, but gives all.\n\n\n     Kind hearts are more than coronets,\n     And simple faith than Norman blood.\n\n\nIn very few cases does immense wealth seem to go hand in hand with\nrefinement, reserve and dignity. Millionaires are for the most part\nill-mannered and illiterate, and singularly uninteresting in their\nconversation. A certain millionaire, occupying during some seasons\none of the fine old Scottish Castles whose owners still take pride\nin the fact that its walls once sheltered \u201cbonnie Prince Charlie,\u201d\ncan find little to do with himself and his \u201chouse-party,\u201d but fill\nthe grand old drawing-room with tobacco-smoke and whisky-fumes of\nan evening, and play \u201cBridge\u201d for ruinous stakes on Sundays, of all\ndays in the week. During other hours and days he goes out shooting,\nor drives a motor-car. Intellectually speaking, the man is less of a\nreal personality than the great Newfoundland dog he owns. But measured\nby gold he is a person of enormous importance--a human El Dorado. And\nhis banking-account is the latchkey with which he opens the houses of\nthe great and intrudes his coarse presence through the doors of royal\npalaces; whereas if by some capricious stroke of ill-luck he had not\na penny left in the world, those same doors would be shut in his face\nwith a bang.\n\nThe vulgarity of wealth is daily and hourly so broadly evidenced\nand apparent, that one can well credit a strange rumour prevalent\nin certain highly exclusive circles, far removed from the \u201cswagger\nset,\u201d to the effect that with one more turn of blind Fortune\u2019s wheel,\nthe grace of Poverty will become a rare social distinction. The Poor\nGentleman, it is said, will be eagerly sought after, and to be seen in\nhis company will entitle one to respect. The man of money will stand\noutside the ring of this Society, which is in process of formation for\nthe revival of the Art of Intelligent Conversation and the Cultivation\nof Good Manners. Ladies who dress with a becoming simplicity, and who\nare not liable to the accusation of walking about with clothes unpaid\nfor, will be eligible for membership,--and young men who are not\nashamed to emphatically decline playing cards on Sunday will be equally\nwelcome in the select coterie. Limited means will be considered more\nof a recommendation than a drawback, and visits will be interchanged\namong the members on the lines of unaffected hospitality, offered with\nunassuming friendship and sincerity. Kindness towards each other,\npunctilious attention to the smallest courtesies of life, unfailing\nchivalry towards women, and honour to men, will be the prevailing\n\u201crules\u201d of the community, and every attempt at \u201cshow,\u201d either in\nmanners or entertainment, will be rigorously forbidden and excluded.\nThe aim of the Society will be to prove the truth of the adage that\n\u201cManners makyth the man,\u201d as opposed to the modern reading, \u201cMoney\nmakyth the nobleman.\u201d Bearing in mind that the greatest reformers and\nteachers of the world were seldom destitute of the grace of Poverty, it\nwill be deemed good and necessary to make a stand for this ancient and\nbecoming Virtue, which as a learned writer says, \u201cdoth sit on a wise\nman more becomingly than royal robes on a king.\u201d Many who entertain\nthis view are prepared to unite their forces in making well-born and\nwell-bred Poverty the fashion. For in such a scheme, singular as it may\nappear, there is just a faint chance of putting up a barrier against\nboorish Plutocracy (which is a more unwieldy and offensive power than\nDemocracy), and also of asserting the existence of grander national\nqualities than greed, avarice, and self-indulgence, which humours, if\nallowed to generate and grow in the minds of a people, result in the\nravaging sickness of such a pestilence of evil as cannot be easily\nstayed or remedied. There has been enough, and too much of the Idolatry\nof Money-bags--it is time the fever of such insanity should abate and\ncool down. To conclude with another admirable quotation from Mr. Lecky:\n\u201cOf colossal fortunes only a very small fraction can be truly said to\nminister to the personal enjoyment of the owner. The disproportion in\nthe world between pleasure and cost is indeed almost ludicrous. The two\nor three shillings that gave us our first Shakespeare would go but a\nsmall way towards providing one of the perhaps untasted dishes on the\ndessert table. The choicest masterpieces of the human mind--the works\nof human genius that through the long course of centuries have done\nmost to ennoble, console, brighten, and direct the lives of men, might\nall be purchased--I do not say by the cost of a lady\u2019s necklace, but\nby that of one or two of the little stones of which it is composed.\nCompare the relish with which the tired pedestrian eats his bread and\ncheese with the appetites with which men sit down to some stately\nbanquet; compare the level of spirits at the village dance with that\nof the great city ball whose lavish splendour fills the society papers\nwith admiration; compare the charms of conversation in the college\ncommon room with the weary faces that may be often seen around the\nmillionaire\u2019s dinner table, and we may gain a good lesson of the\nvanity of riches.\u201d\n\nAnd, we may add, of the vulgarity of those who advertise their wealth\nby ostentation, as well as of those who honour Purses more than\nPrinciples.\n\n\n\n\nAMERICAN WOMEN IN ENGLAND\n\n\nWhy is the American woman so popular in English society? Why is her\ncharmingly assertive personality acknowledged everywhere? Why is she\nreceived by knights and earls and belted churls with such overpowering\nenthusiasm? Surely something subtle, elusive and mysterious, clings to\nher particular form, nature and identity, for more often than not, the\nstolid Britisher, while falling at her feet and metaphorically kissing\nthe hem of her garment, wonders vaguely how it is that she manages to\nmake such a fool of him! To which, she might reply, on demand, that if\nhe were not a fool already, she would not find her task so easy! For\nthe American woman is, above all women in the world, clever--or let\nus say \u201cbrainy\u201d to an almost incredible height of brainyness. She is\n\u201call there.\u201d She can take the measure of a man in about ten minutes\nand classify him as though he were a botanical specimen. She realizes\nall his limitations, his \u201cnotions,\u201d and his special and particular\nfads,--and she has the uncommonly good sense not to expect much of\nhim. She would not \u201ctake any\u201d on the lily-maid of Astolat, the fair\nElaine, who spent her time in polishing the shield of Lancelot, and who\nfinally died of love for that most immoral but fascinating Knight of\nthe Round Table. No, she wouldn\u2019t polish a shield, you bet! She would\nmake Lancelot polish it himself for all he was worth, and polish her\nown dear little boots and shoes for her into the bargain. That is one\nof her secrets--masterfulness--or, let us say queenliness, which sounds\nbetter. The Lord of creation can do nothing in the way of ordering\n_her_ about,--because, as the Lady of creation she expects to order\n_him_ about,--and she does! She expects to be worked for, worshipped\nand generally attended to,--and she gets her way. What she wants, she\nwill have,--though \u201cCompanies\u201d smash, and mighty Combines split into\ninfinite nothingness; and more than any tamer of wild forest animals\nshe makes all her male lions and bears dance at her bidding.\n\nPerhaps the chief note in the ever-ascending scale of her innumerable\nattractions is her intense vitality. The mixed blood of many\nintelligent races courses through her delicate veins and gives a\njoyous lightness to the bounding of her heart and the swift grace of\nher step. She is full of energy as well as charm. If she sets out to\nenjoy herself, she enjoys herself thoroughly. She talks and laughs\nfreely. She is not a mere well-dressed automaton like the greater\nmajority of upper-class British dames. She is under the impression,--(a\nperfectly correct one) that tongues were given to converse with, and\nthat lips, especially pretty ones, were made to smile with. She is,\ntaken at her best, eminently good-natured, and refreshingly free from\nthe jaundiced spite against others of her own sex which savours the\nafternoon chitter-chatter of nine out of every ten English spinsters\nand matrons taken together in conclave. She would, on the whole,\nrather say a kind thing than a cruel one. Perhaps this is because she\nis herself always so triumphant in her social career,--because she is\ntoo certain of her own power to feel \u201cthe pangs of unrequited love,\u201d\nor to allow herself to be stung by the \u201cgreen-eyed monster,\u201d jealousy.\nHer car is always rolling over roses,--there is always a British title\ngoing a-begging,--always some decayed or degenerate or semi-drunken\npeer, whose fortunes are on the verge of black ruin, ready and willing\nto devour, monster-like, the holocaust of an American virgin, provided\nbags of bullion are flung, with her, into his capacious maw. Though\ncertainly one should look upon the frequent marriages of American\nheiresses with effete British nobles, as the carrying out of a wise\nand timely dispensation of Providence. New blood--fresh sap, is sorely\nneeded to invigorate the grand old tree of the British aristocracy,\nwhich has of late been looking sadly as though dry rot were setting\nin,--as though the woodlice were at work in its heart, and the rats\nburrowing at its root. But, by the importation of a few clean-minded,\nsweet-souled American women, some of the most decayed places in the\nvenerable stem have been purged and purified,--the sap has risen, and\nnew boughs and buds of promise are sprouting. And it is full time that\nthis should be. For we have had to look with shame and regret upon\nmany of our English lords caught in gambling dens,--and shown up in\ndishonourable bankruptcies;--some of them have disported themselves\nupon the \u201cvariety\u201d stage, clad in women\u2019s petticoats and singing comic\nsongs for a fee,--others have \u201chired themselves out\u201d as dummy figures\nof attraction at evening parties, accepting five guineas for each\nappearance,--and they have become painfully familiar objects in the\nDivorce Court, where the stories of their most unsavoury manners and\ncustoms, as detailed in the press, have offered singular instruction\nand example to those \u201clower\u201d classes whom they are supposed to more or\nless influence. A return to the old motto of \u201cnoblesse oblige\u201d would\nnot be objectionable; a re-adopting of old _un_-blemished scutcheons\nof honour would be appreciated, even by the so-called \u201cvulgar,\u201d--and a\ngreat noble who is at the same time a great man, would in this present\nday, be accepted by all classes with an universal feeling of grateful\nsurprise and admiration.\n\nBut, _revenons \u00e0 nos moutons_,--the social popularity of the American\nwoman in English society. That she is popular is an admitted and\nincontestable fact. She competes with the native British female\nproduct at every turn,--in her dress, in her ways, in her irresistible\nvivacity, and above all in her intelligence. When she knows things, she\nlets people know that she knows things. She cannot sit with her hands\nbefore her in stodgy silence, allowing other folks to talk. That is an\nEnglish habit. No doubt the English girl or woman knows quite as much\nas her American sister, but she has an unhappy knack of assuming to\nbe a fool. She says little, and that little not to much purpose,--she\nlooks less,--it is dimly understood that she plays hockey, tennis and\ngolf, and has large feet. She is an athletic Enigma. I write this, of\ncourse, solely concerning those British women, young, middle-aged\nand elderly, who make \u201csport\u201d and out-door exercise the chief aim and\nend of existence. But I yield to none in my love and admiration for\nthe real, genuine, _un_modernised English maiden, at her gentlest and\nbest,--she is the rosebud of the world. And I tender devout reverence\nand affection to the _un_-fashionable, single-hearted, dear, loving\nand ever-beloved English wife and mother--she is the rose in all its\nfull-blown glory. Unfortunately, however, these English rosebuds\nand roses are seldom met with in the sweltering, scrambling crowd\ncalled \u201csociety.\u201d They dwell in quiet country-places where the lovely\ninfluences of their modest and retiring lives are felt but never seen.\nSociety likes to be seen rather than felt. There is all the difference.\nAnd in that particular section of it whose aim is seeing to be seen,\nand seen to be seeing, the American woman is as an oasis in the desert.\nShe also wants to be seen,--but she expresses that desire so na\u00efvely,\nand often so bewitchingly, that it is a satisfaction to every one to\ngrant her request. She also would see,--and her eyes are so bright and\nroving and restless, that Mother Britannia is perforce compelled to\nsmile indulgently, and to open all her social picture-books for the\npleasure of the spoilt child of eternal Mayflower pedigree. It has to\nbe said and frankly admitted too, that much of the popularity attending\nan American girl when she first comes over to London for a \u201cseason\u201d is\ndue to an idea which the stolid Britisher gets into his head, namely,\nthat she has, she _must_ have, Money. The American girl and Money are\ntwins, according to the stolid Britisher\u2019s belief. And when the stolid\nBritisher fixes something--anything--into the passively-resisting\nmatter composing his brain, it would take Leviathan, with, not one,\nbut several hooks, to _un_fix it. And thus it often happens that the\nsight of a charmingly dressed, graceful, generally \u201csmart\u201d American\ngirl attracts the stolid Britisher in the first place because he says\nto himself--\u201cMoney!\u201d He knows all the incomes of all the best families\nin his own country,--and none of them are big enough to suit him. But\nthe American girl arrives as more or less of a financial mystery. She\nmay have thousands,--she may have millions,--he can never be quite\nsure. And he does all he can to ingratiate himself with her and give\nher a good time \u201con spec.\u201d to begin with, while he makes cautious and\ndiplomatic enquiries. If his hopes rest on a firm basis, his attentions\nare redoubled--if, on the contrary, they are built on shifting sand, he\ngradually diminishes his ardour and like a \u201cwilting flower\u201d fades and\n\u201cfizzles\u201d away.\n\nI am here reminded of a certain Earl, renowned in the political and\nsocial world, who, when he was a young man, went over on a visit to\nAmerica and there fell, or feigned to fall, deeply in love with a\nvery sweet, very beautiful, very gentle and lovable American girl.\nIn a brief while he became engaged to her. The engagement was made\npublic--the wedding day was almost fixed. The girl\u2019s father was\nextremely wealthy, and she was the only child and sole heiress. But an\nunfortunate failure,--a gigantic collapse in the money market, made\nhavoc of the father\u2019s fortunes, and as soon as his ruin was declared\nbeyond a doubt, the noble Earl, without much hesitation or ado, broke\noff his engagement, and rapidly decamped from the States back to\nhis own country, where, as all the world knows, he did very well for\nhimself. Strange to say, however, the girl whom he had thus brutally\nforsaken for no fault of her own, had loved him with all the romantic\nand trusting tenderness of first love, and the heartless blow inflicted\nupon her by his noble and honourable lordship was one from which she\nnever recovered. The Noble and Honourable has, I repeat, done very\nwell for himself, though it is rumoured that he sleeps badly, and that\nhe has occasionally been heard muttering after the fashion of Hamlet,\nPrince of Denmark,--\u201cOh God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count\nmyself a king of infinite space were it not that I have bad dreams!\u201d\n\nMarriage, however, is by no means the only, or even the chief\nresource in life of the American woman. She evidently looks with a\ncertain favour on the holy estate of matrimony and is quite willing\nto become an excellent wife and mother if the lines of her destiny\nrun that way, but if they should happen to branch out in another\ndirection, she wastes no time in useless pining. She is too vital,\ntoo capable, too intelligent and energetic altogether to play the\n_r\u00f4le_ of an interesting martyr to male neglect. She will teach, or\nshe will lecture,--she will sing, or she will act,--she will take her\ndegrees in medicine and surgery,--she will practise for the Bar,--she\nwill write books, and the days are fast approaching when she will\nbecome a high priestess of the Church, and will preach to the lost\nsheep of Israel as well as to the equally lost ones of New York or\nChicago;--she will be a \u201cbeauty doctor,\u201d a \u201cphysical culture\u201d woman,\na \u201cmedium,\u201d a stock-broker, a palmist, a florist, a house-decorator,\na dealer in lace and old curiosities,--ay! she will even become a\ntram-car conductor if necessity compels and the situation is open to\nher,--and she will manage a cattle ranch as easily as a household,\nshould opportunity arise. Marriage is but one link in the long chain\nof her general efficiency, and like Cleopatra, \u201cage cannot wither her,\nnor custom stale Her infinite variety.\u201d A curious fact and one worth\nnoting is, that we seldom or never hear Americans use the ill-bred\nexpression \u201cold maid\u201d when alluding to such of their feminine relatives\nor friends who may happen to remain unmarried. They know too well\nthat these confirmed and settled spinsters are as capable and as well\nto the front in the rush of life as the wedded wives, if not more\nso,--they know that among these unmarried feminine forces they have\nto reckon with some of the cleverest heads of the day, to whom no\nopprobrious term of contempt dare be applied,--women who are editors\nand proprietors of great newspapers,--women who manage famous schools\nand colleges,--women who, being left with large fortunes, dispense the\nsame in magnificently organized but _un_advertised charities,--women\nwho do so command by their unassisted influence certain social\nmovements and events, that if indeed they _were_ to marry, something\nlike confusion and catastrophe might ensue among the circles they\ncontrol by the introduction of a new and possibly undesirable element.\n\u201cOld maid,\u201d may apply to the unfortunate female who has passed all the\ndays of her youth in talking about men and in failing to catch so much\nas one of the wandering tribe, and who, on arriving at forty years,\nmeekly retires to the chimney corner with shawl over her shoulders and\nsome useful knitting,--but it carries neither meaning nor application\nto the brisk, brilliant American spinster who at fifty keeps her trim\nsvelte figure, dresses well, goes here, there and everywhere, and\nsheds her beaming smile with good-natured tolerance, and perchance\nsomething of gratitude as well, on the men she has escaped from. Life\ndoes not run only in one channel for the American Woman. She does not\n\u201cmake tracks\u201d solely from the cradle to the altar, from the altar\nto the grave. She realizes that there is more fun to be got out of\nbeing born than just this little old measure meted out to her by the\nbarbaric males of earliest barbaric periods, when women were yoked to\nthe plough with cattle. And it is the innate consciousness of her own\npower and intelligent ability that gives her the dominating charm,--the\nmagnetic spell under which the stolid Britisher falls more or less\nstricken, stupefied and inert. He is never a great talker; she is.\nHer flow of conversation bewilders him. She knows so much too--she\nchatters of Shakespeare, Byron, Shelley, Keats--and he thinks he has\nheard of these people somewhere before. He listens dumbly. Sometimes\nhe scratches his head,--occasionally he feels his moustache, if he has\none. When she laughs, he smiles slowly and dubiously. He hopes she is\nnot laughing at _him_. He feels--he feels--dontcherknow--that she is\n\u201cripping.\u201d He couldn\u2019t tell you what he means by \u201cripping\u201d to save\nhis life. But painfully accustomed as he is to the dull and listless\nconversation of the British materfamilias, and to the half-hoydenish\nconduct of the British tom-boy girl who _will_ insist on playing golf\nand hockey with him in order not to lose him out of her sight, he is\naltogether refreshed and relieved when the American Woman dawns upon\nhis cloudy horizon, and instead of waiting upon _him_, commands him\nto wait upon _her_, with one dazzling look of her bright, audacious\neye. The American Woman is not such a fool as to go play hockey with\nhim at all times and in all weathers, thereby allowing him to take the\nunchecked measure of her ankles. She is too clever to do anything that\nmight possibly show her in an unlovely or ungraceful light. She takes\ncare to keep her hands soft and small and white, that they may be duly\ncaressable,--and makes the best and prettiest of herself on all and\nevery occasion. And that she has succeeded in taking English society\nby storm is no matter of surprise. English society, unmixed with any\nforeign element, is frequently said to be the dullest in the world. It\nis an entertainment where no one is entertained. A civil apathy wraps\neach man and woman in its fibrous husk, and sets them separately apart\nbehind barricades of the most idiotic conventionality. The American\nWoman is the only being that can break down these barricades and tear\nthe husk to shreds. No wonder she is popular! The secret of her success\nis in her own personal charm and vivacious intelligence,--in her light\nscorn of stupid ceremonies,--in the frank geniality of her disposition\n(when she can manage to keep it unspoilt by contact with the reserved\nhypocrisy of the \u201cSmart Set,\u201d) and the delightful spontaneity of her\nthoughts which find such ready expression in equally spontaneous\nspeech. Altogether the American Woman is a valuable importation into\nGreat Britain. She is an incarnation of the Present, and an embryo\nof the Future. She is a gifted daughter of the British race, holding\nwithin her bright, vital, ambitious identity many of the greater\npossibilities of Britain. And to the question \u201cWhy is she popular?\u201d the\nanswer is simple--\u201cBecause she deserves to be!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE AMERICAN BOUNDER\n\n\nEverything in America is colossal, stupendous and pre-eminent,--it\nfollows, therefore, that the American \u201cbounder\u201d is the most colossal,\nstupendous and pre-eminent bounder in existence. None of his tribe can\nmatch him in \u201cbrass,\u201d--none of his European forbears or connections\ncan equal him in brag. He is an inflated bladder of man, swollen out\nwell-nigh to bursting with the wind of the Yankee Doodle Eagle\u2019s wing.\nHis aim in life appears to be to disgrace his country by his manners,\nhis morals and his conversation. He arrives in Europe with the air\nof laying Europe under a personal debt of obligation to Providence\nfor having kindly permitted him to be born. As befits a son of the\ngoddess Liberty, he sets his proud foot on the \u201cworn out\u201d soil of the\nOld World and prances there, even as the \u201cwild ass\u201d mentioned in Holy\nWrit. As a citizen of the greatest Republic over which any starred or\nstriped flag ever flew, he extends his gracious patronage to tottering\nmonarchies, and allows it to be understood that he tolerates with an\namused compassion that poor, drivelling, aged and senile institution\nknown as the Aristocracy. He alludes to \u201cmy friend the Duke,\u201d casually,\nas one might speak of a blind beggar. He throws in a remark quite\nunexpectedly at times concerning \u201cBetty--_you\u2019ve_ heard of her surely?\nCountess Betty--the Countess of Hockyfield--oh yes!--you English snobs\nrather \u2018kotow\u2019 to her, but _I_ call her Betty!--she likes it!\u201d He may\nfrequently be found in residence on the fourth floor back of a swagger\nhotel, occupying a \u201cbed-sitting room\u201d littered with guide books,\n\u201cyellow\u201d journalism, and dubious French novels, with an impressionist\nsketch of the newest Paris \u201cdanseuse\u201d in her most suggestive want of\nattire set conspicuously forward for inspection. If chance visitors\nhappen to notice flowers on his table, he at once seethes into a\nsimmering scum of self-adulation. \u201cCharming, are they not!\u201d he\nsays--\u201cSo sweet! So dear of the Duchess to send them!--she knows how\nfond I am of Malmaisons!--did you notice that Malmaison?--the Duchess\ngathered it for me herself--it is from one of the Sandringham stock.\nOf course you know the carnation houses at Sandringham? Alex. delights\nin Malmaisons!\u201d And when guileless strangers gasp and blink as they\nrealize that it is England\u2019s gracious Queen-Consort who is being spoken\nof as \u201cAlex.\u201d in the company of the soiled literature and the portrait\nof the Paris \u201cdanseuse\u201d the Bounder is delighted. He feels he has made\na point. He chortles cheerfully on--\u201cWhat a rotten old country this\nis after all, eh? Just crawling alive with snobs! Everyone\u2019s on their\nknees to a title, and the sight of a lord seems to give the average\nBritisher a fit. Now look at me! I don\u2019t care a cent about your dukes\nand earls. Why should I? I\u2019m always with \u2019em--fact is, they can\u2019t bear\nto have me out of their sight! Lady Belinda Boomall--second daughter\nof the Duke of Borrowdom,--she\u2019s just mad on me! She thinks I\u2019ve\ngot money, and I let her! It\u2019s real fun! And as to the Marchioness\nGolfhouse--she\u2019s up to some games _I_ tell you! _She_ knows a thing or\ntwo! My word!\u201d Here he gives vent to a sound suggestive of something\nbetween a sneeze and a snigger which is his own particular way of\nrendering the laugh satirical. \u201cI always get on with your blue-blooded\ngirls!\u201d--he proceeds; \u201cI guess they\u2019re pretty tired of their own men\nhulking round! They take to an Am_urr_ican as ducks take to water.\nSee all those cards?\u201d--pointing in a casual way to half a dozen or\nso of pasteboard slips littered on the mantelshelf, among which\nthe discerning observer might certainly see one or two tradesmen\u2019s\nadvertisements--\u201cThey just shower \u2019em on me! I\u2019ve got an \u2018at home\u2019\nto-night and a ball afterwards--to-morrow I breakfast at Marlborough\nHouse;--then lunch with Lady Adelaide Sparkler,--she drives me in the\nPark afterwards--and in the evening I dine at St. James\u2019 Palace and go\nto the Opera with the Rothschilds. It\u2019s always like that with me! I\nnever have a moment to myself. All these people want me. Lady Adelaide\nSparkler declares she cannot possibly do without me! I ought to have\nbeen at Stafford House this afternoon--great show on there--but I can\u2019t\nbe bothered!--the Duchess is just too trying for words sometimes! Of\ncourse it\u2019s all a question of connection;--they know who I am and all\nabout my ancestors, and that makes \u2019em so anxious to have me. You know\nwho my ancestors were?\u201d\n\nNow when the American Bounder puts this question, he ought to receive a\nblunt answer. Perhaps if Britishers were as rude as they are sometimes\nreported to be, one of them would give such an answer straight. He\nwould say \u201cNo, I do not; but I expect you sprang from a convict root of\nhumanity thrown out as bad rubbish from an over-populated prison and\ncast by chance into American soil beside an equally rank native Indian\nweed--and that in your present bad form and general condition, you are\nthe expressive result of that disastrous combination.\u201d But, as a rule,\neven the most truculent Britisher\u2019s natural pluck is so paralysed by\nthe American Bounder\u2019s amazing capacity for lying, that in nine cases\nout of ten, he merely murmurs an inarticulate negative. Whereat the\nBounder at once proceeds to enlighten him--\u201cI am the direct descendant\nof the Scroobys of Scrooby in Yorkshire,\u201d--he resumes--\u201c_My_ name\u2019s\nnot Scrooby--no!--but that has nothing to do with it. The families\ngot mixed. Scrooby of Scrooby went over to Holland in 1607 and joined\nthe Pilgrim Fathers. He was quite a boy, but Elder Brewster took care\nof him! He held the Bible when Brewster first fell upon his knees\nand thanked God. So you see I really come from Yorkshire. Real old\nYorkshire ham \u2018cured\u2019 into an Am_urr_ican!\u201d\n\nAfter this, there is nothing more to be said. Questions of course might\nbe asked as to how the \u201cYorkshire ham\u201d not being \u201cScrooby\u201d now, ever\nstarted from \u201cScrooby\u201d in the past, only it is not worth while. It\nnever is worth while to try and certify an American Bounder\u2019s claim to\nbeing sprung from a dead and gone family of English gentlemen. Regard\nfor the dead and gone English gentlemen should save them from this\naffront to their honourable dust.\n\nPerhaps the most amazing thing about the American Bounder after his\nfree and easy familiarities with \u201cBertie\u201d (the King) \u201cAlex.\u201d (the\nQueen) and \u201cGeorgie and May\u201d (the Prince and Princess of Wales) is\nhis overweening, self-satisfied, complacent and arrogant ignorance.\nThe most blatant little local tradesman who, through well-meaning\nParliamentary short-sightedness in educational schemes, becomes\na \u201cgovernor\u201d of a Technical School in the provinces, is never so\nblatantly ignorant as he. He talks of everything and knows nothing.\nHe assumes to have the last word in science, art and literature. He\nwill tell you he is \u201cgreat chums\u201d with Marconi and Edison, and that\nthese famous discoverers and inventors always lay their heads on his\nbosom and tell him their dearest confidences. He knows just what is\ngoing to be done by everybody with everything. He is friends with the\nDrama too. Beerbohm Tree rings him up on the telephone at all manner\nof strange hours, thirsting for his advice on certain \u201cscenes\u201d and\n\u201ceffects.\u201d He is--to use his own words--\u201cdoing a great thing\u201d for\nTree! Sarah Bernhardt is his very dearest of dear ones! She has fallen\ninto his arms, coming off the stage at the side wings, exhausted, and\nexclaiming--\u201cToi, mon cher! Enfin! Maintenant, je respire!\u201d Madame\nR\u00e9jane is always at home to him. In fact all Paris hails him with a joy\ntoo deep for tears. He would not be a true \u201cAm_urr_ican\u201d if _he_ did\nnot love Paris, and if Paris did not love _him_.\n\nBut though he is completely \u201cat one,\u201d according to his own statement,\nwith most of the celebrated personages of the day, if not all, he\ncannot tell you the most commonly known facts about them to save his\nlife. And though--again according to his own statement--he has read\nevery book ever published, visited every picture gallery, \u201csalon\u201d\nand theatre in Europe, he cannot pronounce the name of one single\nforeign author or artist correctly. His English is bad enough, but\nhis French is worse. He seldom makes excursions into the Italian\nlanguage--\u201cIgh--talian\u201d as he calls it, but it is quite enough for\nthe merest beginner in the Tuscan tongue to hear him say \u201cgond\u00f2la\u201d\nto take the measure of his capacity. \u201cG\u00f2ndola\u201d is a word so easily\nlearned and so often used in Italian, that one might think any\nchild could master its pronunciation from twice hearing it--but the\nAmerican Bounder makes the whole tour of Italy without losing a scrap\nof his own special nasal lingo, and returns in triumph to talk of\nthe \u201cgond\u00f2la\u201d and the \u201cbella r\u00e0gg-azza\u201d (instead of rag\u00e0zza) till\none\u2019s ears almost ache with the hideous infliction of his abominable\naccent. In Switzerland he is always alluding to \u201cMount Blank\u201d--the\n\u201cCan_tone_ Gry-son\u201d--\u201cN_oo_-shatell\u201d--and the \u201cMountain Vert\u201d--and\nin Great Britain he has been heard to speak of Lo_che_ Kay-trine and\nBen _Nee_vis, as well as of Con_iss_ton and Cornw\u00e0ll. But it is quite\n\u201ccorrect\u201d he will tell you--it is only the English people who do not\nknow how to talk English. The actual, true, pure pronunciation of the\nEnglish language went over to the States with the Scroobys of Scrooby,\nand he their descendant and Bounder, has preserved it intact. Even\nShakespeare\u2019s river Avon becomes metamorphosed under the roll of his\natrocious tongue. He will not pronounce it with the English A, as in\nthe word \u201cb_a_y,\u201d--he calls it A\u2019von, as the \u201ca\u201d is sounded in the word\n_av_arice--so that the soft poetic name of the classic stream appears\nto have been bitten off by him and swallowed like a pop-corn. But it\nwould be of no use to argue with him on this or on any other point,\nbecause he is always right. No real American Bounder was ever wrong.\n\nOne cannot but observe what a close acquaintance the Bounder has with\nDebrett and various \u201cCounty\u201d Directories. His study of these volumes\nis almost as profound as that of Mr. Balfour must have been when\nwriting \u201cThe Foundations of Belief.\u201d Between Debrett and Baedeker he\nmanages to elicit a certain useful stock of surface information which\nhe imparts in a kind of cheap toy-cracker fashion to various persons,\nwho, politely listening, wonder why he appears to think that they\nare not aware of facts familiar to them from their childhood. His\nmodes of appearing \u201cto know, you know!\u201d are exceedingly simple. For\nexample, suppose him to be asked to join a \u201chouse-party\u201d in Suffolk. He\nstraightway studies the \u201cCounty Directory\u201d of that quarter of England,\nand looks up the principal persons mentioned therein in various other\nbooks of handy reference. When, in due course, he arrives at the\nhouse to which he has been invited, he manages to faintly surprise\nuninitiated persons by his (apparently) familiar acquaintance with\nthe pedigree and history of this or that \u201ccounty\u201d magnate, and his\n(apparently) intimate knowledge of such and such celebrated paintings\nand \u201cobjets d\u2019art\u201d as adorn the various historical mansions in the\ndistrict--knowledge for which he is merely indebted to Baedeker. He\nis as loquacious as a village washerwoman. He will relate any number\nof scandalous stories in connection with the several families of\nwhose ways and doings he pretends to have such close and particular\ninformation--and should any listener interrupt him with a mild \u201cPardon\nme!--but, having resided in this neighbourhood all my life I venture\nto think you must be mistaken\u201d;--he merely smiles blandly at such a\ndisplay of \u201cnative\u201d ignorance. \u201cLived here all your life and not know\nthat!\u201d he exclaims--\u201cMy word! It takes an Am_urr_ican to teach you\nwhat\u2019s going on in your own country!\u201d\n\nOffensive as is this more or less ordinary type of American Bounder\nwho makes his \u201chome in Yew-rope\u201d on fourth floors of fashionable\nhotels, a still worse and more offensive specimen is found in the\nStarred-and-Striped Bounding Millionaire. This individual--who\nhas frequently attained to a plethora of cash through one of two\nreprehensible ways--either by \u201csweating\u201d labour, or by fooling\nshareholders in \u201ctrust\u201d companies,--comes to Great Britain with\nthe fixed impression that everything in the \u201cdarned old place\u201d\ncan be bought for money. Unfortunately he is often right. The\nBritish--originally and by nature proud, reserved, and almost savagely\ntenacious of their freedom and independence--have been bitten by\nthe Transatlantic madness of mere Greed, and their blood has been\ntemporarily poisoned by infection. But one may hope and believe that it\nis only a passing malady, and that the old healthy life will re-invest\nthe veins of the nation all the more strongly for partial sickness and\nrelapse. In the meantime it occasionally happens that the \u201cfree\u201d Briton\nbows his head like a whipped mongrel cur to the bulging Bank-Account of\nthe American Millionaire-Bounder. And the American Millionaire-Bounder\nplants his flat foot on the so foolishly bent pate and walks over it\nwith a commercial chuckle. \u201cYou talk of your \u2018Noblesse oblige,\u2019 your\nhonour, your old historic tradition and aristocratic Order!\u201d he says,\nsneeringly--\u201cWhy there isn\u2019t a man alive in Britain that I couldn\u2019t\nbuy, principles and all, for fifty thousand pounds!\u201d\n\nThis kind of vaunt at Britain\u2019s expense is common to the American\nMillionaire-Bounder--and whether it arises out of his conscious\nexperience of the British, or his braggart conceit, must be left to\nothers to query or determine. Certain it is that he _does_ buy a good\ndeal, and that the owners of such things as he wants seem always ready\nto sell. Famous estates are knocked down to him--manuscripts and\npictures which should be the preciously guarded property of the nation,\nare easily purchased by him,--and, laughing in his sleeve at the\npurblind apathy of the British Government, which calmly looks on while\nhe pockets such relics of national greatness as unborn generations\nwill vainly and indignantly ask for,--he congratulates himself on\npossessing, as he says, \u201cthe only few things the old country has got\nleft worth having.\u201d One can but look gloomily through the \u201cCalendar of\nShakespearean Rarities,\u201d collected by Halliwell Phillips, which were\noffered to the wealthy city of Birmingham for \u00a37,000, and reflect that\nthis same wealthy city disgraced itself by refusing to purchase the\ncollection and by allowing everything to be bought and carried away\nfrom England by \u201can American\u201d in 1897. We do not say this American was\na \u201cBounder\u201d--nevertheless, if he had been a real lover of Shakespeare\u2019s\nmemory, rather than of himself, he would have bought these relics for\nShakespeare\u2019s native country and presented them for Shakespeare\u2019s sake\nto Shakespeare\u2019s native people, who are not, as a People, to blame\nfor the parsimony of their Governments. They pay taxes enough in all\nconscience, and at least they deserve that what few relics remain of\ntheir Greatest Man should be saved and ensured to them.\n\nBut perhaps the American Millionaire-Bounder is at his best when he has\nbought an English newspaper and is running it in London. Then he feels\nas if he were running the Imperial Government itself--nay, almost the\nMonarchy. He imagines that he has his finger on the very pulse of Time.\nHe hugs himself in the consciousness that the British people,--that\nlarge majority of them who are not behind the scenes--buy his paper,\nbelieving it to be a British paper, not a journal of \u201cAm_urr_ican\u201d\nopinion, that is, opinion as ordered and paid for by one \u201cAm_urr_ican.\u201d\nHe knows pretty well in his own mind that if they understood that such\nwas the actual arrangement, they would save their pence. Unfortunately\nthe great drawback of the \u201cman in the street\u201d who buys newspapers, is\nthat he has no time to enquire as to the way in which the journals he\nconfides in are \u201crun.\u201d If he knew that the particular view taken of the\npolitical situation in a certain journal, was merely the political view\n_ordered_ to be taken by one \u201cAm_urr_ican\u201d--naturally he would not pin\nhis simple faith upon it. Perhaps the Man in the Street will some day\nwake up to the realization that in many cases, (though not all) with\nrespect to journalism, he only exists to be \u201cgulled.\u201d\n\nLike all good and bad things, the American Bounder, whether millionaire\nor only shabby-genteel, has a certain height beyond which he can\nno further go--a point where he culminates in a blaze of ultra\nBounder-ism. This brilliant apotheosis is triumphantly reached in the\nFemale of his species. The American Female Bounder is the quintessence\nof vulgarity, and in every way makes herself so objectionable even\nto her own people and country that Americans themselves view her\ndeparture for \u201cYew-rope\u201d with perfect equanimity, and hope she will\nnever come back. Once in what she calls \u201cthe old country\u201d she talks\nall day long through her quivering nose of \u201cLady This\u201d and \u201cCountess\nThat.\u201d One of this class I recall now as I write, who spoke openly of\na \u201cMrs. Countess So-and-So\u201d--and utterly declined to be instructed in\nany other form of address. She was not content to trace her lineage\nto such humble folk as the \u201cScroobys of Scrooby\u201d--no indeed, not she!\nKings were _her_ ancestors; her \u201cfamily tree\u201d sprouted from Richard the\nLion-Heart, according to her own bombastic assertion, and she, with her\nloud twanging voice, odious manners and insufferable impertinence, was\n\u201cgenuine stock\u201d of royallest origin. Of course it is quite possible\nthat, as in horticulture, a once nobly cultivated human plant may,\nif left without wholesome or fostering influences, degenerate into a\nweed--but that so rank a weed as the American Female Bounder should\nbe the dire result of the Conqueror\u2019s blood is open to honest doubt.\nShe generally has a \u201cmission\u201d to reform something or somebody,--she is\nvery often a \u201cChristian science\u201d woman, or a theosophist. Sometimes\nshe \u201ctakes up\u201d Art as though it were a dustpan, and sweeps into it\nunder her \u201cpatronage\u201d certain dusty and doubtful literary and musical\naspirants who want a \u201chearing\u201d for their efforts. Fortunately for the\nworld, a \u201chearing\u201d under the gracious auspices of the American Female\nBounder means a silence everywhere else. She is fond of \u201cfrocks and\nfrills\u201d--and wears an enormous quantity of jewels, \u201cstones\u201d as she\ncalls them. She \u201cpushes\u201d herself in every possible social direction,\nand wherever she sees she is not wanted, there, more particularly than\nelsewhere, she contrives to force an entry. She embraces the game of\n\u201cBridge\u201d with passionate eagerness because she sees that by keeping\nopen house, with card-tables always ready, she can attract the loafing\n\u201cgreat ones of the earth,\u201d and possibly persuade a \u201cMrs. Countess\u201d to\nbefriend her. If she is fairly wealthy, she can generally manage to\ndo this. All Mrs. Countesses have not \u201cthat repose which stamps the\ncaste of Vere de Vere.\u201d Some of them find the American Female Bounder\nuseful--and precisely in the manner she offers herself, even so they\ntake her. And thus it often happens that one frequently meets her\nwhere she has no business to be. One is not surprised to find her at\nCourt, or in the Royal enclosure at Ascot, because so many of her\nBritish sisters in the Bounder line are in these places, ready to give\nher a helping hand--but one _is_ occasionally startled and in a manner\nsorry to discover her making herself at home among certain \u201cexclusive\u201d\npeople who are chiefly distinguished for their good-breeding, culture\nand refinement. In one thing, however, we can take much comfort, and\nthis is, that whatever the American Bounder, Male or Female, may\npurchase or otherwise insidiously obtain in the Old World, neither\nhe nor she can ever secure respect. Driven to bay as the Britisher\nmay be by consummate and pertinacious lying, he can and does withhold\nfrom the liars his honest esteem. He may sell a valuable manuscript or\npicture to a \u201cbounding\u201d Yankee, out of sheer necessitous circumstance,\nbut he will never be \u201cfriends\u201d with the purchaser. He will call him\n\u201cbounder\u201d to the crack of doom, and Doomsday itself will not alter that\nimpression of him.\n\nIt may be, and it is I think, taken for granted that America itself\nis very glad to get rid of its \u201cbounders.\u201d It regards them with as\nmuch shame and distress as we feel when we see certain specimens of\n\u201ctravelling English\u201d disporting themselves upon the Continent in the\n\u2019Arry and Jemima way. We always fervently hope that our Continental\nneighbours will not take these extraordinary roughs as bona-fide\nexamples of the British people, and in the same way America trusts all\nthe nations of Europe not to accept their \u201cBounders\u201d as examples of\nthe real pith and power of the United States. The American People are\ntoo great, too broad-minded, sane, and thorough, not to wish to shake\noff these _aphides_ on their rose of life. They watch them \u201cclearing\nout\u201d for \u201cYew-rope\u201d with perfect satisfaction. Said a charming American\nwoman to me the other day--\u201cWhat a pity it is that English people\n_will_ keep on receiving Americans here who would not be tolerated for\na moment in New York or Boston society! It surprises us very greatly.\nSometimes indeed we cannot help laughing to see the names of women\nfiguring among your \u2018haute noblesse\u2019 who would never get inside a\ndecent house anywhere in the States. But more often we are sorry that\nyour social \u2018leaders\u2019 are so easily taken in!\u201d\n\nHere indeed is the sum total of the matter. If Great Britain--and other\ncountries in Europe--but Great Britain especially--did not \u201creceive\u201d\nand encourage the American Bounder and Bounderess, these objectionable\ncreatures would never be known or heard of. Therefore it is our fault\nthat they exist. Were it not for our short-sighted foolishness, and\nour proneness to believe that every \u201cAm_urr_ican\u201d with money must\nbe worth knowing, we should be better able to sort the sheep from\nthe goats. We should add to the pleasures of our social life and\nintercourse an agreeable knowledge of the real American ladies, the\nreal American gentlemen; and though these are seldom seen over here,\nfor the very good reason that they are valued and wanted in their own\ncountry, they could at least be certain, when they did come, of being\nreceived at their proper valuation, and not set to herd with the\n\u201cBounders\u201d of their country, whom their country rejects. For one may\npresume that there is some cogent reason why an American citizen of\nthe Greatest Republic in the world, should elect to desert his native\nland and \u201csettle down\u201d under \u201crotten old monarchies.\u201d People do not\nleave the home of their birth for ever unless they find it impossible\nto live there for causes best known to themselves. The poor are often\ncompelled to emigrate, we know, in the hope to find employment and\nfood in other countries--but when the rich \u201cslope off\u201d from the very\ncentres where they have made their capital, one may be permitted to\ndoubt the purity of their intentions. Anyway, surrounded as we are\nto-day socially by American Bounders of every description,--American\nBounders who think themselves as good as any one else \u201cand a darned\nsight better\u201d--American Bounders who declare that they are the \u201creal\nold British race renewed,\u201d--American Bounders who \u201crun\u201d British\njournals of \u201cliterary opinion\u201d and so forth,--American Bounders who\nthrust themselves into the company of unhappy kings and queens,--those\ncrowned slaves who in such earthquaking days as these have to be more\nthan common careful \u201cnot to offend,\u201d--American Bounders who themselves\nclaim kinship with the blood royal,--the one straight and simple fact\nremains--namely, that all the best Americans still live in America!\n\n\n\n\nCOWARD ADAM\n\n\nAmong the numerous fascinating and delightful members of the male\nsex whom I have the honour to count as friends, there is one very\nhandsome and devotedly attentive gentleman of four years old, who is\nparticularly fond of reciting to me in private the following striking\npoem on the Fall of Man.\n\n\n     When Mister Sarpint did deceive\n     Poor little silly Missis Eve,\n     The Lord he spied an apple gone\n     From off the branch it hanged upon;\n     That apple was a heavy loss,\n     And so the Lord got very cross,\n     He searched the garden through and through,\n     And called \u201cHi Adam! where are you?\u201d\n          But Mister Adam, he,\n          Clum up a tree.\n\n\nThere is something in this graphic narrative which appears to tickle my\nyoung cavalier\u2019s fancy immensely, for whenever he says \u201cMister Adam,\nhe, Clum up a tree,\u201d he opens his big blue eyes very widely, claps his\ntiny hands very loudly, and gives vent to ecstatic shrieks of laughter.\nIt is quite evident that he entirely understands and appreciates Adam\u2019s\nposition. Young as he is, he has the instinctive knowledge within him\nthat when the time comes, he will likewise adopt the \u201cClum up a tree\u201d\npolicy. For Adam is the same Adam still, and nothing will ever change\nhim. And when things are getting rather \u201cmixed\u201d in his career, and the\nforbidden fruit he has so readily devoured turns out to be rather more\nsour and tasteless than he had anticipated,--when his Garden of Eden\nis being searched through and through for the causes of the folly and\ndisobedience which have devastated its original fairness, the same old\nstory may be said of him--\u201cMister Adam, he, Clum up a tree.\u201d Perhaps\nif he only climbed a tree one might excuse him,--but unfortunately he\ntalks while climbing,--talks as though he were an old babbling grandam\ninstead of a lord of creation,--and grandam-like puts the blame on\nsomebody else. He says--\u201cThe woman whom thou gavest to be with me,\nshe gave me of the tree and I did eat.\u201d Coward Adam! Observe how he\nat once transfers the fault of his own lack of will and purpose to\nthe weaker, more credulous, more loving and trusting partner;--how he\nleaves her defenceless to brave the wrath which he himself dreads,--and\nhow he never for one half second dreams of admitting himself to be the\nleast in the wrong! But there is always one great satisfaction to be\nderived from the perusal of the strange old Eden story, and this is\nthat \u201cMister Sarpint\u201d was of the male gender. Scripture leaves no room\nfor doubt on this point. It says: \u201cNow the serpent was more subtil\nthan any beast of the field which the Lord God had made. And _he_ said\nunto the woman----\u201d So that a \u201che\u201d tempted a woman, before \u201cshe\u201d ever\ntempted a \u201che.\u201d Women should be duly thankful for the sex of \u201cMister\nSarpint,\u201d and should also bear in mind that this particular \u201che\u201d was\n\u201cmore subtil than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made.\u201d\nOn many an occasion it will be found a salutary and useful fact to\nremember.\n\nOnce upon a time, so we are told, there was an Age of Chivalry. The\nword \u201cchivalry\u201d is stated in the dictionary to be derived from the\nFrench \u201ccheval\u201d a horse, and \u201cchivalrous\u201d men were, in the literal\nmeaning of the term, merely men who rode about on horseback. But\nchivalry has somehow come to imply respect, devotion, and reverence\nfor women. The \u201cchivalrous\u201d knight is supposed to have gone all over\nthe world, wearing the glove or the ribbon of his \u201cladye faire,\u201d in\nhis helmet, and challenging to single combat every other knight that\ndared to question the supremacy of her beauty and virtue. I confess\nat once that I do not believe in him. If he ever existed he must have\nbeen a most unnatural and abnormal product of humanity, as unlike his\nfirst progenitor Adam as he could well be. For even in the \u201cRound\nTable\u201d romances one finds an entire lack of chivalry in the so-called\nchivalrous knights of King Arthur. Their moral principles left much to\nbe desired, and the conduct of Sir Meliagraunce who betrayed the loves\nof Lancelot and the Queen was merely that of a common sneak. Coward\nAdam spoke in him, as in many of the Arthurian heroes,--and that they\nwere more \u201cchivalrous\u201d than the modern male gossips who jeer away a\nwoman\u2019s name and honour in their smoking and gaming rooms, is a legend\nwhich like that of the Tree of Good and Evil itself, requires stronger\nconfirmation than history as yet witnesseth.\n\nCoward Adam, taking him as he appears in the present day, has lately\nshown himself off in various odd phases and lamentable positions.\nDuring the South African War he came out strong in some of our\ngenerals, who put the blame of certain military mishaps on one another\nlike quarrelsome children, thereby losing dignity and offering a most\nhumiliating spectacle to the amazed British public. Coward Adam\u2019s\npolicy, after making a blunder, is to adopt any lie, rather than say\nfrankly and boldly--\u201cI did it!\u201d He will eat dirt by the bushel in\npreference to the nobler starvation act of singly facing his foes. He\nis just now exhibiting himself to his usual advantage in the British\nParliament, while the nation looks on, waiting for the inevitable\nfinale of his various hesitations and inefficiencies--the \u201cMister\nAdam, he, Clum up a tree.\u201d For in most matters of social, political,\nand moral progress, the great difficulty is to obtain an upright,\ndownright, honest and impartial opinion from any leading public man.\nThe nation may be drifting devilwards, but statesmen are judged to\nbe more statesmanlike, if they hold their tongues and watch it go.\nThey must not speak the truth. It would offend so many people. It\nwould upset so many interests. It would create a panic on the Stock\nExchange. It would throw Wall Street into hysterics. The world\u2019s vast\npublic, composed of thinking, working, and more or less educated\nand intelligent people, may and do crave for a bold utterance, a\ntruth openly enunciated and bravely maintained, but to the weavers\nof political intrigue and the self-seeking schemers in Governmental\ndepartments, the public is considered merely as a Big Child, to be\nsoothed with lollipop phrases and tickled by rattle promises. If the\nBig Child cries and screams because it is hungry, they chirp to it\nabout Fair Trade,--if it complains that its ministers of religion\nare trying to make it say its prayers backwards, they promise a full\n\u201cenquiry into recent abuses in the Church.\u201d But fine words butter no\nparsnips. Coward Adam always climbs up a tree as quickly as he can\nwhen instead of fine words, fine deeds are demanded. Physical feats\nof skill, physical gymnastics of all kinds he excels in, but a moral\ndifficulty always places him as it did in the Garden of Eden, in what\nhe would conventionally term \u201can awkward position.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever kiss and tell\u201d is I believe an \u201cunwritten law of chivalry.\u201d\nThis law, so I understand, Coward Adam does sometimes manage to obey,\nalbeit reluctantly. Because he would like to tell,--he would very much\nlike to tell,--if--if the story of the kiss did not involve himself\nin the telling! But at this juncture \u201cthe unwritten laws of chivalry\u201d\nstep in and he is saved. And chivalry is the tree up which he climbs,\nchattering to himself the usual formula--\u201cThe woman whom thou gavest to\nbe with me,\u201d--etcetera, etcetera. Alas, poor woman! She has heard him\nsaying this ever since she, in an unselfish desire to share her food\nwith him, gave him the forbidden apple. No doubt she offered him its\nrosiest and ripest side! She always does,--at first. Not afterwards! As\nsoon as he turns traitor and runs up a tree, she takes to pelting him,\nmetaphorically speaking, with cocoa-nuts. This is quite natural on her\npart. She _had_ thought him a man,--and when he suddenly changes into\na monkey, she doesn\u2019t understand it. To this cause may possibly be\nattributed some of the ructions which occasionally jar the harmonious\nestate of matrimony.\n\nCoward Adam does very well in America. He sees his position there\nquite plainly. He knows that if he climbs his tree too often, hundreds\nof feminine hands will pull him down. So he resigns himself to the\ninevitable. He is not slow to repeat the customary whine--\u201cThe woman\nwhom thou gavest me\u201d--but he says it quietly to himself between whiles.\nBecause he knows that _she_ knows all his share in the mischief!\nSo he digs and delves, and finds gold and silver and limitless oil\nwherewith to turn into millions of dollars for her pleasure; he packs\npork, lays railway tracks, starts companies, organizes \u201ccombines\u201d--and\nstrains every nerve and sinew to \u201cdo\u201d every other Adam save himself\nin his own particular line of business, so that \u201cthe woman\u201d (or may\nwe say the women?) \u201cwhom thou gavest\u201d may be clothed in Paris model\ngowns, and wear jewels out-rivalling in size and lustre those of all\nthe kings and queens that ever made their sad and stately progress\nthrough history. Indeed, Coward Adam, in the position he occupies as a\nfree citizen of that mighty Republic over which the wild eagle screams\nexultingly, looks a little bit like a beaten animal. But he bears his\nbeating well, and is quite pleasant about it. In regard to \u201cthe woman\nwhom thou gavest me\u201d he is nearer the imaginary code of \u201cchivalry\u201d\nthan his European brother. If the original Adam had learned the ways\nof a modern American gentleman of good education and fine manners,\none can quite imagine him saying--\u201cThe woman whom thou gavest to be\nwith me generously offered me a share of the apple, and I did eat. But\nthe Serpent whom thou didst permit to tell lies to my amiable partner\nconcerning this special kind of fruit, was chiefly to blame.\u201d\n\nCoward Adam, as he is seen and known among the lower classes, crops up\nevery day in newspapers, which duly chronicle his various acts, such\nas promising marriage to poor working girls and robbing them of all\ntheir little savings, as well as of their good names,--kicking his\nwife, starving his children, and spending every penny he earns in the\npublic-house. But he is just as frequently met with in the houses of\nthe Upper Ten. He will wear the garb of a lord with ease, and, entering\nthe house of another lord, will cozen his host\u2019s wife away from loyalty\nto her husband in quite the manner \u201cfriendly.\u201d He is likewise to be\nfound occasionally in the walks of literature, and where a woman is\nconcerned in matters artistic will \u201cdown\u201d her if he can. He has always\ndone his best to hinder woman from receiving any acknowledgment for\nsuperior intellectual ability. Notably one may quote the case of Madame\nCurie, the discoverer of radium. Coward Adam says she discovered it by\n\u201ca fluke\u201d--that is to say, by chance. Most great discoveries occur,\neven to men, in the same way. In the present instance the \u201cchance\u201d\ncame to a woman. Why should she not therefore have all the honour due\nto her?--the same honour precisely as would fall to the lot of a man\nin her place? Columns upon columns of praise would be bestowed upon\nher were she of Adam\u2019s sex, and all the academies of science would\ncontend with each other as to which should offer her the best and\nmost distinctive award. But Coward Adam cannot abide the thought that\n\u201cthe woman whom thou gavest\u201d should take an occasionally higher rank\nthan his own among the geniuses of his age. He must have everything\nor nothing. He tries to ignore the fact that woman is winning equal\nhonours with himself in University degrees; he would fain forget that\nthe two greatest monarchs Great Britain ever had were women--Elizabeth\nand Victoria. There is a brave Adam, of course--a civilized creature\nwho owns and admits the brilliant achievements of woman with pride and\ntenderness,--I am only just now speaking of the coward specimen. The\nbrave Adam does not turn tail or climb trees, and he appears to have\nhad nothing to do with the Garden of Eden. Very likely he was born\nsomewhere else. For _he_ says--\u201cThe woman whom thou gavest to be with\nme is the joy of my life,--the companion of my thoughts. To her my soul\nturns,--for her my heart beats--in her I rejoice,--her triumphs are my\npride,--her success is my delight! If danger threatens her, I will be\nher defender, not her accuser,--should she be blamed for aught, I will\ntake her fault upon myself, and will serve as a strong shield between\nher and calumny. This is the least I can do to prove my love towards\nher--for without her I should be the worst of creatures,--a lonely soul\nin an empty world!\u201d\n\nSo says, or may say brave Adam! But his coward brother does not\nunderstand such high-flown sentiments. Coward Adam\u2019s main object in\nlife is to \u201cavoid a scene\u201d with either the Lord Almighty, Mister\nSarpint or Missis Eve. He likes to wriggle out of difficulties,\nboth public and private, in a quiet way. He does not understand the\n\u201cmethods\u201d of plain blunt people who tell him frankly what a sneak he\nis. He is very ubiquitous, and much more frequently to be met with than\nhis braver twin. And if he should chance to read what I have here set\ndown concerning him, he will probably say as usual: \u201cThe woman whom\nthou gavest\u201d in various forms of anonymous vituperation. But his active\npolicy will remain the same as it ever was--\u201cMister Adam, he, Clum up a\ntree!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nACCURS\u00cbD EVE\n\n\nWhen the masculine Serpent, \u201cwho was more subtil than any beast of the\nfield which the Lord had made,\u201d tempted the mother of mankind to eat\nof the forbidden fruit, the Voice in the Garden said to her--\u201cI will\ngreatly multiply thy sorrow!\u201d It can scarcely be denied that this curse\nhas been fulfilled. So manifold and incessant have been the sorrows\nof Woman since the legendary account of the creation of the world,\nthat one cannot help thinking the whole business somewhat unfair,\nif,--for merely being \u201cbeguiled\u201d by a beast of the field who was known\nto be more \u201csubtil\u201d than any other, and afterwards being \u201cgiven away\u201d\nby Coward Adam,--Eve and all the descendants of her sex should be\ncompelled to suffer centuries of torture. The injustice is manifestly\ncruel and arbitrary,--yet it would seem to have followed poor Accurs\u00ebd\nEve from then till now. \u201cI will greatly multiply thy sorrow!\u201d And\nsorrow has been multiplied to such an aggravated and barbarous extent\nupon her unfortunate head, that in the Jewish ritual to this very\nday there is a part of the service wherein the men, standing in the\npresence of women, individually say: \u201cBlessed art thou, O Lord our God,\nKing of the universe, who hast not made me a woman!\u201d thus deliberately\ninsulting, in their very house of worship, the sex of their mothers!\n\nBut from the earliest times, if we are to accept historical testimony,\nthe Jews of the ancient world appear to have treated women in the\nmajority as \u201cSomething worser than their dog, a little lower than\ntheir horse.\u201d Save and except those rare cases where the Jewish woman\nsuddenly found out her latent powers and employed them to advantage,\nthe Jewish man made her fetch and carry for him like a veritable beast\nof burden. He yoked her to his plough with oxen,--he sold and exchanged\nher with his friends as freely as any other article of commerce,--his\n\u201cbase uses\u201d of her were various, and seldom to his credit,--while, such\nas they were, they only lasted so long as they satisfied his immediate\nhumour. When done with, she was \u201ccast out.\u201d The kind of \u201ccasting out\u201d\nto which she was subjected is not always explained. But it may be taken\nfor granted that in many instances she was either killed immediately,\nor turned adrift to die of starvation and weariness. The Jews in their\nBiblical days were evidently not much affected by her griefs. They were\nGod\u2019s \u201cchosen\u201d people,--and the fact that women were the mothers of the\nwhole \u201cchosen\u201d race, appeared to call for no claim on their chivalrous\ntenderness or consideration.\n\nLooking back through the vista of time to that fabled Eden, when\nshe listened to the tempting of the \u201csubtil\u201d one, the wrongs and\ninjustices endured by Accurs\u00ebd Eve at the hand of Coward Adam make up\na calendar of appalling, almost superhuman crime. Man has taken the\nfull licence allowed him by the old Genesis story (which, by the way,\nwas evidently invented by man himself for his own convenience). \u201cThy\ndesire shall be to thy husband and he shall rule over thee.\u201d And among\nall tribes, and in all nations he _has_ ruled with a rod of iron! The\nChristian dispensation has interfered somewhat with his former reign of\ntyranny, for with the birth of Christ came, to a certain extent, the\nidealization and beatification of womanhood. The Greeks and Romans,\nhowever, had a latent glimmering idea of what Woman in all her glory\nshould be, and of what she might possibly attain to in the future,--for\nall their grandest symbols of life, such as Truth, Beauty, Justice,\nFortune, Fame, Wisdom, are always represented by their sculptors\nclothed in the female form divine. It is a curious fact, that in those\nearly periods of civilization, when Literature and Art were just\ndawning upon the world, man, though aggregating to his own Ego nearly\neverything in the universe, paused before representing himself as a\nfigure of Justice, Mercy or Wisdom. He evidently realized his unfitness\nto stand, even in marble, before the world as a symbol of moral virtue.\nHe therefore, with a grace which well became him in those \u201cpagan\u201d days,\nbent the knee to all noble attributes of humanity as represented in\nWoman. Her fair face, her beauteous figure, greeted him in all his\ntemples of worship;--as Venus and Diana she smiled upon him; as the\ngoddess of Fortune or Chance, she accepted his votive wreaths,--as\nFame or Victory, she gave him blessing whenever he went to war, or\nreturned in triumph from the field;--and all this was but the embryo\nor shadowing-forth of woman\u2019s higher future and better possibilities,\nwhen the days of her long and cruel probation should be accomplished,\nand her \u201ccurse\u201d in part be lifted. There are signs and tokens that\nthis happy end is in sight. Accurs\u00ebd Eve is beginning to have a good\ntime. And the only fear now is, lest she should overstep the mark of\nher well-deserved liberty and run headlong into licence. For Eve,--with\nor without curse,--is naturally impulsive and credulous; and being too\noften forgetful of the little incident which occurred to her in the\nmatter of the Tree of Good and Evil, is still far too prone to listen\nto the beguiling of \u201csubtil\u201d personages worse \u201cthan any beast of the\nfield which the Lord hath made.\u201d\n\nAccurs\u00ebd Eve, having broken several of her old-time fetters, and\nbeginning to feel her feet as well as her wings, just now wants a\nword in politics. As one of her curs\u00ebd daughters, I confess I wonder\nthat she should wish to put herself to so much unnecessary trouble,\nseeing that she has the whole game in her hands. Politics are generally\nhustled along by Coward Adam,--unless, by rarest chance, Brave Adam,\nhis twin brother, suddenly steps forth unexpectedly, when there ensues\nwhat is called a \u201ccollapse of the Government.\u201d In any question, small\nor great, Accurs\u00ebd Eve has only to offer Coward Adam the apple, and he\nwill eat it. Which metaphor implies that even in politics, if she only\nmoves him round gradually to her own views in that essentially womanly\nway which, while persuading, seems not to persuade, he is bound to\nyield. Personally speaking, I do not know any man who is not absolutely\nunder the thumb of at least one woman. And I will not believe that\nthere is any woman so feeble, so stupid, so lost to the power and charm\nof her own individuality, as not to be able to influence quite half\na dozen men. This being the case, what does Accurs\u00ebd Eve want with a\nvote? If she is so unhappy, so ugly, so repulsive, so deformed in mind\nand manners as to have no influence at all on any creature of the male\nsex whatever, neither father, nor brother, nor uncle, nor cousin, nor\nlover, nor husband, nor friend,--would the opinion of such an one be of\nany consequence, or her vote of any value? I assert nothing,--I only\nask the question.\n\nSpeaking personally as a woman, I have no politics, and want none. I\nonly want the British Empire to be first and foremost in everything,\nand I tender my sincerest homage to all the men of every party who will\nhonestly work towards that end. These being my sentiments, I deprecate\nany strong separate parliamentary attitude on the part of Accurs\u00ebd Eve.\nI say that she has much better, wider work to do than take part in\ntow-rows with the rather undignified personages who often make somewhat\nof a bear-garden of the British House of Commons. That she would prove\na good M.P. were she a man, I am quite sure; but as a woman I know she\n\u201cgoes one better,\u201d in becoming the wife of an M.P.\n\nAccurs\u00ebd Eve! Mother of the world! What higher thing does she seek?\nMother of Christianity itself, she stands before us, a figure symbolic\nof all good, her Holy Child in her arms, her sweet, musing, prayerful\nface bending over it in gravely tender devotion. From her soft breast\nhumanity springs renewed,--she represents the youth, the hope, the\nlove of all mankind. Wronged as she has been, and as she still is,\nher patience never fails. Deceived, she \u201cmends her broken shell with\npearl,\u201d and still trusts on. Her sweet credulousness is the same as\never it was;--the \u201csubtil\u201d one can always over-reach her through her\ntoo ready confidence in the idea that \u201call things work together for\ngood.\u201d Her \u201ccurse\u201d is the crime of loving too well,--believing too\nmuch. Should a \u201csubtil\u201d one say he loves her, she honestly thinks he\ndoes. When he turns out, as often happens, to be looking after her\nmoney rather than herself, she can scarcely force her mind to realize\nthat he is not so much hero as cad. When she has to earn her own living\nin any of the artistic professions, she will frequently tell all her\nplans, hopes and ambitions to \u201csubtil\u201d ones with the most engaging\nfrankness. The \u201csubtil\u201d ones naturally take every advantage of her, and\nsome of them put a stopgap on her efforts if they can.\n\nHow many times men have tried to steal away the honour of a woman\u2019s\nname and fame in literature need not here be chronicled. Of how many\nbooks, bearing a woman\u2019s name on the title-page it is said--\u201cHer\nhusband helped her,\u201d--or \u201cShe got Mr. So-and-So to write the\ndescriptive part!\u201d \u201cGeorge Eliot\u201d has often been accused of being\nassisted in her novels by Mr. Lewes. A little incident,--touching\nenough to my mind,--is related in the memoirs of Charlotte Bront\u00eb.\nAfter her marriage, and when she was expecting the birth of her\nchild, she was reading some of the first chapters of an intended new\nnovel to her husband,--who, as he listened, said in that peculiarly\nencouraging way which is common to men who have gifted women to deal\nwith--\u201cYou seem to be repeating yourself. You must take care not to\nrepeat yourself.\u201d Poor little soul! She never \u201crepeated\u201d herself,--she\njust died. No one can tell how her husband\u2019s thoughtless phrase may\nhave teazed or perplexed her sensitive mind in a critical condition of\nhealth, and helped to hasten the fatal end.\n\nEdward Fitzgerald\u2019s celebrity as a scholar is not, and never will be\nwide enough to blot out from remembrance his brutal phrase on hearing\nof the death of Elizabeth Barrett Browning--\n\n\u201cMrs. Browning is dead. Thank God we shall have no more Aurora Leighs!\u201d\n\nWhile, far more creditable to Algernon Charles Swinburne than his own\npraise of himself now unfortunately affixed to the newly collected\nedition of his works, is the praise he bestows on this noble\nwoman-genius in his preface to her great poem. I quote one line of it\nhere--\n\n\u201cNo English contemporary poet by profession has left us work so full of\nliving fire.\u201d\n\nFor once, and in this particular instance, Accurs\u00ebd Eve in literature\nhas, in such a verdict, won her merited literary honours.\n\nBut as a rule honours are withheld from her, and the laurel is filched\nfrom her brows by Coward Adam ere she has time to wear it. One flagrant\ncase is well known, of a man who having lived entirely on a woman\u2019s\nliterary earnings for years, went about in the clothes her pen had\npaid for, among the persons to whom, through her influence, he had\nbeen introduced, boasting that he assisted her to write the greater\npart of her books. To their shame be it said, a great many people\nbelieved him; and not till he was dead, and the woman went on writing\nher books as before, did they even begin to see the wrong they had\ndone her. They would not have dared to calumniate the false boaster as\nthey calumniated the innocent hard worker. The boaster was a man,--the\nworker was a woman;--therefore the dishonour of passing off literary\nwork not one\u2019s own, must, so they imagined, naturally belong to\nAccurs\u00ebd Eve,--not to Coward Adam! Of their humiliation when the real\ntruth was known, history sayeth nothing.\n\nYet with all the weight of her curse more or less upon her, and with\nall her sorrows, shattered ideals, wrecked hopes, and lost loves,\nAccurs\u00ebd Eve is still the most beautiful, the most perfect figure in\ncreation. Her failings, her vanities, her weaknesses, her sins, arise\nin the first place from love--even if afterwards, through Coward Adam\u2019s\nready encouragement, they degenerate into vice and animalism. Her first\nimpulse in earliest youth is a desire to please Adam,--the same impulse\nprecisely which led her to offer him the forbidden apple in the first\ndays of their mutual acquaintance. She wishes to charm him,--to win his\nheart,--to endear herself to him in a thousand tender ways,--to wind\nherself irretrievably round his life. If she succeeds in this aim, she\nis invariably happy and virtuous. But if she is made to feel that she\ncannot hold him on whom her thoughts are centred,--if his professed\nlove for her only proves weak and false when put to trial,--if he\nfinds it easy to forget both sentiment and courtesy, and is quick to\nadd insult to injury, then all the finer and more delicate emotions\nof her nature become warped and unstrung,--and though she endures her\nsuffering because she must, she resents it and takes vengeance when she\ncan. Of resentfulness against wrong and revenge for injustice, come\nwhat are called \u201cbad women.\u201d Yet I would humbly venture to maintain\nthat even these \u201cbad\u201d were not bad in the first instance. They were\nborn in the usual way, with the usual Eve impulse,--the desire to\nplease, not themselves, but the opposite sex. If their instinctive\nefforts have been met with cruelty, oppression, neglect, desertion and\nsometimes the most heartless and cowardly betrayal, they can scarcely\nbe blamed if they play the same tricks on the unloving, disloyal churls\nfor whom they have perhaps sacrificed the best part of their lives.\nFor innocent faith and trusting love _are_ the best part of every\nwoman\u2019s life; and when these are destroyed by the brutalizing touch of\nsome Coward Adam, the woman may well claim compensation for her soul\u2019s\nmurder.\n\nAccurs\u00ebd Eve! Still she loves,--to find herself fooled and cheated;\nstill she hopes, even while hope eludes her,--still she waits, for\nwhat she may never win,--still she prays prayers that may never be\nanswered,--still she bears and rears the men of the future, wondering\nperchance whether any of them will ever help to do her justice,--will\never place her where she should be, as the acknowledged queenly\n\u201chelp-meet\u201d of her stronger, but less enduring partner! Beautiful,\nfrail, trusting, loving, Accurs\u00ebd Eve! She bends beneath the\ncurse,--but the clouds are lifting!--there is light in the sky of\nher future dawn! And it may be that a worse malediction than the one\npronounced in Eden, will fall on those who make her burden of life\nheavier to bear!\n\n\n\n\n\u201cIMAGINARY\u201d LOVE\n\n                   My love\n     Is as the very centre of the earth\n     Drawing all things to it.\n                      --_Troilus and Cressida._\n\n\nThere is perhaps no emotion more elevating or more deceptive than that\nsudden uplifting of the heart and yearning of the senses which may be\ncalled \u201cimaginary\u201d Love. It resembles the stirring of the sap in the\nroots of flowers, thrilling the very ground with hints and promises of\nspring,--it is the unspeakable outcoming of human emotion and sympathy\ntoo great to be contained within itself,--the tremulous desire,--half\nvague and wholly innocent,--of the human soul for its mate. The lower\ngrades of passion have not as yet ruffled the quivering white wings\nof this divinely sweet emotion, and the being who is happy enough to\nexperience it in all its intensity, is, for the time, the most enviable\non earth. Youth or maiden, whichever it be, the world is a fairyland\nfor this chosen dreamer. Nothing appears base or mean,--God\u2019s smile\nis reflected in every ray of sunshine, and Nature offers no prospect\nthat is not pleasing. It is the season of glamour and grammarye,--a\nlook over the distant hills is sufficient to engage the mind of the\ndreaming girl with brilliant fancies of gallant knights riding from\nfar-off countries, with their lady\u2019s colours pinned to their breasts\n\u201cto do or die\u201d for the sake of love and glory,--and the young boy, half\nin love with a pretty face he has seen on his way home from school or\ncollege, begins to think with all the poets, of eyes blue as skies,\nof loves and doves, and hearts and darts, in happy unconsciousness\nthat his thoughts are not in the least original. Yet with all its\nethereal beauty and gossamer-sense of pleasure, this \u201cimaginary\u201d\nlove is often the most pathetic experience we have or ever shall\nhave in life. It is answerable for numberless griefs,--for bitter\ndisillusions,--occasionally, too, for broken hearts. It glitters\nbefore us, a brilliant chimera, during our very young days,--and on\nour entrance into society it vanishes, leaving us to pursue it through\nmany phases of existence, and always in vain. The poet is perhaps\nthe happiest of all who join in this persistent chase after the\nimpossible,--for he frequently continues to imagine \u201cimaginary\u201d love\nwith ecstasy and fervour to the very end of his days. Next in order\ncomes the musician, who in the composition of a melancholy nocturne\nor tender ballad, or in the still greater work of a romantic opera,\nimagines \u201cimaginary\u201d love in strains of perfect sound, which waken\nin the hearts of his hearers all the old feverish longings, all the\ndear youthful dreams, all the delicious romances which accompanied the\nlovely white-winged Sentiment in days past and dead for ever. Strange\nto say, it often happens that the musician, while thus appeasing his\nown insatiable thirst for \u201cimaginary\u201d love, is frequently aware that\nhe is arousing it in others; and could he probe to the very fibres of\nhis thinking soul, he would confess to a certain keen satisfaction in\nthe fact of his being able to revivify the old restless yearning of a\npain which is sweeter to the lonely soul than pleasure.\n\nNow this expression of the \u201clonely soul\u201d is used advisedly, because,\nin sad truth, every human soul is lonely. Lonely at birth,--still more\nlonely at death. During its progress through life it gathers around\nit what it can in the way of crumbs of love, grains of affection,\ntaking them tenderly and with tears of gratefulness. But it is always\nconscious of solitude,--an awful yet Divine solitude over which the\nInfinite broods, watchful yet silent. Why it is brought into conscious\nbeing, to live within a material frame and there perform certain duties\nand labours, and from thence depart again, it cannot tell. All is a\nmystery,--a strange Necessity, in which it cannot truly recognize\nits part or place. Yet it is,--and one of the strongest proofs of\nits separate identity from the body is this \u201cimaginary\u201d love for\nwhich it yearns, and which it never obtains. \u201cImaginary\u201d love is not\nearthly,--neither is it heavenly,--it is something between both, a\nvague and inchoate feeling, which, though incapable of being reduced\nto any sort of reason or logic, is the foundation of perhaps all the\ngreatest art, music and poetry in the world. If we had to do merely\nwith men as they are, and women as they are, Art would perish utterly\nfrom the face of the earth. It is because we make for ourselves\n\u201cideal\u201d men, \u201cideal\u201d women, and endow these fair creations with the\nsentiment of \u201cimaginary\u201d love, that we still are able to communicate\nwith the gods. Not yet have we lowered ourselves to the level of the\nbeasts,--nor shall we do so, though things sometimes seem tending that\nway. Realism and Atheism have darkened the world, as they darken it\nnow, long before the present time, and as defacements on the grandeur\nof the Universe they have not been permitted to remain. Nor will they\nbe permitted now,--the reaction will, and must inevitably set in. The\nrepulsive materialism of Zola, and others of his school,--the loose\ntheories of the \u201csmart\u201d set, and the moral degradation of those who\nhave no greater God than self,--these things are the merest ephemera,\ndestined to leave no more mark on human history than the trail of a\nslug on one leaf of an oak. The Ideal must always be triumphant,--the\nsoul can only hope to make way by climbing towards it. Thus it is with\n\u201cimaginary\u201d Love,--it must hold fast to its ideal, or be content to\nperish on the plane of sensual passion, which exhausts itself rapidly,\nand once dead, is dead for ever and aye.\n\nWith all its folly, sweetness, piteousness and pathos, \u201cimaginary\u201d love\nis the keynote of Art,--its fool-musings take shape in exquisite verse,\nin tales of romance and adventure, in pictures that bring the nations\ntogether to stand and marvel, in music that makes the strong man weep.\nIt is the most supersensual of all delicate sensations,--as fine as a\nhair, as easily destroyed as a gnat\u2019s wing!--a rough touch will wound\nit,--a coarse word will kill it,--the sneer of the Realist shuts it in\na coffin of lead and sinks it fathoms deep in the waters of despair.\nStrange and cruel as the fact may seem, Marriage appears to put an end\nto it altogether.\n\n\n     Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch\u2019s wife\n     He would have written sonnets to her all his life?\n\n\ninquires Byron. He certainly would not. The \u201cimaginary\u201d love of\nPetrarch was the source of his poetic inspiration; if he had ever\ndragged it down to the level of the commonplace Actual, he would have\nkilled his Muse. In a similar way the love of Dante for Beatrice was\nof the \u201cimaginary\u201d quality. Those who read the \u201cVita Nuova\u201d will\nscarcely fail to see how the great poet hugs his love-fancies and\nfeeds himself with delicious extravagances in the way of idealized\nand sublimated soul-passion. He dissects every fine hair of a stray\nemotion, and writes a sonnet on every passing heart-beat. Dante\u2019s wife\nnever became so transfigured in her husband\u2019s love. Why? Alas, who can\nsay! No reason can be given save that perchance \u201cfamiliarity breeds\ncontempt,\u201d and that the Unattainable seems always more beautiful than\nthe Attained. The delight of possession would appear to be as brief as\nthe flowering of a rose. Lovers are in haste to wed,--but when the knot\nis once irrevocably tied, in nine cases out of ten they wish it could\nbe untied again. They no longer imagine \u201cimaginary\u201d love! The glamour\nis gone. Illusions are all over. The woman is no longer the removed,\nthe fair, the chaste, the unreachable,--the man ceases to be the proud,\nthe strong hero endowed with the attributes of the gods. \u201cImaginary\u201d\nlove then resolves itself into one of two things,--a firm, every-day,\nclose and tender _friendship_, or else a sick disappointment, often\nending in utter disgust. But the divine emotion of \u201cimaginary\u201d love\nhas died,--the Soul is no longer enamoured of its Ideal--and the\ndelicate psychic passion which inspires the poet, the painter, the\nmusician, turns at once to fresh objects of admiration and pursuit. For\nit is never exhausted,--unlike any purely earthly sense it knows no\nsatiety. Deceived in one direction, it dies in another. Dissatisfied\nwith worldly things, it extends its longing heavenwards,--there at\nleast it shall find what it seeks,--not now, but hereafter! Age does\nnot blunt this fine emotion, for, as may often be remarked with some\nbeautiful souls in the decline of bodily life, the resigning of earthly\nenjoyments gives them no pain,--and the sweet placidity of expectation,\nrather than the dull apathy of regret, is their chief characteristic.\n\u201cImaginary\u201d love still beckons them on;--what has not been found Here\nwill be found There!\n\nHappy, and always to be envied, are those who treasure this aerial\nsentiment of the spiritual brain! It is the dearest possession of\nevery true artist. In every thought, in every creative work or plan,\n\u201cimaginary\u201d love goes before, pointing out wonders unseen by less\nenlightened eyes,--hiding things unsightly, disclosing things lovely,\nand making the world fair to the mind in all seasons, whether of storm\nor calm. Intensifying every enjoyment, adding a double thrill to the\nnotes of a sweet song, lending an extra glow to the sunshine, an added\nradiance to the witchery of the moonlight, a more varied and exquisite\ncolouring to the trees and flowers, a charm to every book, a delight\nto every new scene, \u201cimaginary\u201d love, a very sprite of enchantment,\nhelps us to believe persistently in good, when those who love not at\nall, neither in reality nor in idealization, are drowning in the black\nwaters of suicidal despair.\n\nSo it is well for us--those who can--to imagine \u201cimaginary\u201d love! We\nshall never grasp the Dream in this world--nevertheless let us fly\nafter it as though it were a Reality! Its path is one of sweetness more\nthan pain,--its ways are devious, yet even in sadness still entrancing.\nBetter than rank, better than wealth is this talisman, which with a\ntouch brings us into close communication with the Higher worlds. Let\nus \u201cimagine\u201d our friends are true; let us \u201cimagine\u201d we are loved for\nour own sakes alone,--let us \u201cimagine,\u201d as we welcome our acquaintances\ninto our homes, that their smiles and greetings are sincere--let us\nimagine \u201cimaginary\u201d love as the poets do,--a passion tender, strong\nand changeless--and pursue it always, even if the objects, which for a\nmoment its passing wings have brushed, crumble into dust beneath that\ntouch of fire! So shall our lives retain the charm of constant Youth\nand Hope,--so shall the world seem always beautiful to us,--so shall\nthe Unimaginable glory of the future Real-in-Love shine nearer every\nday in our faithful, fond pursuit of its flying Shadow!\n\n\n\n\nTHE ADVANCE OF WOMAN\n\n     Follow Light and do the Right--for man can half control his doom--\n     Till you find the deathless Angel seated in the vacant tomb!\n                       --TENNYSON, _Locksley Hall, Sixty Years After_.\n\n\nSixty years ago! To us of the present day it seems a very long time--a\nkind of \u201cdark ages\u201d period wherein we peer backward dubiously,\nwondering what everybody was like then. History, taking us by the hand,\nshows us, as in a magic glass, the Coronation of Victoria, one of the\nbest Queens that the world has ever known, and tells us of the great\nmen and masterly intellects of that past time, whose immortal works we\nstill have with us, but whose mere mortal place knows them no more.\nMuch may be seen in the backward glimpse that some of us may possibly\nregret and wish that we possessed again. Men of power and dominance,\nfor example--great writers, great thinkers, great reformers--surely we\nlack these! Surely we need them sorely! But it seems to be a rule of\nNature that if we gain in one direction we must lose in another, and\nwhatever we have lost in that far-gone period, we have certainly gained\nmuch in the forward direction. One of the most remarkable changes,\nperhaps, that has taken place in the passing of the years is the\ndifferent position assigned to Woman from that which she occupied when\nDickens and Thackeray wrote their wonderful novels, and when Charlotte\nBront\u00eb astonished the world by her woman\u2019s genius, to be followed by\nthe still more powerful and Scott-like display of brainpower in Mary\nAnn Evans (\u201cGeorge Eliot\u201d). At that time men were still chivalrous.\nWoman was so rarely brilliant--or, shall we put it, she so rarely had\nthe chance of asserting the brilliant qualities that are her natural\nendowment--that man was content to acknowledge any unusual talent\non her part as an abnormal quality, infrequent enough to be safely\nadmired. In this spirit, more or less, Sir Walter Scott paid tribute\nto Jane Austen, and Thackeray to Charlotte Bront\u00eb; but as time has\nprogressed, and women have arisen one after another in the various\ndepartments of Art and Literature, men have begun to fall back and look\naskance, and somewhat threateningly, on the fair trespassers in their\nhitherto guarded domains. And the falling back and the looking askance\ncontinue in exact proportion to the swift and steady onward march of\nthe white-robed Amazons into the Battle of Life. Braced with the golden\nshield of Courage, helmeted with Patience, and armed with the sword of\nFaith, the women-warriors are taking the field, and are to be seen now\nin massed ranks, daily marshalling themselves in more compact order,\nfirm-footed and fearless, prepared to fight for intellectual freedom,\nand die rather than yield. They, too, will earn the right to live;\nthey, too, will be something greater than the mere vessels of man\u2019s\ndesire--whether maids, wives, or mothers, they will prove themselves\nworthy to be all these three, and more than these, to the very utmost\nextent of their moral and intellectual being!\n\nPerhaps there is nothing more entertaining to the wit of a cultured and\nintelligent woman than the recurrent piping wail of man\u2019s assertion\nthat \u201cwoman has no creative power.\u201d Her place, says the didactic\nmale, is the kitchen, the nursery, and beside the cradle. _Certes_,\nshe can manage these three departments infinitely better than he can,\nespecially the cradle part of it, wherein his fractious disposition\nis generally well displayed the moment he starts in life. But, as a\nmatter of fact, there is hardly any vocation in which she cannot,\nif she puts her mind to it, distinguish herself just as easily and\nsuccessfully as he can if he will only kindly stand out of her way.\nHe makes himself ludicrous by persistently \u201ccrying her down\u201d when all\nthe world _en masse_ beholds her taking the highest University honours\nover his head, and beating him intellectually on his own ground. In\nphysical force he certainly outstrips her. Item,--he can kick her as\nheartily and skilfully as he can kick a football, _vide_ the daily\npolice reports. Item,--he can eat and drink much more than she can,\nbecause he devotes a great deal more time and attention to the study\nof gastronomy. Item,--he can smoke more. Item,--he can indulge freely\nin unbridled licentiousness, and amply prove his original savage right\nto be considered a polygamous animal, without being banned from \u201cgood\nsociety,\u201d or anything being said against his moral character. This\na woman cannot do. If she has many lovers, her conduct is severely\ncriticized. But if she has none, she is still more bitterly condemned,\nespecially if she happens to be in the least good-looking. And why?\nSimply because her indifference \u201creflects\u201d on the male sex generally.\nThe ugliest of masculine creatures experiences a vague sense of offence\nwhen he meets a charming woman who neither seeks his advice nor his\ncompany. And here we have the gist of the whole matter: man is a vain\nanimal and wants to be admired. Like the peacock, he struts forward\nand spreads out his glittering tail. The central feature of the\nlandscape, as he considers himself, he waits for the pea-hen to worship\nhim. If, instead of the humble pea-hen, he finds another sort of bird\nentirely--with not only a tail as brilliant as his own, but wings which\nwill carry it over his head, he is mightily incensed, and his shrill\ncry of rage echoes through that particular part of the universe where\nhe is no longer \u201cmonarch of all he surveys.\u201d His \u201cother world\u201d must be\npea-hens or none!\n\nAnd yet Man\u2019s delightful and utter want of the commonest logic is never\nmore flagrantly exhibited than in this vital matter of his estimate\nof Woman, taking it all round in a broad sense. Daily, hourly, in the\nhousehold and in the market-place, he may be heard cheapening her\nabilities, sneering at such triumphs as she attains, cracking stale\njests at her \u201clove of gossip,\u201d \u201clove of dress\u201d (for he is seldom\noriginal even in a joke), and her \u201cincessant tongue,\u201d blissfully\nignoring the fact that his own is wagging all the time; and yet no\none can twist him so limply and helplessly round the littlest of her\nlittle fingers as she can. Moreover, throughout all the ages, so far as\nthe keenest explorer or historical student can discover, his highest\nideals of life have been depicted in the Feminine form. Fortune, Fame,\nJustice, the Arts and Sciences, are all represented by female figures\nlovingly designed by male hands. Evidently conscious in himself that\na woman\u2019s purity, honesty, fidelity, and courage are nobler types of\nthese virtues than his own, Man apparently is never weary of idealizing\nthem as Woman womanly. Thoroughly aware of the supreme sovereignty\nWoman can exercise whenever he gives her the chance, he, while\nendeavouring to bind and hold her intellectual forces by his various\nedicts and customs, takes ever an incongruous satisfaction in doing\nher full justice by the magnitude of his feminine ideals. The divine\nspirit of Nature itself, called \u201cEgeria,\u201d is always depicted by man as\na woman. Faith, Hope and Charity, are represented as female spirits,\nas are the Three Graces. The Muses are women; so are the Fates. Hence,\nas all the virtues, morals, arts, and sciences are shown by the\nhighest masculine skill as wearing woman\u2019s form and possessing woman\u2019s\nattributes, it is easy to see that man has always been perfectly aware\nin his inward intelligence of Woman\u2019s true worth and right place in\ncreation, though, by such laws as he has made for his own better\nconvenience, he has put up whatever barriers he can in the way of the\ntoo swift advancement of so superior and victorious a creature. Now\nthat she is beginning to take an important share in the world\u2019s work\nand progress, he is becoming vaguely alarmed. In each art, in each\nprofession he sees her gaining step by step to higher intellectual\ndominance. He watches her move from plane to plane of study, learning,\nas she goes, that the mere animalism of unthinking subservience to his\npassions is not her only heritage. And straightway the long-spoilt\nchild begins to whimper. \u201cA woman has no creative power!\u201d he cries. \u201cNo\nimagination!--no originality!--no force of character! What she does in\nthe Arts is so very little----!\u201d\n\nStop, oh Man! You have had a very long, long innings, remember! From\nthe time of Abraham, and ages before that worthy patriarch ever turned\nHagar out into the wilderness, you have been setting Woman alongside\nyour cattle, and curling your whip with a magnificent carelessness\nround both at your pleasure, yea! even offering both with indifferent\nreadiness for sale and barter. You have enjoyed centuries of liberty;\nit is now woman\u2019s turn to taste the sweets of freedom. She does very\nlittle in the Arts, you say? I grant you that in the first of them,\nPoetry, she does little indeed. I do not think we shall ever have a\nfemale Shakespeare, for instance. But, at the same time, I equally do\nnot think we shall ever again have a male one! Yet it is to be admitted\nthat none of the leading women poets can compare for an instant with\nthe leading men in that most divine and prim\u00e6val of Arts. But I should\nnot like to assert that the great woman-Dante or woman-Shelley may not\nyet arise, for it is to be borne in mind that woman\u2019s education and\nwoman\u2019s chances have only just begun. In Music, again, she is deemed\ndeficient. Yet we are confronted at the present day by the fact that\nmany of the most successful and charming of song writers are women.\nAnd the following appears in the Dresden _Neueste Nachricten_ (October\n18, 1902):--\n\n\u201cUp to the present date we have always entertained the opinion that\nthe composition of music was a gift denied to the female sex, elegant\ntrifles (as exceptions) only confirming our doubts. And now an English\nlady appears on the scene, amazing the musical world of Dresden. She\nwas as a young girl already a distinguished artist, a virtuoso on\nthe piano, and played--as \u2018Miss Bright,\u2019--under the direction of Dr.\nWullner, a piano concerto of her own composition, with extraordinary\nsuccess. Then marriage separated her from her art for several years.\nNow (after the death of her husband), the young widow, Mrs. Knatchbull,\nhas composed an opera--text, music, and instrumentation all being her\nown work--and has brought it with her to Dresden. The music is so\ncaptivating, and above all, holds one so strongly that one exclaims\nin astonishment, \u2018Can this be the work of a woman?\u2019 It is more than\nprobable that the opera will be produced at the Dresden Opera House.\u201d\n\nHere followeth an instructive story:--A recent opera performed with\nconsiderable success at Monte Carlo and other Continental resorts\nis the work of a woman, stolen by a man. The facts are well known,\nas are the names of the hero and heroine of the sordid tragedy. A\nlittle love-making on the part of the male composer, who could show\nnothing of ability save the composition of a few amorous drawing-room\nsongs--a confiding trust on the part of the woman-genius, whose brain\nwas full of God-given melody--these were the motives of the drama.\nShe played the score of her opera through to him--he listened with\nadmiration--with words of tender flattery, precious to her who was\nweak enough to care for such a rascal; and then he took it away to be\n\u201ctranscribed,\u201d as he said, and set out for the orchestra. He loved\nher, so the poor credulous soul thought!--and she trusted him--such\nan old story! He copied her opera in his own manuscript--stole it, in\nshort, and left for the Continent, where he had it produced as his own\ncomposition. Had she complained, the law would have gone against her.\nShe had no proof save that of her love. Before a grinning, jesting\ncourt of law she would have had to publish the secret of her heart.\nPeople would have shaken their heads and said, \u201cPoor thing! A case\nof self-delusion and hysteria!\u201d He himself would have shaken his\ndirty pate and said, \u201cPoor soul! Mad--quite mad! Many women have had\ntheir heads turned likewise for love of me!\u201d So it chances that only\nthose \u201cin the know\u201d are aware of the story, and the man-Fraud is left\nunmolested; but it is a curious and suggestive fact that he produces no\nmore operas.\n\nThere is one thing that women generally, in the struggle for\nintellectual free life, should always remember--one that they are\ntoo often apt to forget--namely, that the Laws, as they at present\nexist, are made _by_ men, _for_ men. There are no really stringent\nlaws for the protection of women\u2019s interests except the Married\nWoman\u2019s Property Act, which is a great and needful boon. But take the\nfollowing instances of the eccentricities of English law, both of\nwhich have come under my own knowledge as having occurred to personal\nfriends. A certain foreign nobleman residing in England made a will\nleaving all his fortune to his mistress. His legitimate children were\nadvised to dispute the will, as under the law of his native country\nhe could not dispossess his lawful heirs of their inheritance. He had\nnot naturalized himself at any time as a British subject, and the\nplain proof of this was, that but a year before his death, he had\napplied to the Government of his own country for permission to wear\na certain decoration, which permission was accorded him. The nature\nof his application proved that he still considered himself a subject\nof his own native land. The case came before an English judge, who\nhad apparently eaten some very indigestible matter for his luncheon.\nWith an apoplectic countenance and an injured demeanour, the learned\ngentleman declined to go into any of the details of the case, and\nadministered \u201cjustice\u201d by deciding the whole thing on \u201ca question of\ndomicile\u201d--namely, that as the man had lived in England twenty-five\nyears, he was, naturalized or unnaturalized, a British subject and\ncould make his will as he liked. The fortune was, therefore, handed\nover to his mistress, and the legal wife and legitimately-born children\nwere left out in the cold! Another case is that of a lady, well-born\nand well-educated, who married a man with a fortune of some twenty\nthousand a year. After the expiration of about fifteen years, when she\nhad borne her husband three children, he suddenly took a fantastic\ndislike to her, and an equally fantastic liking for a chorus girl.\nHe promptly sought a divorce. As there was no ground for divorce,\nhe failed to obtain it. He, therefore, adopted a course of action\nemanating entirely from his own brilliant brain. Starting for a cruise\non board his yacht, in company with the bewildering chorus girl,\nhe left orders with his solicitor to have the whole of his house\ndismantled of its furniture and \u201ccleared.\u201d This was promptly done, the\nwife and children being left without so much as a bed to lie upon, or a\nchair to sit upon. The unfortunate lady told her story to a court, and\napplied for \u201cmaintenance.\u201d This, of course, the recalcitrant husband\nwas forced to pay, but the sum was cut down to the smallest possible\namount, under the supervision of the blandly approving court, with the\nresult that this man\u2019s wife, accustomed from her girlhood to every home\ncomfort and care, now lives with her children in a condition of genteel\npenury more degrading than absolute poverty. _There is no remedy for\nthese things._ One welcomes heartily the idea of women lawyers, in\nthe hope that when their keen, quick brains learn to grasp the huge,\nunwieldy, and complex machinery of the muddle called Legal Justice,\nthey may, perhaps, be able to effect some reforms on behalf of their\nown sex. As matters at present stand, the unbridled and extravagant\nlicentiousness of men, and the consequent degradation of women, are\n_protected_ by law. Even a fraudulent financial concern is so guarded\nby \u201clegal\u201d advice that it would take the lifetime\u2019s earning of an\nhonest man to bring about any exposure. We want women-lawyers--Portias,\nwith quick brains, to see the way out of a difficulty into which men\nplunge only to flounder more hopelessly. \u201cCan the blind lead the blind?\nShall they not both fall into the ditch?\u201d\n\nIn Medicine, women have made more than a decided mark of triumph. It\nis almost impossible to over-estimate the priceless value of the work\ndone by women doctors and women surgeons in the harems of India and\nTurkey, where the selfishness and jealousy of the Eastern sybarite\nwould give his women over to cruel agonies of disease and death, rather\nthan suffer them to be so much as looked upon by another of his own\nsex. Yet, though perfectly conscious that Woman\u2019s work in this branch\nof science is day by day becoming more and more precious to suffering\nhumanity, we have quite recently been confronted by the spectacle of\na number of men deciding to resign their appointments at a certain\nhospital, rather than suffer a woman to be nominated house-surgeon.\nHer skill and efficiency were as great as theirs, and she had all the\nqualifications necessary for the post; but no! sooner than honour a\nwoman\u2019s ability, they preferred to resign. Comment on this incident\nis needless, but it is one of the straws that show which way the wind\nblows.\n\nMuch excellent work is done, and remains yet to be done by women, as\ninspectors of schools. They alone are really fitted for the task of\nascertaining the conditions under which children are made to study,\nand they are not likely, while examining infant classes, to make such\nponderous statements as that passed by a certain male inspector, who,\naccording to an amusing story told me by Sir John Gorst, found the\nbabies (not above five years old) \u201cdeplorably deficient in mental\narithmetic!\u201d It takes a man to deplore \u201clack of mental arithmetic\u201d in\na baby. A woman would never be capable of such weighty stupidity.\nPerhaps it will be just as well to glance casually at the state of\nthings in this country respecting the education of mere infants, as\narranged by certain laws drawn up by men, laws in which women, who are\nthe mothers of the race, are not allowed to have a voice.\n\n1. The law _allows_ them to enter at three years old, and _compels_\nthem to enter at five years old.\n\n2. Men inspectors constantly examine children of four years old\nin arithmetic, and the \u201cmental arithmetic of the baby class,\u201d is\nconstantly mentioned in reports.\n\n3. Needlework is taught before five years old; two to three hours form\nthe staple instruction. Needlework injures the eyesight at such a\ntender age, and two or three hours are a cruelty and a waste of time\nfor tiny children.\n\n4. Desks, blackboards, slates and books are everywhere in excess of\n\u201cKindergarten\u201d occupations, and the \u201cdevelopment of the spontaneous\nactivity in the child\u201d is twisted into the development of uniformity.\nTo differ from the usual is to be naughty; every one must do the same\nthing at the same time. Every one must build a like house, a like\ntable, a like chair; each brick must be on the table at the same minute.\n\n5. Despite male inspectors, the babies sleep. They fall off their\nseats and bump their foreheads against the desks, and their spines are\ntwisted and crooked as they lie on their arms, heads forward, upon the\nhard supports. Curvature must be produced in many cases, solely from\nthese causes.\n\n6. To maintain order, corporal punishment is habitual, and \u201cfear\u201d\nthe chief motive for right-doing. To quote from a letter of Sir John\nGorst\u2019s:--\n\n\u201cThe reform of this system is not a matter of sentiment. These babies\nare the future scholars of our improved schools that the Education Act\nis intended to produce, and the future citizens by whom our Imperial\nposition is to be maintained. If we prematurely addle their intellects\nby schooling--for which their tender years are unfit; if we cripple\ntheir bodies by cooping them up in deforming desks; if we destroy their\nsight by premature needlework, and confuse their senses by over-study\nof subjects which they are too young to understand, we shall neither\nhave fit scholars for our future schools, nor fit citizens to uphold\nthe Empire.\u201d\n\nStarting on these premises it will surely be acknowledged that women\nhave an indisputable right to be inspectors of schools. They have the\nnatural instinct to know what is best for the health and well-being\nof children, and they are also capable of correctly judging by that\nmaternal sympathy which is their inherited gift, how a child\u2019s mental\nabilities should best be encouraged and trained.\n\nI have often been asked if I would like to see women in Parliament.\nI may say frankly, and at once, that I should detest it. I should\nnot like to see the sex, pre-eminent for grace and beauty, degraded\nby having to witness or to take part in such \u201cscenes\u201d of heated and\nundignified disputation as have frequently lowered the prestige of\nthe House of Commons. On the same lines I may say that I do not care\nto see women playing \u201chockey\u201d or indulging in any purely \u201ctom-boy\u201d\nsports and pastimes. They lose \u201ccaste\u201d and individuality. One of the\nmany brilliant and original remarks of mankind concerning the female\nsex is that women should be cooks and housekeepers. So they should. No\nwoman is a good housekeeper unless she understands cooking, nor can she\nbe a good cook unless she be a good housekeeper. The two things are\ninseparable, and combine to make comfort with economy. A woman should\nknow how to cook and keep house for _herself_, not only for man. Man\nsays to her: \u201cBe a cook,\u201d--because of all things in the world he loves\na good dinner; loves it better than his wife, inasmuch as he will often\n\u201cbully\u201d the wife if the dinner fails. But a woman must also eat, and\nshe should learn to cook _for her own comfort_, quite apart from his.\nIn the same way she should study housekeeping. If she lives a single\nlife, she will find such knowledge eminently useful. But to devote all\nher energy and attention to cooking and housekeeping, as most men would\nhave her do, would be a waste of power and intelligence. As well ask a\ngreat military hero to devote his entire time to the canteen.\n\nIn breaking her rusty fetters, and stepping out into the glorious\nliberty of the free, Woman has one great thing to remember and to\nstrive for,--a thing that she is at present, in her newly emancipated\ncondition, somewhat prone to forget. In claiming and securing\nintellectual equality with Man, she should ever bear in mind that such\na position is only to be held by always maintaining and preserving as\ngreat an Unlikeness to him as possible in her life and surroundings.\nLet her imitate him in nothing but independence and individuality. Let\nher eschew his fashions in dress, his talk and his manners. A woman who\nwears \u201cmannish\u201d clothes, smokes cigars, rattles out slang, gambles at\ncards, and drinks brandy and soda on the slightest provocation, is lost\naltogether, both as woman and man, and becomes sexless. But the woman\nwhose dress is always becoming and graceful, whose voice is equable and\ntender, who enhances whatever beauty she possesses by exquisite manner,\nunblemished reputation, and intellectual capacity combined, raises\nherself not only to an equality with man, but goes so far above him\nthat she straightway becomes the Goddess and he the Worshipper. This is\nas it should be. Men adore what they cannot imitate. Therefore when men\nare drunken, let women be sober; when men are licentious, let women be\nchaste; when men are turf-hunters and card-players, let women absent\nthemselves from both the race-course and the gambling-table; and while\nplacing a gentle yet firm ban on laxity in morals and disregard of the\nbinding sanctity of family life, let them silently work on and make\nprogress in every art, every profession, every useful handicraft, that\nthey may not be dependent for home or livelihood on man\u2019s merely casual\nfancy or idle whim. The mistake of Woman\u2019s progress up to the present,\nhas been her slavish imitation of Man\u2019s often unadmirable tastes, and\na pathetic \u201cgoing down\u201d under his lofty disdain. Once grasp the fact\nthat his disdain is not \u201clofty\u201d but merely comic, and that his case\nis only that of the Distressful Peacock, hurt by indifference to his\ntail, things will right themselves. Nature has already endowed Woman\nwith the contrasting elements of beauty, delicacy, and soft charm, as\nopposed to man\u2019s frequent ugliness and roughness; let Woman herself\ncontinue to emphasize the difference by bringing out her original and\nindividual qualities in all she does or attempts to do. Of course\nfor a long time yet, Man will declare \u201cfeminine individuality\u201d to be\nnon-existent; but as we know the quality is as plain and patent as\n\u201cmasculine individuality,\u201d we have only to insist upon it and assert\nit, and in due course it will be fully admitted and acknowledged.\nMeantime, while pressing on towards the desired goal, Woman must learn\nthe chief lesson of successful progress, which is, not to copy Man, but\nto carefully preserve her beautiful Unlikeness to him in every possible\nway, so that, while asserting and gaining intellectual equality with\nhim, she shall gradually arrive at such ascendancy as to prove herself\never the finer and the nobler Creature.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PALM OF BEAUTY\n\n\nIt would seem, according to the society press, that beauty is a\nvery common article. Indeed, if we are to accept the innocent\nebullitions of the callow youths who drink beer and play skittles\nin the Social-Paragraph line of journalism, and who in their soft\nguilelessness are taken in and \u201cused\u201d by certain ladies of a type\nresembling Miss Skeggs and Lady Blarney in the _Vicar of Wakefield_,\nwe are bound to believe that beautiful women are as common as\nblackberries, only more so. In the columns devoted by newspaper editors\nto the meanderings of those intelligent persons, male and female,\nwho sign themselves as Onlookers, Observers, Butterflies, Little\nTomtits, and what may be called \u201cI Spys!\u201d generally, one hardly ever\nsees the name of a lady without the epithet \u201cbeautiful\u201d tacked on to\nit, especially if the lady happens to have money. This is curious,\nbut true. And supposing the so-called Beautiful One has not only\nmoney, commonly speaking, but heaps of money, mines of money, she is\nalways stated to be \u201cyoung\u201d as well. The heavier the bullion, the\nmore assured the youthfulness. If unkind Time shows her to be the\nmother of a family where the eldest sprout is some twenty odd years\nof age, the complaisant \u201cI Spy\u201d is equal to the occasion and writes\nof her thus--\u201cThe beautiful Mrs. Juno-Athene brought her eldest\ngirl, looking more like her sister than her mother.\u201d Whereat Mrs.\nJuno-Athene is satisfied,--everybody smiles, and all things are cosy\nand comfortable. If any one should dare to say, especially in print,\nthat Mrs. Juno-Athene is not \u201cbeautiful\u201d at all, nor \u201cyouthful\u201d in\neither looks or bearing, there would be ructions. Somebody would get\ninto trouble. The \u201cI Spy\u201d might even be dismissed from his or her post\nof social paragraphist to the Daily Error. Heaven forbid that such a\ncatastrophe should happen through the indiscretion of a mere miserable\ntruth-monger! Let Mrs. Juno-Athene be beautifully and eternally young,\nby all means, so long as she can afford to pay for it. The humbug of it\nis at any rate kindly and chivalrous, and does nobody any harm, while\nit puts money in the purse of the hardworking penster, who is compelled\nto deal delicately with these little social matters sometimes, or else\nruminate on a dinner instead of eating it.\n\nNevertheless, despite the \u201cI Spys,\u201d and the perennial charms of Mrs.\nJuno-Athene, beauty is as rare and choice a thing as ever it was in the\ndays of old when men went mad for it, and Greeks and Trojans fought for\nHelen, who, so some historians say, was past forty when her bewitching\nfairness set the soul of Troy on fire. A really beautiful woman is\nscarcely ever seen, not even in Great Britain, where average good looks\nare pleasantly paramount. Prettiness,--the prettiness which is made\nup of a good skin, bright eyes, soft and abundant hair, and a supple\nfigure,--is quite ordinary. It can be seen every day among barmaids,\nshop girls, and milliners\u2019 _mannequins_. But Beauty--the divine and\nsubtle charm which enraptures all beholders,--the perfect form, united\nto the perfect face in which pure and noble thought is expressed in\nevery feature, in every glance of eye, in every smile that makes a\nsweet mouth sweeter,--this is what we may search for through all the\nIsles of Britain, ay, and through Europe and America and the whole\nworld besides, and seldom or never find it.\n\nNine-tenths of the women who are styled \u201cbeautiful\u201d by the society\nparagraphist, possess merely the average good looks;--the rest are\ngenerally more particularly distinguished by some single and special\ntrait which may perchance be natural, and may equally be artificial,\nsuch as uncommon-coloured hair (which may be dyed), a brilliant\ncomplexion (which may be put on), or a marvellously \u201csvelte\u201d figure\n(which may be the happy result of carefully designed corsets, well\npulled in). Most of the eulogized \u201cbeauties\u201d of the Upper Ten to-day,\nhave, or are able to get, sufficient money or credit supplied to\nthem for dressing well,--and not only well, but elaborately and\nextravagantly, and dress is often the \u201cbeauty\u201d instead of the woman.\nTo judge whether the woman herself is really beautiful without the\nmodiste\u2019s assistance, it would be necessary to see her deprived of\nall her fashionable clothes. Her bought hair should be taken off\nand only the natural remainder left. She should be content to stand\n_sans_ paint, _sans_ powder, _sans_ back coil, _sans_ corsets, in a\nplain white gown, falling from her neck and shoulders to her feet, and\nthus cheaply, yet decently clad, submit herself to the gaze of her\nmale flatterers in full daylight. How many of the \u201cbeautiful\u201d Mrs.\nJuno-Athenes or the \u201clovely\u201d Lady Spendthrifts could stand such a test\nunflinchingly? Yet the simplest draperies clothe the Greek marbles when\nthey are clothed at all, and jewels and fripperies on the goddess Diana\nwould make her grace seem vulgar and her perfection common. Beauty,\nreal beauty, needs no \u201ccreator of costume\u201d to define it, but is, as the\npoets say, when unadorned, adorned the most.\n\nNow it is absolutely impossible to meet with any \u201cunadorned\u201d sort\nof beauty in those circles of rank and fashion where the society\nparagraphist basks at his or her pleasure. On the contrary, there is\nso much over-adornment in vogue that it is sometimes difficult to\nfind the actual true colour and personality of certain ladies whose\ncharms are daily eulogized by an obliging press. Layers of pearl enamel\npicked out with rouge, entirely conceal their human identity. It is\ndoubtful whether there was ever more face-painting and \u201cfaking up\u201d of\nbeauty than there is now,--never did beauty specialists and beauty\ndoctors drive such a roaring trade. The profits of beauty-faking are\nenormous. Some idea of it may be gained by the fact that there is a\ncertain shrewd and highly intelligent \u201cdoctor\u201d in Paris, who, seeing\nwhich way the wind of fashion blows, brews a harmless little mixture of\nrose-water, eau-de-cologne, tincture of benzoin and cochineal, which\nmaterials are quite the reverse of costly, and calling it by a pretty\n_sobriquet_, sells the same at twenty-five shillings a bottle! He is\nmaking a fortune out of women\u2019s stupidity, is this good \u201cdoctor,\u201d and\nwho shall blame him? Fools exist merely that the wise may use them.\nOne has only to read the ladies\u2019 papers, especially the advertisements\ntherein, to grasp a faint notion of what is being done to spur on the\n\u201cbeauty\u201d craze. Yet beauty remains as rare and remote as ever, and\noften when we see some of the ladies whose \u201cexquisite loveliness\u201d\nhas been praised for years in nearly every newspaper on this, or the\nother side of the Atlantic, we fall back dismayed, with a sense of the\ndeepest disappointment and aggravation, and wonder what we have done to\nbe so deceived?\n\nTaken in the majority, the women of Great Britain are supposed to\nhold the palm of beauty against all other women of the nations of\nthe world, and if the word \u201cbeauty\u201d be changed to prettiness, the\nsupposition is no doubt correct. It is somewhat unfortunate, however,\nthat either through the advice of their dressmakers or their own\nerroneous conceptions of Form, they should appear to resent the soft\noutlines and gracious curves of nature, for either by the over-excess\nof their outdoor sports, or the undue compression of corsets, they are\ngradually doing away with their originally intended shapes and becoming\nas flat-chested as jockeys under training. No flat-chested woman is\npretty. No woman with large hands, large feet, and the coarse muscular\nthroat and jaw developed by constant bicycle-riding, can be called\nfascinating. The bony and resolute lady whose lines of figure run\nstraight down without a curve anywhere from head to heel, may possibly\nbe a good athlete, but her looks are by no means to her advantage.\nMen\u2019s hearts are not enthralled or captured by a Something appearing\nto be neither man nor woman. And there are a great many of these\nSomethings about just now. I am ignorant as to whether American women\ngo in for mannish sports as frequently and ardently as their British\nsisters, but I notice that they have daintier hands and feet, and less\npronounced \u201cmuscle.\u201d\n\nAt the same time American women on an average, are not so pretty\nas British women on the same average. The American complexion is\nunfortunate. Often radiant and delicate in earliest youth, it fades\nwith maturity like a brilliant flower scorched by too hot a sun,\nand once departed returns no more. The clear complexion of British\nwomen is their best feature. The natural rose and white skin of an\nEnglish, Irish or Scottish girl,--especially a girl born and bred in\nthe country, is wonderfully fresh and lovely and lasting, and often\naccompanies her right through her life to old age. That is, of course,\nif she leaves it alone, and is satisfied merely to keep it clean,\nwithout any \u201cadornment\u201d from the beauty doctor. And, though steadily\nwithholding the divine word \u201cbeauty\u201d from the greater portion of the\n\u201cbeauties\u201d at the Court of King Edward VII. it is unquestionably the\nfact that the prettiest women in the world are the British. Americans\nare likely to contest this. They will, as indeed in true chivalry they\nmust, declare that their own \u201cbeauties\u201d are best. But one can only\nspeak from personal experience, and I am bound to say that I have never\nseen a pretty American woman pretty enough to beat a pretty British\nwoman. This, with every possible admission made for the hard-working\nsociety paragraphist, compelled to write of numerous \u201cbeautiful\u201d\nLadies So-and-So, and \u201ccharming\u201d Mrs. Cashboxes, who, when one comes to\nlook at them are neither \u201cbeautiful\u201d nor \u201ccharming\u201d at all.\n\nBut British feminine prettiness would be infinitely more captivating\nthan it is, if it were associated with a little extra additional\ntouch of vivacity and intelligence. When it is put in the shade, (as\nfrequently happens,) by the sparkling allurements of the Viennese\ncoquette, the graceful _savoir faire_ of the French _mondaine_, or\nthe enticing charm of lustrous-eyed sirens from southern Italy, it\nis merely because of its lack of wit. It is a good thing to have a\npretty face; but if the face be only like a wax mask, moveless and\nexpressionless, it soon ceases to attract. The loveliest picture\nwould bore us if we had to stare at it dumbly all day. And there is\nundeniably a stiffness, a formality, and often a most repellent and\nunsympathetic coldness about the British fair sex, which re-acts upon\nthe men and women of other more warm-hearted and impulsive nations,\nin a manner highly disadvantageous to the ladies of our Fortunate\nIsles. For it is not _real_ stiffness, or _real_ formality after\nall,--nor is it the snowy chill of a touch-me-not chastity, by any\nmeans,--it is merely a most painful, and in many cases, most absurd\nself-consciousness. British women are always more or less wondering\nwhat their sister women are thinking about them. They can manage their\nmen all right; but they put on curious and unbecoming airs directly\nother feminine influences than their own come into play. They invite\nthe comment of the opposite sex, but they dread the criticism of their\nown. The awkward girl who sits on the edge of a chair with her feet\nscraping the carpet and her hands twiddling uneasily in her lap, is\nawkward simply because she has, by some means or other, been made\nself-conscious,--and because, in the excess of this self-consciousness\nshe stupidly imagines every one in the room must be staring at her.\nThe average London woman, dressed like a fashion-plate, who rustles\nin at afternoon tea, with her card-case well in evidence, and her\nface carefully set in proper \u201cvisiting lines,\u201d offers herself up in\nthis way as a subject for the satirist, out of the same disfiguring\nself-consciousness, which robs her entirely of the indifferent ease\nand careless grace which should,--to quote the greatest of American\nphilosophers, Emerson,--cause her to \u201crepel interference by a decided\nand proud choice of influences,\u201d and to \u201cinspire every beholder with\nsomething of her own nobleness.\u201d She is probably not _naturally_\nformal,--she is no doubt exceedingly constrained and uncomfortable\nin her fashionable attire,--and one may take it for granted that\nshe would rather be herself than try to be a Something which is a\nNothing. But Custom and Convention are her bogie men, always guarding\nher on either side, and investing her too often with such deplorable\nself-consciousness that her eye becomes furtive, her mouth hard and\nsecretive, her conversation inane, and her whole personality an\nuncomfortable exhalation of stupidity and dullness.\n\nNevertheless, setting Custom and Convention apart for the nonce, and\nbidding them descend into the shadows of hypocrisy which are their\nnative atmosphere, the British woman remains the prettiest in the\nworld. What a galaxy of feminine charms can be gathered under the word\n\u201cBritish\u201d! England, Ireland, Wales and Scotland offer all together such\ncountless examples of woman\u2019s loveliness, that it would be difficult,\nif not impossible, to give the prize for good looks to one portion of\nBritain more than to the other. America, so far as her samples have\nbeen, and are, seen in Europe, cannot outrival the \u201cOld Country\u201d in the\nprettiness of its women. But it is prettiness only; not Beauty. Beauty\nremains intrinsically where it was first born and first admitted into\nthe annals of Art and Literature. Its home is still in \u201cthe Isles of\nGreece, where burning Sappho loved and sung.\u201d\n\nNothing that was ever created in the way of female loveliness can\nsurpass the beauty of a beautiful Greek woman. True, she is as rare as\na butterfly in a snow storm. True, the women of Athens and of Greece\ngenerally, taken in the rough majority, are not on an average, even\npretty. Nevertheless the palm of beauty remains with them--because\nthere are always two,--or may be three of them, who dawn year by year\nupon the world in all the old perfection of the classic models, and\nwho may truly be taken for newly-descended goddesses, so faultlessly\nformed, so exquisitely featured are they. They are not famed by the\nparagraphist, and they probably will never get the chance of moving in\nthe circles of the British \u201cUpper Ten\u201d or the American \u201cFour Hundred.\u201d\nBut they are the daughters of Aphrodite still, and hold fast their\nheavenly mother\u2019s attributes. It is easy to find a hundred or more\npretty British and American women for one beautiful Greek--but when\nfound, the beautiful Greek eclipses them all. She is still the wonder\nof the world,--the crown of womanly beauty at its best. She shows the\nheritage of her race in her regal step and freedom of movement,--in\nthe lovely curves of her figure, in the classic perfection of her face\nwith its broad brows, lustrous eyes, arched sweet lips and delicate\ncontour of chin and throat, and perhaps more than all in the queenly\nindifference she bears towards her own loveliness. So,\n\n\n     Fill high the bowl with Samian wine,\n       On Suli\u2019s bank and Parga\u2019s shore,\n     Exists the remnant of a line\n       Such as the Doric mothers bore;\n     And there perhaps some seed is sown\n     The Heracleidan blood might own!\n\n\nAnd there still, may be found the perfection of womanhood--the one rare\nGreek lily, which blossoming at few and far intervals shows in its\nexquisite form and colouring what Woman should be at her fairest. To\nher, therefore, must be given the Palm of Beauty. But after the lily,\nthen the rose!--or rather the roses, multitudinous, varied, and always\nsweet--of the Fortunate Isles of Britain.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MADNESS OF CLOTHES\n\n\nTo dress well is a social duty. Every educated self-respecting woman\nis bound to clothe her person as neatly, as tastefully and becomingly\nas she can. But just as a virtue when carried to excess develops into\na vice, so the art of dressing well, when allowed to overstep its\nlegitimate uses and expenditure, easily runs into folly and madness.\nThe reckless extravagance of women\u2019s dress at the present day is little\nshort of criminal insanity. A feverish desire to outvie one another in\nthe manner and make of their garments appears to possess every feminine\ncreature whose lot in life places her outside positive penury. The\ninordinately wealthy, the normally rich, the well-to-do middle class\nand the shabby genteel are all equally infected by the same hysterical\nfrenzy. And it is a frenzy which is humoured and encouraged on all\nsides by those who should have the sense, the intelligence and the\nforesight to realize the danger of such a tendency, and the misery to\nwhich in many cases it is surely bound to lead.\n\nLatterly there have been certain growlings and mutterings of discontent\nfrom husbands who have had to pay certain unexpectedly long bills for\ntheir wives\u2019 \u201ccreations in costume\u201d--but, as a matter of fact, it is\nreally the men who are chiefly to blame for the wicked waste of money\nthey afterwards resent and deplore. They are the principal instigators\nof the mischief,--the aiders and abettors of the destruction of their\nown credit and good name. For they openly show their admiration for\nwomen\u2019s clothes more than for the women clothed,--that is to say,\nthey are more easily captured by art than by nature. No group of male\nflatterers is ever seen round a woman whose dress is un-stylish or\notherwise \u201cout-of-date.\u201d She may have the sweetest face in the world,\nthe purest nature and the truest heart, but the \u201cdressed\u201d woman, the\ndyed, the artistically \u201cfaked\u201d woman will nearly always score a triumph\nover her so far as masculine appreciation and attention are concerned.\n\nThe \u201cfaked\u201d woman has everything on her side. The Drama supports her.\nThe Press encourages her. Whole columns in seemingly sane journals are\ndevoted to the description of her attire. Very little space is given to\nthe actual criticism of a new play _as_ a play, but any amount of room\nis awarded to glorified \u201cgushers\u201d concerning the actresses\u2019 gowns. Of\ncourse it has to be borne in mind that the \u201cwriting up\u201d of actresses\u2019\ngowns serves a double purpose. First, the \u201ccreators\u201d of the gowns are\nadvertised, and may in their turn advertise,--which in these days of\nmultitudinous rival newspapers, is a point not to be lost sight of.\nSecondly, the actresses themselves are advertised and certain gentlemen\nwith big noses who move \u201cbehind the scenes,\u201d and are the lineal\ndescendants of Moses and Aaron, may thereby be encouraged to speculate\nin theatrical \u201cshares.\u201d Whereas criticism of the play itself does no\ngood to anybody nowadays, not even to the dramatic author. For if such\ncriticism be unfavourable, the public say it is written by a spiteful\nenemy,--if eulogistic, by a \u201cfriend at court,\u201d and they accept neither\nverdict. They go to see the thing for themselves, and if they like it\nthey keep on going. If not, they stay away, and there\u2019s an end.\n\nBut to the gowns there is no end. The gowns, even in an _un_-successful\nplay, are continuously talked of, continuously written about,\ncontinuously sketched in every sort of pictorial, small and great,\nfashionable or merely provincial. And the florid language,--or shall\nwe say the \u2018fine writing\u2019?--used to describe clothes generally, on and\noff the stage, is so ravingly sentimental, so bewilderingly turgid,\nthat it can only compare with the fervid verbosity of the early\neighteenth century romancists, or the biting sarcasm of Thackeray\u2019s\n_Book of Snobs_, from which the following passage, descriptive of \u2018Miss\nSnobky\u2019s\u2019 presentation gown, may be aptly quoted:--\n\n\u201c_Habit de Cour_ composed of a yellow nankeen illusion dress, over a\nslip of rich pea-green corduroy, trimmed _en tablier_ with bouquets\nof Brussels sprouts, the body and sleeves handsomely trimmed with\ncalimanco, and festooned with a pink train and white radishes.\nHead-dress, carrots and lappets.\u201d\n\nBy way of a modern pendant to the above grotesque suggestion, one\nextract from a lengthy \u201cclothes\u201d article recently published in a daily\npaper will suffice:\n\n\u201cAmong the numerous evening and dinner gowns that the young lady has\nin her _corbeille_, one, _a l\u2019Imp\u00e9ratrice Eug\u00e9nie_, is very lovely.\nThe foundation is of white Liberty, with a tulle overdress on which\nare four flounces of Chantilly lace arranged in zig-zags, connected\ntogether with shaded pink _gloria_ ribbons arranged in waves and\nwreaths. This is repeated on the low corsage and on the long drooping\nsleeves of the high bodice.\n\n\u201cA richer toilette is of white Liberty silk, with a flounce of\nmagnificent Brussels lace festooned by leaves of the chestnut, formed\nof white satin wrought in iris beads and silver on white tulle. The\nwhole gown is strewn with like leaves of graduating sizes, and the\nlow corsage has a _berthe_ of Brussels lace ornamented with smaller\nchestnut leaves as are also the sleeves.\u201d And so on, in unlimited\nbursts of enthusiasm.\n\nI cannot say I am in the least sorry when \u201cmodistes\u201d who \u2018create\u2019\ncostumes at forty, fifty and even one hundred and two hundred guineas\nper gown, are mulcted of some of their unlawful profits by defaulting\ncreditors. In nine cases out of ten they richly deserve it. They are\nrightly punished, when they accept, with fulsome flattery and servile\nobsequiousness a \u201ctitle\u201d as sufficient guarantee for credit, and in\nthe end find out that Her Grace the Duchess, or Miladi the Countess is\nperhaps more wickedly reckless and unprincipled than any plain Miss, or\nMrs. ever born, and that these _grandes dames_ frequently make use of\nboth rank and position to cheat their tradespeople systematically. The\ntradespeople are entirely to blame for trusting them, and this is daily\nand continuously proved. But the touching crook-knee\u2019d worship of mere\nsocial rank still remains an ingredient of the mercantile nature,--it\nis inborn and racial,--a kind of microbe in the blood generated there\nin old feudal times, when, all over the world, pedlars humbly sought\nthe patronage and favour of robber chieftains, and unloaded their packs\nin the \u2018Castle hall\u2019 for the pleasure of the fair ladies who were\nkept at home in \u201cdurance vile\u201d by their rough, unwashen lords. And so\nperhaps it has chanced through long custom and heritage, that at this\npresent day there is nothing quite so servile in all creation as the\nspectacle of the \u2018modiste\u2019 in attendance on a Duchess, or a \u2018ladies\u2019\ntailor\u2019 bending himself double while deferentially presuming to measure\nthe hips of a Princess. It is quaint,--it is pitiful,--it is intensely,\ndeliciously comic. And when the price of the garment is never clearly\nstated, and the bill never sent in for years lest offence is given to\n\u2018Her Grace\u2019 or \u2018Her Highness\u2019--by firms that will, nevertheless, have\nno scruple in sending dunning letters and legal threats to _un_-titled\nladies, who may possibly keep them waiting a little for their money,\nbut whose position and credit are more firmly established than those of\nany \u2018great\u2019 personages with handles to their names, it is not without\na certain secret satisfaction that one hears of such fawning flunkeys\nof trade getting well burnt in the fires of loss and disaster. For in\nany case, it may be taken for granted that they always charge a double,\nsometimes treble price for a garment or costume, over and above what\nthat garment or costume is really worth, and one may safely presume\nthey base all their calculations on possible loss. It is no uncommon\nthing to be told that such and such an evening blouse or bodice copied\n\u2018from the Paris model\u2019 will cost Forty Guineas--\u201cWe _might_ possibly do\nit for Thirty Five,\u201d--says the costumier meditatively, studying with\nwell-assumed gravity the small, flimsy object he is thus pricing, a\ntrifle made up of chiffon, ribbon, and tinsel gew-gaws, knowing all the\nwhile that everything of which it is composed could be purchased for\nmuch less than ten pounds. Twenty-five guineas, forty-five guineas,\nsixty-five guineas are quite common prices for gowns at any of the\nfashionable shops to-day. One cannot, of course, blame the modistes\nand outfitting firms for asking these absurd fancy prices if they can\nget them. If women are mad, it is perhaps wise, just, and reasonable\nto take financial advantage of their madness while it lasts. Certainly\nno woman of well-balanced brain would give unlimited prices for gowns\nwithout most careful inquiry as to the correct value of the material\nand trimming used for them,--and the feminine creature who runs into\nthe elaborate show-rooms of Madame Zo\u00eb or Berenice, or Faustina, and\norders frocks by the dozen, saying chirpingly: \u201cOh, yes! _You_ know\nhow they ought to be made! Your taste is always perfect! Make them\n_very_ pretty, won\u2019t you?--_much_ prettier than those you made for Lady\nClaribel! Yes!--thanks! I\u2019ll leave it all in your hands!\u201d this woman, I\nsay, is a mere lunatic, gibbering nonsense, who could not, if she were\nasked, tell where twice two making four might possibly lead her in the\nsum-total of a banking account.\n\nNot very long ago there was held a wonderful \u201csymposium\u201d of dress at\nthe establishment of a certain modiste. It was intensely diverting,\nentertaining and instructive. A stage was erected at one end of a long\nroom, and on that stage, with effective flashes of lime-light played\nfrom the \u201cwings\u201d at intervals, and the accompaniment of a Hungarian\nband, young ladies wearing \u201ccreations\u201d in costume, stood, sat, turned,\ntwisted and twirled, and finally walked down the room between rows\nof spectators to show themselves and the gowns they carried, off to\nthe best possible advantage. The whole thing was much better than a\nstage comedy. Nothing could surpass the quaint peacock-like vanity\nof the girl _mannequins_ who strutted up and down, moving their arms\nabout to exhibit their sleeves and swaying their hips to accentuate\nthe fall and flow of flounces and draperies. It was a marvellous sight\nto behold, and it irresistibly reminded one of a party of impudent\nchildren trying on for fun all their mother\u2019s and elder sisters\u2019 best\n\u201clong dresses\u201d while the unsuspecting owners were out of the way. There\nwas a \u201cprogramme\u201d of the performance fearfully and wonderfully worded,\nthe composition, so we were afterwards \u201cwith bated breath\u201d informed,\nof Madame la Modiste\u2019s sister, a lady, who by virtue of having written\ntwo small skits on the manners, customs and modes of society, is, in\nsome obliging quarters of the Press called a \u201cnovelist.\u201d This programme\ninstructed us as to the proper views we were expected to take of the\ncostumes paraded before us, as follows:\n\n\nFOR THE DINNER PARTY\n\n\n     Topas\n     Elusive Joy\n     Pleasure\u2019s Thrall\n     Red Mouth of a Venomous Flower\n\n\nThe \u201cRed Mouth of a Venomous Flower\u201d was a harmless-looking girl in a\nbright scarlet toilette,--neither the toilette nor the sensational\ntitle suited her. But perhaps the \u201cCult of Chiffon\u201d presented the most\nvaried and startling phases to a properly receptive mind. Thus it ran:\n\n\nTHE CULT OF CHIFFON\n\n\n     The Dirge O\u2019er the Death of Pleasure\n     The Fire Motif\n     The Meaning of Life is Clear\n     Moss and Starlight\n     Incessant Soft Desire\n     A Frenzied Song of Amorous Things\n     A Summer Night Has a Thousand Powers\n\n\nFaint gigglings shook the bosoms of the profane as the \u201cIncessant Soft\nDesire\u201d glided into view, followed by \u201cA Frenzied Song of Amorous\nThings,\u201d--indeed it would have been positively unnatural and inhuman\nhad no one laughed. Curious to relate, there were quite a large number\nof \u201cgentlemen\u201d at this remarkable exhibition of feminine clothes,\nmany of them well known and easily recognizable. Certain _flaneurs_\nof Bond Street, various loafers familiar to the Carlton \u201clounge,\u201d and\ncelebrated Piccadilly-trotters, formed nearly one half of the audience,\nand stared with easy insolence at the \u201cRed Mouth of a Venomous Flower\u201d\nor smiled suggestively at \u201cIncessant Soft Desire.\u201d They were invited to\nstare and smile, and they did it. But there was something remarkably\noffensive in their way of doing it, and perhaps if a few thick boots\nworn on the feet of rough but honest workmen had come into contact\nwith their smooth personalities on their way out of Madame Modiste\u2019s\nestablishment, it might have done them good and taught them a useful\nlesson. Needless to say that the prices of the Madame Modiste who could\nset forth such an exhibition of melodramatically designated feminine\napparel as \u201cThe Night has a Thousand Eyes,\u201d or \u201cSpring\u2019s Delirium,\u201d\nwere in suitable proportion to a \u201cfrenzied song of amorous things.\u201d\nSuch amorous things as are \u201ccreated\u201d in her establishment are likely to\nmake husbands and fathers know exactly what \u201ca frenzied song\u201d means.\nWhen the payment of the bills is concerned, they will probably sing\nthat \u201cfrenzied song\u201d themselves.\n\nIt is quite easy to dress well and tastefully without\nspending a very great deal of money. It certainly requires\nbrain--thought--foresight--taste--and comprehension of the harmony\nof colours. But the blind following of a fashion because Madame This\nor That says it is \u201cchic\u201d or \u201cle dernier cri,\u201d or some parrot-like\nrecommendation of the sort, is mere stupidity on the part of the\nfollowers. To run up long credit for dresses, without the least idea\nhow the account is ever going to be paid, is nothing less than a\ncriminal act. It is simply fraud. And such fraud re-acts on the whole\ncommunity.\n\nExtravagant taste in dress is infectious. Most of us are impressed by\nthe King\u2019s sensible and earnest desire that the Press should use its\ninfluence for good in fostering amity between ourselves and foreign\ncountries. If the Press would equally use its efforts to discourage\nflorid descriptions of dress in their columns, much of the wild and\nwilful extravagance which is frequently the ruin of otherwise happy\nhomes, might be avoided. When Lady A sees her loath\u00ebd rival Lady B\u2019s\ndress described in half a column of newspaper \u201cgush\u201d she straightway\nyearns and schemes for a whole column of the same kind. When simple\ncountry girls read the amazing items of the \u201ctoilettes\u201d worn by some\nnotorious \u201cdemi-mondaine,\u201d they begin to wonder how it is she has\nsuch things, and to speculate as to whether they will ever be able\nto obtain similar glorified apparel for themselves. And so the evil\ngrows, till by and by it becomes a pernicious disease, and women look\nsuperciliously at one another, not for what they are, but merely\nto estimate the quality and style of what they put on their backs.\nVirtue goes to the wall if it does not wear a fashionable frock.\nVice is welcomed everywhere if it is clothed in a Paris \u201ccreation.\u201d\nNevertheless, Ben Jonson\u2019s lines still hold good:\n\n\n     Still to be neat, still to be drest,\n     As you were going to a feast;\n     Still to be powder\u2019d, still perfumed:\n     Lady, it is to be presumed,\n     Though art\u2019s hid causes are not found\n     All is not sweet, all is not sound.\n\n\n\u201cAll is not sweet, all is not sound,\u201d when women think little or\nnothing of ordering extravagant costumes which they well know they will\nnever be able to pay for, unless through some dishonourable means, such\nas gambling at Bridge for example. Madame Modiste is quite prepared\nfor such an exigency, for she does not forget to show \u201ccreations\u201d in\nclothes which, she softly purrs, are \u201csuitable for Bridge parties.\u201d\nThey may possibly be called--\u201cThe Tricky Trump\u201d--or \u201cThe Dazzling of\na Glance too long\u201d or \u201cThe Deft Impress of a Finger nail\u201d! One never\nknows!\n\nAny amount of fashion papers find their way into the average British\nhousehold, containing rabid nonsense such as the following:\n\n\u201cThere were wonderful stories afloat about Miss B\u2019s dresses. Rumour has\nit that a dressmaker came over specially from New York to requisition\nthe services of the most important artistes in Paris, and gold lace and\nhand embroidery were used with no frugal hand; yet, _despite this_ and\nthe warm welcome accorded her by an English audience, Miss B does not\nseem to have made up her mind to stay with us long, for it is said the\nend of June will see the end of her season. We have sketched her in\nher pink chiffon wrap, which is made in the Empire shape covered with\nchiffon and decorated with bunches of chiffon flowers and green leaves\nheld with bows of pink satin--a most dainty affair, full of delicate\ndetail and pre-eminently becoming.\u201d\n\n\u201cDespite this,\u201d--is rich indeed! Despite the fact that \u201cgold lace and\nhand-embroidery\u201d were used \u201cwith no frugal hand,\u201d Miss B is determined\nto leave \u201cthe gay, the gay and glittering scene,\u201d and deprive us of\nher \u201cpink chiffon wrap in the Empire shape\u201d! A positively disastrous\nconclusion! Nay, but hearken to the maudlin murmurs of the crazed\nworshippers of Mumbo-Jumbo \u201cFashion\u201d--\n\n\u201cDo you yearn for a grey muslin dress? Half my \u2018smart girl\u2019\nacquaintances are buying grey muslins as though their lives depended\non it. I fell in love with one of them that was in bouillon\u00e9 gathers\nall round the skirt to within eight inches of the hem, while the\nyoke had similar but smaller bouillon\u00e9s run through, well below the\nshoulder-line, with a wide chin\u00e9 ribbon knotted low in front. Beneath\nthis encircling ribbon the bodice pouched in blouse fashion over a\nchin\u00e9 waist-ribbon to match, with long pendant ends one side; the\nsleeves were a distinct novelty, being set in a number of small puffs\nbelow one big one, a chin\u00e9 ribbon being knotted around the arm between\neach puff.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you \u2018yearn\u2019 for a grey muslin dress?\u201d O ye gods! One is reminded of\na comic passage in the \u201cArtemus Ward\u201d papers, where it is related how\na lady of the \u201cFree Love\u201d persuasion rushed at the American humorist,\nbrandishing a cotton umbrella and crying out: \u201cDost thou not yearn\nfor me?\u201d to which adjuration Artemus replied, while he \u201cdodged\u201d the\numbrella--\u201cNot a yearn!\u201d\n\n\u201cI should like,\u201d--says one of the poor imbecile \u201cdress\u201d devotees, \u201cthe\nskirt finished off with a wadded hem, or perhaps a few folds of satin,\nbut otherwise it should be left severely plain. These satin, brocade,\nor velvet dresses should stand or fall by their own merits, and never\nbe over-elaborated.\u201d\n\nTrue! And is it \u201ca wadded hem\u201d or a padded room that should \u201cfinish\noff\u201d these people who spread the madness of clothes far and wide till\nit becomes a positively dangerous and immoral infection? One wonders!\nFor there is no more mischievous wickedness in society to-day than the\nflamboyant, exuberant, wilful extravagance of women\u2019s dress. It has far\nexceeded the natural and pretty vanity of permissible charm, good taste\nand elegance. It has become a riotous waste,--an ugly disease of moral\nprinciple, ending at last in the disgrace and death of many a woman\u2019s\ngood name.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DECAY OF HOME LIFE IN ENGLAND\n\n\nWhen people tell the truth they are generally disliked. From Socrates,\nto the latest of his modern philosophic imitators, the bowl of\ndeath-dealing hemlock has always been mixed by the world and held to\nthe lips of those who dare to say uncomfortably plain things. When\nthe late W. E. H. Lecky set down the truth of Cecil Rhodes, in his\nbook entitled _The Map of Life_, and I, the present writer, ventured\nto quote the passage in \u201cThe Vulgarity of Wealth,\u201d when that article\nwas first published, a number of uninformed individuals rashly accused\nme of \u201cabusing Cecil Rhodes.\u201d They were naturally afraid to attack\nthe greater writer. Inasmuch, said they: \u201cIf Mr. Lecky had _really_\nsuggested that Cecil Rhodes was not, like Brutus, \u2018an honourable man,\u2019\nhe, Mr. Lecky, would never have received the King\u2019s new \u2018Order of\nMerit,\u2019 nor would Mr. Rhodes have been the subject of so much eulogy.\nFor, of course, the King has read _The Map of Life_, and is aware of\nthe assertions contained in it.\u201d Now I wish, dear gossips all, you\nwould read _The Map of Life_ for yourselves! You will find, if you do,\nnot only plain facts concerning Rhodes, and the vulgarity, i.e. the\nostentation of wealth, but much useful information on sundry other\nmatters closely concerning various manners and customs of the present\nday. For one example, consider the following:\n\n\u201cThe amount of pure and almost spontaneous malevolence in the world is\nprobably far greater than we at first imagine.... No one, for example,\ncan study the anonymous press, without perceiving how large a part of\nit is employed _systematically_, _persistently_ and _deliberately_ in\nfostering class, or individual or international hatreds, and often _in\ncirculating falsehoods to attain this end_. Many newspapers notoriously\ndepend for their existence on such appeals, and more than any other\ninstruments, they inflame and perpetuate those permanent animosities\nwhich most endanger the peace of mankind. The fact that such newspapers\nare becoming in many countries the main and almost exclusive reading of\nthe million, forms the most serious deduction from the value of modern\neducation.\u201d\n\nLet it be noted, once and for all, that it is not the present writer\nwho thus speaks of \u201cthe anonymous press,\u201d but the experienced,\nbrilliant and unprejudiced scholar who was among the first to hold the\nKing\u2019s \u201cOrder of Merit.\u201d And so once again to our muttons:--\n\n\u201cSome of the very worst acts of which man can be guilty are acts which\nare commonly untouched by law, and only faintly censured by opinion.\nPolitical crimes, which a false and sickly sentiment so readily\ncondones, are conspicuous among them. Men who have been gambling for\nwealth and power with the lives and fortunes of multitudes; men who\nfor their own personal ambition are prepared to sacrifice the most\nvital interests of their country; men, who in time of great national\ndanger and excitement deliberately launch falsehood after falsehood\nin the public press, in the well-founded conviction that they will do\ntheir evil work before they can be contradicted, may be met shameless\nand almost uncensured in Parliaments and drawing-rooms. The amount\nof false statements in the world which cannot be attributed to mere\ncarelessness, inaccuracy or exaggeration, but which is plainly both\ndeliberate and malevolent, can hardly be overrated. Sometimes it is\ndue to a mere desire to create a lucrative sensation, or to gratify\na personal dislike, or even to an unprovoked malevolence which takes\npleasure in inflicting pain. * * * Very often it (i.e. the false\nstatement in the press) is intended for purposes of stock-jobbing.\nThe financial world is percolated with it. It is the common method\nof raising or depreciating securities, attracting investors, preying\nupon the ignorant and credulous, and enabling dishonest men to rise\nrapidly to fortune. When the prospect of speedy wealth is in sight,\nthere are always numbers who are perfectly prepared to pursue courses\ninvolving the utter ruin of multitudes, endangering the most serious\ninternational interests, perhaps bringing down upon the world all the\ncalamities of war.... It is much to be questioned whether the greatest\ncriminals are to be found within the walls of prisons. Dishonesty on\na small scale nearly always finds its punishment. Dishonesty on a\ngigantic scale continually escapes.... In the management of companies,\nin the great fields of industrial enterprise and speculation, gigantic\nfortunes are acquired by the ruin of multitudes; and by methods which\nthough they avoid legal penalties are essentially fraudulent. In the\nmajority of cases these crimes are perpetrated by educated men who are\nin possession of all the necessaries, of most comforts, and of many\nluxuries of life, and some of the worst of them are powerfully favoured\nby the conditions of modern civilization. There is no greater scandal\nor moral evil in our time than the readiness with which public opinion\nexcuses them, and the influence and social position it accords to mere\nwealth, even when it has been acquired by notorious dishonesty, or when\nit is expended with absolute selfishness or in ways that are absolutely\ndemoralising. In many respects the moral progress of mankind seems to\nme incontestable, but it is extremely doubtful whether in this respect,\nsocial morality, especially in England and America, has not seriously\nretrograded.\u201d\n\n               *       *       *       *       *\n                   *       *       *       *\n                       *       *       *\n                           *       *\n\nNow had I written the foregoing lines, some hundred or so of\npleasant newspaper friends would have accused me of \u201cscreaming\u201d out\na denunciation of wealth, or of \u201crailing\u201d against society. But as\nLecky,--with the King\u2019s \u201cOrder of Merit,\u201d appended to his distinguished\nname,--was the real author of the quotation, I am not without hope\nthat his views may be judged worthy of consideration, even though his\nworks may not be as thoughtfully studied as their excellence merits.\nIt is not I--it was Mr. Lecky, who doubted whether \u201csocial morality\nboth in England and America, had not seriously retrograded.\u201d But, if\nit has so retrograded, there need be very little difficulty in tracing\nthe retrogression to its direct source,--namely, to the carelessness,\nvanity, extravagance, lack of high principle, and entire lapse of\ndignity in the women who constitute and lead what is called the Smart\nSet. These women cannot be termed as of the Aristocracy, for the\nAristocracy, (by which term I mean those who are lineally entitled\nto be considered the actual British nobility, and not the mushroom\ncreations of yesterday), will, more often than not, decline to have\nanything to do with them. True, there are some \u201cgreat\u201d ladies, who\nhave deliberately and voluntarily fallen from their high estate in\nthe sight of a scandalised public, and who, by birth and breeding,\nshould assuredly have possessed more pride and self-respect, than to\nwilfully descend into the mire. But the very fact that these few have\nso lamentably failed to support the responsibilities of their position,\nmakes it all the sadder for the many good and true women of noble\nfamily who endeavour, as best they may, to stem the tide of harmful\ncircumstance, and to show by the retired simplicity and intellectual\ncharm of their own lives, that though society is fast becoming a\ndisordered wilderness of American and South African \u201cscrub,\u201d there yet\nremains within it a flourishing scion of the brave old English Oak of\nHonour, guarded by the plain device \u201cNoblesse Oblige.\u201d\n\nThe influence of women bears perhaps more strongly than any other\npower on the position and supremacy of a country. Corrupt women make\na corrupt State,--noble, God-fearing women make a noble, God-fearing\npeople. It is not too much to say that the prosperity or adversity\nof a nation rests in the hands of its women. They are the mothers of\nthe men,--they make and mould the characters of their sons. And the\ncentre of their influence should be, as Nature intended it to be, the\nHome. Home is the pivot round which the wheel of a country\u2019s highest\nstatesmanship should revolve,--the preservation of Home, its interests,\nits duties and principles, should be the aim of every good citizen. But\nwith the \u201cretrogression of social morality,\u201d as Mr. Lecky phrased it,\nand as part and parcel of that backward action and movement, has gone\nthe gradual decay of home life, and a growing indifference to home as\na centre of attraction and influence, together with the undermining\nof family ties and affections, which, rightly used and considered,\nshould form the strongest bulwark to our national strength. The love\nof home,--the desire to _make_ a home,--is far stronger in the poorer\nclasses nowadays than in the wealthy or even the moderately rich of the\ngeneral community. Women of the \u201cupper ten\u201d are no longer pre-eminent\nas rulers of the home, but are to be seen daily and nightly as noisy\nand pushing frequenters of public restaurants. The great lady is\nseldom or never to be found \u201cat home\u201d on her own domain,--but she may\nbe easily met at the Carlton, Prince\u2019s, or the Berkeley (on Sundays).\nThe old-world ch\u00e2telaine of a great house who took pride in looking\nafter the comfort of all her retainers,--who displayed an active\ninterest in every detail of management,--surrounding herself with\nchoice furniture, fine pictures, sweet linen, beautiful flowers, and\nhome delicates of her own personal make or supervision, is becoming\nwell-nigh obsolete. \u201cIt is such a bore being at home!\u201d is quite an\nordinary phrase with the gawk-girl of the present day, who has no idea\nof the value of rest as an aid to beauty, or of the healthful and\nstrengthening influences of a quiet and well-cultivated mind, and who\nhas made herself what is sometimes casually termed a \u201csight\u201d by her\nskill at hockey, her speed in cycling, and her general \u201crushing about,\u201d\nin order to get anywhere away from the detested \u201chome.\u201d The mother of\na family now aspires to seem as young as her daughters, and among the\nvanishing graces of society may be noted the grace of old age. Nobody\nis old nowadays. Men of sixty wed girls of sixteen, women of fifty lead\nboys of twenty to the sacrificial altar. Such things are repulsive,\nabominable and unnatural, but they are done every day, and a certain\n\u201csocial set,\u201d smirk the usual conventional hypocritical approval, few\nhaving the courage to protest against what they must inwardly recognize\nas both outrageous and indecent. The real \u201cold\u201d lady, the real \u201cold\u201d\ngentleman will soon be counted among the \u201crare and curious\u201d specimens\nof the race. The mother who was _not_ \u201cmarried at sixteen,\u201d will ere\nlong be a remarkable prodigy, and the paterfamilias who never explains\nthat he \u201cmade an unfortunate marriage when quite a boy,\u201d will rank\nbeside her as a companion phenomenon. We have only to scan the pages of\nthose periodicals which cater specially for fashionable folk, to see\nwhat a frantic dread of age pervades all classes of pleasure-loving\nsociety. The innumerable nostrums for removing wrinkles, massaging or\n\u201csteaming\u201d the complexion, the \u201ccoverings\u201d for thin hair, the \u201crays,\u201d\nof gold or copper or auburn, which are cunningly contrived for grey,\nor to use the more polite word, \u201cfaded,\u201d tresses, the great army of\nmanicurists, masseurs and \u201cbeauty-specialists,\u201d who, in the most\nclever way, manage to make comfortable incomes out of the general\npanic which apparently prevails among their patrons at the inflexible,\nunstoppable march of Time,--all these things are striking proofs of\nthe constant desperate fight kept up by a large and foolish majority\nagainst the laws of God and of Nature. Nor is the category confined to\npersons of admittedly weak intellect, as might readily be imagined,\nfor just as the sapient Mr. Andrew Lang has almost been convicted\nof a hesitating faith in magic crystals, (God save him!) so are the\nnames of many men, eminent in scholarship and politics, \u201cdown on the\nlist\u201d of the dyer, the steamer, the padder, the muscle-improver, the\nnail-polisher, the wrinkle-remover, and the eye-embellisher. Which\nfacts, though apparently trivial, are so many brief hints of a \u201cgiving\u201d\nin the masculine stamina. \u201cIt is but foolery; but it is such a kind of\ngain-giving as would perhaps trouble a woman.\u201d Vide _Hamlet_. Such it\nmay be,--let us hope that such it is.\n\nNo doubt much of this fantastic dread of \u201clooking old,\u201d arises from the\nfact that nowadays age, instead of receiving the honour it merits, is\nfrequently made the butt of ignorant and vulgar ridicule. One exception\nalone is allowed in the case of our gracious Queen Alexandra, who\nsupports her years with so much ease and scarcely diminished beauty.\nBut there are hosts of other women beside the Queen whom it would\nseem that \u201cage cannot wither,\u201d--Sarah Bernhardt, for example, whose\nbrilliant vitality is the envy of all her feminine compeers; while\nmany leading \u201cbeauties\u201d who never scored a success in their teens,\nare now trampling triumphantly over men\u2019s hearts in their forties.\nNevertheless the boorish sections of the Press and of society take a\nspecial delight, (Mr. Lecky calls it \u201cpure malevolence,\u201d) in making\nthe advance of age a subject for coarse jesting, whereas if rightly\nviewed, the decline of the body is merely the natural withering of\nthat chrysalis which contains the ever young and immortal Soul. Forced\nasunder by the strength of unfolding wings, the chrysalis _must_ break;\nand its breaking should not cause regret, but joy. Of course if faith\nin God is a mere dead letter, and poor humanity is taught to consider\nthis brief life as our sole beginning and end, I can quite imagine that\nthe advance of years may be looked upon with dislike and fear,--though\nscarcely with ridicule. But for the happy beings who are conscious that\nwhile the body grows weaker, the Soul grows stronger,--who feel that\nbehind this mere passing \u201creflection\u201d of Life, the real Life awaits\nthem, age has no drawbacks and no forebodings of evil. The prevailing\ndread of it, and the universal fighting against it, betoken an insecure\nand wholly materialistic mental attitude.\n\nOf the feminine indulgence in complexion cures, combined with the\ndeplorable lack of common sense, which shows itself in the constant\nconsultation of palmists and clairvoyants, while home and family\nduties are completely neglected or forgotten, the less said the better.\nBy such conduct women appear to be voluntarily straying back to the\ndark ages when people believed in witches and soothsayers, and would\npay five shillings or more to see the faces of their future husbands\nin the village well. Happy the man who, at the crucial moment, looked\nover the shoulder of the enquiring maiden! He was sure to be accepted\non the value of his own mirrored reflection, apart altogether from\nhis possible personal merits. To this day in Devonshire, many young\nwomen believe in the demoniacal abilities of a harmless old gentleman\nwho leads a retired life on the moors, and who is supposed to be able\nto \u201cdo something to somebody.\u201d It would be a hard task to explain\nthe real meaning of this somewhat vague phrase, but the following\nsolution can be safely given without any harm accruing. It works\nout in this way: If you know \u201csomebody,\u201d who is unpleasant to you,\ngo to this old gentleman and give him five shillings, and he will\n\u201cdo something\u201d--never mind what. It may be safely prophesied that\nhe will spend the five shillings; the rest is involved in mystery.\nNow, however silly this superstition on the part of poor Devonshire\nmaids may be, it is not a whit more so than the behaviour of the\nso-called \u201ccultured\u201d woman of fashion who spends a couple of guineas\nin one of the rooms or \u201csalons,\u201d near Bond Street, on the fraudulent\nrascal of a \u201cpalmist,\u201d or \u201ccrystal-gazer,\u201d who has the impudence\nand presumption to pretend to know her past and her future. It is a\nwonder that the women who patronize these professional cheats have\nnot more self-respect than to enter such dens, where the crime of\n\u201cobtaining money on false pretences\u201d is daily practised without\nthe intervention of the law. But all the mischief starts from the\nsame source,--neglect of home, indifference to home duties, and the\nconstant \u201cgadding-about\u201d which seems to be the principal delight and\naim of women who are amply supplied with the means of subsistence,\neither through inherited fortune, or through marriage with a wealthy\npartner, and who consider themselves totally exempt from the divine\nnecessity of Work. Yet these are truly the very ones whose duty it is\nto work the hardest, because \u201cUnto whom much is given even from him\n(or her) shall much be required.\u201d No woman who has a home need ever\nbe idle. If she employs her time properly, she will find no leisure\nfor gossiping, scandal-mongering, moping, grumbling, \u201cfadding,\u201d\nfortune-telling or crystal-gazing. Of course, if she \u201cmanages\u201d her\nhousehold merely through a paid housekeeper, she cannot be said to\ngovern the establishment at all. The housekeeper is the real mistress,\nand very soon secures such a position of authority, that the lady who\nemploys and pays her scarcely dare give an order without her. Speaking\non this subject a few days ago with a distinguished and mild-tempered\ngentleman, who has long ceased to expect any comfort or pleasure in\nthe magnificent house his wealth pays for, but which under its present\ngovernment might as well be a hotel where he is sometimes allowed\nto take the head of the table, he said to me, with an air of quiet\nresignation:--\u201cLadies have so many more interests nowadays than in my\nfather\u2019s time. They do so many things. It is really bewildering! My\nwife, for example, is always out. She has so many engagements. She has\nscarcely five minutes to herself, and is often quite knocked up with\nfatigue and excitement. She has no time to attend to housekeeping,\nand of course the children are almost entirely with their nurse\nand governess.\u201d This description applies to most households of a\nfashionable or \u201csmart\u201d character, and shows what a topsy-turveydom of\nthe laws of Nature is allowed to pass muster, and to even meet with\ngeneral approval. The \u201cwife\u201d of whom my honourable and distinguished\nfriend spoke to me, rises languidly from her bed at eleven, and\noccupies all her time till two o\u2019clock in dressing, manicuring,\n\u201ctransforming\u201d and \u201cmassaging.\u201d She also receives and sends a few\ntelegrams. At two o\u2019clock she goes out in her carriage and lunches with\nsome chosen intimates at one or other of the fashionable restaurants.\nLunch over, she returns home and lies down for an hour. Then she arrays\nherself in an elaborate tea gown and receives a favoured few in her\nboudoir, where over a cup of tea she assists to tear into piecemeal\nportions the characters of her dearest friends. Another \u201crest\u201d and\nagain the business of the toilette is resumed. When _en grande tenue_\nshe either goes out to dinner, or entertains a large party of guests at\nher own table. A _t\u00eate-\u00e0-t\u00eate_ meal with her husband would appear to\nher in the light of a positive calamity. She stays up playing \u201cBridge\u201d\ntill two or three o\u2019clock in the morning, and retires to bed more or\nless exhausted, and can only sleep with the aid of narcotics. She\nresumes the same useless existence, and perpetrates the same wicked\nwaste of time again the next day and every day. Her children she\nscarcely sees, and the management of her house is entirely removed from\nher hands. The housekeeper takes all the accounts to her husband, who\nmeekly pays the same, and lives for the most part at his club, or at\nthe houses of his various sporting friends. \u201cHome\u201d is for him a mere\nfarce. He knew what it was in his mother\u2019s day, when his grand old\nhistorical seat was a home indeed, and all the members of the family,\nyoung and old, looked upon it as the chief centre of attraction, and\nthe garnering-point of love and faith and confidence; but since he\ngrew up to manhood, and took for his life-partner a rapid lady of the\nnew Motor-School of Morals, he stands like Marius among the ruins of\nCarthage, contemplating the complete wreckage of his ship of life, and\nknowing sadly enough that he can never sail the seas of hope again.\n\nThe word \u201cHome\u201d has, or used to have, a very sacred meaning, and\nis peculiarly British. The French have no such term. \u201cChez-moi\u201d\nor \u201cchez-soi\u201d are poor substitutes, and indeed none of the Latin\nraces appear to have any expression which properly conveys the real\nsentiment. The Germans have it, and their \u201cHeimweh\u201d is as significant\nas our \u201chome-sickness.\u201d The Germans are essentially a home-loving\npeople, and this may be said of all Teutonic, Norse and Scandinavian\nraces. By far the strongest blood of the British is inherited from the\nNorth,--and as a rule the natural tendency in the pure Briton is one\nof scorn for the changeful, vagrant, idle, careless and semi-pagan\ntemperament of southern nations. As the last of our real Laureates\nsang in his own matchless way:\n\n\n     Oh, tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each\n     That bright and fierce and fickle is the South,\n     And dark and true and tender is the North!\n\n     Oh, tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown;\n     Say that I do but wanton in the South,\n     But in the North, long since, my nest is made!\n\n\n\u201cMy nest is made,\u201d is the ultimatum of the lover,--the \u201cnest\u201d or the\nhome being the natural centre of the circle of man\u2019s ambition. A happy\nhome is the best and surest safeguard against all evil; and where home\nis not happy, there the devil may freely enter and find his hands\nfull. With women, and women only, this happiness in the home must find\nits foundation. They only are responsible; for no matter how wild and\nerring a man may be, if he can always rely on finding somewhere in\nthe world a peaceful, well-ordered, and _undishonoured_ home, he will\nfeel the saving grace of it sooner or later, and turn to it as the one\nbright beacon in a darkening wilderness. But if he knows that it is a\nmere hostelry,--that his wife has no pride in it,--that other men than\nhimself have found the right to enter there,--that his servants mock\nhim behind his back as a poor, weak, credulous fool, who has lost all\nclaim to mastership or control, he grows to hate the very walls of\nthe dwelling, and does his best to lose himself and his miseries in a\nwhirlpool of dissipation and folly, which too often ends in premature\nbreakdown and death.\n\nOne often wonders if the \u201csmart\u201d ladies who cast aside the quiet\njoys of home life, in exchange for a jostling \u201cfeed\u201d at the Carlton\nor other similar resorts, have any idea of the opinion entertained of\ntheir conduct by that Great Majority, the People? The People,--without\nwhom their favoured political candidates would stand no chance of\nelection,--the People, without whose willing work, performed under\nthe heavy strain of cruel and increasing competition, they would be\nunable to enjoy the costly luxuries they deem indispensable to their\nlives,--the People, who, standing in their millions outside \u201csociety\u201d\nand its endless intrigues,--outside a complaisant or subsidized\nPress,--outside all, save God and the Right,--pass judgment on the\nevents of the day, and entertain their own strong views thereon, which,\nthough such views may not find any printed outlet, do nevertheless\nmake themselves felt in various unmistakable ways. Latterly, there has\nbeen a great clamour about servants and the lack of them. It is quite\ntrue that many ladies find it difficult to secure servants, and that\neven when they do secure them, they often turn out badly, being of an\nuntrained and incompetent class. But why is this? No doubt many causes\nwork together to make up the sum of deficiency or inefficiency, but\none reason can be given which is possibly entirely unsuspected. It is\na reason which will no doubt astonish some, and awaken the tittering\nridicule of many, but the fact remains unalterable, despite incredulity\nand denial. There is really no lack of competent domestic servants.\nOn the contrary, there are plenty of respectable, willing, smart,\nwell-instructed girls in the country, who would make what are called\n\u201ctreasures\u201d in the way of housemaids, parlourmaids and lady\u2019s-maids,\nbut whose parents stubbornly refuse to let them enter any situation\nuntil they know something of the character of the mistress with whom\nthey are expected to reside, and the general reputation of the house\nor \u201chome\u201d they are to enter. I could name dozens of cases where girls,\non enquiry, have actually declined lucrative situations, and contented\nthemselves with work at lower wages, rather than be known as \u201cin\nservice\u201d with certain distinguished ladies. \u201cMy girl,\u201d says a farmer\u2019s\nwife, \u201cis a clean, wholesome, steady lass; I\u2019d rather keep her by me\nfor a bit than see her mixing herself up with the fashionable folk,\nwho are always getting into the divorce court.\u201d This may be a bitter\npill of information for the \u201csmart set\u201d to swallow; but there is no\nexaggeration in the statement that the working classes have very little\nrespect left nowadays for the ladies of the \u201cUpper Ten,\u201d and many of\nthe wives of honest farmers, mechanics and tradesmen would consider\nthat they were voluntarily handing over their daughters to temptation\nand disgrace by allowing them to enter domestic service with certain\nsociety leaders, who, though bearing well-known names, are branded by\nequally well-known \u201ceasy virtue.\u201d\n\nDoes any one at this time of day recall a certain chapter in the\nimmortal story of _Bleak House_, by Charles Dickens, when Mr.\nRouncewell, the iron-master, a mere tradesman in the opinion of that\nhaughty old aristocrat, Sir Leicester Dedlock, desires to remove the\npretty girl, Rosa, lady\u2019s-maid to Lady Dedlock, at once from her\nsituation, if she is to marry his son? An extract from this scene may\nnot here be altogether out of place.\n\nLady Dedlock has enquired of the iron-master if the love-affair between\nher lady\u2019s-maid and his son is still going on, and receives an answer\nin the affirmative.\n\n\n     \u201c\u2018If you remember anything so unimportant,\u2019 he says--\u2018which is not\n     to be expected--you would recollect that my first thought in the\n     affair was directly opposed to her remaining here.\u2019\n\n     \u201cDismiss the Dedlock patronage from consideration? Oh! Sir\n     Leicester is bound to believe a pair of ears that have been\n     handed down to him through such a family, or he really might have\n     mistrusted their report of the iron-gentleman\u2019s observation!\n\n     \u201c\u2018It is not necessary,\u2019 observes my Lady, in her coldest manner,\n     before he can do anything but breathe amazedly, \u2018to enter into\n     these matters on either side. The girl is a very good girl; I\n     have nothing whatever to say against her; but she is so far\n     insensible to her many advantages and her good fortune, that she\n     is in love--or supposes she is, poor little fool--and unable to\n     appreciate them.\u2019\n\n     \u201cSir Leicester begs to observe that wholly alters the case. He\n     might have been sure that my Lady had the best grounds and reasons\n     in support of her view. He entirely agrees with my Lady. The young\n     woman had better go.\n\n     \u201c\u2018As Sir Leicester observed, Mr. Rouncewell, on the last\n     occasion when we were fatigued by this business,\u2019 Lady Dedlock\n     languidly proceeds, \u2018we cannot make conditions with you. Without\n     conditions, and under present circumstances, the girl is quite\n     misplaced here and had better go. I have told her so. Would you\n     wish to have her sent back to the village, or would you like to\n     take her with you, or what would you prefer?\u2019\n\n     \u201c\u2018Lady Dedlock, if I may speak plainly----\u2019\n\n     \u201c\u2018By all means.\u2019\n\n     \u201c\u2018I should prefer the course which will the sooner relieve you of\n     the encumbrance, _and remove her from her present position_.\u2019\n\n     \u201c\u2018And to speak as plainly,\u2019 she returns, with the same studied\n     carelessness, \u2018so should I. Do I understand that you will take her\n     with you?\u2019\n\n     \u201cThe iron-gentleman makes an iron bow.\n\n                  *       *       *       *       *\n\n     \u201c\u2018Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock,\u2019 says Mr. Rouncewell, after a\n     pause of a few moments; \u2018I beg to take my leave with an apology\n     for having again troubled you. I can very well understand, I\n     assure you, how very tiresome so small a matter must have become\n     to Lady Dedlock. If I am doubtful on my dealing with it, it is\n     only _because I did not at first quietly exert my influence to\n     take my young friend here away_ without troubling you at all.\n     I hope you will excuse my want of acquaintance with the polite\n     world.\u201d\n\n\nAs a matter of fact, certain rumours against Lady Dedlock\u2019s reputation,\nand hints as to her \u201cpast,\u201d have come to the ears of the honest\ntradesman, and he prefers to remove his son\u2019s betrothed wife from the\ncontact of a possible pernicious influence. The very same thing is\ndone scores of times over in many similar cases to-day.\n\nNo one knows the real character and disposition of the mistress of a\nhome better than the servants she employs, and if she is honoured and\nloved by her domestics, she stands on surer ground than the praise or\nflattery of her fashionable friends. It is all a question of \u201chome\u201d\nagain. A real home is a home to all connected with it. The very\nkitchen-maid employed in it, the boy who runs errands for the house;\nindeed every servant, from the lowest to the highest, should feel that\ntheir surroundings are truly \u201chomelike,\u201d--that things are well-ordered,\npeaceful and happy; that the presiding spirit of the place, the\nmistress, is contented with her life, and cheerfully interested in\nthe welfare of all around her,--then \u201call things work together for\ngood,\u201d and the house becomes a bulwark against adversity, a harbour\nin storm, a \u201cnest\u201d indeed, where warmth, repose, and mutual trust and\nhelp make the days sweet and the nights calm. But where the mistress\nis scarcely ever at home,--when she prefers public restaurants to her\nown dining-room,--when with each change of the seasons she is gadding\nabout somewhere, and avoiding home as much as possible, how is it to be\nexpected that even servants will care to stay with her, or ever learn\nto admire and respect her? Peace and happiness are hers to possess in\nthe natural and God-given ways of home life, if she chooses,--but if\nshe turns aside from her real sovereignty, throws down her sceptre and\nplays with the sticks and straws of the \u201chalf-world,\u201d she has only\nherself to blame if the end should prove but dire confusion and the\nbitterness of strife.\n\nApart altogether from the individual dignity and self-poise which are\ninvariably lacking to the \u201cvagrant,\u201d or home despising human being,\nthe decay of home life in England is a serious menace to the Empire\u2019s\nfuture strength. If our coming race of men have been accustomed to see\ntheir mothers indulging in a kind of high-class public house feasting,\ncombined with public house morals, and have learned from them an\nabsolute indifference to home and home ties, they in their turn will do\nlikewise and live as \u201cvagrants,\u201d--here, there and everywhere, rather\nthan as well-established, self-respecting citizens and patriots, proud\nof their country, and proud of the right to defend their homes. Even as\nit is, there are not wanting signs of a general \u201cwandering,\u201d tendency,\ncombined with morbid apathy and sickly inertia. \u201cOne place is as good\nas another,\u201d says one section of society, and \u201canything is better than\nthe English climate,\u201d says another, preparing to pack off to Egypt or\nthe Riviera at the first snap of winter. These opinions are an exact\nreversion of those expressed by our sturdy, patriotic forefathers,\nwho made the glory of Great Britain. \u201cThere is no place like England\u201d\nwas their sworn conviction, and \u201cno place like home\u201d was the essence\nof their national sentiment. The English climate, too, was quite good\nenough for them, and they made the best of it. When will the \u201cSmart\nSet\u201d grasp the fact that the much-abused weather, whatever it may be,\nis pretty much the same all over Europe? The Riviera is no warmer than\nthe Cornish coast, but _certes_ it is better provided with hotels,\nand--chiefest attraction of all--it has a Gambling Hell. The delights\nof Monte Carlo and \u201cHome,\u201d are as far apart as the poles; and those\nwho seek the one cannot be expected to appreciate the other. But such\nEnglish women as are met at the foreign gambling-tables, season after\nseason, may be looked upon as the deliberate destroyers of all that is\nbest and strongest in our national life, in the sanctity of Home, and\nthe beauty of home affections. The English Home used to be a model to\nthe world;--with a few more scandalous divorce cases in high life, it\nwill become a by-word for the mockery of nations. The following from\nthe current Press is sufficiently instructive:\n\n\n     \u201cThe crowd of well-dressed women who daily throng the court during\n     the hearing of the ... case and follow with such intense eagerness\n     every incident in the dissection of a woman\u2019s honour afford a\n     remarkable object-lesson in contemporary social progress.\n\n     \u201cLadies, richly garbed, who drive up in smart broughams,\n     emblazoned carriages, and motor-cars, and are representative of\n     the best known families in the land, fight and scramble for a\n     seat, criticize the proceedings in a low monotone, and, without\n     the smallest indication of a blush, balance every point made by\n     counsel, and follow with keen apprehension the most suggestive\n     evidence.\n\n     \u201cOthers, no less intensely interested in the sordid details of\n     divorce, come on foot--women of the great well-to-do middle-class,\n     who have all their lives had the advantage of refined and\n     educated surroundings. Some are old, with silvery hair; others\n     are middle-aged women, who bring comely daughters still in their\n     teens; others are in the first flush of womanhood; but they all\n     crowd into the narrow court and struggle to get a glimpse of the\n     chief actors in the drama, and listen to the testimony which would\n     convict them of dishonour.\u201d\n\n\nNo one in their sober senses will call any of these women fit to\nrule their homes, or to be examples to their children. Unblushingly\nindecent, and unspeakably vulgar, their brazen effrontery and shameless\ninterest in the revolting details of a revolting case, have shown them\nto be beyond the pale of all true womanhood, and utterly unfit to be\nthe mothers of our future men, or guardians of the honour of home and\nfamily. There is no \u201crailing\u201d against society in this assertion; the\nplain facts speak for themselves.\n\nThe charm of home depends, of course, entirely on the upbringing\nand character of the inmates. Stupid and illiterate people make a\ndull fireside. Morbid faddists, always talking and thinking about\nthemselves, put the fire out altogether. If I were asked my opinion as\nto the chief talent or gift for making a home happy, I should without\na moment\u2019s hesitation, reply, \u201cCheerfulness.\u201d A cheerful spirit,\nalways looking on the bright side, and determined to make the best of\neverything, is the choicest blessing and the brightest charm of home.\nPeople with a turn for grumbling should certainly live in hotels and\ndine at restaurants. They will never understand how to make, or to\nkeep, a home as it should be. But, given a cheerful, equable, and\nactive temperament, there is nothing sweeter, happier or safer for\nthe human being than Home, and the life which centres within it, and\nthe duties concerning it which demand our attention and care. There\nis no need for women to wander far afield for an outlet to their\nenergies. Their work waits for them at their own doors, in the town\nor village where they reside. No end of useful, kind and neighbourly\nthings are to hand for their doing,--every day can be filled, like\na basket of flowers, full of good deeds and gentle words by every\nwoman, poor or rich, who has either cottage or mansion which she can\ntruly call \u201cHome.\u201d Home is a simple background, against which the star\nof womanhood shines brightest and best. The modern \u201cgad-about\u201d who\nsuggests a composition of female chimpanzee and fashionable \u201cJohnny\u201d\ncombined, is a kind of sexless creature for whom \u201cHome\u201d would only be a\ncage in the general menagerie. She (or It) would merely occupy the time\nin scrambling about from perch to perch, screaming on the slightest\nprovocation, and snapping at such other similar neuter creatures who\nchanced to possess longer or more bushy tails. And it is a pity such\nan example should be thought worthy of imitation by any woman claiming\nto possess the advantage of human reason. But the Chimpanzee type of\nfemale is just now singularly _en evidence_, having a habit of pushing\nto the front on all occasions, and performing such strange antics as\ncall for public protest, and keep the grinding machinery of the law\nonly too busy. The Press, too, pays an enormous amount of unnecessary\nattention to the performances of these more or less immodest animals,\nso that it sometimes seems to our Continental neighbours as if we, as\na nation, had no real women left, but only chimpanzees. There are,\nhowever, slight stirrings of a movement among the true \u201cladies\u201d of\nEngland, those who stand more or less aloof from the \u201csmart set,\u201d--a\nmovement indicative of \u201cdrawing the line somewhere.\u201d It is possible\nthat there may yet be a revival of \u201cHome\u201d and its various lost graces\nand dignities. We may even hear of doors that will not open to\nmillionaires simply _because_ they are millionaires. Only the other day\na very great lady said to her sister in my hearing: \u201cNo, I shall not\n\u2018present\u2019 my two girls at all. Society is perfectly demoralised, and\nI would rather the children remained out of it, so far as London is\nconcerned. They are much happier in the country than in town, and much\nhealthier, and I want to keep them so. Besides, they love their home!\u201d\n\nHerein is the saving grace of life,--to love one\u2019s home. Love of home\nimplies lovable people dwelling in the charmed circle,--tender hearts,\nquick to respond to every word of love, every whisper of confidence,\nevery caress. The homeless man is the restless and unhappy man, for\never seeking what he cannot find. The homeless woman is still more to\nbe pitied, being entirely and hopelessly out of her natural element.\nAnd the marked tendency which exists nowadays to avoid home life is\nwholly mischievous. Women complain that home is \u201cdull,\u201d \u201cquiet,\u201d\n\u201cmonotonous,\u201d \u201clonely,\u201d and blame it for all sorts of evils which exist\nonly in themselves. If a woman cannot be a few hours alone without\nfinding her house \u201cdull,\u201d her mind must be on the verge of lunacy.\nThe sense of being unable to endure one\u2019s own company augurs ill for\nthe moral equilibrium. To preserve good health and sound nerves,\nwomen should always make it a rule to be quite alone at least for a\ncouple of hours in the course of each day. Let them take that space\nto think, to read, to rest, and mentally review their own thoughts,\nwords and actions in the light of a quiet conscience-time of pause and\nmeditation. Home is the best place so to rest and meditate,--and the\nhours that are spent in thinking how to make that home happier will\nnever be wasted. It should be very seriously borne in mind that it is\nonly in the home life that marriage can be proved successful or the\nreverse, and, to quote Mr. Lecky once more:\n\n\n     \u201cA moral basis of sterling qualities is of capital importance. A\n     true, honest and trustworthy nature, capable of self-sacrifice and\n     self-restraint, should rank in the first line, and after that, a\n     kindly, equable and contented temper, a power of sympathy, a habit\n     of looking at the better and brighter side of men and things. Of\n     intellectual qualities, judgment, tact and order, are perhaps the\n     most valuable.... Grace and the charm of manner will retain their\n     full attraction to the last. They brighten in innumerable ways\n     the little things of life, and life is mainly made up of little\n     things, exposed to petty frictions, and requiring small decisions\n     and small sacrifices. Wide interests and large appreciations\n     are in the marriage relation more important than any great\n     constructive or creative talent, and the power to soothe, to\n     sympathize, to counsel and to endure than the highest qualities\n     of the hero or the saint. It is by this alone that the married\n     life attains its full perfection.\u201d\n\n\nAnd when we hear, as we so often do, of the complete failure and\ndeplorable disaster attending many marriages, let us look for the\nroot of the evil at its foundation,--namely the decay of home life,\nthe neglect and avoidance of home and home duties,--the indifference\nto, or scorn of home influence. For whenever any woman, rich or poor,\nhigh in rank or of humble estate, throws these aside, and turns her\nback on Home, her own natural, beautiful and thrice-blessed sphere of\naction, she performs what would be called the crazed act of a queen,\nwho, called to highest sovereignty, casts away her crown, breaks her\nsceptre, tramples on her royal robes, and steps from her throne,\n_down_;--down into the dust of a saddened world\u2019s contempt.\n\n\n\n\nSOCIETY AND SUNDAY\n\n\nAccording to the latest views publicly expressed by both Christian and\nun-Christian clerics, it would appear that twentieth-century Society is\nnot at one with Sunday. It no longer keeps the seventh day \u201choly.\u201d It\nwill not go to church. It declines to listen to dull sermons delivered\nby dull preachers. It openly expresses its general contempt for the\ncollection-plate. It reads its \u2018up-to-date\u2019 books and magazines, and\nsays: \u201cThe Sabbath is a Jewish institution. And though the spirit of\nthe Jew pervades my whole composition and constitution, and though\nI borrow money of the Jew whenever I find it convenient, there is\nno reason why I should follow the Jew\u2019s religious ritual. The New\nTestament lays no stress whatever upon the necessity of keeping the\nseventh day holy. On the contrary, it tells us that \u2018the Sabbath was\nmade for man, not man for the Sabbath.\u2019\u201d\n\nThis is true enough. It is a difficult point to get over. And despite\nthe fact that the sovereign rulers of the realm most strictly set the\nexample to all their subjects of attending Divine service at least once\non Sunday, this example is just the very one among the various leading\npatterns of life offered by the King and Queen which Society blandly\nsets aside with a smile. For, notwithstanding the constant painstaking\nproduction of exquisitely printed Prayer-books, elegantly bound in\nivory, silver, morocco leather, and silk velvet, Society is not often\nseen nowadays with these little emblems of piety in its be-ringed and\nbe-bangled hands. It prefers a pack of cards. Its ears are more attuned\nto the hissing rush of the motor than to the solemn sound of sacred\npsalmody; and the dust of the high-road, compounded with the oil-stench\nof the newest and fastest automobile, offers a more grateful odour\nto its nostrils than the perfume of virginal lilies on the altar of\nworship. _Autres temps, autres m\u0153urs!_ People who believe in nothing\nhave no need of prayer. A social \u201cset\u201d that grabs all it can for itself\nwithout a thank-you to either God or devil is not moved to praise. Self\nand the Hour! That is the motto and watchword of Society to-day, and\nafter Self and the Hour, what then? Why, the Deluge, of course! And,\nas happened in olden time, and will happen again, general drowning,\nstiflement, and silence.\n\nThere is certainly much to regret and deplore in the lack of\nserious thought, the neglect of piety, and the scant reverence for\nsacred things which, taken together, make up a spirit of callous\nindifferentism in our modern life, such as is likely to rob the nation\nin future of its backbone and nerve. It is a spirit which is gradually\ntransforming the social community from thinking, feeling, reasonable\nhuman beings into a mere set of gambolling kangaroos, whose chief\ninterest would seem to be centred in jumping over each other\u2019s backs,\nor sitting on their haunches, grinning foolishly and waving their short\nfore-paws at one another with antic gestures of animal delight. They\nnever get any \u201cforrader,\u201d as it were. They do nothing particularly\nuseful. They are amused, annoyed, excited, or angry (according to their\ndifferent qualities of kangaroo nature) when one jumps a little higher\nthan the other, or waves its paws a little more attractively; but\ntheir sentiments are as temporary as their passions. There is nothing\nto be got out of them any way, but the jumping and the paw-waving. At\nthe same time it is extremely doubtful as to whether taking them to\nchurch on Sundays would do them good, or bring them back to the human\ncondition. Things are too far gone--the metamorphosis is too nearly\naccomplished. One day is the same as another to the Society kangaroo.\nAll days are suitable to his or her \u201chop, skip, and a jump.\u201d But shall\nthere be no \u201cworship\u201d? What should a kangaroo worship? No \u201crest\u201d? Why\nshould a kangaroo rest? \u201cListen to the Reverend Mr. Soulcure\u2019s sermon,\nand learn how to be good!\u201d Ya-ah! One can hear the animal scream as he\nor she turns a somersault at the mere suggestion and scuttles away!\n\nSociety\u2019s neglect of Sunday observance in these early days of the\nnew century is due to many things, chiefest among these being the\nincapacity of the clergy to inspire interest in their hearers or to\nfix the attention of the general public. It is unfortunate that this\nshould be so, but so it is. The ministers of religion fail to seize the\nproblems of the time. They forget, or wilfully ignore, the discoveries\nof the age. Yet in these could be found endless subject-matter for the\ndivinest arguments. Religion and science, viewed broadly, do not clash\nso much as they combine. To the devout and deeply studious mind, the\nmarvels of science are the truths of religion made manifest. But this\nis what the clergy seem to miss persistently out of all their teaching\nand preaching. Take, for example, the text: \u201cIn My Father\u2019s house there\nare many mansions.\u201d What a noble discourse could be made hereon of\nsome of the most sublime facts of science!--of the powers of the air,\nof the currents of light, of the magnificent movements of the stars in\ntheir courses, of the plenitude and glory of innumerable solar systems,\nall upheld and guided by the same Intelligent Force which equally\nupholds and guides the destinies of man! Unhappily for the world in\ngeneral, and for the churches in particular, preachers who select\ntexts from Scripture in order to extract therefrom some instructive\nlesson that shall be salutary for their congregations, do not always\nremember the symbolic or allegorical manner in which such texts were\noriginally spoken or written. To many of them the \u201cliteral\u201d meaning is\nalone apparent, and they see in the \u201cmany mansions\u201d merely a glorified\nPark Lane or Piccadilly, adorned with rows of elegantly commonplace\ndwelling-houses built of solid gold. Their conceptions of the \u201cFather\u2019s\nhouse\u201d are sadly limited. They cannot shake off the material from the\nspiritual, or get away from themselves sufficiently to understand or\nenter into the dumb craving of all human nature for help, for sympathy,\nfor love--for sureness in its conceptions of God--such sureness as\nshall not run counter to the proved results of reason. For reason is\nas much the gift of God as speech, and to kill one\u2019s intellectual\naspiration in order, as some bigots would advise, to serve God more\ncompletely is the rankest blasphemy. The wilful refusal to use a great\ngift merely insults the Giver.\n\nIt is by obstinately declining to watch the branching-out, as it\nwere, of the great tree of Christianity in forms which are not narrow\nor limited, but spacious and far-reaching, that the clergy have in\na great measure lost much that they should have retained. Society\nhas slipped altogether from their hold. Society sees for itself that\ntoo many clerics are either blatant or timorous. Some of them bully;\nothers crawl. Some are all softness to the wealthy; all harshness to\nthe poor. Others, again, devote themselves to the poor entirely, and\nneglect the wealthy, who are quite as much, if not more, in need of\na \u201csoul cure\u201d as the most forlorn Lazarus that ever lay in the dust\nof the road of life. None of them seem able to cope with the great\ndark wave of infidelity and atheism which has swept over the modern\nworld stealthily, but overwhelmingly, sucking many a struggling soul\ndown into the depths of suicidal despair. And Society, making up its\nmind that it is neither edified nor entertained by going to church on\nSunday, stays away, and turns Sunday generally to other uses. It is\nnot particular as to what these uses are, provided they prove amusing.\nThe old-fashioned notion of a \u201cday of rest\u201d or a \u201cgood\u201d Sunday can be\nset aside with the church and the clergyman; the one desirable object\nof existence is \u201cnot to be bored.\u201d The spectre of \u201cboredom\u201d is always\ngliding in at every modern function, like the ghost of Banquo at\nMacbeth\u2019s feast. To pacify and quash this terrible bogie is the chief\naim and end of all the social kangaroos. The Sunday\u2019s observance used\nto be the bogie\u2019s great \u201cinnings\u201d; but, with an advance in manners and\nmorals, _nous avons chang\u00e9 tout cela_! And Society spends its Sundays\nnow in a fashion which, if its great-grandmamma of the early Victorian\nera could only see its ways and doings, would so shock the dear,\nvirtuous old lady that she would yearn to whip it and shut it up in a\nroom for years on bread and water. And there is no doubt that such a\nwholesome r\u00e9gime would do it a power of good!\n\nAt the present interesting period of English history, Sunday appears\nto be devoutly recognized among the Upper Ten as the great \u201cbridge\u201d\nday. It is quite the fashion--the \u201cswagger\u201d thing--to play bridge\nall and every Sunday, when and whenever possible. During the London\n\u201cseason,\u201d the Thames serves as a picturesque setting for many of these\nseventh-day revelries. Little gambling-parties are organized \u201cup the\nriver,\u201d and houses are taken from Saturday to Monday by noted ladies of\nthe half-world, desirous of \u201crooking\u201d young men, in the sweet seclusion\nof their \u201ccountry cots by the flowing stream\u201d--an ambition fully\nrealized in the results of the Sunday\u2019s steady play at bridge from noon\ntill midnight. At a certain military centre not far from London, too,\nthe Sunday \u201cgaming\u201d might possibly call for comment. It is privately\ncarried on, of course, but--tell it not in Gath!--there is an officer\u2019s\nwife--there are so many officers\u2019 wives!--but this one in particular,\nmore than the others, moves me to the presumption of a parody on the\nImmortal Bard, thus:\n\n\n     An officer\u2019s wife had play-cards in her lap--\n     And dealt and dealt. \u201cWhat tricks!\u201d quoth I!\n     \u201cThey\u2019re tricks, you bet!\u201d the smiling cheat replied--\n     \u201cMy husband is \u2018on duty\u2019 gone,\n     And \u2018green\u2019 young subalterns are all my game,\n     And till they\u2019re drained of gold and silver, too,\n     I\u2019ll do, I\u2019ll do, I\u2019ll do!\u201d\n\n\nAnd she does \u201cdo.\u201d She has found out the way to make those \u201cgreen young\nsubalterns\u201d pay her bills and ruin themselves. It is a thoroughly\nup-to-date manner of spending the Sunday.\n\nCountry-house \u201cweek-end\u201d parties are generally all bridge-parties.\nThey are all carefully selected, with an eye to the main chance. The\n\u201cplay\u201d generally begins on Saturday evening, and goes on all through\nSunday up to midnight. One woman, notorious for her insensate love of\ngambling, lately took lessons in \u201ccheating\u201d at bridge before joining\nher country-house friends. She came away heavier in purse by five\nhundred pounds, but of that five hundred, one hundred and fifty had\nbeen won from a foolish little girl of eighteen, known to be the\ndaughter of a very wealthy, but strict father. When the poor child\nwas made to understand the extent of her losses at bridge, she was\nafraid to go home. So she purchased some laudanum \u201cfor the toothache,\u201d\nand tried to poison herself by swallowing it. Fortunately, she was\nrescued before it was too late, and her Spartan \u201cdad,\u201d with tears of\njoy in his eyes, paid the money she had lost at cards thankfully, as\na kind of ransom to Death. But she was never again allowed to visit\nat that \u201cswagger\u201d house where she had been \u201crooked\u201d so unmercifully.\nAnd when we remember how fond Society is of bragging of its little\nphilanthropies, its \u201cbazaars\u201d and carefully-calculated \u201ccharities,\u201d we\nmay, perhaps, wonder whether, among the list of good and noble deeds\nit declares itself capable of, it would set its face against bridge,\nand make \u201cgambling-parties\u201d once for all unfashionable and in \u201cbad\nform\u201d? This would be true philanthropy, and would be more productive\nof good than any amount of regular church attendance. For there is no\ndoubt that very general sympathy is accorded to people who find that\ngoing to church is rather an irksome business. It is not as if they\nwere often taught anything wonderfully inspiring or helpful there. They\nseldom have even the satisfaction of hearing the service read properly.\nThe majority of the clergy are innocent of all elocutionary art. They\nread the finest passages of Scripture in the sing-song tone of a clerk\ndetailing the items of a bill. It is a soothing style, and quickly\ninduces sleep; but that is its only recommendation.\n\nWhen not playing bridge, Society\u2019s \u201cSunday observance\u201d is motoring.\nFlashing and fizzling all over the place, it rushes here, there, and\neverywhere, creating infinite dust, smelling abominably, and looking\nuglier than the worst demons in Dante\u2019s \u201cInferno.\u201d Beauty certainly\ngoes to the wall in a motor. The hideous masks, goggles, and caps\nwhich help to make up the woman motorist\u2019s driving gear, are enough\nto scare the staunchest believer in the eternal attractiveness of the\nfair sex, while the general get-up of the men is on a par with that of\nthe professional stoker or engine-driver. Nevertheless, no reasonable\nwoman ought to mind other women looking ugly if they like; while men,\nof course, are always men, and \u201cmasters of the planet,\u201d whether dirty\nor clean. And no one should really object to the \u201cmotor craze,\u201d seeing\nthat it takes so many useless people out of one\u2019s immediate horizon\nand scatters them far and wide over the surface of the earth. Society\nuses Sunday as a special day for this \u201cscattering,\u201d and perhaps it\nis doing itself no very great harm. It is getting fresh air, which\nit needs; it is \u201cgoing the pace,\u201d which, in its fevered condition of\nliving fast, so as to die more quickly, is natural to it; and it is\nseeing persons and places it never saw before in the way of country\nnooks and old-fashioned roadside inns, and rustic people, who stare at\nit with unfeigned amusement, and wonder \u201cwhat the world\u2019s a\u2019-comin\u2019\nto!\u201d Possibly it learns more in a motor drive through the heart of\nrural England than many sermons in church could teach it. The only\nthing one would venture to suggest is that in passing its Sundays in\nthis fashion, Society should respect the Sundays of those who still\nelect to keep the seventh day as a day of rest. Fashionable motorists\nmight avoid dashing recklessly through groups of country people who\nare peacefully wending their way to and from church. They might \u201cslow\ndown.\u201d They might take thoughtful heed of the little children who play\nunguardedly about in many a village street. They might have some little\nconsideration for the uncertain steps of feeble and old persons who\nare perchance blind or deaf, and who neither see the \u201cmotor\u201d nor hear\nthe warning blast of its discordant horn. In brief, it would not hurt\nSociety to spend its Sundays with more thought for others than Itself.\nFor the bulk and mass of the British people--the people who _are_\nGreat Britain--still adhere to the sacred and blessed institution of a\n\u201cday of rest,\u201d even if it be not a day of sermons. To thousands upon\nthousands of toiling men and women, Sunday is still a veritable God\u2019s\nday, and we may thank God for it! Nay, more; we should do our very\nbest to keep it as \u201choly\u201d as we can, if not by listening to sermons,\nat least by a pause in our worldly concerns, wherein we may put a stop\non the wheels of work and consider within ourselves as to how and why\nwe are working. Sunday is a day when we should ask Nature to speak to\nus and teach us such things as may only be mastered in silence and\nsolitude--when the book of poems, the beautiful prose idyll, or the\ntender romance, may be our companion in summer under the trees, or\nin winter by a bright fire--and when we may stand, as it were, for a\nmoment and take breath on the threshold of another week, bracing our\nenergies to meet with whatever that week may hold in store for us,\nwhether joy or sorrow. Few nations, however, view Sunday in this light.\nOn the Continent it has long been a day of mere frivolous pleasure--and\nin America I know not what it is, never having experienced it. But the\nBritish Sunday, apart from all the mockery and innuendo heaped upon it\nby the wits and satirists of the present time and of bygone years, used\nto be a strong and spiritually saving force in the national existence.\nDinner-parties, with a string band in attendance, and a Parisian\nsinger of the \u201ccaf\u00e9 chantant\u201d to entertain the company afterwards, were\nonce unknown in England on a Sunday. But such \u201cSabbath\u201d entertainments\nare quite ordinary now. The private house copies the public\nrestaurant--more\u2019s the pity!\n\nNevertheless, though Society\u2019s Sunday has degenerated into a day of\ngambling, guzzling, and motoring in Great Britain, it is well to\nremember that Society in itself is so limited as to be a mere bubble\non the waters of life--froth and scum, as it were, that rises to the\ntop, merely to be skimmed off and thrown aside in any serious national\ncrisis. The People are the life and blood of the nation, and to them\nSunday remains still a \u201cday of rest,\u201d though, perhaps, not so much as\nin old time a day of religion. And that it is not so much a day of\nreligion is because so many preachers have failed in their mission.\nThey have lost grip. There is no cause whatever for their so losing it,\nsave such as lies within themselves. There has been no diminution in\nthe outflow of truth from the sources of Divine instruction, but rather\nan increase. The wonders of the universe have been unfolded in every\ndirection by the Creator to His creature. There is everything for the\nminister of God to say. Yet how little is said! \u201cFeed my sheep!\u201d was\nthe command of the Master. But the sheep have cropped all the old ways\nof thought down to the bare ground, and their inefficient shepherds\nnow know not where to lead them, though their Lord\u2019s command is as\nimperative as ever. So the flock, being hungry, have broken down the\nfences of tradition, and are scampering away in disorder to fresh\nfields and pastures new. Society may be, and is, undoubtedly to blame\nfor its lax manner of treating religion and religious observances; but,\nwith all its faults, it is not so blameworthy as those teachers of the\nChristian faith, whose lack of attention to its needs and perplexities\nhelp to make it the heaven-scorning, God-denying, heart-sore, weary,\nand always dissatisfied thing it is. Society\u2019s Sunday is merely a\nreflex of Society\u2019s own immediate mood--the mood of killing time at all\ncosts, even to the degradation of its own honour, for want of something\nbetter to do!\n\n\n\n\nTHE \u201cSTRONG\u201d BOOK OF THE ISHBOSHETH\n\n\nThere are two trite sayings in common use with us all--one is:\n\u201cCircumstances alter cases,\u201d which is English; the other is: \u201cAutres\ntemps, autres m\u0153urs,\u201d which is French. But there lacks any similar\nepigrammatic expression to convey the complete and curious change of\nmeaning, which by a certain occult literary process becomes gradually\nattached to quite ordinary words of our daily speech. \u201cStrong,\u201d for\ninstance, used to mean strength. It means it still, I believe, in the\ngymnasium. But in very choice literary circles it means \u201cunclean.\u201d\nThis is strange, but true. For some time past the gentle and credulous\npublic has remained in childlike doubt as to what was really implied\nby a \u201cstrong\u201d book. The gentle and credulous public has been under the\nimpression that the word \u201cstrong\u201d used by the guides, philosophers, and\nfriends who review current fiction in the daily Press, meant a powerful\nstyle, a vigorous grip, a brilliant way of telling a captivating and\nnoble story. But they have, by slow and painful degrees, found out\ntheir mistake in this direction, and they know now that a \u201cstrong\u201d\nbook means a nasty subject indelicately treated. Whereupon they are\nbeginning to \u201csheer off\u201d any book labelled by the inner critical\nfaculty as \u201cstrong.\u201d This must be admitted as a most unfortunate\nfact for those who are bending all their energies upon the writing\nof \u201cstrong\u201d books, and who are wasting their powers on discussing\nwhat they euphoniously term \u201cdelicate and burning subjects\u201d; but it\nis a hopeful and blessed sign of increasing education and widening\nintellectual perception in the masses, who will soon by their sturdy\ncommon sense win a position which is not to be \u201cfrighted with false\nfire.\u201d Congratulating the proprietors of _Great Thoughts_ on its\nthousandth number, the sapient _Westminster Gazette_ lately chortled\nforth the following lines: \u201cA career such as our contemporary has\nenjoyed, shows that the taste for good reading is wider than some\nwould have us believe. We wish _Great Thoughts_ continued success.\u201d\nO wise judge! O learned judge! The public taste for good reading is\nonly questioned when writers whom Thou dislikest are read by the base\nmillion!\n\n\u201cArt,\u201d says a certain M.A., \u201cif it be genuine and sincere, tends ever\nto the lofty and the beautiful. There is no rule of art more important\nthan the sense of modesty. Vice grows not a little by immodesty of\nthought.\u201d True. And immodesty of thought fulfils its mission in\nthe \u201cstrong\u201d book, which alone succeeds in winning the applause of\nthat \u201cExclusive Set of Degenerates\u201d known as the E.S.D. under the\nMasonic Scriptural sign of ISHBOSHETH (laying particular emphasis on\nthe syllable between the \u201cIsh\u201d and the \u201ceth,\u201d) who manage to obtain\ntemporary posts on the ever-changeful twirling treadmill of the daily\npress. The Ishbosheth singular is the man who praises the \u201cstrong\u201d\nbook--the Ishbosheth in the plural are the Exclusive Set who are sworn\nto put down Virtue and extol Vice. Hence the \u201cstrong\u201d cult, also the\n\u201cvirile.\u201d This last excellent and expressive word has become seriously\nmaltreated in the hands of the Ishbosheth, and is now made answerable\nfor many sins which it did not originally represent. \u201cVirile\u201d is from\nthe Latin _virilis_, a male--virility is the state and characteristic\nof the adult male. Applied to certain books, however, by the Ishbosheth\nit will be found by the discerning public to mean coarse--rough--with\na literary \u201cstyle\u201d obtained by sprinkling several pages of prose with\nthe lowest tavern-oaths, together with the name of God, pronounced\n\u201cGawd.\u201d Anything written in that fashion is at once pronounced \u201cvirile\u201d\nand commands wide admiration from the Ishbosheth, particularly if it\nshould be a story in which women are depicted at the lowest kickable\ndepth of drab-ism to which men can drag them, while men are represented\nas the suffering victims of their wickedness. This peculiar kind of\nturncoat morality was, according to Genesis, instituted by Adam in\nhis cowardly utterance: \u201cThe woman tempted me,\u201d as an excuse for his\nown base greed; and it has apparently continued to sprout forth in\nvarious of his descendants ever since that time, especially in the\ncommunity of the Ishbosheth. \u201cVirility,\u201d therefore, being the state and\ncharacteristic of the adult male, or the adult Adam, means, according\nto the Ishbosheth, men\u2019s proper scorn for the sex of their mothers, and\nan egotistical delight in themselves, united to a barbarous rejoicing\nin bad language and abandoned morals. It does not mean this in decent\nevery-day life, of course; but it does in books--such books as are\npraised by the Ishbosheth.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want one of your \u2018strong\u2019 books,\u201d said a customer at one of\nthe circulating libraries the other day. \u201cGive me something I can read\nto my wife without being ashamed.\u201d This puts the case in a nutshell.\nNo clean-minded man can read the modern \u201cstrong\u201d book praised by the\nIshbosheth and feel quite safe, or even quite manly in his wife\u2019s\npresence. He will find himself before he knows it mumbling something\nabout the gross and fleshly temptations of a deformed gentleman with\nshort legs; or he will grow hot-faced and awkward over the narrative\nof a betrayed milkmaid who enters into all the precise details of her\nwrongs with a more than pernicious gusto. It is true that he will\nprobably chance upon no worse or more revolting circumstances of human\nlife than are dished up for the general Improvement of Public Morals in\nour halfpenny dailies; but he will realize, if he be a man of sense,\nthat whereas the divorce court and police cases in the newspaper are\nvery soon forgotten, the impression of a \u201cstrong\u201d book, particularly if\nthe \u201cstrong\u201d parts are elaborately and excruciatingly insisted upon,\nlasts, and sometimes leaves tracks of indelible mischief on minds\nwhich, but for its loathsome influence, would have remained upright\nand innocent. Thought creates action. An idea is the mainspring of an\nepoch. Therefore the corrupters of thought are responsible for corrupt\ndeeds in an individual or a nation. From a noble thought--from a\nselfless pure ideal--what great actions spring! Herein should the\nresponsibility of Literature be realized. The Ishbosheth, with their\n\u201cstrong\u201d books, have their criminal part in the visible putrescence\nof a certain section of society known as the \u201cswagger set.\u201d Perhaps\nno more forcible illustration of the repulsion exercised by nature\nitself to spiritual and literary disease could be furnished than by\nthe death of the French \u201crealist\u201d Zola. Capable of fine artistic work,\nhe prostituted his powers to the lowest grade of thought. From the\ndust-hole of the frail world\u2019s ignorance and crime he selected his\nolla-podrida of dirty scrapings, potato-peelings, candle-ends, rank\nfat, and cabbage water, and set them all to seethe in the fire of\nhis brain, till they emitted noxious poison, and suffocating vapours\ncalculated to choke the channels of every aspiring mind and idealistic\nsoul. Nature revenged herself upon him by permitting him to be likewise\nasphyxiated--only in the most prosy and \u201crealistic\u201d manner. It was one\nof those terribly grim jests which she is fond of playing off on those\nwho blaspheme her sacred altars. A certain literary aspirant hovering\non the verge of the circle of the Ishbosheth, complained the other day\nof a great omission in the biography of one of his dead comrades of the\npen. \u201cThey should have mentioned,\u201d he said, \u201cthat he allowed his body\nto _swarm with vermin_!\u201d This is true Ishbosheth art. Suppress the fact\nthat the dead man had good in him, that he might have been famous had\nhe lived, that he had some notably strong points in his character, but\n_don\u2019t_ forget, for Heaven\u2019s sake, to mention the \u201cvermin\u201d! For the\nIshbosheth \u201ccult\u201d see nothing in a sunset, but much in a flea.\n\nHence when we read the criticism of a \u201cstrong\u201d book, over the signature\nof one of the Ishbosheth, we know what to expect. All the bad, low,\nvillainous and soiled side of sickly or insane human nature will be in\nit, and nothing of the healthful or sound. For, to be vicious is to\nbe ill--to commit crime is to be mentally deformed--and the \u201cstrong\u201d\nbook of the Ishbosheth only deals with phases of sickness and lunacy.\nThere are other \u201cstrong\u201d books in the world, thank Heaven--strong\nbooks which treat strongly of noble examples of human life, love\nand endeavour--books like those of Scott and Dickens and Bront\u00eb and\nEliot--books which make the world all the better for reading them. But\nthey are not books admired of the Ishbosheth. And as the Ishbosheth\nhave their centres in the current press, they are not praised in the\nnewspapers. Binding as the union of the Printers is all over the\nworld, I suppose they cannot take arms against the Ishbosheth and\ndecline to print anything under this Masonic sign? If they could,\nwhat a purification there would be--what a clean, refreshing world\nof books--and perhaps of men and women! No more vicious heroes with\nshort legs; no more painfully-injured milkmaids; no more \u201ctwins,\u201d\nearthly or heavenly--while possibly a new _Villette_ might bud and\nblossom forth--another _Fortunes of Nigel_, another brilliant _Vanity\nFair_--and books which contain wit without nastiness, tenderness\nwithout erotics, simplicity without affectation, and good English\nwithout slang, might once again give glory to literature. But this\nmillennium will not be till the \u201cstrong\u201d book of the Ishbosheth ceases\nto find a publisher, and the Ishbosheth themselves are seen in their\ntrue colours, and fully recognized by the public to be no more than\nthey are--a mere group of low sensualists, who haunt Fleet Street\nbars and restaurants, and who out of that sodden daily and nightly\nexperience get a few temporary jobs on the Press, and \u201cpose\u201d as a cult\nand censorship of art. And fortunately the very phrase \u201cstrong book\u201d\nhas become so much their own that it has now only to be used in order\nto warn off the public from mere pot-house opinion.\n\n\n\n\nON THE MAKING OF LITTLE POETS\n\n\nGreat Poets discover themselves. Little Poets have to be \u201cdiscovered\u201d\nby somebody else. Otherwise they would live and die in the shadow\nof decent obscurity, unheard, unseen, unknown. And it is seriously\nopen to question whether their so living and dying would not be an\nadvantage to society in the abating of a certain measure of boredom.\nLooking back upon the motley crowd of Little Poets who had their day of\n\u201cdiscovery\u201d and \u201cboom\u201d at the very period when the thunderous voice of\nthe Muse at her grandest was shaking the air through the inspired lips\nof Byron, Shelley and Keats, and noting to what dusty oblivion their\nlittle names and lesser works are now relegated without regret, it is\ndifficult to understand why they were ever dragged from the respectable\nretirement of common-place mediocrity by their critic-contemporaries.\nByron was scorned, Shelley neglected, and Keats killed by these same\ncritics;--neither of the three were \u201cdiscovered\u201d or \u201cmade.\u201d Their\ncreation was not of man, but of their own innate God-given genius,\nand, according to the usual fate attending such divine things, the\nfastidious human _dilettante_ of their day would have none of them. He\nset up his own verse-making Mumbo-Jumbo; and one Pye was Laureate. Pye\nwas Laureate,--yet Byron lived, and there was a reigning monarch in\nEngland, strange as these assorted facts will seem to all intellectual\nposterity. For a monarch\u2019s word,--even a prince\u2019s word,--must always\ncarry a certain weight of influence, and one asks wonderingly how,\nunder such circumstances, that word came to be left unsaid? No voice\nfrom the Throne called the three greatest geniuses of the era to\nreceive any honour due to their rare gifts and quality. On the contrary\nthey were cast out as unvalued rubbish from their native land, and\nthe Little Poets had their way. Pye continued to write maudlin rhymes\nunmolested, never dreaming that the only memory we should keep of him\nor of his twaddle, would be the one scathing line of the banished Byron:\n\n\n     Better to err with Pope than shine with Pye!\n\n\nAnd feeble penny whistles played trumpery tunes to the languid votaries\nof \u201ccultchaw\u201d in those days, and pennywhistle verse was voted \u201cclassic\u201d\nand supreme; but ever and anon the Nation turned a listening ear across\nthe seas and caught the music made by its outlawed singers,--music\nit valued even then, and treasures now among its priceless and\nimperishable glories. For the Nation knows what true Poetry is,--and no\n\u201cdiscoverer\u201d will ever force it to accept a tallow candle for a star.\n\nThe gulf between Great Poets and Little is a wide one,--wider than\nthat which yawned between Lazarus in heaven and Dives in hell. The\nGreat Poet is moved by an inspiration which he himself cannot analyse,\nand in which neither the desire of money nor the latent hope of fame\nhave the chiefest part. He sings simply because he must sing. He does\nnot labour at it, piecing his thoughts and words together with the\ntardy and tame patience of a worker in mosaics, for though such exact\nexecution be admirable in mosaic-work, it is dull and lifeless in\npoetry. Colour, fire, music, passion, and intense, glowing vitality are\nthe heritage of the Great Poet; and when the torrent of unpremeditated\nlove-song, battle-chant, dirge and prophecy pours from his lips, the\ntired world slackens its pace to listen, and listening, silently crowns\nhim Laureate in its heart of hearts, regardless of Prime Minister or\nCourt Chamberlain. But the Little Poet is not able so to win attention;\nhe cannot sing thus \u201cwildly well\u201d because he lacks original voice.\nHe can only trim a sorry pipe of reed and play weak echoes thereon;\nderivative twists of thought and borrowed fancies caught up from the\ngreater songs already ringing through the centuries. And when he\nfirst begins piping in this lilliputian fashion he is generally very\nmiserable. He pipes \u201cfor pence; Ay me, how few!\u201d Nobody listens; people\nare too much engrossed with their own concerns to care about echoes.\nTheir attention can only be secured by singing them new songs that will\nstir their pulses to new delights. The too-tootling of the Little Poet,\ntherefore, would never be noticed at all, even by way of derision,\nunless he went down on all-fours and begged somebody to \u201cdiscover\u201d him.\nThe \u201cdiscoverer\u201d in most cases is a Superannuated-literary-gentleman,\nwho has tried his own hand at poetry and failed ignominiously.\nIncapacity to do any good work of one\u2019s own frequently creates a\nthirsty desire to criticize the work of other people; thus, in the\nintervals of his impotent rage at the success of the deserving, the\nSuperannuated, resolved to push himself into notice somehow, takes to\n\u201cdiscovering\u201d Little Poets. It is his poor last bid for fame; a final\nforlorn effort to get his half-ounce of talent to the front by tacking\nit on to some new name which he thinks (and he is quite alone in the\nidea) may by the merest chance in the world, like a second-rate horse,\nwin a doubtful race. To admire any Great Poet who may happen to exist\namong us, is no part of the Superannuated\u2019s programme. He ignores Great\nPoets generally, fearing lest the mere mention of their names should\neclipse his dwarfish nurslings.\n\nNow the public, mistakenly called fools, are perfectly aware of the\nSuperannuated. They see his signature affixed to many of the Little\nPoets Booms, and ask each other with smiling tolerance, \u201cWhat has he\ndone?\u201d Nothing. \u201cOh! Then how does he know?\u201d Ah, that is his secret! He\nthinks he knows; and he wants you, excellent Fool-Public, to believe he\nthinks he knows! And, under the pleasing delusion that you always have\nyour Fool\u2019s Cap on, and never take it off under any circumstances, he\n\u201cdiscovers\u201d Mr. Podgers for you. Who is Mr. Podgers? A poet. If we are\nto credit the Superannuated, he is \u201ca new star on the literary horizon,\nof the first magnitude.\u201d The \u201cfirst magnitude\u201d!--the public shakes its\ncaps and bells in amused scepticism. Another Shelley? Another Byron?\nThese were of the \u201cfirst magnitude,\u201d and shall we thank a bounteous\nheaven for one more such as these? No, no, nothing of the sort, says\nthe Superannuated with indignation, for it is high time you put this\nsort of Shelley-Byron stuff behind you. Mr. Swinburne has distinctly\nsaid that \u201cByron was no poet.\u201d Learn wisdom, therefore, and turn from\nByron to Podgers. He has written a little book, has Podgers, for which\nthose who desire to possess it must pay a sum out of all proportion to\nits size. What shall we find in this so-little book? Anything to make\nour hearts beat in more healthful and harmonious tune? No. Nothing\nof this in Podgers. Nothing, in fact, of any kind in Podgers which\nwe have not heard before. There are a few lines that we remember as\nderived from Wordsworth, and one stanza seems to us like a carefully\ntransposed bit of Tennyson;--but for anything absolutely new in thought\nor in treatment we search in vain. Unless we make exception for a\nset of verses which are a tribute to the art of Log-Rolling, namely\nPodgers\u2019s \u201cOde\u201d to Podgers\u2019s favouring critic. We confess this to be\nsomewhat of a novelty, and we begin to pity Podgers. He must have\nfallen very low to write (and publish) an \u201cOde\u201d to the Superannuated,\nhis chief flatterer on the Press, and he must be very short-sighted if\nhe imagines that action is a millstone _without_ a hole in it. And so,\ndespite the loud eulogies of the Superannuated (who is naturally proud\nto be made the subject of any \u201cOde\u201d however feeble) we do not purchase\nPodgers\u2019s book, though it is urged upon us as being a \u201climited\u201d\nedition. But the Superannuated is not herein baffled. If, he says,\nif you are so asinine, so crass, so dull and dense of comprehension\nas to reject this marvellous, this classic Podgers, what say you to\nStodgers? Stodgers is a \u201cyoung\u201d poet (forty-five last birthday),\nentirely free from \u201cmanner\u201d and manners. He has resorted to the last\nand lowest method employed by Little Poets for obtaining temporary\nnotoriety, namely,--outraging decency. Coarseness and blasphemy are\nthe prevailing themes of his verse, but to the Superannuated these\ngrave blemishes constitute \u201cpower.\u201d A \u201cstrong\u201d line is a lewd line; a\n\u201cmasterful\u201d stanza contains a prurient suggestion. It suits the purpose\nof the Superannuated to compare his two \u201cdiscoveries,\u201d Podgers and\nStodgers, and to work them against each other in those quarters of the\nPress he controls, like the \u201ctoy millers\u201d one buys for children. It is\na case of \u201cPodgers come up and Stodgers come down,\u201d as fits his humour\nand digestion. Meanwhile the vital test of the whole matter is that\nnotwithstanding all this energetic \u201chawking about\u201d of the Little Poets\nby the Superannuated, neither Podgers nor Stodgers _sell_. Everything\nis done to secure for them this desired result; unavailingly. And it\nis not as if they came out in a \u201ccommon\u201d way, Podgers and Stodgers. No\npublishing-firm with a simple name such as Messrs. Smith or Brown would\nsuit the Little Poets. They must come out singularly, and apart from\nothers. So they elect a publisher who, as it were, puts up a sign, as\nthough he were a Tavern. \u201cPublished at the Dragon\u2019s Mouth\u201d or \u201cAt the\nSign of the Flagon\u201d would seem to be more convincing than \u201cPublished by\nMessrs. So and So.\u201d Now Podgers\u2019s little book has a fanciful title-page\nstating that it is published at the \u201cGoose and Gridiron.\u201d Stodgers,\nwe find, bursts upon the world at \u201cThe Blue Boar.\u201d There is something\nvery delusive about all this. A flavour of ale and mulled wine\ncreeps insidiously into the air, and we are moved to yearn for good\nwarm drinks, whereas we only get indifferent cold verse. Now if the\nproprietors of the \u201cGoose and Gridiron\u201d and the \u201cBlue Boar\u201d would only\nsell inspiring liquids instead of uninspired rhymes, how their trade\nwould improve! No longer would they bend, lean and furrowed, over their\naccount-books--no longer would they have to scheme and puzzle over the\n\u201cmaking\u201d of Little Poets; because it must not be imagined that the\nSuperannuated \u201cdiscoverer\u201d is the only one concerned in the business.\n\u201cGoose and Gridiron\u201d and \u201cBlue Boar\u201d have to deal in many small tricks\nof trade to compass it. Of course it is understood that the Little\nPoets get no money out of their productions. What they stipulate for\nwith \u201cBlue Boar\u201d and likewise with \u201cGoose and Gridiron\u201d is a \u201chearing.\u201d\nThis \u201chearing\u201d is obtained variously. Podgers got it in this way, as\nfolloweth: His verses, which had appeared from time to time in Sunday\npapers and magazines, were issued in a \u201climited edition.\u201d Such \u201climited\nedition\u201d was at once dispersed among booksellers in different parts of\nthe country \u201con sale or return,\u201d and while thus doubtfully awaiting\npurchasers, \u201cGoose and Gridiron\u201d tipped the trade-wink and perhaps\nsomething else more substantial besides, to the Superannuated,--who\nstraightway seized his pen and wrote: \u201cWe hear that the first edition\nof Mr. Podgers\u2019s poems is exhausted, and that original copies are\nalready at a premium.\u201d This done, and \u201cpassed\u201d through many papers,\nthe publisher followed it up with an advertisement to the effect that\n\u201cThe first edition of Mr. Podgers\u2019s poems being exhausted, a Second\nwill be ready in a few days.\u201d And here, it may as well be said for\nthe rectitude of \u201cGoose and Gridiron,\u201d things came to a standstill.\nBecause the Little Poets seldom get beyond a second edition. When\nPodgers\u2019s first editions came back unsold from the provinces (as they\ndid), attempts were made to dispose of them at fancy prices as a last\nresource,--such attempts naturally ending in disaster. The times are\ntoo hard, and people have too much to do with their money to part with\nany of it for first editions of Podgers or Stodgers. The public is a\nvery shrewd one, moreover, and is not to be \u201ctaken in\u201d by gnat-rhymers\ndancing up and down for an hour in the \u201cdiscoverer\u2019s\u201d artificial\nsunbeams. And the Superannuated, in his eager desire to assert himself\nas an oracular personage, forgets one very important fact, and this is,\nthat being a Nobody he cannot be accepted as warrant for a Somebody.\nThe public is not his child; he cannot whip it into admiring Mr.\nPodgers, or coerce its judgment respecting Mr. Stodgers. Its ways\nare wilful, and it has a ridiculous habit (considering what a Fool\nthe critic imagines it to be) of preferring its own opinion to that\nof the Superannuated. It is capable, it thinks, what with Compulsory\nEducation and the rest of it, of making its own choice. And on the\nwhole it prefers the Great Poet,--the man who scorns to be \u201cdiscovered\u201d\nby an inferior intellect, and who makes his own way independently and\nwith a grand indifference to the squabbling of Log-rollers. He is not\n\u201cmade\u201d; he forms part of the country\u2019s blood and life; he chants the\nnational thought in haunting rhythm as did the prophet bards of old;\nhe, careless of \u201cpence,\u201d praise or fame, does so mix himself with his\nland\u2019s history, that he becomes, as it were the very voice of the age\nin which he lives, and the Superannuated may ignore him as he will,\nhe cannot get him out of the nation\u2019s heart when he has once got in.\nBut of the feeble, absurdly conceited tribe of Little Poets who come\njostling one upon another nowadays in such a puling crowd, piping out\ntheir wretchedly small personalities in versed pessimism or coarse\nmetaphor,--men \u201cmade\u201d by the Tavern-publisher and the Superannuated\nFailure;--we have had enough of these, and more than enough. Too much\ngood paper, good ink and good binding are wasted on their totally\nundesired productions. Life with us now is lived at too hard and too\ndifficult a pace for any one to need poetry that is _only_ verse.\nHearts break every day in the truest sense of that sentimental phrase;\nbrains reel into insanity and the darkness of suicide; and it is no\nLittle Poet\u2019s personal pangs about \u201cpence\u201d and such trifles, that can,\nlike David\u2019s harp of old, soothe or dismiss the dark spirit brooding\nover the latter-day Saul. It is the Great Poet we care for, whose\nsinging-soul mystically comprehends our unuttered thoughts of love or\nglory; who chants not only his pains, but ours; not his joy, so much as\nthe whole world\u2019s joy. Such a man needs no \u201cdiscoverer\u201d to prove his\nexistence; he is self-evident. When we grow so purblind as to need a\nstill blinder Mole to point us out the sun, then, but not till then\nshall we require the assistance of the Superannuated to \u201cdiscover\u201d what\nwe understand by a Poet. At present we are actively conscious both of\nthe orb of day, and the true quality of genius; and though the Poet we\nchoose for ourselves and silently acknowledge as worthy of all honour,\nmay not be, and seldom is, the recommended favourite of a clique, we\nare fully aware of him, and show our love and appreciation by setting\nhis book among our household gods. No \u201climited edition\u201d will suffice\nfor such a man; we need to have his poems singing about us wherever we\ngo. For the oft-repeated truth is to-day as true as ever,--that the\nGreat Poet is \u201cborn,\u201d and never has been and never will be \u201cmade.\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRAYER OF THE SMALL COUNTRY M.P.\n\nWHICH HE PRAYETH DAILY\n\n\nO thou Especial Little God of Parliaments and Electors, with whom the\ngreater God of the Universe has nothing whatever to do!--I beseech Thee\nto look upon me, Thy chosen servant, with a tolerant and favourable Eye!\n\nConsider with Leniency the singular and capricious Chance which has\nenabled me to become a Member of the Government, and grant me Thy\nprotection, so that my utter Incapacity for the Post may never be\ndiscovered! Enable me, I implore Thee, to altogether dispense with\nthe assistance of a certain Journalist and Press-Reporter in the\ncomposition of my Speeches! His Terms are high, and I am not sure of\nhis Discretion!\n\nImpart unto me by spiritual telegraphy such Knowledge of the general\nSituation of Affairs that I may be able to furnish forth an occasional\nIntelligent Remark to the farmers of this Constituency, whose Loyalty\nto the Government is as firm as their Trust in the Power of Beer!\nGive me the grace of such shallow Profundity and Pretension as\nshall convince Rustic minds of my complete Superiority to them in\nmatters concerning their Interest and Welfare; and teach me to use\ntheir Simplicity for the convenient furtherance of my own Cunning!\nFill me with such necessary and becoming Arrogance as shall make me\noverbearingly insolent to Persons of Intellect, while yet retaining\nthat sleek Affability which shall cause me to appear a Fawning Flunkey\nto Persons of Rank! Enable me to so condescendingly patronize the\nElectors who gave me their Majority that it shall seem I was returned\nthrough Merit only, and not through Bribes and Beer! And mercifully\ndefend me, O Beneficent little Deity, from all possibility of ever\nbeing called upon to address the House! I am no speaker,--and even if I\nwere, I have no Ideas whereon to hang a fustian sentence! Thou Knowest,\nAll-Knowing-One, that I have not so much as an Opinion, save that it\nis good for me, in respect of Social Advantage, to write M.P. after\nmy name! And surely Thou dost also know that I have paid Two Thousand\nPounds for the purchase of this small portion of the Alphabet, making\nOne Thousand Pounds per letter, which may humbly be submitted to Thee,\nO Calculating Ruler of Parliamentary Elections, as somewhat dear!\n\nBut I have accepted these Conditions and paid the Sum without\nmurmuring; therefore of Thy goodness, be pleased to spare me from the\nutterance of even one word in the presence of my peers, concerning any\nMatter for the Advancement of Which I have been elected! For lo,--if\nI said as much as \u201cYea,\u201d it might be ill-advised; and yet again, if I\nsaid \u201cNay,\u201d it might be ill-timed! Inasmuch as I am compelled to rely\non the Journalist and Press-Reporter before mentioned, for whatsoever\nknowledge of matters political I possess, and it is just possible\nthat he might,--through an extra dose of whisky-soda,--mislead me\nby erroneous information! O Lord of Press-Agencies and Grub Street\nEating-Houses, if it be possible unto Thee, relieve me of this Man!\nHe charges more, so I am credibly informed, per Hundred Words than\nany other Inventor of Original Eloquence in the pay of the Unlettered\nand Inarticulate of the House! And it is much to be feared that he\ndoes not always keep his own Counsel! Wherefore, gracious Deity, I\nwould be Released with all convenient Speed from the Exercise of\nhis Power! Rather than be constantly compelled to rely upon this\nJournalistic Wretch for Advice and Instruction, it will more conduce\nto my Comfort,--though possibly to my Fatigue,--to commit to Memory\nsuch portions of long-forgotten speeches spoken by Defunct Members of\nthe House in the Past, as may be found suitable to the present needs\nof the Rural Population. The Corn-growing and Cattle-breeding Electors\nwill not know from what Sources I derive my Inspiration, and the Editor\nof the Local Newspaper has not yet taken a degree in Scholarship.\nMoreover, the Dead are happily unable to send in any Claim for Damages\nagainst the Theft of their Ideas, which are as free to Independent\nPilferers as the Original Plots of New and Successful Romances are\nfree to the Dramatizing Robbers in the Stage-Purlieus, thanks to the\nAdmirable Attitude of Dignified Indolence assumed by that Government to\nwhich I, one Fool out of Many, have the honour to belong!\n\nFinally, O Beneficent Lilliputian Deity which governeth matters\nParliamentary,--grant me such a sufficient amount of highly-respectable\nMendacity as shall enable me to pass successfully for what I am not, at\nleast, so far as Society in the Country is concerned! Fully aware am I,\nO Lord, that a Simulation of Ability will not always meet with approval\nin Town, though it has been occasionally known to do so! Therefore I am\nwell content to sit in the House as one MUM, thus representing through\nmyself an inaudible County! But in the County itself it shall seem\nto the Uninitiated that my thoughts are too deep for speech; while I\nretain in my own mind the knowledge of the Fact that my Humbug is too\ngreat for Expression!\n\nTo Thee, gentle yet capricious Deity, I commend all my Desires,\npraying Thee to keep the people whom I represent as Dumb and Inert as\nmyself in matters concerning their own Welfare, for if they should\nchance to consider the Situation by the light of Common Sense,\nand me by the shrewd Appreciation of a Native Wit, it might occur\nto them to prefer a Man rather than a Wooden-headed Nonentity to\nProclaim their Existence to the King\u2019s faithful Commons! Wherefore,\nat the next General Election I should lose my Seat,--which would\nbe Disagreeable to me personally, as well as a Cause of Rage in my\nWife, to whom my present Condition of a Parliamentary Microbe is\nmuch more important and advantageous than it is to the Country! And\nThou knowest, O Lord, that when my Wife is moved by the Impetuous\nPersuasion of a difficult Temper, it is necessary for me, by reason\nof her Superior Height, Size, and Aggressiveness, to retire from the\ndomestic Fighting-ground, considerably worsted in the unequal Combat.\nProtect me, merciful Deity, from her Tongue!--which is as a Sword to\nslay all thoughts of Peace! And, concerning the accursed, ubiquitous\nJournalist-Reporter-Paragraphist-Correspondent-Attached-to-all-Newspapers\nMan, who, for my sins, wrote my \u201cspeech to the Electors\u201d at a high\ncharge, and agreed,--and therefore expects,--to write all my other\npublic utterances on the same terms, I beseech Thee, when he next waits\nupon me with his Bill, ready to Counsel or to Command, grant me the\nStrength and Courage to tell a more barefaced Lie than is habitual to\nme, and to boldly say that I can do Without him!\n\n\nAMEN!\n\n\n\n\nTHE THANKSGIVING OF THE SMALL COUNTRY M.P\u2019s WIFE,\n\nWHICH SHE OFFERETH WEEK-END-LY\n\n\nTo Thee, O Bland and Bless\u00ebd Deity of Surplus Cash and Social\nAdvancement, whose favours are never bestowed upon the Poor or the\nWise, but only on the Rich and the Foolish, I give praise, honour and\nglory!\n\nI thank Thee that Thou hast made of that Supreme Ass, my Husband, a\nMember of the Government, so that, despite his utter Lack of Wit and\nHopeless Incompetency, he may at least pass muster for having Brains in\na particularly Brainless Constituency!\n\nI acknowledge Thy mercy and goodness in permitting that for the\nmoderate cost of Two Thousand Pounds and upwards,--a sum not greatly\nin excess of my dressmaker\u2019s annual bill,--I may set my foot on the\ntwo dumb and prostrate Letters of the Alphabet now attached to my said\nHusband\u2019s new calling and Election, and may mount thereon to those\nheights of County Society where, ever since I was born I have eagerly\nthirsted to be! For though County Society be often duller than the\nfabled Styx, nevertheless the leaden weight of its Approval is as\nnecessary to my special comfort and welfare as the Gilded chain of\nOffice is to the swelling chest of a Provincial Mayor. Thou knowest,\nO little Lord of Communities Narrow, Parochial and Politic, that I am\ncalled, even by the Profanest of Press-Reporters, \u201ca fine figure of a\nwoman,\u201d and that I am deserving of Public Notice and Commendation, not\nonly for my Physical Attractions, but for my Social Qualifications,\nwhich, despite the fact that Fate has wedded me to a Fool, have enabled\nme to successfully represent the said Fool to his bovine Electors as\nan Intelligent Personality! Great is the Tact which is needed to palm\noff a Sparrow for an Eagle, a Mouse for an Elephant, or a Donkey for\na Statesman! But I swear to Thee, O Thou gracious Little Neptune who\nruleth that Limited Ocean called the \u201cSociety Swim\u201d that I am equal\nto all this and more! Thou seest me as I am, a Fashionable Feminine\nInsincerity! Thou beholdest the subtle cleverness of my Social Smile,\nwhich radiates sweetly upon the faces of such persons as I conceive\nmay be useful in Election times, but which fades into a Supercilious\nSneer when I discover, as I often do, that many of these persons are\nunblushingly \u201cof no political party,\u201d and have no interest whatever in\nkeeping my Husband in His Seat! Now if my Husband were not in His Seat,\nI should become that most deplorable of human beings, a Provincial\nNonentity! Hence arises my natural and lawful Desire that in His Seat\nmy Husband shall remain, inasmuch as were he left without a Seat, I\nshould be left without a \u201cSet\u201d!\n\nBut thanks be unto Thee, O Thou amiable and complaisant God of the\nBritish Social Status, there seems to be at present no cause for\nalarm that the Rustics whom my Husband, with unintelligent dumbness\nrepresents in the House of Commons will ever Rise! Chiefly inspired\nas they are by Drugged Beer, it is safe to presume that they will\nnot easily awaken from their Public-House Torpor, or in a species of\nvulgar \u201chorse-play\u201d pull my Husband\u2019s seat from under him,--even as\na lubberly child pulls away a chair from the Unsuspecting Visitor\nwho would fain sit down upon it,--and so precipitate my Husband\ninto the unenviable rank of Unimportant Provincials! I myself am\nready to guarantee,--always with Thy support, O Favourer of Paid\nParliamentary Press-Puffery,--that so dire a Catastrophe as this shall\nnot happen! For My weight,--which is both materially and mentally\nConsiderable,--would have to be thrown into the Balance,--whereby\nthe tottering Seat, even if partially overthrown, would, and\nneeds Must,--under the force of my impetuous Clutch,--regain the\nPerpendicular!\n\nBeing by unredeemed nature a Stupid Woman, I acknowledge freely and\nwith gratitude Thy Omnipotent Guidance in Matters purely Snobbish! I\npraise and bless Thee for showing me the quickest way out of Things\nIntellectual into Things Conventional! I thank Thee for Thy unfailing\nassistance afforded to me in the beaten paths of County Flunkeydom,\nwherein I walk with virtuous circumspection, taking care to leave my\nimpressive Visiting-Cards and likewise those of my Husband, on Houses\nonly, and never on People! For People may be dangerous acquaintances,\nwhile Houses never are. A Family Residence is always more respectable\nthan a Family!\n\nI give Thee glory that I am made of such stubborn Flesh and Quality as\nnever to recognize that any other Woman exists who, by the Inconvenient\nAttributes of Either Beauty, Wit or Intelligence, deserves to be\nconsidered my Superior, and that when any such Intrusive and Obtrusive\nFemale is accidentally forced upon my Notice, I have the good sense\nto diplomatically ignore Her. I am gratefully conscious that the\nMeaningless Insipidity of my Manner has favourably impressed the\nUneducated Majority of my Husband\u2019s Constituents. And also, that having\nonce obtained their Unreasoning Votes, their Bucolic Lethargy is such,\nthat I need do little further to retain their Credulous Admiration save\nto put in an Occasional Well-Dressed Appearance at a \u201clocal\u201d Bazaar,\nor Charity Ball. Concerning any aims or hopes they may, in their\nblundering Dulness, have ever entertained towards the Betterment of\ntheir Condition, and the Representation of these Addle-pated desires to\nHis Majesty\u2019s Government, I am as Profoundly Indifferent as my Husband\nis Voluntarily Ignorant. For, as the larger number of the Faithful\nCommons are aware, no Act is more fatal to the Social Prestige and\nCounty Influence of a Member of the House, than that he should, when in\noffice, fulfil the Rash Promises made to his Electors during a Critical\nstate of the Poll! Inasmuch as the only Reasonable object to be\nattained by the Purchase of the Letters M. and P. is the Betterment of\nOne\u2019s Self and One\u2019s Social Position on the lines of such Conventional\nHypocrisies as are agreeable to the Best County Houses. For the taking\nof any bold or conspicuous part in any National Matter of Interest or\nImportance has long been sagaciously avoided by every County Member\nwho desires to retain His Seat. And that one Man should do what his\nColleagues dare not attempt, would be a Heroism which, thanks unto\nThee, O Prudent Presiding Deity of Grandmotherly Westminster, is\nfortunately not to be expected of my Husband!\n\nFinally I thank Thee, O Wise and All-Discerning, for the Gracious\nConsolation which Thou hast imparted unto me in the fact that though my\nHusband is the Embodiment of county Vacuity, the Majority of the King\u2019s\nFaithful Commons are as Vacuous as He! For, as in the multitude of Ants\nin an Anthill, One insect more industrious or intelligent than the\nrest is not easily discovered, even so, in the goodly array of Stupid\nMembers, the Stupidest of them all may conveniently sit in his Seat\nwithout public Comment.\n\nAnd for the Constant Enjoyment of my own Admitted Position\namong the Tea-Drinking, Fox-Hunting and Bucolic _\u00e9lite_ of the\nNeighbourhood,--for the graceful Ease with which I assume to be what\nI am not, by reason of the Two Letters attached to my Husband\u2019s\nName, which gives much more importance to Me than to Him,--and for\nthe general comfortable Self-Assertiveness in which I live and\nmove and have my being, I bless Thee, O Potent little Deity of the\nPolling-Booth, and acknowledge Thy Manifold Mercies! May the Seat of my\nHusband continue firm in Thy Sight, unmoved by any Popular Caprice of\nthe Vulgar, until such time as my eldest Hopeful Son, the very pattern\nof His Father, shall slip into it Unopposed after Him, and so preserve\nin those Unsophisticated Rural Districts whereby we are surrounded, the\nUnblemished Honour of a Unique Reputation for Highly Educated Political\nIncompetence in this Advanced and Enlightened Age!\n\n\nAMEN!\n\n\n\n\nTHE VANISHING GIFT\n\n\nThe unseen rulers of human destiny are, on the whole, very kindly\nFates. They appear beneficently prone to give us mortals much more\nthan we deserve. Gifts of various grace and value are showered upon\nus incessantly through our life\u2019s progress,--gifts for which we are\ntoo often ungrateful, or which we fail to appreciate at their true\nworth. Apart from the pleasures of the material senses which we share\nin common with our friends and fellows of the brute creation, the more\ndelicate and exquisite emotions of the mind are ministered to with\nunfailing and fostering care. Music--Poetry, Art in all its brilliant\nand changeful phases,--these things are offered for the delectation of\nour thoughts and the refinement of our tastes; but the most priceless\nboon of the Immortals is the talisman which alone enables us to\nunderstand the beauty of life at its highest, and the perfection of\nideals at their best. I mean Imagination,--that wonderful spiritual\nfaculty which is the source of all great creative work in Art and\nLiterature. Some call it \u201cInspiration\u201d; others, the Divine Fire; but\nwhatever its nature or quality, there is good cause to think--and to\nfear--that it is gradually dwindling down and disappearing altogether\nfrom the world of to-day.\n\nThe reasons for this are not very far to seek. We are living in\nan age of feverish unrest and agitation. If we could picture a\ntwentieth century Satan appearing before the Almighty under the\ncircumstances described in the Book of Job, to answer the question,\n\u201cWhence comest thou?\u201d--the same reply would suit not only his, but\nour condition--\u201cFrom going to and fro in the earth, and wandering up\nand down within it.\u201d We are always going to and fro in these days. We\nare forever wandering up and down. Few of us are satisfied to remain\nlong in the same place, among the same surroundings--and in this way\nthe foundations of home life,--formerly so noble and firm a part of\nour national strength--are being shaken and disorganized. A very\ngreat majority of us appear to be afflicted with the chronic disease\nof Hurry, which generally breeds a twin ailment--Worry. We have no\ntime for anything somehow. We seem to be always under the thrall of\nan invisible policeman, commanding us to \u201cMove on!\u201d And we do move\non, like the tramps we are becoming. Moreover, we have decided that\nwe cannot get over the ground quickly enough on the limbs with which\nNature originally provided us--so we spin along on cycles, and dash\nabout on motor cars. And it is confidently expected that by-and-by\nthe mere earth will not be good enough for us, and that we shall\n\u201cscorch\u201d through the air--when a great change may be looked for in\nhouse accommodation. People will return, it is said, to the early\ncave dwellings, in order to avoid the massacre likely to be caused by\ntumbling air-ships over which the captains have lost control.\n\nThere is something humourous in all this modern hurry-skurry; something\nalmost grotesque in this desire for swift movement--this wish to save\ntime and to stint work;--but there is something infinitely pathetic\nabout it as well. It is as if the present Period of the world\u2019s\ncivilization felt itself growing old--as if, like an individual human\nunit, it knew itself to be past its prime and drawing nigh to death,\nas if,--with the feeble restlessness of advancing age, it were seeking\nto cram as much change and amusement as possible into the little time\nof existence left to it. Two of the most notable signs of such mental\nand moral decay are, a morbid craving for incessant excitement, and a\ndisinclination to think. It is quite a common thing nowadays to hear\npeople say, \u201cOh, I have no time to think!\u201d--and they seem to be more\nproud than ashamed of their loss of mental equilibrium. But it is very\ncertain that where there is no time to think, there is less time to\nimagine--and where there is neither thought nor imagination, creative\nwork of a high and lasting quality is not possible.\n\nWe, in our day, are fortunate in so far that we are the inheritors\nof the splendid work accomplished in the youth and prime of all that\nwe know of civilization. No doubt there were immense periods beyond\nour ken, in which the entire round of birth, youth, maturity, age and\ndeath, was fulfilled by countless civilizations whose histories are\nunrecorded--but we can only form the faintest guess at this, through\nthe study of old dynasties which, ancient as they are, may perhaps be\nalmost modern compared to the unknown empires which have utterly passed\naway beyond human recovery. But if we care to examine the matter, we\nshall find among all nations, that as soon as a form of civilization\nhas emerged from barbarism, like a youth emerging from childhood, it\nhas entered on its career with a glad heart and a poetic soul,--full of\nideals, and richly endowed with that gift of the gods--Imagination. It\nhas invariably expressed itself as being reverently conscious of the\nHighest source of all creation; and its utterance through all its best\nwork and achievement can be aptly summed up in Wordsworth\u2019s glorious\nlines:--\n\n\n     Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting--\n       The Soul that rises with us, our life\u2019s star\n     Hath had elsewhere its setting,\n       And cometh from afar,--\n          Not in entire forgetfulness,\n          And not in utter nakedness,\n          But trailing clouds of glory do we come,\n          From God who is our home!\n\n\nWhile these \u201ctrailing clouds of glory\u201d still cling to the soul, the\nlimits of this world,--the mere dust and grime of material things,--do\nnot and cannot satisfy it; it must penetrate into a realm which is\nof its own idea and innate perception. There it must itself create a\nuniverse, and find expression for its higher thought. To this resentful\nattitude of the soul against mere materialism, we owe all art, all\npoetry, all music. Every great artistic work performed outside the\nneeds of material and physical life may be looked upon as a spiritual\nattempt to break open the close walls of our earthly prison-house and\nlet a glimpse of God\u2019s light through.\n\nAs a matter of fact, everything we possess or know of to-day, is\nthe visible outcome of a once imagined possibility. It has been\nvery grandly said that \u201cthe Universe itself was once a dream in the\nmind of God.\u201d So may we say that every scientific law, every canon\nof beauty--every great discovery--every splendid accomplishment was\nonce a dream in the mind of man. All the religions of the world, with\ntheir deep, beautiful, grand or terrific symbols of life, death and\nimmortality, have had their origin in the instinctive effort of the\nSoul to detach itself from the mere earthly, and to imagine something\nbetter. In the early days, this strong aspiration of humanity towards\na greater and more lasting good than its own immediate interest,\nwas displayed in the loftiest and purest conceptions of art. The\nthoughts of the \u201cold-world\u201d period are written in well-nigh indelible\ncharacters. The colossal architecture of the temples of ancient\nEgypt--and that marvellous imaginative creation, the Sphinx, with its\nimmutable face of mingled scorn and pity--the beautiful classic forms\nof old Greece and Rome--these are all visible evidences of spiritual\naspiration and endeavour,--moreover, they are the expression of a\nbroad, reposeful strength,--a dignified consciousness of power. The\nglorious poetry of the Hebrew Scriptures--the swing and rush of Homer\u2019s\nIliad,--the stately simplicity and profundity of Plato,--these also\nbelong to what we know of the youth of the world. And they are still\na part of the world\u2019s most precious possessions. We, in our day, can\ndo nothing so great. We have neither the imagination to conceive such\nwork, nor the calm force necessary to execute it. The artists of a\nformer time laboured with sustained and tireless, yet tranquil energy;\nwe can only produce imitations of the greater models with a vast amount\nof spasmodic hurry and clamour. So, perchance, we shall leave to future\ngenerations little more than an echo of \u201cmuch ado about nothing.\u201d For,\ntruly, we live at present under a veritable scourge of mere noise. No\nking, no statesman, no general, no thinker, no writer, is allowed to\nfollow the course of his duty or work without the shrieking comments\nof all sorts and conditions of uninstructed and misguided persons, and\nunder such circumstances it is well to remember the strong lines of our\nlast great poet Laureate:--\n\n\n     Step by step we gain\u2019d a freedom, known to Europe, known to all,--\n     Step by step we rose to greatness,--through the _tonguesters_\n       we may fall!\n\n\nBut our chief disablement for high creative work,--and one that is\nparticularly noticeable at this immediate period of our history, is, as\nI have said, the \u201cvanishing of the gift\u201d--the lack of Imagination. To\nbe wanting in this, is to be wanting in the first element of artistic\ngreatness. The poet, the painter, the sculptor, or the musician must\nbe able to make a world of his own and live in it, before he can make\none for others. When he has evolved such a world out of his individual\nconsciousness, and has peopled it with the creations of his fancy,\nhe can turn its \u201cairy substance\u201d into reality for all time. For the\nthings we call \u201cimaginative\u201d are often far more real than what we call\n\u201crealism.\u201d All that we touch, taste and see, we call \u201creal.\u201d Now we\ncannot touch, taste or see Honour--but surely it is real! We cannot\nweigh out Courage in a solidified parcel--yet it is an actual thing.\nSo with Imagination--it shows us what we may, if we choose, consider\n\u201cthe baseless fabric of a vision\u201d--but which often proves as real and\npractical in its results as Honour and Courage. Shakespeare\u2019s world is\nreal;--so real that there are not wanting certain literary imposters\nwho grudge him its reality and strive to dispossess him of his own.\nWalter Scott\u2019s world is real--so real, that a shrine has been built for\nhim in Edinburgh, crowded with sculptured figures of men and women,\nmost of whom never existed, save in his teeming fancy. What a tribute\nto the power of Imagination is the beautiful monument in the centre of\nPrinces Street, with all the forms evoked from one great mind, lifted\nhigh above us, who consider ourselves \u201creal\u201d people! And now the lesser\nworld of thought is waiting for the discovery of a Cryptogram in the\nWaverley Novels, which shall prove that King George the Fourth wrote\nthem with the assistance of Scott\u2019s game-keeper, Tom Purdie,--and that\nhis Majesty gave Scott a baronetcy on condition that he should never\ndivulge the true authorship! For, according to the narrow material\nlimits of some latter-day minds, no one man could possibly have written\nShakespeare\u2019s Plays. Therefore it may be equally argued that, as there\nis as much actual work, and quite as many characters in the Waverley\nNovels as in the plays of Shakespeare, they could not all have emanated\nfrom the one brain of Sir Walter Scott. Come forward then with a\n\u201cWaverley cryptogram,\u201d little mean starvelings of literature who would\nfain attempt to prove a man\u2019s work is not his own! There are sure to be\nsome envious fools always ready to believe that the great are not so\ngreat,--the heroic not so heroic, and that after all, they, the fools,\nmay be wiser than the wisest men!\n\nIn very truth, one of the worst signs of the vanishing of the gift of\nImagination in these days is the utter inability of the majority of\nmodern folk to understand its value. The creative ease and exquisite\nhappiness of an imaginative soul which builds up grand ideals of life\nand love and immortality with less effort than is required for the\nact of breathing, seems to be quite beyond their comprehension. And\nso--unfortunately it often follows that what is above them they try to\npull down,--and what is too large for them to grasp, they endeavour\nto bind within their own narrow ring of experience. The attempt is\nof course useless. We cannot get the planet Venus to serve us as a\nlamp on our dinner table. We cannot fit the eagle into a sparrow\u2019s\nnest. But some people are always trying to do this sort of thing.\nAnd when they find they cannot succeed, they fall into a fit of the\nspleen, and revile what they cannot emulate. There is no surer sign of\nmental and moral decadence than this grudging envy of a great fame.\nFor the healthy mind rejoices in the recognition of genius wherever\nor whenever it may be discovered, and has a keen sense of personal\ndelight in giving to merit all its due. Hero-worship is a much finer\nand more invigorating emotion than hero-slander. The insatiate\ndesire which is shown by certain writers nowadays, to pull down the\ngreat reputations of the past, destroy old traditions, and cheapen\nnoble attainment, resembles a sudden outbreak of insane persons who\nstrive to smash everything within their reach. It is in its way a\nform of Imagination,--but Imagination diseased and demoralized. For\nImagination, like all other faculties of the brain, can become sickly\nand perverted. When it is about to die it shows--in common with\neverything else in that condition,--signs of its dissolution. Such\nsigns of feebleness and decay are everywhere visible in the world at\nthe present time. They are shown in the constant output of decadent\nand atheistical literature--in the decline of music and the drama from\nnoble and classic forms to the repulsive \u201cproblem\u201d play and the comic\nopera--in the splashy daubing of good canvas called \u201cimpressionist\u201d\npainting--in the acceptance, or passive toleration, of the vilest\ndoggerel verse as \u201cpoetry\u201d--and in the wretched return to the lowest\nforms of ignorance displayed in the \u201cfashionable\u201d craze for palmistry,\nclairvoyance, crystal-gazing, and sundry other quite contemptible\nevidences of foolish credulity concerning the grave issues of life and\ndeath,--combined with a most sorrowful, most deplorable indifference\nto the simple and pure teachings of the Christian Faith. Even in the\nChristian Faith itself, its chosen ministers seem unable to serve their\nDivine Master without quarrelling over trifles,--which is surely no\npart of their calling and election.\n\nEverywhere there is a lack of high ideals,--and all the arts suffer\nseverely in consequence. Modern education itself checks and cramps the\ngrowth of imaginative originality. The general tendency is unhappily\ntowards the basest forms of materialism, and a large majority of people\nappear to be smitten with a paralysing apathy concerning everything\nbut the making of money. That art is pursued with a horrible avidity,\nto the exclusion of every higher and nobler pursuit. Yet it needs\nvery little \u201cimagination\u201d to prophesy what the end of a nation is\nbound to be when the unbridled fever of avarice once sets in. History\nhas chronicled the ruin of empires from this one cause over and over\nagain for our warning; and as Carlyle said in his stern and strenuous\nway--\u201cOne thing I do know: Never on this earth was the relation of\nman to man long carried on by cash payment alone. If at any time a\nphilosophy of Laissez-faire, Competition and Supply-and-Demand start up\nas the exponent of human relations, expect that it will soon end.\u201d\n\nPerhaps some will say that Imagination is not a \u201cvanishing gift\u201d--and\nthat Idealism and Romance still exist, at any rate among the Celtic\nraces, and in countries such as Scotland, for instance, the home of\nso much noble tradition, song and story. I wish I could believe this.\nBut unhappily the proofs are all against it. If the Imaginative Spirit\nwere not decaying in Scotland as elsewhere, should we have seen the\nwanton and wicked destruction of one of its fairest scenes of natural\nbeauty--the Glen and Fall of Foyers? There, where once the clear\nbeautiful cascade whose praises were sung by Robert Burns, dashed down\nin its thundering glory among the heather and bracken, there are now\nfelled trees, sorrowful blackened stumps, withering ferns and trampled\nflowers, dirty car-tracks, and all the indescribable muck which follows\nin the wake of the merely money-grubbing human microbe. And where once\nthe pulse was quickened to a sane and healthy delight in the grandeur\nof unspoilt Nature, and the mind was uplifted from sordid cares to\nhigh contemplation, we are now asked to buy an aluminium paper-knife\nfor a shilling! Human absurdity can no further go than this. There can\nbe little imagination left in the minds that could have tolerated the\nbuilding of aluminium works where Foyers once poured music through\nthe glen. And it is instructive to recall the action taken by the\nBelgian people--who are generally supposed to be very prosaic,--when\nsome of their beautiful scenery on the river Ambl\u00e8ve, was threatened\nwith similar destruction. Mustering together, three to four thousand\nstrong, they took a reduced model of the intended factory, burnt it\non the spot, and threw its ashes into the river; performing such a\nterror-striking \u201ccarmagnole\u201d of revolt, that the authorities were\ncompelled to prohibit the erection of the proposed works, for fear of\na general rising throughout the country. Would that such a protest\nhad been offered by the people of Scotland against the destruction of\nFoyers!\n\nAnd what of the pitiful ruin of Loch Katrine?--once an unspoilt gem of\nHighland scenery, doubly beloved for the sake of Sir Walter Scott\u2019s\n\u201cLady of the Lake\u201d? What of the submerging of \u201cEllen\u2019s Isle\u201d?--the\nruthless uprooting of that \u201centangled wood\u201d--\n\n\n     Where Nature scattered, free and wild.\n     Each plant or flower, the mountain\u2019s child,--\n     Here eglantine embalmed the air,\n     Heather and hazel mingled there.\n\n         *       *       *       *       *\n\n     The wanderer\u2019s eye could barely view\n     The summer heaven\u2019s delicious blue--\n     So wondrous wild!--the whole might seem\n     The scenery of a fairy dream!\n\n\nI have been assured on the very best authority that all the beauty of\nLoch Katrine could have been left undisturbed, had the Scottish people\ntaken any actively determined measures towards preserving it. The\nincreasing water-supply necessary for Glasgow could have been procured\nfrom Loch Vennachar, which is a larger loch, and quite as good for the\npurpose. Only it would have cost more money, and that extra cash was\nnot forthcoming, even for Sir Walter\u2019s sake! It is a poor return to\nmake to the memory of him who did so much for the fame of Scotland,\nto mutilate the scene he loved and immortalized! The struggles and\ndisasters of the Jacobite Cause, and the defeat at Culloden brought\nmore gain than loss to Scotland, by filling the land with glorious song\nand heroic tradition,--the result of the noble idealistic spirit which\nmade even failure honourable,--but the defacement of Loch Katrine, the\nscene of \u201cThe Lady of the Lake\u201d is nothing but a disgrace to those who\nauthorized it, and to those who kept silence while the deed was done.\n\nBut there are yet other signs and tokens of the disappearance of\nthat idealistic and romantic spirit in Scotland, which has more than\nanything, helped to make its history such a brilliant chronicle of\nheroism and honour. There are \u201ca certain class\u201d of Scottish people who\nare ashamed of the Scotch accent, and who affect to be unable to read\nanything written in the Scotch dialect. I am told--though I would hope\nit is not true--that the larger majority of Scottish ladies object to\nScotch music, and do not know any Scotch songs. If this _is_ true of\nany \u201ccertain class\u201d of Scottish people, I am sorry for them. They have\nfallen down a long way from the height where birth and country placed\nthem! I should like to talk to any Scot, man or woman, who is ashamed\nof the Scotch accent. As well be ashamed of the mountain heather! I\nshould like to interview any renegade son or daughter of the Celtic\nrace, who is not proud of every drop of Celtic blood, every word and\nline of Celtic tradition,--every sweet song that expresses the Celtic\ncharacter. Nothing that is purely national should be set aside or\nallowed to perish. It is a thousand pities that the old Gaelic speech\nis dying out in the Highlands, along with the picturesque \u201cplaid\u201d and\n\u201cbonnet\u201d of the Highland shepherds. The Gaelic language is a rich\nand copious one, and should be kept up in every Scottish school and\nUniversity. Some of the Gaelic music, too, is the most beautiful in the\nworld,--and many a so-called \u201coriginal\u201d composer has taken the theme\nfor an overture or a symphony from an ancient, long-forgotten Gaelic\ntune. A fine spirit of romance and idealism is the natural heritage of\nthe Celtic race;--far too precious a birthright to be exchanged for\nthe languid indifferentism of latter-day London fashion, which too\noften makes a jest of noble enthusiasm, and which would, no doubt, call\nSir Walter Scott\u2019s fine novel of _The Heart of Midlothian_, \u201ckailyard\nliterature\u201d--if it dared!\n\nAnd who that understands anything about music is so foolish and\nignorant as to despise a Scottish song? Where can we match, in all\nsong literature, the songs of Robert Burns? What German \u201clied\u201d--what\nFrench or Italian \u201ccanzonet\u201d or \u201cchansonette\u201d expresses such real human\ntenderness as \u201cOf a\u2019 the airts\u201d or \u201cMy Nannie O!\u201d? And it should be\nremembered that the imaginative pathos of the Scottish song has its\nother side of imaginative humour--sly, dry humour, such as cannot be\nrivalled in any language or dialect of the world. And in spite of the\nincredible assertion that they are beginning to despise their native\nDoric, there are surely few real Scotsmen who, even at this time of day\nfail to understand the whimsical satire of the famous old Jacobite song:\n\n\n     Wha the deil hae we gotten for a king\n        But a wee, wee German lairdie,\n     An\u2019 he\u2019s brought fouth o\u2019 foreign trash\n        An\u2019 dibbled it in his yairdie,--\n     He\u2019s pu\u2019d the rose o\u2019 England loons\n     An\u2019 broken the harp o\u2019 Irish clowns--\n     But our Scotch thistle will jag his thumbs!\n        The wee, wee German lairdie!\n\n\nWe shall not find anything of a bilious nature in a Scottish love-song.\nWe shall not hear the swain asking his lady-love to meet him \u201cin some\nsky,\u201d or \u201cwhen the hay is in the mow,\u201d or any other vaguely indefinite\nplace or period. The Scottish lover appears,--if we may judge him\nby his native song,--to be supremely healthy in his sentiments, and\ngratefully conscious of the excellence of both life and love. He takes\neven poverty with a light heart, and does not grizzle over it in\ntrickling tears of dismal melody. No; he says simply and cheerily:\n\n\n     My riches a\u2019 my penny fee,\n       An\u2019 I maun guide it cannie O,--\n     But this world\u2019s gear ne\u2019er fashes me,--\n         My thoughts are a\u2019 my Nannie O!\n\n\nIt will be a sad day indeed when this spirit of wholesome, tender and\npoetic imagination drifts away altogether from Scotland. We must not\nforget that the Scottish race has taken a very firm root in the New\nWorld Beyond Seas,--and that out in Canada and Australia and South\nAfrica the memories and the traditions of home are dear to the hearts\nof thousands who call Scotland their mother. Surely they should be\nprivileged to feel that in their beautiful ancestral land, the old\nproud spirit is still kept up,--the old legends, the old language,\nthe old songs,--all the old associations, which--far away as they\nare forced to dwell--they can still hand down to their children and\ntheir children\u2019s children. No king,--no statesman, can do for a\ncountry what its romancists and poets can,--for the sovereignty of the\ntruly inspired and imaginative soul is supreme, and as far above all\nother earthly dominion as the fame of Homer is above the conquests\nof Alexander. And when the last touch of idealistic fancy and poetic\nsentiment has been crushed out of us, and only the dry husks of\nrealism are left to feed swine withal, then may we look for the end\nof everything that is worth cherishing and fighting for in our much\nboasted civilization.\n\nFor with the vanishing gift, vanish many other things, which may be\ncalled in the quaint phrasing of an Elizabethan writer, \u201ca bundle of\ngood graces.\u201d The chivalrous spirit of man towards woman is one of\nthose \u201cgood graces\u201d which is rapidly disappearing. Hospitality is\nanother \u201cgood grace\u201d which is on the wane. The art of conversation\nis almost a lost one. People talk as they ride bicycles--at a\nrush--without pausing to consider their surroundings. Elegant manners\nare also at a discount. The \u201cscorching,\u201d steaming, spasmodic motor\nman-animal does not inspire reverence. The smoking, slangy horsey,\nbetting, woman-animal is not a graceful object. In the days of classic\nGreece and Rome, men and women \u201cimagined\u201d themselves to be descended\nfrom the gods;--and however extravagant the idea, it was likely to\nbreed more dignity and beauty of conduct than if they had \u201cimagined\u201d\nthemselves descended from apes. A nation rounds itself to an Ideal, as\nthe clay forms into shape on a potter\u2019s wheel. It is well, therefore,\nto see that the Ideal be pure and lofty, and not a mere Golden Image\nlike that set up by King Nebuchadnezzar, who ended his days by eating\ngrass,--possibly thistles. Some of our public men might perhaps be\nbetter for a little more Imagination, and a little less red tape. It\nmight take them healthfully out of themselves. For most of them seem\nburdened with an absurd self-consciousness, which is apt to limit the\nextent of their view out on public affairs. Others again are afflicted\nby the hedge-hog quality of \u201cstand-offishness\u201d which they unfortunately\nmistake for dignity. And others affect to despise public opinion, and\nhave a curious habit of overlooking the fact that it is the much-abused\npublic which sets them in office and pays to keep them there. Their\nIdeal of public life and service partakes too much of Self to be nobly\nNational.\n\nWhat, after all, is Imagination? It is a great many things. It is\na sense of beauty and harmony. It is an instinct of poetry and of\nprophecy. A Persian poet describes it as an immortal sense of memory\nwhich is always striving to recall the beautiful things the Soul has\nlost. Another fancy, also from the East, is that it is \u201can instinctive\npremonition of beautiful things to come.\u201d Another, which is perhaps\nthe most accurate description of all, is that it is \u201cthe Sun-dial of\nthe Soul on which God flashes the true time of day.\u201d This is true, if\nwe bear in mind that Imagination is always ahead of Science, pointing\nout in advance the great discovery to come. Shakespeare foretold the\nwhole science of geology in three words--\u201cSermons in stones,\u201d--and\nthe vast business of the electric telegraph in one line--\u201cI\u2019ll put a\ngirdle round the earth in forty minutes.\u201d One of the Hebrew prophets\n\u201cimagined\u201d the phonograph when he wrote \u201cDeclare unto me the image\nof a voice.\u201d As we all know, the marks on the wax cylinder in a\nphonograph are \u201cthe image of a voice.\u201d The air-ship may prove a very\nmarvellous invention, but the imagination which saw Aladdin\u2019s palace\nflying from one country to another was long before it. All the genii\nin the Arabian Nights stories were only the symbols of the elements\nwhich man might control if he but rubbed the lamp of his intelligence\nsmartly enough. Every fairy tale has a meaning; every legend a lesson.\nThe submarine boat in perfection has been \u201cimagined\u201d by Jules Verne.\nWireless telegraphy appears to have been known in the very remote days\nof Egypt, for in a rare old book called _The History of the Pyramids_,\ntranslated from the Arabic, and published in France in 1672, we find\nan account of a certain high priest of Memphis named Saurid,--who, so\nsays the ancient Arabian chronicler, \u201cprepared for himself a casket\nwherein he put magic fire, and shutting himself up with the casket, he\nsent messages with the fire day and night, over land and sea, to all\nthose priests over whom he had command, so that all the people should\nbe made subject to his will. And he received answers to his messages\nwithout stop or stay, and none could hold or see the running fire, so\nthat all the land was in fear by reason of the knowledge of Saurid.\u201d In\nthe same volume we find that a priestess named Borsa evidently used the\ntelephone. For, according to her history, \u201cShe applied her mouth and\nears unto pipes in the wall of her dwelling, and so heard and answered\nthe requests of the people in the distant city.\u201d\n\nThus it would seem that there is nothing new under the sun to that\n\u201cdainty Ariel\u201d of the mind, Imagination. It sees all present things\nat a glance, and foretells what is yet to come. It may well be called\nthe Sun-dial of the Soul; but it is a Dial that must be kept sound\nand clean. There must be no crack in it,--it must not be allowed to\nget overgrown with the slimy mosses and rank weeds of selfishness and\npersonal prejudice,--the index hand must be firmly set,--and none\nof the numeral figures must be missing! So, perchance, shall God\nflash the true time of day upon it, for such as will hold themselves\nfree to mark the Hour according to His will. And for those who do\nthus hold themselves free,--for those who care to keep this precious\nSun-dial clear and clean in their souls, there shall always be light\nand love,--and such clear reflections of divine beauty and peace as\nare described by the \u201cEttrick Shepherd\u201d in his story of _Kilmeny in\nFairyland_:\n\n\n     For Kilmeny had been, she knew not where,\n     And Kilmeny had seen what she could not declare;\n     But it seemed as the harp of the sky had rung,\n     And the airs of heaven played round her tongue!\n\n\n\n\nTHE POWER OF THE PEN\n\n\nThe dignity of Literature is, or used to be, something more than a\nmere phrase. Days there were in the long-ago, when the thinkers and\nwriters of a nation were held to be worthy of higher honour than\ntrade-kings and stock-jobbers,--when each one that shone out was \u201ca\nbright particular star\u201d of genius, as frankly owned as an object\nof admiration in the literary firmament. At that time there was\nno \u201csyndicated\u201d press. The followers and disciples of Literature\nwere not all herded together, as it were, in a kind of scribbling\ntrades-union. The poet, the novelist, the essayist,--each one of\nthese moved in his or her own appointed orbit, and their differing\nspecial ways of handling the topics of their time served to interest,\ncharm and stimulate the intelligences of people who were cultured and\nappreciative enough to understand and honour their efforts. But now\nthings are greatly changed. What has been generally understood as\n\u201ccultured\u201d society is rapidly deteriorating into baseness and voluntary\nignorance. The profession of letters is so little understood, and\nso far from being seriously appreciated, that responsible editors\nwill accept and publish magazine articles by women of \u201ctitle\u201d and\n\u201cfashion,\u201d who prove themselves as ignorant of grammar as they are of\nspelling. The printer\u2019s reader corrects the spelling, but the grammar\nis generally left as its \u201caristocratic\u201d writer penned it, in majestic\nincompleteness. The newspapers are full, not of thoughtful, honestly\nexpressed public opinion on the affairs of the nation, but of vapid\n\u201cpersonalities,\u201d interesting to none save gossips and busy-bodies. A\nlamentable lack of strength is apparent in the whole \u201ctone\u201d of modern\nLiterature, together with a still more lamentable lack of wit. All\ntopics, say the pessimists, are exhausted. The quarrels of politicians\nhave exhausted earth,--the recriminations of the Churches have\nexhausted Heaven,--and the bold immoralities of society have, almost,\nif not quite, exhausted Hell. Yet the topic which holds in itself a\ngreat many of the pleasures of earth and heaven--with perhaps a touch\nof the other nameless place also, is still the Power of the Pen. It\nremains, even in these days, the greatest power for good or evil in\nthe world. With the little instrument which rests so lightly in the\nhand, whole nations can be moved. It is nothing to look at; generally\nspeaking it is a mere bit of wood with a nib at the end of it--but when\nit is poised between thumb and finger, it becomes a living thing--it\nmoves with the pulsations of the loving heart and thinking brain, and\nwrites down, almost unconsciously, the thoughts that live--the words\nthat burn.\n\nTo the power of the Pen we owe our laws, our government, our\ncivilization, our very religion. For without it we should have no\nBible--no New Testament. Our histories, our classics, our philosophies,\nour poetry, would all be lost with their originators. We should not\nknow that Julius C\u00e6sar ever walked on the shores of Britain, or that\nNero fiddled while Rome was burning. In fact we should still be in\nthe dark ages, without so much as a dream of the magnificent era of\nprogress through which we have come, and in which we, of this present\ngeneration, have our glorious share. And so I think and venture to\nsay that the power of the Pen is one which commands more millions of\nhuman beings than any monarch\u2019s rule, and that the profession of the\npen, called Literature, is the greatest, the highest, and the noblest\nthat is open to aspiring ambition. Empires, thrones, commerce, war,\npolitics, society--these things last but their brief hour--the Power of\nthe Pen takes note of them as they pass--but outlives them all!\n\nWe should know nothing to-day of the grandeurs of old Egypt, or the\nhistories of her forgotten kings, if it were not for the Rosetta\nstone--on which the engraver\u2019s instrument, serving as a pen, wrote the\nEgyptian hieroglyphics beside the Greek characters, thus giving us\nthe clue to the buried secrets of a long past great civilization. The\nclassic land of Greece, once foremost in all things which make nations\ngreat, particularly in the valour and victorious deeds of her military\nheroes, has almost forgotten her ancient glory--she might perhaps be\nforgotten by other nations altogether in the constant springing up of\nnew countries and peoples if it were not for Homer! The blind, despised\nold man, who sang her golden days of pride and conquest, still keeps\nher memory green. And let us not forget that other glorious poet, who\nlaid his laurel-wreath and life upon her shrine--our own immortal\nByron--whose splendid lyric, \u201cThe Isles of Greece\u201d may stand beside\nthe finest lines of Homer, and not be shamed.\n\nWhat does all Italy, and particularly Florence, make chief boast of\nto-day? Not commerce, not wealth--simply Dante! In his lifetime he was\nmade a subject for hatred and derision--he was scorned, cast out, and\nexiled by his fellow-townsfolk--yet now he is the great glory of his\nnative city which claims respect from all the world for having been the\nbirthplace of so supreme a soul. So, even after death, the Power of the\nPen takes its revenge, and ensures its just recognition.\n\nYet there are many workers in Literature who say that the Power of\nthe Pen gives them no joy at all,--that it is a \u201cgrind,\u201d--that it is\nfull of disappointment and bitterness, and that they never get paid\nenough for what they do. This last is always a very sore point with\nthem. They brood on it, and consider it so often, that by and by the\nquestion of how much or how little payment they get, becomes the only\nway in which they regard their profession. It is the wrong way. It is\nthe way that leads straight to biliousness and chronic dyspepsia. It is\nnot my way. To me, what little power of the pen I possess, is a magic\ntalisman which I would not exchange for millions of money. It makes\nlife beautiful for me--it intensifies and transfigures all events and\nincidents--it shows me a whole history in the face of a child--a whole\nvolume of poetry and philosophy in the cup of a flower. It enables\nme to see the loveliness of nature with keener and more appreciative\ngratitude--and it fills me with an inward happiness which no outward\ncircumstance can destroy.\n\nOf course just payment is to be demanded and expected for every kind\nof work. The rule of \u201cgive and take\u201d holds good in all classes of\nemployment. Each author\u2019s power of the pen commands its price according\nto the value set upon it by the public. But I, personally, have refused\nmany considerable sums of money offered to me if I would consent to\n\u201cwork up\u201d or \u201cbring forward\u201d certain schemes and subjects with which\nI have no sympathy. The largest cheque would never tempt me to write\nagainst my own inclination. If I were given such a choice as this--to\nwrite something entirely opposed to my own feeling and conscience for\na thousand pounds, or to write my honest thought for nothing, I would\nwrite my honest thought, and let the thousand pounds go. I am glad to\nsay that some of my contemporaries are with me in this particular form\nof literary faith--but not as many as, for the honour of our calling, I\ncould desire.\n\nThen again, there is that vexed question of--the Public! I have often\nnoticed, with a humility too deep for words, that all the great modern\nwriters, or, I should say, all those who consider themselves the\ngreatest, have a lofty contempt for the public. \u201c\u2018He,\u2019 or \u2018she\u2019 writes\nfor the Public,\u201d is a remark which, when spoken with a withering sneer,\nis supposed to have the effect of completely crushing the ambitious\nscribbler whose Power of the Pen has attracted some little attention.\nNow if authors are not to write for the Public, who are they to write\nfor? Certain of the \u201csuperior\u201d folk among them will say that they write\n\u201cfor posterity.\u201d But then, Posterity is also the Public! I really\ndo not see how either the great or the small author is to get away\nfrom the Public anyhow! There is only one means of escape, and that\nis--not to write at all. But if those to whom the Power of the Pen is\ngiven, wish to claim and use their highest privileges, they will work\nalways for the public, and try to win their laurels from the public\nalone. Not by the voice of any \u201cclique,\u201d \u201cclub,\u201d or \u201cset\u201d will Time\naccept the final verdict of an author\u2019s greatness, but by the love and\nhonour of an entire people. Because, whatever passing surface fancies\nmay for awhile affect the public humour, the central soul of a nation\nalways strives for Right, for Justice, and for final Good, and the\nauthor whose Power of the Pen helps strongly, boldly, and faithfully on\ntowards these great ends, is not, and shall not be, easily forgotten.\n\nI hope and I believe, that it is only a few shallow, ignorant and\nunsuccessful persons--fancying perhaps that they have the Power of the\nPen when they have it not--who, in their disappointment, take a sort\nof doleful comfort in \u201cposing\u201d as unrecognized geniuses, whose quality\nof thought is too fine,--they would say too \u201csubtle\u201d--for the public\ntaste. For, in my humble opinion, nothing is too good for the Public.\nThey deserve the very best they can get. No \u201cscamp\u201d work should ever\nbe offered to them. If a poet sings, let him sing his sweetest for\nthem; if a painter paints pictures, let him give them his finest skill;\nif an author writes stories, essays or romances, let him do his very\nutmost to charm, to instruct, to awaken their thought and excite their\ninterest. It is not a wise thing to start writing for \u201cposterity.\u201d\nBecause, if the present Public will have nothing to do with you, it is\nten to one whether the future will. All our great authors have worked\nfor the public of their own immediate time, without any egotistical\ncalculations as to their possible wider appreciation after death.\n\nThe greatest poet in the world, William Shakespeare, was, from all we\ncan gather, an unaffected, cheery, straightforward Warwickshire man,\nwho wrote plays to please the Public who went to the Globe Theatre.\nHe did not say he was too good for the Public; he worked _for_ the\nPublic. He attached so little importance to his own genius, that he\nmade no mention of his work in his will. So we may fairly judge that he\nnever dreamed of the future splendour of his fame--when, three hundred\nyears after his death, every civilized country in the world would have\nsocieties founded in his name; when, year after year, new discussions\nwould be opened up concerning his Plays, new actors would be busy\nworking hard to represent his characters, and, strangest compliment of\nall, when envious persons would turn up to say his work was not his\nown! For when genius is so varying and brilliant that a certain section\nof the narrow-minded cannot understand its many-sided points of view,\nand will not believe that it is the inheritance of one human brain,\nthen it is great indeed! Three hundred years hence there will, no\ndoubt, be other people to announce to the world that Walter Scott did\nnot write, and could not have written, the Waverley Novels. For they\nare--in their own special way--as great as the plays of Shakespeare.\nHe, too, was one of those who wrote for the Public. With his magic\nwand he touched the wild mountains, lakes and glens of his native\nland, and transfigured them with the light of romance and beauty for\never. Can we imagine Scotland without Walter Scott and Robert Burns?\nNo! Their power of the pen rules the whole country, and gives it over\nthe heads of monarchs a free fairy kingdom to all classes and peoples\nwho have the wish and will to possess it. There are certain superior\npeople nowadays who declare that Walter Scott is \u201cold-fashioned,\u201d and\nthat they, for their parts, cannot read his novels. Well, I grant that\nWalter Scott _is_ old-fashioned--as old-fashioned as the sunshine--and\njust as wholesome. He lived in a time when men still reverenced women,\nand when women gave men cause for reverence. I think if he could be\namong us now, and see the change that has come over society since his\nday, he would scarcely have the heart to write at all. The idolatry\nof wealth--the servile worship of the newest millionaire--would\nhardly inspire his pen, save perhaps to sorrow and indignation. But\nif he were with us and did write for us, I am sure he would employ\nsome of his great power to protest against the lack of fine feeling,\ngentleness, forbearance and courtesy which unfortunately marks much of\nour latter-day society. I think he would have something to say about\nthe school-girl who smokes,--I fancy his mind might revolt against the\nskirt-dancing peeress! I think he would implore women not to part with\ntheir chief charm--womanliness--and I am sure he would be very sorry to\nsee children of ten and eleven so deplorably \u201cadvanced\u201d as to be unable\nto appreciate a fairy tale.\n\nAnd what of dear Charles Dickens--he, whom certain superfine persons\nwho read Yellow Journalism presume to call \u201cvulgar\u201d? Is love, is pity,\nis tenderness, is faith \u201cvulgar\u201d? Is kindness to the poor, patience\nwith the suffering, tolerance for all men and all creeds \u201cvulgar\u201d?\nIf so, then Charles Dickens _was_ vulgar!--not a doubt of it! Few\nauthors have ever been so blessedly, gloriously \u201cvulgar\u201d as he! What\nmarvellous pictures his \u201cpower of the pen\u201d conjures up at once before\nour eyes!--pathetic, playful, humourous, thrilling--rising to grandeur\nin such scenes as the shipwreck in _David Copperfield_; or that\nwonderful piece of description in the _Tale of Two Cities_, when the\ntramping feet of the Spirit of the French Revolution sweep past in the\nsilence of the night! Match us such a passage in any literature past or\npresent! It is unique in its own way--as unique as all great work must\nbe. There is nothing quite like it, and never will be anything quite\nlike it. And when we \u201cgo\u201d with such great authors as these--and by this\nI mean, when we are determined to be one with them--we shall win such\nvictories over our hearts and minds, our passions and desires, as shall\nmake us better and stronger men and women.\n\nAnd this brings me to a point which I have often earnestly considered.\nOne cannot help noticing that the present system of education is fast\ndoing away with two great ingredients for the thorough enjoyment of\nlife, and especially the enjoyment of Literature--Imagination and\nAppreciation. On the school-boy or school-girl who is \u201ccoached\u201d or\n\u201ccrammed,\u201d the gates of fairyland and romance are shut with a bang. I\nhad once the pleasure of entertaining at my house a small gentleman\nof eleven, fresh from his London College--he was indifferent to, or\nweary of life; things generally, were a \u201cbore,\u201d and he expressed his\nopinion of fairy tales in one brief word, \u201cRot!\u201d Now altogether apart\nfrom that most revolting expression, which is becoming of frequent use,\nespecially in the \u201cupper circles,\u201d it seemed to me a real misfortune\nto consider, that for this child, Hans Andersen was a sealed book, and\nthe wonders and beauties of the _Arabian Nights_ a lost world. And in\nthe same way I pity the older children--the grown men and women, who\ncannot give themselves up to the charm or terror of a book completely\nand ungrudgingly--who approach their authors with a carping hesitation\nand a doubtful preparatory sneer. By so doing they shut against\nthemselves the gate of a whole garden of delights. Imagination is the\nsupreme endowment of the poet and romancist. It is a kind of second\nsight, which conveys the owner of it to places he has never seen,\nand surrounds him with strange circumstances of which he is merely\nthe spiritual eyewitness. One of the most foolish notions prevalent\nnowadays is that an author must personally go and visit the place he\nintends to describe. Nothing is more fatal. For accuracy of detail,\nwe can consult a guide book--but for a complete picture which shall\nimpress us all our lives long, we must go to the inspired author whose\nprescience or second-sight enables him to be something more than a mere\nBaedeker. Endless examples of this second-sight faculty could be given.\nTake Shakespeare as the best of them. He could never have personally\nknown Antony and Cleopatra. He did not live in the time of Julius\nC\u00e6sar. He was not guilty of murder because he described a murder in\n_Macbeth_. He could not have been a \u201cfellow-student\u201d of Hamlet\u2019s. And\nwhere do you suppose, among the grim realities of life, he could have\nmet those exquisite creations, Ariel and Puck, if not in the heaven\nof his own peerless imagination, borne to him on the brilliant wings\nof his own thought, to take shape and form, and stay with us in our\nEnglish language for ever! Walter Scott had never seen Switzerland when\nhe wrote _Anne of Geierstein_. Thomas Moore never visited the East,\nyet he wrote _Lalla Rookh_. Charles Dickens never fought a duel, and\nnever saw one fought, yet the duel between Mr. Chester and Haredale in\n_Barnaby Rudge_ is one of the finest scenes ever written. Because an\nauthor is able to describe a certain circumstance, it does not follow\nthat he or she has experienced that very circumstance personally. Very\noften it may be quite the contrary. The most romantic descriptions\nin novels have often been written by people leading very hum-drum,\nquiet lives of their own. We have only to think of _Jane Eyre_, and to\nremember the prosy, dull days passed by its author, Charlotte Bront\u00eb.\n\nTo refer once more to Hans Andersen--we all know that he never\ncould have seen a Dresden China shepherdess eloping up the chimney\nwith a Dresden China sweep. We know he never saw that dainty little\nshepherdess weeping on the top of a chimney because the world was so\nlarge, and because all her gilding was coming off. But when we are\nreading that fantastic little story, we feel he _must_ have seen it\nsomehow, and we are conscious of a slight vexation that we never see\nsuch a curious and delightful elopement ourselves. This is a phase of\nthe power of the pen--to make the beautiful, the quaint, the terrible,\nor the wonderful things of imagination seem an absolute reality.\n\nBut to get all the enjoyment out of an author\u2019s imagination, we, who\nread his books, must ourselves \u201cimagine\u201d with him. We must let him take\nus where he will; we must not draw back and refuse to go with him.\nWe must not approach him in a carping spirit, or make up our minds\nbefore opening his book, that we shall not like it. We should not\nallow our particular views of life, or our pet prejudices to intervene\nbetween ourselves and the writer whose power of the pen may teach us\nsomething new. And above all things, we should prepare ourselves to\nappreciate--not to depreciate. Nothing is easier than to find fault.\nThe cheapest sort of mind can do that. The dirty little street-boy can\nenter the British Museum and find fault with the Pallas Athene. But\nthe Pallas Athene remains the same. To be Pallas Athene is sufficient.\nThe power of appreciation is a great test of character. To appreciate\nwarmly, even enthusiastically, is generally the proof of a kind and\nsunny disposition; to depreciate is to be in yourself but a sad soul at\nbest! For depreciation in one thing leads to depreciation in another;\nand by and by the daily depreciator finds himself depreciating his\nMaker, and wondering why he was ever born! And he will never find\nan answer to that question till he changes his humour and begins to\nappreciate; then, and only then, will life explain its brightest\nmeaning.\n\nOf course, when vulgarity, coarseness, slang, and ribaldry are set\nforward as \u201cattractions\u201d in certain books and newspapers, it is\nnecessary to depreciate what is not the power of the pen, but the abuse\nof the pen. Such abuse is easily recognizable. The libellous paragraph,\nthe personal sneer, the society scandal--there is no need to enumerate\nthem. But we do not call the writers of these things authors, or even\njournalists. They are merely on a par with the anonymous letter-writer\nwhom all classes of society agree in regarding as the most contemptible\ncreature alive. And they do not come at all under the heading of the\npower of the pen, their only strength being weakness.\n\nI have already said that I believe the Power of the Pen to be the\ngreatest power for good or evil in the world. And I may add that this\npower is never more apparent than in the Press. The Press nowadays is\nnot a literary press; classic diction and brilliancy of style do not\ndistinguish it by any means. It would be difficult to find a single\nnewspaper or magazine to which we could turn for a lesson in pure and\nelegant English, such as that of Addison, Steele or Macaulay. But in\nthe Scott or Byron days, the Press was literary to a very great extent,\nand as a natural consequence it had a powerful influence on the success\nor failure of an author\u2019s work. That influence is past. Its work to-day\ndeals, not with books, but with nations.\n\nNational education, progressing steadily for years, has taught the\nPublic to make up its own mind more quickly than ever it did before, as\nregards the books it reads. It will take what it wants and leave the\nrest; and the Press can neither persuade it nor repel it against its\nown inclination. So that the author in these days has more difficulties\nand responsibilities than in the past. He has to fight his battle\nalone. He has many more rivals to compete with, and many more readers\nto please. And the Press cannot help him. The Press may recommend, may\neven \u201cboom\u201d his work; but several instances have occurred lately where\nsuch recommendation has not been accepted. For, sometimes the Public\nfight shy of a \u201cboom.\u201d They think it has been worked up by the author\u2019s\nfriends, and they are not always mistaken. And they silently express\nthe fact that they are quite capable of choosing the books they wish\nto read, without advice or assistance. This being the case, the Press\nis beginning to leave books and authors alone to shift for themselves\nas best they may, and is turning to other pastime. Nations, peoples,\ngovernments! These are the great footballs it occasionally kicks in\nthe struggle for journalistic pre-eminence. And I hope I shall not be\nmisunderstood if I venture to say that it is a somewhat dangerous game!\nBecause, however powerful the Press may be, it is not the People. It is\nthe printed opinion of certain editors and their staff. The People are\noutside it altogether. And if some one on the Press insults a monarch\nor a nation, that insult should not be taken as a People\u2019s insult. It\nis the insult of the editor or proprietor who deliberately allows it to\nbe printed in the particular journal he controls.\n\nIt is a thousand pities, for example, that a section of the lower\n_boulevard_ press in Paris should be accepted in any quarter, as being\nrepresentative of the feeling of the whole French people. When flippant\nand irresponsible newspaper scribes resort to calumny for the sake\nof notoriety, they prove themselves unworthy to be trusted with the\nPower of the Pen. In any case it can only be a God-forsaken creature\nwho seeks to earn his living by scurrility. Such an one may excite\nindividual contempt, but does not merit the notice of a great nation.\n\nAs an author and as a lover of literature, I care very much for the\nhonour and dignity of the British Press, and I cannot but earnestly\ndeprecate the too free exchange of petty or malicious innuendo between\nforeign and English writers on their various respective journals.\nBismarck used to say, \u201cThe windows which our Press breaks we shall have\nto pay for.\u201d The power of the pen is abused when _such_ windows are\nbroken as can only be mended by the sufferings of nations. If France\nor Germany sneers at us, or misreads our intentions, I do not see that\nwe are called upon to sneer at them in return. That is mere schoolboy\nconduct. Our dignity should shame their flippancy. The Press of such an\nempire as Great Britain can afford to be magnanimous and dignified. It\nis too big and strong a boy to throw stones at its little brothers.\n\nOn such a subject as the Power of the Pen, one might speak endless\ndiscourses, and write endless volumes, for it is practically\ninexhaustible. It is a power for good and evil--as I have said--but the\nauthor wrongs his vocation if he does not always, most steadfastly and\nhonestly, use it for Good. The Power of the Pen should define Right\nfrom Wrong with absolute certainty,--it should not so mix the two\ntogether that the reader cannot tell one from the other. In what is\ncalled the \u201cproblem\u201d novel or the \u201cproblem\u201d play, the authors manage so\nto befuddle the brains of their readers, that they hardly know whether\nvirtue is vice or vice virtue. This is putting the power of the pen to\nunfair and harmful uses. And when a writer--any writer--employs his\nor her power to promote the spirit of Atheism and Materialism, the\npen is turned into a merely murderous tool of the utmost iniquity.\nAnd whosoever uses it in this sense will have to answer at a Higher\nTribunal for much mischief and cruelty wrought in the world.\n\nMany people are familiar with Shakespeare\u2019s town, Stratford-on-Avon,\nquaint and peaceful and beautiful in itself, and in all its\nsurroundings. Outside it, many roads lead to many lovely glimpses of\nlandscape; but there is one road in particular which winds uphill,\nand from which, at certain times, the town itself is lost sight of,\nand only the tapering spire of Holy Trinity Church--Shakespeare\u2019s\nChurch--can be seen. Frequently at sunset, when the rosy hue of the\nlow clouds mingles with the silvery mist of the river Avon, all the\nhouses, bridges and streets are veiled in an opaque glow of colour--and\nlook like \u201cmirage,\u201d or a picture in a dream. And then, the spire\nof Shakespeare\u2019s Church, seen by itself, rising clear up from the\nsurrounding haze, puts on the distinct appearance of a Pen,--pointing\nupwards, as though prepared to write upon the sky!\n\nOften and often have I seen it so, and others have seen it with me,\nglittering against clouds, or lit up by a flashing sunbeam. I have\nalways thought it a true symbol of what the Power of the Pen should\nbe--to point upwards. To point to the highest aims of life, the best,\nthe greatest things; to rise clear out of the darkness and point\nstraight to the sunshine! For, if so uplifted, the Power of the Pen\nbecomes truly invincible. It can do almost anything. It can shame the\nknave--it can abash the fool. It can lower the proud,--it can raise the\nhumble. It can assist the march of Science,--it can crush opposition.\nArmed with truth and justice, its authority is greater than that of\ngovernments,--for it can upset governments. It would seem impossible to\ndethrone an unworthy king; but it has been done--by the Power of the\nPen! It is difficult to put down the arrogance of a county snob,--but\nit _can_ be done!--by the Power of the Pen! It may seem a terrible\ntask to root up lies, to destroy hypocrisies, shams, false things of\nevery kind, and make havoc among rogues, sensualists, and scoundrels\nof both high and low degree,--but it can be done, by the Power of the\nPen! And to those who are given this power in its truest sense, is also\nadded the gift of prophecy--the quick prescience of things To Be--the\nspiritual hearing which catches the first sound of the approaching\ntime. And beyond the things of time this spiritual sense projects\nitself, and hears, and almost _sees_, all that shall be found most\nglorious after death!\n\nWith the Power of the Pen we can uphold all noble things; we can\ndenounce all vile things. May all who have that power so deal with\nit--and point us on--and upward! For as our great poet, Tennyson,\nsays:--\n\n\n         What is true at last will tell;\n         Few at first will place thee well;\n     Some too low would have thee shine,\n     Some too high--no fault of thine!\n         Hold thine own and work thy will!\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLORY OF WORK\n\n\nVery commonplace and familiar--perhaps too commonplace and familiar\nis the subject of Work. Every one worthy the name of man or woman is,\nor desires to be a Worker, and none surely would voluntarily swell\nthe distressed ranks of the Unemployed. For to be unemployed is to be\nmiserable. To find nothing to do,--to be of no use to ourselves or to\nour fellow-creatures is to be more or less set aside and cast out from\nthe ever-working Divine scheme of labour and fruition, ambition and\naccomplishment. Among all the blessings which the Creator showers so\nliberally upon us, there is none greater than WORK. And amid all the\nevils which Man wilfully accumulates on his own head through ignorance\nand obstinacy, there is none so blighting and disastrous as Idleness.\n\nThere are, however, certain people who have persuaded themselves to\nlook upon Work as a curse. Many of these pin their theories on the\nThird Chapter of the Book of Genesis. There they read:\n\n\u201cCurs\u00ebd is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all\nthe days of thy life.\n\n\u201cIn the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread till thou return unto\nthe ground.\u201d\n\nBut we may take comfort in the fact that the Book of Genesis shows some\ncurious discrepancies. For in the Second Chapter God is represented as\nmaking _one_ single man out of the dust of the ground, yet in the very\nFirst Chapter of the same Book we read that,--\n\n\u201cGod created man in His own image; male and female created he _them_.\n\n\u201cAnd God blessed _them_ and said unto _them_ ... Be fruitful and\nmultiply, and replenish the earth and _subdue_ it: and have _dominion_\nover the fish of the sea and over the fowl of the air, and over every\nliving thing that moveth upon the earth.\u201d\n\nThus we find that the story of Adam and Eve and the Serpent does\nnot occur till _after_ the creation of mankind (in the plural) and\n_after_ the Divine order that this same mankind (in the plural) should\n\u201creplenish the earth and subdue it.\u201d No \u201ccurse\u201d accompanied this\ncommand. On the contrary, it was sanctified by a blessing. \u201cGod blessed\nthem.\u201d And whether Genesis be taken seriously, or only read as poetic\nlegend founded on some substratum of actual events, the fact remains\nthat \u201cto replenish the earth and subdue it,\u201d literally means,--to WORK.\nThe \u201cdominion\u201d of man over the planet he inhabits is not to be gained\nby sitting down with folded hands and waiting for food to drop into the\nmouth. It is evident that he was intended to earn his right to live. It\nis also evident that the blessing of God will be his, if from the first\nbeginnings of conscious intelligence and aptitude he resolutely and\nhonestly sets his shoulder to the wheel.\n\nIt is only when we are at work that we are vitally and essentially a\npart of God\u2019s great creative scheme. Idleness is an abnormal condition.\nIt is not to be found in nature. There everything works, and in the\nspecial task allotted to it, each conscious atom finds its life and\njoy. The smallest seed _works_, as it slowly but surely pushes its\nway up through the soil;--the bird _works_, as it builds its nest and\nforages the earth and air to find food for its young. We cannot point\nto the minutest portion of God\u2019s magnificent creation and say that it\nis idle. Nothing is absolutely at rest. There is--strictly speaking--no\nrest in the whole Universe. All things are working; all things are\nmoving. Man clamours for rest,--but rest is what he will never\nget,--not even in the grave. For though he may seem dead, new forms\nof life germinate from his body, and go on working in their appointed\nway,--while, with the immortal part of himself which is his Soul, he\nenters at once into fresh fields of labour. Rest is no more possible\nthan death, in the Divine scheme of everlasting progress where all is\nLife.\n\nNature is our mother, from whose gentle or severe lessons we must learn\nthe problems of our own lives. And whenever we go to her for help or\nfor instruction, we always find her working. She never sleeps. She\nnever has a spare moment. \u201cWithout haste, without rest\u201d is her eternal\nmotto. When we, like fretful children, complain of long hours of toil,\nscant wages and short holidays, she silently points us to the Universe\naround us of which we are a part, and bids us set our minds \u201cin tune\nwith the Infinite.\u201d The Sun never takes holiday. With steady regularity\nit performs its task. For countless ages it has worked without any\nattempt to swerve from its monotonous round of duty. It shines on the\njust and on the unjust alike; it gives life and joy equally to the gnat\ndancing in its beams, as to the human being who hails its glory and\nwarmth as the simple expression of \u201ca fine day.\u201d It gets no wages. It\nreceives very little in the way of thanks. Its duty is so evident and\nis always so well done, that by the very perfection of its performance\nit has exhausted the far too easily exhausted sense of human gratitude.\nLike a visible lamp of God\u2019s love for us it generates beauty and\nbrightness about us wherever we go,--and it invites us to look beyond\nthe veil of creation to the Creator, who alone sustains the majestic\nfabric of life.\n\nIn some ways God Himself may be resembled to the Sun, seeing that He\nreceives very little of our gratitude. We are so wonderfully guided\nby His wisdom that we sometimes think ourselves wiser than He. Of our\nown accord we give Him scarcely any of our real working powers, and\nwere it not that we are all, in the mass, unconsciously swayed by His\ncommand, the little we do give would be less. Our ideas of serving Him\ntoo often consist in attending various sectarian places of worship\nwhere quarrelling is far more common than brotherly love and unity.\nIn these places of worship we pray to Him for Ourselves and our own\nconcerns. We ask Him for all we can possibly think of, and we seldom\npause to consider that He has already given us more than we deserve.\nIt very rarely enters into our heads to realize that we are required\nto show Him some return--that we are bound to work--no matter in how\nsmall a degree--towards something in His vast design which has, or\nshall have, its place in the world\u2019s progress. We continue to implore\nHim to work for Us,--just as if He needed our urging! We petition Him\nto give us food and other material comforts,--yet if we study the laws\nof Nature we shall learn that we are intended to Work for our food and\nfor all the things we want. We must Work for them in common with the\nrest of all our fellows in the animal, bird, and insect kingdoms. What\na man does, that he has. We have no need to ask God for what He has\nalready given us. He has provided all that is necessary for our health\nand sustenance on the earth,--but we must earn it,--deserve it,--and\ntake a little intelligent trouble to understand the value of it, as\nwell as to learn the laws by which we may gain and hold our own in\nlife. We must, in fact, Work. All Creation visibly shows us that God\nHimself has worked and is still working. He, who has made us in \u201cHis\nown Image\u201d must have from each one of us a strong and faithful effort\nto follow His Divine pre-ordained order of Labour and Progress. It may\nbe asked--To what does the Labour and Progress tend? The answer of our\nlast great Poet Laureate, Tennyson, is the best--the\n\n\n        One far off divine event\n     To which the whole creation moves.\n\n\nWhether it be work with the hands, or work with the brain, it is work\nof some kind that we must do if we would prove ourselves worthy to be\na part of the ever-working Universe. And if by disinclination,--or\nby lethargy of mind and spirit, we decline to share in the splendid\n\u201conward and upward\u201d march of toil, the time comes when great Mother\nNature will accept us exactly at our own valuation. If we choose to\nbe no more than clods of clay, then as clods of clay she will use\nus, to make soil for braver feet than our own. If, on the contrary,\nwe strive to be active intelligences, she will equally use us for\nnobler purposes. The formation of our condition rests absolutely with\nourselves. No one person can shape the life of another. The father\ncannot ensure the fortunes of his son. The mother cannot guarantee the\nhappiness of her daughter. Both mother and father may do their best on\nthese lines, but sooner or later the son and daughter will take their\nown way and make their own lives. Each individual man or woman must\nwork out his or her own salvation. For this is the Law,--and it is a\nLaw divine and eternal against which there is no appeal.\n\nLet us realize, therefore, the Divine Necessity of Work,--and having\nrealized it let us take an honest joy in being able to do any sort of\nwork ourselves, no matter how humble or monotonous such work may be.\nThere is nothing really common even in what is called \u201ccommon\u201d work.\nThere is nothing undignified in the roughest labour. It is only the\n\u201cloafer\u201d who loses both self-respect and dignity. The peasant who\nturns the soil with his spade all day long is a noble and primeval\nfigure in the landscape, and deserves our consideration and respect.\nThe countless thousands of men, working in huge factories, patiently\nguiding the machinery of giant looms, sweltering their very lives out\nin the fiery heat of huge furnaces where iron and steel are shaped\nfor the uses of the world--these are the actual body of mankind--the\nnerves, the muscles, the sinews of humanity. They represent the\nnobility, the worth, the movement of the age. They are the Working\nPeople. And the Working People of this, or of any other nation are the\nPeople indeed--the People whose word--if they will only utter it--must\ninevitably become Law.\n\nSometimes, however, when we work,--when we perform some special round\nof duty more or less monotonous, we are unlike the rest of the working\nUniverse. The Universe works without any grumbling at its work--but\nwe--well!--we rather like to grumble. We want every one to know how\nhard our work is, and how badly paid we are. Many of us, who are\nmen, would like to pass entire days, loafing about, our hands in our\npockets, our pipes in our mouths, serving no purpose whatever in the\nworld save that of replenishing the till of the nearest public-house.\nOthers of us who are women, would love to dress up for all we are worth\nand meander through the streets, staring into shop-windows and coveting\ngoods we have no money to buy. We forget that while we are wasting time\nin this fashion, we are consuming some of the very energy that should\nbe at work to obtain for us whatever we desire. And we are also apt to\nforget that very often those who possess what we envy,--who hold all\nthat we would win--have worked for it.\n\nIt is of course quite true that some workers are well rewarded while\nothers get little if any reward at all. But to understand the cause\nof this inequality we must examine the character of the work implied,\nand the spirit in which that work is done. Is it undertaken with\ncheerfulness and zeal? Or is it merely accepted as a \u201cgrind,\u201d to be\nshirked whenever possible and only half accomplished? I venture to\nthink that the man who loves his work,--who is content to begin at the\nlowest rung of the ladder in order to master all the minutest details\nof his particular trade or profession--whose Work is dearer to him\nthan either his wages or his dinner--is bound to be rewarded, bound to\nsucceed in whatever calling of life he may be. It is the half-hearted\nworker who fails. It is the \u201cscamp\u201d worker who sticks in the rut. Every\nman should do his utmost best. When he does only his half or quarter\nbest, he wrongs his own capability and intelligence even more than he\nwrongs his employer. To \u201cscamp\u201d even the simplest kind of work proves\nhim to be out of tune with Nature. For in the natural world we find no\n\u201cscamping.\u201d Each tiny leaf, each humble insect is as perfect in its way\nas the planet itself. A midge\u2019s wing seen through the microscope is\nas brilliant and beautiful as that of a butterfly. And so,--\u201clooking\nup through Nature unto Nature\u2019s God\u201d we hear everywhere the Divine\ncommand--\u201cWhatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy Might.\u201d\n\nI hardly think the love of Work, for Work\u2019s own sake, is a leading\ncharacteristic of the workers of the present day. There is a tendency\nto \u201crush\u201d everything,--to get it done and over. It is a rare thing to\nmeet a man who is so fond of his work that he can hardly be persuaded\nto leave it. Yet in him is the real germ of success, and with him are\nthe true possibilities of power. For the conscientious and painstaking\nworker more often than not may become the great discoverer. In the\nvery earnestness with which he bends over his daily toil which may\noften seem the merest monotonous drudgery, it frequently chances that a\nlittle hint,--an unexpected clue,--is given out from the great factory\nof nature, which may revolutionize a whole handicraft, or quicken a\nfailing industry. Nothing of value in science or art is ever vouchsafed\nto the mere \u201chustler.\u201d And there is by far too much \u201chustling,\u201d\nnowadays. I am an ardent lover of steady toil and continuous progress,\nprovided the progress is accompanied by the growth of beauty, goodness\nand happiness, but I am no advocate of \u201crush\u201d or \u201cspeed.\u201d Nothing is\nwell done that is done in a hurry. Every scrap of time should be used\nas a precious gift,--not snatched up and devoured. For with haste\ncomes carelessness and what is called \u201cslop work.\u201d \u201cAs long as it\u2019s\ndone never mind how it\u2019s done,\u201d is a kind of humour that is common\nenough and easily fostered. Haste by no means implies real swiftness\nor attention to details. We need not draw comparisons between the\nforeign workman and his British brother, because there is a maxim which\nsays \u201cComparisons are odious.\u201d But in justice to the foreign workman,\nit must be said that he often shows great intelligence and artistic\nability. Moreover that he sometimes works twelve hours a day against\nthe British eight, at half the British workman\u2019s wages.\n\nBut my own love for everything British is so deep and hearty that I\nshould like to see British handicraft, British art, British work of all\nkinds at the head of creation. And I do most distinctly think it the\nduty of every British employer of labour to provide work for British\nworkers first. Let the men who live in the land find means to live.\nIt is surely the right of the British working man to have the first\nchance with a British employer. But this does not always happen. It is\na \u201cconsummation devoutly to be wished,\u201d but it is not to be at once\nrealized even by schemes of fiscal policy. It is only to be attained\nby the British working people themselves,--by the quality of the work\nthey do and the spirit in which they do it. We talk a great deal about\nEducation, technical and otherwise. What are the results? The fact\nseems to be that when there was no compulsory Education much better\nwork was done. Houses were better built,--furniture was more strongly\nmade. Compare the brick-and-a-half \u201cmodern villa\u201d architecture, with\nits lath and plaster doors and window-frames, with the warm thick\nwalls and stout oak timbers of a farm or manor-house of the sixteenth\ncentury! Put side by side the flimsy modern chair, and the serviceable\noak one, hand made in the time of our forefathers! Connoisseurs and\ncollectors of bric-\u00e0-brac are supposed to have a craze for \u201cold\u201d\nthings, merely because they _are_ \u201cold.\u201d This is not altogether true.\nOld things are appreciated because they are good,--because they show\nevidences of painstaking and careful Work. An old oak staircase in\na house is valued as a treasure, not only for its age, but for its\nartistic construction, which our best workers can only imitate and\nnever surpass. It must, I think, be conceded that our forefathers\nhad better conceptions of the fitting and the beautiful in some ways\nof work than we have. We have only to compare the Cathedrals which\nthey built for the worship of God, with our uninspired ugly modern\nChurches and chapels. We know that they appreciated the beauties of the\nlandscape, and that they loved the grand old English trees, which our\nshort-sighted County Councils are destroying every year. Nothing can be\nmore pitiful to see than the ruthless and stupid cutting down of noble\ntrees all over the country, under the rule that their branches shall\nnot hang over the road. Thus, every grateful place of shade is ruined,\nas well as much natural beauty. Our ancestors, more individually free,\nshowed finer taste. The roofs of their houses were picturesquely\nthatched or tiled, and gabled,--their eyes were never affronted by\nthe dull appearance of cheap slate and corrugated iron. They left us\na heritage of many lovely and lasting things; but it is greatly to be\nfeared that we shall not do likewise to those that come after us. We\nare destroying far more than we are creating.\n\nAnd when we come to the higher phases of intellectual work, we find\nthat though we have plenty of \u201cschools of art\u201d we have no great\nBritish artists such as Gainsborough, Reynolds or Romney. And though\nevery one is supposed to know how to read and write, we have no great\nliterature such as that of Shakespeare, Scott, Thackeray or Dickens.\nThese belonged to the days of non-compulsory Education. Poetry, too,\nthe divinest of the arts, is well-nigh dead. The great poets were born\nin so-called \u201cuneducated\u201d times. Our present system of Education is\nabsolutely disastrous in one respect--that of its tendency to depress\nand cramp rather than to encourage the aspiring student. Its mechanical\nroutine works on the line of flattening all human creatures down to one\nlevel. Originality is often \u201cquashed.\u201d Yet in all educational schemes\nthere should be plenty of room left for the natural ability of the\nstudent or worker to expand and declare itself in some entirely new\nform wherever possible.\n\nBut despite our perpetual talk of the advantages of Education, here\nwe are to-day with plenty of schools both before and behind us, but\nno very great men. And looking a long way back in history we see that\nwhen there was no Compulsory Education at all, there _were_ very great\nmen,--men who made the glory of England. Shall we leave anything after\nus, to match their heritage? It is open to doubt. Much of our modern\nwork is \u201cscamped\u201d and badly done. And a great deal of the mischief\narises from our way of \u201crushing\u201d things. We are so anxious to catch\nTime by the forelock that we almost tear that forelock off. But why\nsuch haste? What is our object? Well,--we want to make money before\nwe die. We want to make it, and then spend it on ourselves, or else\nleave it to our children, who will no doubt get rid of it all for us\nwith the most cheerful rapidity. Or we want to have enough to \u201csit\ndown and do nothing.\u201d This is some people\u2019s idea of perfect bliss.\nA servant of mine once very kindly reproached me for sticking at my\ndesk so long. \u201cIf I were a lady,\u201d said she--\u201cI would sit down and do\nnothing.\u201d No more cruel torture can be imagined than this. We read in\nhistory of prisoners who, condemned to such a life, went mad with the\nmisery of it. The only way to live happily and healthfully is to try\nwith every moment of our time to accomplish something--even if it be\nonly a thought. Thought, as we know, crystallizes into action. Yet\nvery few people really think. Many get no further than to think they\nare thinking. To think is a kind of Work--too hard for many folks. In\npolitics, for instance, some people let the Press think for them. They\ncannot be bothered to do it for themselves. And when the Press makes\nwhat is called a \u201ccorner\u201d in any particular policy, they sometimes\nsubmit to be \u201ccornered.\u201d There have been of late a great many rumours\nconcerning a gigantic Press \u201ccombine\u201d which is to be formed for the\npurpose of swaying the opinion of the British public and particularly\nthe opinion of the British working man. In other words, opinion is no\nlonger to be \u201cfree,\u201d but coerced by something like a Press \u201cTrust\u201d\nCompany. Now if we are to believe this, we must likewise believe the\nBritish public fools. And we should surely be sorry to be forced to\nsuch a conclusion. Let us hope the British public has an opinion\nof its own entirely apart from the Press, and that it will declare\nthat opinion bravely and openly. It is hard to imagine that it will\nallow its fondness for \u201cprize-competitions\u201d and \u201cpuzzle-pictures\u201d\nto interfere with its common sense and honesty. I may say, however,\nthat I have often marvelled at the generosity with which a large\nmajority of people will insist on filling the pockets of newspaper\ncapitalists, by purchasing such quantities of the particular journals\nwhich contain these puzzles and competitions. The guileless innocence\nof childhood in the nursery is not more touching than the faith of the\ngreat British public in what is called a \u201cPicture\u201d or \u201cWord\u201d puzzle.\nOver this kind of thing I have seen otherwise sane though indolent\npeople actually _work_! Once I made a calculation of the hours spent by\na friend of mine in deciphering one of these newspaper problems, and\nfound that he could certainly have obtained a very fair knowledge of\nFrench or Italian in the time, or he could have learned shorthand and\ntypewriting. He was successful in the competition, and received for his\npains the splendid sum of three-halfpence. It was explained to him that\nthere were so many successful competitors that the hundred--or thousand\npounds reward had to be divided among the crowd. Three half-pence\ntherefore was his legitimate share.\n\nI am no politician. I am simply a Worker--and I do such work as I\ncan, quite independently of sect or party. But _as_ a Worker, and\nlooker-on at the events taking place around me, I cannot help feeling\nthat this dear land of ours is on the verge of a great crisis in her\nhistory. We hear much of failing trade,--depression in this or that\nquarter,--yet apart from political agitators, it seems to me that Great\nBritain stands where she has always stood--at the top of the world!\nWhatever influences have set her there, surely there she is. And it\nis for all true workers to keep her there. It is not by what parties\nor Governments will do for us that her position will be sustained\nand strengthened,--it is by what we, in the skill and excellence of\nour Work in all trades and professions, will do for Her. It is by our\ndetermination to excel in all kinds of Work that she will hold her\nown,--by our unstinted time, our ungrudging labour, our zeal, our\ncheerfulness, our love for her glory that she--and ourselves--will\nexist. It is necessary to \u201cprotect\u201d her, and all things that may help\nto make her stronger and greater--but sometimes the word \u201cProtection\u201d\nmay be made to apply chiefly to capitalists and \u201ccornerers\u201d of trade.\nHerein comes the hard work of Thinking. We must Think for ourselves.\nGod has given us brains to work with. There is never any good reason\nwhy we should hastily adopt the political views of certain newspaper\nproprietors, who are perhaps under the impression that we have no\nbrains at all, and that being thus sadly deficient, we are willing\nto buy their brains for a penny or a halfpenny! It is by the workers\nof the land that the land lives. And more than this,--it is from the\nworkers that must come the great battle of Right against Might. It is\nfor the Workers to put to shame by their own faith and honour, the\nwicked Atheism and open immorality which are disgracing some of our\nso-called \u201cupper\u201d classes to-day--and it is for the Workers to show by\ntheir upright, temperate lives, and their steady downright Work, that\nthey are determined to keep the foundations of the Home secure, and the\nheart of England warm and true. What says brave Thomas Carlyle?\n\n\u201cAll true Work is sacred; in all true Work, were it but true\nhand-labour, there is something of divineness. Labour, wide as the\nEarth, has its summit in Heaven. Sweat of the brow, and up from that\nto sweat of the brain, sweat of the heart--which includes all Kepler\ncalculations, Newton meditations, all Sciences, all spoken Epics, all\nacted Heroisms, and Martyrdoms, up to that \u2018Agony of bloody sweat\u2019\nwhich all men have called divine! O brother, if this is not \u2018worship,\u2019\nthen I say the more pity for worship, for this is the noblest thing yet\ndiscovered under God\u2019s sky. Who art thou that complainest of thy life\nof toil? Complain not. Look up, my wearied brother!--see thy fellow\nWorkmen there in God\u2019s eternity, surviving there, they alone surviving;\nsacred Band of the Immortals, celestial Bodyguard of the Empire of\nMankind. Even in the weak Human memory they survive so long, as saints,\nas heroes, as gods, they alone surviving--peopling, they alone, the\nmeasured solitudes of Time. To thee, Heaven, though severe, is _not_\nunkind; Heaven is kind as a noble Mother--as that Spartan mother,\nsaying while she gave her son his shield--\u201cWith it, my son, or upon\nit!\u201d Thou too shalt return home in honour, brother Worker!--to thy far\ndistant Home, in honour, doubt it not, if in the battle thou keep thy\nshield!\u201d\n\n\n\n\nTHE HAPPY LIFE\n\n\nMost people want to be happy if they can. I suppose it may be safely\nset down without fear of contradiction that no one who is sane and\nhealthy wilfully elects to be miserable. Yet the secret of happiness\nseems to be solved by very few. People try to be happy in all sorts of\nqueer ways--in speculation, land-grabbing, dram-drinking, horse-racing,\nbridge-playing, newspaper-running, and various other methods which\nare more or less suited to their constitutional abilities--but in\nmany cases these channels, carefully dug out for the reception of\na perpetual inflowing of the stream of happiness, appear very soon\nto run dry. I have been asked scores of times what I consider to be\nthe happiest life in the world, and I have always answered without\nthe least hesitation--the Life Literary. In all respects it answers\nperfectly to the description of the \u201cHappy Life\u201d portrayed by that\ngentle sixteenth-century poet, Sir Henry Wotton:--\n\n\n     How happy is he born and taught\n       That serveth not another\u2019s will,\n     Whose armour is his honest thought,\n       And simple truth his utmost skill.\n\n\nHerein we have the vital essence of all delight--honest thought\nand simple truth--and in the \u201cserveth not another\u2019s will,\u201d glorious\nliberty. For chiefest among the joys of the Life Literary are its\nsplendid independence, its right of free opinion, and its ability to\nexpress that opinion. An author is bound to no person, no place, and no\nparty, unless he or she wilfully elects to be so bound. To him, or to\nher, all the realms of Nature and imagination are entrance-free--the\npen unlocks every closed door--and not only is the present period of\ntime set out like a stage-scene for contemplation and criticism, but\nall the past ages, with their histories, and the rise and fall of their\ncivilizations, arrange themselves to command in a series of pictures\nfor the pleasure of the literary eye and brain; and it is just as easy\nto converse in one\u2019s own library with Plato on the immortality of the\nsoul as it is good-humouredly to tolerate Mr. Mallock and his little\ndrawing-room philosophies. For a book is more or less the expression\nof the mind, or a part of the mind, of its writer, and, inasmuch\nas it is only with the moral and intellectual personalities of our\nfriends and enemies that we care to deal, it matters little whether\nsuch personalities be three or four thousand years old, or only of\nyesterday. And to live the Life Literary means that we can always\nchoose our own company. We can reject commoners and receive kings, or\n_vice vers\u00e2_. The author who is careful to hold and to maintain all the\nreal privileges and rights of authorship is a ruler of millions, and\nunder subjection to none. The position is unique and, to my thinking,\nunequalled.\n\nThere are many, of course, who will by no means agree with me as to\nthe superior charm of the Life Literary over all other lives--and such\nobjectors will be found mostly in the literary profession itself.\nUnsuccessful authors--particularly those who are in any way troubled\nwith dyspepsia--will be among them. \u201cTied\u201d authors also--and by \u201ctied\u201d\nauthors I mean the unhappy wretches who have signed contracts with\npublishers several years ahead, and are, so to speak, dancing in\nfetters. Authors who count the number of words they write per day,\nlike potatoes, and anxiously calculate how much a publisher will\npossibly give for them per bushel, are not likely to experience any\nvery particular \u201chappiness\u201d while they are measuring out halfpence in\nthis fashion. And authors who run after \u201csociety\u201d and want to be seen\nhere, there, and everywhere, are bound to lose the gifts of the gods\none by one as they scamper helter-skelter through the world\u2019s Vanity\nFair, while they may be perfectly sure that the \u201cgreat\u201d or swagger\npersons with whom they seek to associate will be the first to despise\nand neglect them in any time of need or trouble, as well as the last to\nsupport or help them in any urgent cause which might be benefited by\ntheir assistance.\n\nOn this point we have only to remember the melancholy experience of\nRobert Burns, who, after having been flattered and feasted by certain\nindividuals who were, in an ephemeral sense, influential for the time\nbeing, either through their rank or their wealth, was afterwards\nshamefully neglected by them, and finally, notwithstanding the various\nsocial attentions and courtesy he had at one time received, he was\nleft, when ill and dying, in such extremity as to be compelled to\nimplore his publisher for the loan of five pounds! What had become of\nall his wealthy and \u201cinfluential\u201d friends? Why they were exactly where\nall \u201cinfluential\u201d persons would be now in a similar case--\u201cotherwise\nengaged\u201d when their help is needed. Nothing can well be more deplorable\nthan the position of any author who depends for success on a clique\nof \u201cdistinguished\u201d or \u201csociety\u201d persons. He or she has exchanged\nindependence for slavery--the nectar of the gods for a base mess of\npottage--and the true \u201chappiness\u201d of the Life Literary for a mere\nmiserable restlessness and constant craving after fresh excitement,\nwhich gradually breeds nervous troubles, and disturbs that fine and\neven balance of brain without which no clear or convincing thought is\npossible. Again, authors who deliberately prostitute their talents to\nthe writing of lewd matter unfit to be handled by cleanly-minded men\nand women need never hope to possess that happy and studious peace\nwhich comes from the\n\n\n     Pure intent to do the best\n     Purely--and leave to God the rest.\n\n\nFor the highest satisfaction in the Life Literary is to think that\nperhaps, in a fortunate or inspired moment, one may have written at\nleast a sentence, a line, a verse, that may carry comfort and a sense\nof beauty to the sorrowful, or hope to the forlorn; while surely the\ngreatest pang would be to know that one had cast the already despairing\nsoul into a lower depth of degradation, or caused the sinner to revel\nmore consciously in his sin.\n\nBut are there no drawbacks, no disappointments, no sufferings in the\nLife Literary? Why, of course there are! Who would be such a useless\nblock of stone, such a senseless lump of unvalued clay, as not to\nardently wish for drawbacks, disappointments, and sufferings? Who\nthat has a soul at all does not pray that it may be laid like glowing\niron on the anvil of endurance, there to be beaten and hammered by\ndestiny till it is of a strong and shapely mould, fit for combat,\nnerved to victory? And I maintain that such drawbacks, disappointments,\ndifficulties, and sufferings as the profession of Literature entails\nare sweeter and nobler than the cares besetting other professions,\ninasmuch as they are always accompanied by never-failing consolations.\nIf the pinch be poverty, the true servant of Literature can do with\nless of this world\u2019s goods than most people. Luxury is not called for\nwhen one is rich in idealism and fancy. Heavy feeding will not make a\nclear, quick brain. Extravagant apparel is a necessity for no one--and\ngenius was never yet born of a millionaire.\n\nIf the \u201cthorn in the flesh\u201d is the petty abuse of one\u2019s envious\ncontemporaries, that is surely a matter for rejoicing rather than\ngrief, as it is merely the continuance of an apparently \u201cnatural law in\nthe spiritual world\u201d acting from the Inferior upon the Superior, which\nmay be worded thus: \u201cWhosoever will be great, let him be flayed alive!\u201d\nVirgil was declared by Pliny to be destitute of invention; Aristotle\nwas styled \u201cignorant, vain, and ambitious\u201d by both Cicero and Plutarch;\nPlato was so jealous of Democritus that he proposed to burn up all his\nworks; Sophocles was brought to trial by his own children as a lunatic;\nHorace was accused of stealing from all the minor Greek poets; and so\non in the same way down to our own times.\n\nPope went so far as to make a collection of all the libels passed upon\nhim, and had them preserved and bound with singular care, though I\nbelieve no one now knows where to find these scandalous splutterings\nof Grub Street. Swift is reported to have said to the irate author of\nthe \u201cDunciad\u201d: \u201cGive me a shilling and I will ensure you that posterity\nshall never know one single enemy against you excepting those whose\nmemory you _yourself_ have preserved.\u201d Herein is a profound truth. The\nmalicious enemies of a great author only become known to the public\nthrough the mistaken condescension of the great author\u2019s notice.\n\nMilton\u2019s life was embittered by the contemptible spite of one\nSalmasius. Who was Salmasius? we ask nowadays. We do not task who was\nMilton. Salmasius was the author of the \u201cDefensio Regi\u201d or Defence\nof Kings, a poor piece of work long ago forgotten, and he was the\nprocurer of foul libel against the author of \u201cParadise Lost,\u201d one\nof England\u2019s greatest and noblest men. What small claim he has to\nthe world\u2019s memory arises merely from his viciousness, for not only\ndid he make use of the lowest tools to aid him in conspiring against\nMilton\u2019s reputation, but he spread the grossest lies broadcast, even\naccusing the poet of having a hideous personal appearance--\u201ca puny\npiece of man; a homunculus; a dwarf deprived of the human figure; a\ncontemptible pedagogue.\u201d When the despicable slanderer learned the\nfact that Milton, so far from answering to this description, was of a\npleasing and attractive appearance, he immediately changed his tactics\nand began to attack his moral character--which, as even Milton\u2019s\nbitterest political enemies knew, was austerely above the very shadow\nof suspicion. It was said that the poet\u2019s over-zealousness in answering\nthe calumnies of Salmasius cost him his eye-sight, which, if true, was\nsurely regrettable. Salmasius died dishonoured and disgraced, as such a\ncowardly brute deserved to die; Milton still holds his glorious place\nin England\u2019s literary history. So it was, so it is, so it ever will be.\n\nGreatness is always envied--it is only mediocrity that can boast of a\nhost of friends. \u201cWhen you have resolved to be great,\u201d says Emerson,\n\u201cabide by yourself, and do not weakly try to reconcile yourself with\nthe world.\u201d It is impossible to quote one single instance of a truly\ngreat man existing without calumniators. And the Life Literary without\nany enemies would be a shabby go-cart; or, as our American cousins put\nit, a \u201cone-horse concern.\u201d Some lines that were taught to me when I was\na child seem apposite to this subject, and I quote them here for the\nbenefit of any struggling units of the Life Literary who may haply be\nin need:--\n\n\n     You have no enemies, you say?\n       Alas! my friend, the boast is poor--\n     He who has mingled in the fray\n       Of duty, that the brave endure,\n     _Must_ have made foes! If you have none,\n     Small is the work that you have done;\n     You\u2019ve hit no traitor on the hip,\n     You\u2019ve dashed no cup from perjured lip,\n     You\u2019ve never turned the wrong to right--\n     You\u2019ve been a coward in the fight![5]\n\n\nBut it is perhaps time that I should drop the masculine personal\npronoun for the feminine, and, being a woman, treat of the Life\nLiterary from the woman\u2019s point of view. In olden days the profession\nof literature was looked upon as a terrible thing for a woman to\nengage in, and the observations of some very kindly and chivalrous\nwriters on this subject are not without pathos. To quote one example\nonly, can anything be more quaintly droll at this time of day than the\nfollowing:--\n\n\u201cOf all the sorrows in which the female character may participate there\nare few more affecting than those of an Authoress--often insulated\nand unprotected in society--with all the sensibility of the sex,\nencountering miseries which break the spirits of men!\u201d\n\nThis delicate expression of sympathy for a woman\u2019s literary struggles\nwas written by the elder Disraeli as late as 1840. Truly we have\nraced along the rails of progress since then at express speed--and\nthe \u201caffecting\u201d sorrows of an \u201cAuthoress\u201d (with a capital A) now\naffect nobody except in so far as they make \u201ccopy\u201d for the callow\njournalist to hang a string of cheap sneers upon. The Authoress must\ntake part with the Author in the general rough-and-tumble of life--and\nshe cannot too quickly learn the truth that when once she enters\nthe literary arena, where men are already fisticuffing and elbowing\neach other remorselessly, she will be met chiefly with \u201ckicks and\nno ha\u2019pence.\u201d She must fight like the rest, unless she prefers to\nlie down and be walked over. If she elects to try for a first place,\nit will take her all her time to win it, and, when won, to hold it;\nand, in the event of her securing success, she must not expect any\nchivalrous consideration from the opposite sex, or any special kindness\nand sympathy from her own. For the men will consider her \u201cout of her\nsphere\u201d if she writes books instead of producing babies, and the\nwomen will, in nine cases out of ten, begrudge her the freedom and\nindependence she enjoys, particularly if such freedom and independence\nbe allied to fortune and fame. This all goes without saying. It has to\nbe understood and accepted uncomplainingly. The \u201cold-fashioned\u201d grace\nof chivalry to women, once so proudly lauded by poets and essayists\nas the distinguishing trait of all manly men, is not to be relied on\nin the Life Literary--for there it is as dead as door-nails. Men can\nbe found in the literary profession who will do anything to \u201cdown\u201d a\nwoman in the same calling, and, if they cannot for shame\u2019s sake do it\nopenly, they will do it behind her back. \u201c\u2019Tis pitiful, \u2019tis wondrous\npitiful\u201d--for the men! But if the woman concerned has studied her art\nto any purpose she will accept calumny as a compliment, slander as\na votive wreath, and \u201cenvy, hatred, and all uncharitableness\u201d (from\nwhich, with pious hypocrisy, the most envious and uncharitable persons\npray \u201cGood Lord deliver us\u201d every Sunday) as so many tokens and\nproofs of her admitted power. And none of these things need disturb\nthe equanimity of the Life Literary. \u201cCan any man cast me out of the\nUniverse? He cannot; but whithersoever I may go there will be the\nsun and the moon, and the stars and visions, and communion with the\ngods!\u201d[6]\n\nSpeaking as a woman, I can quite understand and appreciate all the\nlittle difficulties, irritations, and trials incident to a woman\u2019s\ncareer in literature; and though I myself welcome such difficulties\nas so many incentives to fresh effort, I know that there are many of\nmy sex who, growing weary and discouraged, are not able to adopt this\nattitude. And looking back into the past, one is bound to see a host of\nbrilliant women done to death by cruel injustice and misrepresentation,\na state of things which is quite likely to be continued as long as\nhumanity endures.\n\nBut no useful object is served by brooding over this apparently\nincurable evil. \u201cThe noble army of martyrs\u201d who praise the Lord in the\n\u201cTe Deum\u201d are likely to be of the sex feminine. But what does that\nmatter? It is more glorious to be martyred than to die of over-eating\nand general plethora. Moreover mental or intellectual martyrdom is a\nnecessary ingredient for the \u201chappy\u201d life--a touch of it is like the\ntoothache, helping one to be duly thankful when the pain ceases. For,\nif we never understood trouble, we should never taste the full measure\nof joy.\n\nOne thing can be very well dispensed with by both men and women who\nlook for happiness in the Life Literary, and that is the uneasy\nhankering after what is called \u201cFame.\u201d Fame has a habit of setting its\nhalo on the elected brows without any outside advice or assistance.\nThose authors who are destined for it will assuredly win it, though\nall the world should intervene; those for whom it is not intended must\ncontent themselves with the temporary notoriety of pretty newspaper\npuffs and \u201cstock\u201d compliments, such as \u201cthe renowned\u201d or \u201cwell-known\u201d\nor \u201cadmired\u201d author or authoress, and be glad and grateful for these\nmeaningless terms, inasmuch as the higher Fame itself at its utmost is\nonly a brief and very often inaccurate \u201cline in history.\u201d\n\nThe rewards and emoluments of the happy life, such as I have always\nfound the Life Literary to be, are manifold and frequently incongruous.\nThey may be considered in two sections--the outward or apparent and the\ninterior or invisible. Concerning these I can only, of course, speak\nfrom my own experience. The outward or apparent occur (so far as I\nmyself am concerned) as follows:--\n\n1. Certain payments, small or large, made by publishers who undertake\nto present one\u2019s brain work to the world in print, and who do the best\nthey can for their authors, as well as for themselves.\n\n2. Public appreciation and condemnation, about equally divided.\n\n3. Critical praise and censure, six of one and half-a-dozen of the\nother.\n\n4. Endless requests for autographs.\n\n5. Innumerable begging letters.\n\n6. Imperative, sometimes threatening, demands for \u201cinterviews.\u201d\n\n7. Hundreds of love-letters.\n\n8. Continual offers of marriage.\n\n9. Shoals of MSS. sent by literary aspirants to be \u201cplaced\u201d or\n\u201crecommended.\u201d\n\n10. Free circulation of lies, caricatures, and slanders concerning\noneself, one\u2019s personality, friends, ways of work, and general\nsurroundings.\n\n11. The grudging and bitter animosity of rival contemporaries.\n\n12. Persistent public and private mis-representation of one\u2019s\ncharacter, aims, and intentions.\n\nBut all these things taken together weigh very little when compared\nwith the other side of the medal--the interior and invisible delight\nand charm of the Life Literary--the unpurchasable and never-failing\nhappiness which no external advantage can give, no inimical influence\ntake away. It is well-nigh impossible to enumerate the pleasures that\nattend the lover and servant of Literature; they are multitudinous,\nand, like all things spiritual, outweigh all things temporal. Here are\njust a few among the kindly and constant favours of the gods:--\n\n1. The power and affluence of creative thought.\n\n2. A perpetual sense of intimate participation in the wonders of Nature\nand Art.\n\n3. A keen perception of the beautiful.\n\n4. Intense delight in the genius of all great men and women.\n\n5. A cheerful and contented spirit.\n\n6. Constant variety of occupation.\n\n7. Joy in simple things.\n\n8. The love of friends that are tried and true.\n\n9. The never-wearying interest of working to try and give pleasure to\none\u2019s reading public.\n\n10. The gifts and glories of Imagination.\n\n11. Tranquillity of mind.\n\n12. Firm faith in noble ideals.\n\nAnd, to quote from Walt Whitman what the inward sense of the\n\u201chappiness\u201d of the Life Literary really is, the disciple of Literature\nmay say:--\n\n\u201cI will show that there is no imperfection in the present and can be\nnone in the future. And I will show that, whatever happens to anybody,\nit may be turned to beautiful results.\u201d\n\nWere all the lives in the world offered to me for my choice, from the\nestate of queens to that of commoners, I would choose the Life Literary\nin preference to any other, as ensuring the greatest happiness. It\nis full of the most lasting pleasure, it offers the most varied\nentertainment, all the arts and sciences group themselves naturally\naround it as with it and of it--for the literary student is, or should\nbe, as devout a lover of music as of poetry, as ardent an admirer\nof painting and sculpture as of history and philosophy--that is, if\ncomplete enjoyment of the literary gift is to be possessed completely.\n\nI take it, of course, for granted, in this matter of the \u201chappy\u201d life,\nthat the individual concerned, whether male or female, is neither\ndyspeptic nor bilious, nor afflicted with the incurable _ennui_ of\nutter selfishness, nor addicted to dram or drug drinking. Because under\nunnatural conditions the mind itself becomes unnatural, and the Life\nLiterary is no more productive of happiness than any other life that is\nself-poisoned at its source. But, given a sane mind in a sound body, a\nclear brain, a quick perception, a keen imagination, a warm heart, and\na never-to-be-parted-with ideal of humanity at its best, noblest and\npurest, then the Life Literary, with all the advantages it bestows, the\ncontinuous education it fosters, the refinement of taste it engenders,\nthe love and sympathy of unknown thousands of one\u2019s fellow-creatures\nwhich it brings, is the sweetest, most satisfying, most healthful\nand happy life in the world. Moreover it is a life of power and\nresponsibility--a life that forms character and tests courage. We\nsoon learn to know the force of a Thinker in our midst, whether man\nor woman. We soon realize who it is that sends the lightning of\ntruth across our murky sky, when we see a sudden swarm of cowards\nscurrying away from the storm and trying to shelter themselves under a\nhaystack of lies; and we invariably respect whosoever has the valour\nof his or her opinions, and the strength to enunciate them boldly and\nconvincingly with a supreme indifference to conventional conveniences.\nFor \u201cTo know the truth,\u201d says an Arabian sage, \u201cis a great thing for\nthyself; but to tell the truth to others is a greater thing for the\nworld!\u201d\n\nFOOTNOTES:\n\n[5] The late Charles Mackay, LL.D.\n\n[6] Epictetus.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SOUL OF THE NATION\n\n\nAt the present time, and during the present time\u2019s singularly loose\nnotions of manners, morals, and dignity of behaviour, it was perhaps\nto be expected that some one or other of the daily newspapers would,\nin sagacious appreciation of free \u201ccopy,\u201d start a public discussion on\nthe religious faith of this Christian Empire. It was perhaps as equally\nprobable that considering the remarkable laxity of certain bishops\nand ordained ministers of the gospel generally, a \u201cpress\u201d question\nshould be put to the House of Tom, Dick and Harry--\u201cDo We Believe?\u201d\nGranting the premises, it was hardly to be wondered at that Tom, Dick\nand Harry should straightway arise in their strength and reply to the\nquestion,--and not only Tom, Dick and Harry of the laity, but Tom,\nDick and Harry of the clergy likewise. Great was the discussion,--fast\nand furious waged the war of words, and the Penny Daily which provoked\nthe combat was thus conveniently supplied with material for which\nthe proprietors,--most of them Sons of Israel,--had nothing to pay.\nAnd now, the arguments being heard and ended, nobody is a whit the\nwiser, though some few may be several whits the sadder. For to speak\nhonestly, nothing more reprehensible has ever smirched the career of\nan English journal than the fact that it should have lent itself to the\nadvertized questioning of the nation\u2019s religious faith. It was an open\nflaunting of infidelity in the face of the civilized world. To talk\nof the \u201cconversion\u201d of India, China or Japan, while a leading British\nnewspaper openly invites the notoriety-hunting section of the British\npublic to air their opinions of the Christian Faith in its columns,\njust as if the Faith itself were on public trial in a Christian\ncountry, is only one example of the many forms of utter Humbug in which\nwe are nowadays so unfortunately prone to indulge. Our sometimes-called\n\u201cheathen\u201d ally, Japan, has lately taught us many lessons which perhaps\nwe knew once and have forgotten, and which perhaps we need to learn\nagain,--such as valour without conceit, strength without roughness,\nand endurance without complaint,--but one of the greatest lessons of\nall she has given us is that of her people\u2019s pious reverence for the\nUnseen and Eternal, and their belief in the ever-present \u201cSpirits\nof the Dead\u201d whom they honour and will not shame. What a deplorable\ncontrast we make in our pandering to the lowest tastes of the mob when,\nwithout a word of protest, we permit _our_ \u201cSpirits of the Dead,\u201d--the\nspirits of our gallant forefathers who fought for the pure Faith of\nEngland and sealed it with their blood,--to be degraded and insulted by\na cheap newspaper discussion on the most private and sacred emotions\nof the soul, as though such a discussion were of a character suited to\ntake its place among police-cases and quack medical advertisements!\nTrue, we are constantly being made aware that the British Press is no\nlonger the clean, sane, strong and reliable institution it once was,\nwhen \u201cpersonalities\u201d were deemed vulgar, and lies dishonourable,--and\ntherefore we perhaps ought not to feel very greatly surprised when\nthe name and possible attributes of the Almighty Creator Himself are\ndragged through the purlieus of \u201cup-to-date\u201d journalism,--but surely\nthere is something very deplorable and disgraceful in the fact that\nany one professing to be a follower of the Christian Faith should have\nreplied to what can only be termed, considering the quarter from whence\nit came, an ironical demand, \u201cDo We Believe?\u201d The best and wisest\nanswer would have been complete silence on the part of the public. No\nmore effectual \u201csnubbing\u201d to the non-Christian faction could have been\ngiven. But unfortunately there are a certain class of persons whose\nprime passion is to see themselves in print, and to this end they will\ncommit any folly and write any letter to the newspapers, even if it\nbe only to state that primroses were seen somewhat early in bloom in\ntheir back yards. And such, chiefly, were the kind of men and women who\npoured themselves into the channels of the \u201cDo We Believe?\u201d discussion,\nlike water running down the streets into gutters and mains,--never\nseeming to realize that to the thinking and intellectual world, their\nfoolish letters, addressed to such a public quarter, merely proved\ntheir utter loss of respect for themselves, not only as professing\nChristians and subjects of a Christian Empire, but as men and women. No\nreal follower of a Faith--any Faith--would be so lost to every sense of\ndecency as to discuss it in a daily newspaper. As for the clergy who\ntook part in the boresome palaver, one can only marvel at them and\nask why they did not \u201cveto\u201d the whole thing at once? A penny paper is\nnot the Hall of Pontius Pilate. As ministers of Christ they might have\nprotested against a modern-vulgar \u201cmock\u201d trial of their Master. It was\nin their power to do so, and such a protest would have redounded to\ntheir honour. At any rate, they might themselves have abstained from\njoining in the foolish and unnecessary gabble. For gabble it was, and\ngabble it is. No useful cause has been served thereby and no advantage\ngained. The Sons of Israel have asked a question,--and some of the\nunwise among professing Christians, being caught in the Israelitish\ntrap, have answered it. The manner in which both question was put and\nanswer given, was unworthy of a country where the Christian Faith is\nthe guiding light of the realm. Matters of religion are of course\nopen to discussion in the treatise or book intended for quiet library\nreading, or even in the better-class magazines, but to hawk sacred\nsubjects of personal sentiment and national creed about in the daily\nwear of newspaper columns which equally include murders, divorces,\nbigamies, stocks and shares, and the general _d\u00e9bris_ cast off as\nflotsam and jetsam in the turgid waves of Mankind\u2019s ever-recurring\nmischief against itself, was to the last degree reprehensible and\nregrettable. And this, if only for the possible impression likely to\nbe created by such an action among the peoples of those countries to\nwhom, with ridiculous inconsistency, we presume to send missionaries\nfor the purpose of \u201cconverting\u201d them to a Creed we ourselves drag\nthrough the mire of doubt in our daily press. Fortunately, however, the\nmatter, deplorably as it has exhibited our \u201creligion\u201d to the eyes of\n\u201cheathen\u201d nations, has now come to an end. It has worked no change,--it\nhas strengthened no weak places,--it has helped no struggling effort\ntowards good. The Soul of the Nation has not been moved thereby, and\nit is the Soul of the Nation--that great, silent patient and labouring\nSoul with which all religion has to do,--that Soul, which the Christian\nCreed, ever since it was first preached in Britain, has raised to such\na height of supremacy and power, that it needs all its reserve of sober\ncourage and devout humility to help it bear its honours greatly. For\nhas it not been said--\u201cLet him that thinketh he standeth, take heed\nlest he fall!\u201d\n\nOne may look upon the innate spirit of Revivalism, exemplified in the\nhysteric wave of preaching, praying and psalm-singing that has recently\nspread over Wales and other districts, as so much instinctive and\nnatural popular rebellion against the insidious flood of atheism which\nhas for the past ten years been striving to poison all the channels\nof man\u2019s better health and saner condition,--rebellion too against\nthe apathetic coldness and shameless indifference of the ordained\nclergy to the clamorous needs of those neglected \u201cflocks\u201d which\nthey are elected to serve. \u201cEnough,\u201d say the People, \u201cof shams and\nshows!--enough of ministers who only minister to themselves and their\nown convenience!--enough of the preaching of the Gospel by men who do\nnot and will not fulfil a single one of its commands in their own lives\nand actions! Let us have something forcible and earnest,--let us be\npermitted to _feel_, even though we shout and sing ourselves hoarse\nwith the emotion which has been seething in us for years,--an emotion\nwhich we cannot explain to ourselves, but which craves, with a passion\nbeyond all speech, for some touch of Heaven, some closer comprehension\nof that \u2018After-Death,\u2019 which God keeps back from us like a prize or a\npunishment for His obedient or rebellious children! Anything is better\nthan the cold dead inertia of the Churches, sunk as they are in a blind\nlethargy from which they only bestir themselves dully when a chance\nis offered to them of engaging in some petty personal quarrel. We are\nweary of priestly humbug, selfishness and inefficiency--we will gather\nourselves together and re-assert our faith in the world to come, as\ntrue disciples of the Lord!\u201d And whether such Revivalists elect to\nmarch under the banner of Cocoa Cadbury, (an excellent advertisement\nfor Cadbury,) or any other emblazoned device of a successful trading\nconcern, is not a matter of much moment. Starving folk will march\nanywhere,--under anything or anybody,--if they are promised nourishment\nat the end of the journey. And the Soul of the Nation is, at this\npresent period of time, starving to the point of inanition in all forms\nof spiritual food. The Good Shepherd gave His life for the sheep, but\nthe underlings who care not for the flock have let the wolves into the\nfold.\n\nA thing which would appear to be frequently forgotten by those who hold\nGovernmental authority, is that the most vital, most powerful and most\nactive principle of a Nation is this spark of the Divine which for\nwant of any clearer mode of description we call the Soul. The Soul of\na single individual man or woman is the mere copy in miniature of the\nSoul of a race, or the Soul of a world. An involuntary, half-conscious,\nbut nevertheless resistless impetus towards ultimate Good is the Soul\u2019s\noriginal quality and inborn Ideal. For, if the human weakness of the\nfleshly creature impel it towards temporary phases of evil, sooner\nor later the Soul will set to work to pull it out of the stifling\nquagmire. Material Nature is, as we all know, a remedial agent, and\nwherever mischief is wrought she seeks to amend it. Spiritual Nature\nis a still stronger healer. For every injury self-inflicted or wrought\nby others on the immortal Soul she has a saving balm,--and for every\ninch of progress which the Soul essays to make along the lines leading\nto good, she helps it forward a mile. Individuals find this out very\nsoon in their own personal experience,--Nations discover it more\nslowly, first, because they have a longer time to live and learn than\nthe individual unit,--and secondly because, moving in great masses,\ntheir periods of transit from one epoch of civilization to another\nmust necessarily be more laborious and difficult. But in all epochs,\nin all eras, the Soul wins. The fiery leaven which is of God, works\nthrough the lump in various strange and complex forms till the whole is\nleavened. And those nations in which the Soul, or Spirit of the Ideal,\nis crushed and kept down by the iron hand of Materialism, are very soon\nseen to fall back in the rear of progress,--so far back indeed that\nwe are fain to speak of them as \u201cdecaying nations,\u201d though of a truth\nno decay is possible to them, but only temporary retrogression, which\nwill in due course revert to progress again when the Soul is once more\nallowed to have its way. But Governments whose common law of procedure\nis to put this Soul or \u201cspirit of the Ideal,\u201d in the background as a\nkind of myth or chimera, and who seek to settle everything pertaining\nto the interests of the people by what they term \u201cpractical\u201d methods,\n(which often prove wholly _un_practical,) are naturally prone to forget\nthat whatever they do, whatever they say, the busy Soul of the Nation\nis altogether outside and above them, fighting for itself, often\ndesperately and piteously, and struggling to make use of its wings and\nrise higher and ever higher despite its hobbles of iron and feet of\nclay. Religion is supposed to give it this, its demanded freedom of\nnoble flight, and the Christian religion, above all religions in the\nworld, with its consoling teaching that out of sorrow cometh joy, and\nout of Death is born Life, should make for the happiness and peace of\nevery living creature. But when the very ministers of that glorious\nFaith cast doubt upon it, and live their own lives in direct opposition\nto it,--when undevout and therefore limited scientists dissect a midge\nof truth in order to launch a leviathan of fallacious theory,--when\nthere is no ONE pure and simple Church of Christ where all may meet in\nhonest worship of His perfect Creed, but only a million Sects which\nblaspheme His Divine memory by their outrageous and petty quarrels one\nwith the other,--it is no matter for surprise that a strong revulsion\nof feeling should set in, or that the Soul of the Nation, conceiving\nitself grievously wronged and neglected, should try to find some\nfresh path of its own heavenward,--some way out of mere Sham--in the\nbelief that if it obeys its own instinctive desire towards the Highest\nIdeal, God will not suffer it to go far astray. For the quarrels of\nthe Churches are the second crucifixion of Christ. The apathy of\nthe priesthood is the deliberate casting away to sin of the people.\nWhere there is no unity, there is no force; and the divine founder of\nChristianity Himself has told us that a house divided against itself\nshall not stand.\n\nYet when one comes to think of it, it is the strangest thing in the\nworld that Christians should quarrel, seeing how plain and clear\nare the instructions left to them for their guidance by the Master\nwhom they profess to serve. The New Testament is easy reading. Its\ncommands are brief and concise enough. There would seem to be no\nroom for discussion or difference. Why should there be followers of\nLuther, Wesley, or any other limited human preacher or teacher, when\nall that is necessary is that we should be followers of Christ? The\nSoul of the Nation asks no more than this Gospel of Love, lovingly\nimparted,--it seeks but for the one firm faith in the eternal things\nwhich are its birthright,--a faith held purely, and wholly undoubted\nby those whose high mission is to teach it to each generation in\nturn,--it craves no more than that touch of heavenly sympathy which\nmakes the whole world kin--that holy link which binds all mankind\ntogether in one strong knot of indissoluble spiritual belief in the\nlove and justice; the Unseen Force behind Creation, which will surely,\nout of the verities of that same love and justice, grant us a future\nlife wherein will be made clear to us the reason and necessity of\nour strange sufferings, martyrdoms, disappointments and losses in\nthis present mere brief episode of living. The Soul of the Nation\ndoes not in itself ask reward for its good deeds,--nor does it weakly\ncomplain if punishment be inflicted upon it for its evil ones,--but\nit does demand justice,--it does ask why, for no conscious fault of\nits own, it should be born, only to die. Were this question never to\nbe answered, then the mathematical exactitude with which everything,\nsmall or great, is balanced in the universe would be a merely elaborate\nscheme of unnecessary fallacy, irrationally designed for the delusion\nof creatures who are not worth the trouble of deluding. No one who\nis sane and morally healthy can contemplate such an idea as this for\na moment,--it follows therefore that Man, living as he does between\ntwo Infinities, and endowed with a brain which can spiritually\nconsider both without reeling, must be guided by some great and\nillimitably wise destiny towards ends he knows not, but which he\nmay be reverently permitted to believe are for his better progress,\ngreater happiness and higher understanding, and that he needs, out\nof all things in the world, a Faith, by which his soul shall be kept\nstrong and pure, his mind steady, and his sympathies active. No mockery\nof Christianity, such as that of Servian priests who have publicly\nblessed regicides,--no cruel tyranny, such as that of the Greek Church\nwhich dares to appeal to a God of Love while the mighty masses of the\nRussian people remain steeped in misery, and are, by very wretchedness,\ndriven to crime,--no cold Conventionality of Form and Custom, such as\nis practised in fashionable London \u201cWest End\u201d churches where society\nhumbugs gather together to listen smirkingly to the civil cant of other\nsociety humbugs in surplices, who, passing for ministers of Christ,\nalmost fear to preach the Gospel as it was written, lest its plain\nblunt truths should offend some highly-placed personage,--none of this\nkind of \u201creligion\u201d at all is of use,--but faith,--real faith--real\naspiration--real uplifting to the Ideal of all things noble, all\nthings great, wise, helpful and true. This, at the present crucial\nmoment of time, is what the Soul of the Nation demands,--and not only\nthe Soul of our own beloved and glorious Nation, but the Souls of\nall nations whatsoever on the globe. They stand up,--each in place,\neach on its own spiritual plane,--stern, strong and beautiful;--like\nthe fabled statue of Memnon they face the sunrise, and at the first\ntouch of the first ray of glory they speak. Their voices are as\nthunder among the spheres,--they demand what they deserve,--justice,\nhope, comfort, uplifting! To the mystic High Altar of the Infinite\nand Eternal they lift their praying hands, and to the priests of all\nreligions they appeal. \u201cGive us the Way, the Truth and the Life! Cease\nyour own wranglings and petty disputations,--have done with mere\nhuman dogma concerning the matters of life and death,--let us see the\nMAN, Christ,--He who suffered our sorrows, and knew our need,--the\nBrother, the Friend, the Helper, for whom, in braver days than these,\nmen gladly gave their lives to sword and fire and the jaws of wild\nbeasts,--is there no manhood left now of such undaunted mettle?--is\nthere not one who will think of US, the Nations, who hunger for the\nglorious vitality of Faith, which, like the blood in our veins, keeps\nus warm and young and vigorous? Or must we perish in the devil-clutch\nof Materialism, and go down to the depths, thrust there by the very men\nwho have been elected to hold us close to God? We demand our rights\nin the Divine and Eternal Love!--and these rights, born in us from\nthe beginning, we will have, even if all present-existing human forms\nand fabrics of creed go down in our struggle for the one pure faith\nunder whose holy influence we shall become stronger and wiser, and\nbetter able to understand our work and place in creation! The gates of\nLife shall not be shut upon us;--we will not accept the materialist\u2019s\nlatter-day testimony that death shall be the end of all. For if there\nbe an Eternal Good we are part of its being and share in its Eternal\nattributes. And we say,--we Souls of the Nations,--to all our preachers\nand teachers and representatives of the Divine on earth--Lift us up! Do\nnot cast us down! Be yourselves the models of what you would have US\nbecome!--so shall we be willing and ready to learn from you,--so shall\nwe honour, love and patiently follow you. But if you, as ministers of\nreligion, show yourselves worse hypocrites than the very sinners whom\nthe law condemns, then beware of us and our just vengeance! For you\ntake from us our very life-blood, when you cheat us of the hope of\nHeaven!\u201d\n\nThis is true. A Nation robbed of its faith, is like a human body robbed\nof its heart--it has neither pulse nor motion,--it is the mere corpse\nof itself lying prone in the dust of perishable waste things. And the\nfact that grave retribution will follow the steps of those who assist\nin bringing it to this doom cannot be doubted. Such retribution has\nthen been visited heavily on over-prosperous peoples, who, misled by\nspecial pleaders in the cause of Materialism have set God aside out\nof their countings as a non-proven quantity. The \u201cnon-proven\u201d has\nalways proved itself with crushing swiftness and authority in the\nfall of great powers, the shaking of great thrones, and the ruin and\ndegradation of great names,--while very often a calamitous climax of\nmisery and disaster has befallen an entire civilization and brought it\nto utter decay. Such occurrences are traceable through all history,\nand always appear to result from the same cause,--the crushing out of\nthe vital principle, the spiritual starving of the Soul of a Nation.\nHeaven has not denied or diminished its bounteous nourishment and\nblessing,--for, in our own day, the wonders of Science have opened out\nto our view such infinite reaches of the Ideal as should double and\ntreble our perception of the glories yet to be unfolded to us when we\nhave \u201cshuffled off this mortal coil\u201d--while at the same time, nothing\nin all our changing phases of progress has yet occurred to alter the\nsimple and noble teaching of Christ, or to make such instruction\notherwise than sane, pure and helpful for every man, woman and child\never born. Indeed, it would seem with the marvellous new penetration\nwe have gained into the secrets of the earth, air and light, that the\nInfinite Creator is approaching His creature even more nearly, with\nfresh pledges of help and promise such as His Messenger brought in the\nwords: \u201cFear not, little flock,--it is your Father\u2019s good pleasure to\ngive you the Kingdom.\u201d And to the Soul of the Nation that \u201cKingdom\u201d is\neverything. In that kingdom it hopes to find all it has loved and lost,\nall it has striven for and failed to win, all that it has prayed for,\nwept for, worked for. Yet to-day between that aspiring Soul and its\nimmortal Inheritance stand two deadly enemies,--a contentious Churchdom\nand a capitalized Press,--the one hypocrite, the other materialist.\nAnd the satirical demand \u201cDo we Believe?\u201d is but an echo of Pilate\u2019s\nquestion \u201cWhat is truth?\u201d--a question immediately followed by Truth\u2019s\ncrucifixion. Nevertheless the Soul of the Nation--our nation, our\nempire--is becoming aware of its enemies. It is instinctively conscious\nof threatening evil, and is on the alert to save Itself if others\nwill not save it. But its way out of the labyrinth of difficulty will\nprobably be neither through Church nor Press,--nor will it be aided\nby \u201crevival\u201d meetings or Salvationist assemblies. Its path will be\ncloven straight,--not crookedly; for the British Nation, above all\nother nations in the world, does most easily sicken of priestly Sham\nand subsidized Journalism. And the sane, strong Soul of it--that Soul\nwhich in its native intrinsic virtue, is devoutly God-fearing, pure and\ntrue, will find means to shake off its pressing foes and stand free.\nFor priestcraft and dogma are like prison chains fastened upon the\nprogressive spirit of humanity, and they have nothing in common with\nthe simple teaching of Christ, which is the only real Christianity.\n\n\nBUTLER & TANNER, THE SELWOOD PRINTING WORKS, FROME, AND LONDON.","title":"Free Opinions, Freely Expressed on Certain Phases of Modern Social Life and Conduct","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":94040}